Growing up, the laundry room was called "The Dirty Clothes". I don't know why, but you would constantly hear my mom telling someone to "just put it in The Dirty Clothes", or "maybe it's in The Dirty Clothes"...We don't call it that at my house.
First of all, if I told my kids to put something in The Dirty Clothes, they would just stuff it into a used sock or something. And then put it back on the floor. I have to specify that it needs to go down the hall, into the laundry room and into the green basket. After weeks of keeping up with the laundry, my boys were short on undies. I never know where this stuff goes, but yesterday, I found a pile of the in the sink in our laundry room. That is when I started to specify "green basket". I suppose they were thinking that basket meant anything that you can put something into.
Also, I have noticed that "dirty clothes" is not an apt name for the things that are in the laundry basket...Only about half of what is in there is dirty clothes. Some of it is clean clothes. When the kids get down half of their wardrobe to find a pair of jammies, and then find it easier to throw it into a basket (or a sink) instead of putting it back where they belong, I suddenly have five loads of laundry to do in one day. Also, some things are not even clothes.
Here are the current conditions to make it into the "laundry club"...
1.) If you are made of fabric, contain fabric, have fabric anywhere on you, have fabric just sitting on you, you are hiding under something fabric, or someone picking you up off of the floor can see any fabric anywhere, you are so in.
2.) If you have even been in the laundry room for any reason, into the basket you go.
3.) If the person who picked you up does not feel like putting you where you belong, or they want to hide you from a sibling for awhile, congratuations.
4.) If the person who picked you up was watching cartoons at the same time, you are in.
5.) If you have ever been in our house and got put within the reach of a child, or know someone who has, this club is for you.
So you see, it's a very discriminating club, and can hardly be called "The Dirty Clothes".
But this way, when I do the laundry and everyone's whites turn color, I always have something to blame it on. And my change cup is ALWAYS full.
Dec 28, 2007
Aug 20, 2007
Men and Babies
Ok, not to offend all of you men, but I am sorry, it just has to be said. I am so tired of the playing dumb trick!!! As if we don't catch onto it. As a matter of fact, unbeknown to you men, we women receive a booklet on this trick that is handed down from bride to bride, dating back to the beginning of time. It's called "I Know He's Smart, He Knows He's Smart, So Why Does He Play Dumb?"
There is something about the sight of a baby, a child, a mess, a kitchen, and a few random things (spoons, turkeys, the buttons on the TV -- as opposed to the remote, the handle on the refrigerator door, a washing machine, a hanger...) that turns men into drooling buffoons. They think that we think this is real. But we all know that it is fake. We all know that you guys are just acting like you don't know how so that we will be forced to do it.
I walked in on my dearest the other day "taking care" of the baby, or as he calls it, "really trying". The baby was laying on the couch and my husband was sitting next to him. The baby had his pacifier stuck to his cheek, and he was wailing. My husband had the remote stuck to his hand, and he was watching ESPN. Here is the ensuing conversation...
Me: Did you not hear the baby?
Hubby: Yes, I tried to calm him down, but he just won't.
Me: You tried?
Hubby: Yes, I really tried
Me: What did you do?
Hubby: Everything...I gave him his la (pacifier). I said "Shh". Everything.
Me: Did you pick him up?
Hubby: Yes, but he wouldn't quit, so I set him back down. He just wants to be mad.
Me: Did you stand up with him?
Hubby: (astonished look) Why??????? He just has a bad attitude, so why would I stand up?
Ok, seriously? Everyone in the universe knows that the first thing you do with a crying baby is hold and stand. Everyone. Even my dad, who is the president of the World Association of Pretending Like You Don't Know Stuff, knows this, although he would never admit to it. But somehow, my darling husband, father of six babies, has never even heard of such a thing, and has never thought to even try it, and according to him, the baby was so mean to him that he didn't even deserve to have it tried in the first place!
Playing dumb works on other things, as well. It starts at engagement with wedding planning. You ask him to do one wedding thing, and he says something about how he really wants to, but he just doesn't know...and before you know it, you are so scared that he will ruin the most important day of your life that you don't even talk to him about the wedding until after you have walked down the aisle and you are looking at pictures.
After the wedding, it is a permanent condition. It happens at dinner ("Honey, I don't know how you do it, but I just can't seem to fit these dishes in the dishwasher. If you come do this, I will do flip through the channels until I find a movie for us"). It happens at holidays. ("Sweetheart, you are so good at knowing just the right thing for everyone." ) It happens with your in laws. ("My mom really does like you best, I think you two should talk and make all the plans, and I will just be there.")
And finally, there are babies. Babies take this permanent condition and turn it into something that is degenerative. The first baby, the guys know about 75% of what the women do. Every subsequent baby takes away a big chunk of knowledge. It's weird, because the moms learn more with each child, and the dads forget more. So, this man I married, who could have cared for my oldest son better on his own than I could've, has no ability whatsoever to even place a pacifier in our sixth child's mouth, let alone change a diaper without getting piddled on, feed a toddler without making a clown face, give baths without turning the bathroom floor into a swimming pool, or spend an evening watching the kids for me without them learning at least one naughty word.
So, boys, don't be fooled -- we know that you are just pretending. As if the person who can go to work and keep track of what forty other people are doing is not able to watch a baby who is unable to walk without losing him. Or the man who can take an engine apart and put it back together and have it work better is unable to figure out how to fasten a diaper correctly. We know better. We just let you get away with it because we really are dumb. (Which is why, no, we do not know how to use a plunger or kill wasps!)
There is something about the sight of a baby, a child, a mess, a kitchen, and a few random things (spoons, turkeys, the buttons on the TV -- as opposed to the remote, the handle on the refrigerator door, a washing machine, a hanger...) that turns men into drooling buffoons. They think that we think this is real. But we all know that it is fake. We all know that you guys are just acting like you don't know how so that we will be forced to do it.
I walked in on my dearest the other day "taking care" of the baby, or as he calls it, "really trying". The baby was laying on the couch and my husband was sitting next to him. The baby had his pacifier stuck to his cheek, and he was wailing. My husband had the remote stuck to his hand, and he was watching ESPN. Here is the ensuing conversation...
Me: Did you not hear the baby?
Hubby: Yes, I tried to calm him down, but he just won't.
Me: You tried?
Hubby: Yes, I really tried
Me: What did you do?
Hubby: Everything...I gave him his la (pacifier). I said "Shh". Everything.
Me: Did you pick him up?
Hubby: Yes, but he wouldn't quit, so I set him back down. He just wants to be mad.
Me: Did you stand up with him?
Hubby: (astonished look) Why??????? He just has a bad attitude, so why would I stand up?
Ok, seriously? Everyone in the universe knows that the first thing you do with a crying baby is hold and stand. Everyone. Even my dad, who is the president of the World Association of Pretending Like You Don't Know Stuff, knows this, although he would never admit to it. But somehow, my darling husband, father of six babies, has never even heard of such a thing, and has never thought to even try it, and according to him, the baby was so mean to him that he didn't even deserve to have it tried in the first place!
Playing dumb works on other things, as well. It starts at engagement with wedding planning. You ask him to do one wedding thing, and he says something about how he really wants to, but he just doesn't know...and before you know it, you are so scared that he will ruin the most important day of your life that you don't even talk to him about the wedding until after you have walked down the aisle and you are looking at pictures.
After the wedding, it is a permanent condition. It happens at dinner ("Honey, I don't know how you do it, but I just can't seem to fit these dishes in the dishwasher. If you come do this, I will do flip through the channels until I find a movie for us"). It happens at holidays. ("Sweetheart, you are so good at knowing just the right thing for everyone." ) It happens with your in laws. ("My mom really does like you best, I think you two should talk and make all the plans, and I will just be there.")
And finally, there are babies. Babies take this permanent condition and turn it into something that is degenerative. The first baby, the guys know about 75% of what the women do. Every subsequent baby takes away a big chunk of knowledge. It's weird, because the moms learn more with each child, and the dads forget more. So, this man I married, who could have cared for my oldest son better on his own than I could've, has no ability whatsoever to even place a pacifier in our sixth child's mouth, let alone change a diaper without getting piddled on, feed a toddler without making a clown face, give baths without turning the bathroom floor into a swimming pool, or spend an evening watching the kids for me without them learning at least one naughty word.
So, boys, don't be fooled -- we know that you are just pretending. As if the person who can go to work and keep track of what forty other people are doing is not able to watch a baby who is unable to walk without losing him. Or the man who can take an engine apart and put it back together and have it work better is unable to figure out how to fasten a diaper correctly. We know better. We just let you get away with it because we really are dumb. (Which is why, no, we do not know how to use a plunger or kill wasps!)
Aug 14, 2007
Jesus Salad
My children have come up with the strangest names for things, as I am sure all children have. We have new names for almost everything in our house. Here are a few...
"mamoke" means remote
"la-la" means pacifier
"ya-ya" and "mo-mo" both mean Elmo
"swole-ing" means garage sale (I have no idea...)
There are some words that we just don't like, so we make them a little better...
foots instead of feet
bestest (who hasn't said that?), gooder (better) and badder (as in my brother was badder than me, so I shouldn't be in trouble)
mine instead of ours... :)
woowoowoowoo instead of dog
aaaaahhhhhhh instead of horse...
mouse trapper instead of mouse trap
...see? These are just more fun. They are gooder than the real words.
Being boys, and everything being a contest, the oldest have come up with about a hundred ways to say fast...fire fast, super fast, superman fast...I am not sure which one is the fastest, but that is probably good, because each son can think that his word is the fastest, and everyone is happy.
We have a little chore chart that we use to try to bribe our oldest four into doing what we want. (This doesn't work, either, by the way.) We call it a star chart. My two year old daughter can not say those two words together to save her life. She can say each of them separately, but together, they come out without fail as "char start", making it sound as if we are going to burn down the house every evening that they have done well. The funniest thing is that she has the boys saying it, now, and they can't get it right. So at bedtime every night, we have five kids running around yelling,"YAY! It's time to char start! YAY!!!!!"
The best here lately is a new phrase. Jesus Salad is the name of a rosary. I have some idea of how this got started, but it is still a little shaky. I think it has something to do with the fact that it is green. I overheard the boys talking about it, and it went something like this...
6 yr. old - I want this one because it's my favorite color.
5 yr. old - Well, I want this one, it's blue.
6 yr. old - That's blueish-greenish
4 yr. old - It looks like a salad
6 yr. old - It can't be a salad - it's a rosary.
5 yr. old - It's Jesus Salad color.
Other two in unison -- ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
And now, every night, we have a huge fight over who gets to use "Jesus Salad", which is odd, considering that none of my kids will go near a salad, and cry when I drag them to church, insisting that there is no way it has been seven days already. Maybe if we come up with better names for church and salad, I would have the healthiest church-goers around.
"mamoke" means remote
"la-la" means pacifier
"ya-ya" and "mo-mo" both mean Elmo
"swole-ing" means garage sale (I have no idea...)
There are some words that we just don't like, so we make them a little better...
foots instead of feet
bestest (who hasn't said that?), gooder (better) and badder (as in my brother was badder than me, so I shouldn't be in trouble)
mine instead of ours... :)
woowoowoowoo instead of dog
aaaaahhhhhhh instead of horse...
mouse trapper instead of mouse trap
...see? These are just more fun. They are gooder than the real words.
Being boys, and everything being a contest, the oldest have come up with about a hundred ways to say fast...fire fast, super fast, superman fast...I am not sure which one is the fastest, but that is probably good, because each son can think that his word is the fastest, and everyone is happy.
We have a little chore chart that we use to try to bribe our oldest four into doing what we want. (This doesn't work, either, by the way.) We call it a star chart. My two year old daughter can not say those two words together to save her life. She can say each of them separately, but together, they come out without fail as "char start", making it sound as if we are going to burn down the house every evening that they have done well. The funniest thing is that she has the boys saying it, now, and they can't get it right. So at bedtime every night, we have five kids running around yelling,"YAY! It's time to char start! YAY!!!!!"
The best here lately is a new phrase. Jesus Salad is the name of a rosary. I have some idea of how this got started, but it is still a little shaky. I think it has something to do with the fact that it is green. I overheard the boys talking about it, and it went something like this...
6 yr. old - I want this one because it's my favorite color.
5 yr. old - Well, I want this one, it's blue.
6 yr. old - That's blueish-greenish
4 yr. old - It looks like a salad
6 yr. old - It can't be a salad - it's a rosary.
5 yr. old - It's Jesus Salad color.
Other two in unison -- ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
And now, every night, we have a huge fight over who gets to use "Jesus Salad", which is odd, considering that none of my kids will go near a salad, and cry when I drag them to church, insisting that there is no way it has been seven days already. Maybe if we come up with better names for church and salad, I would have the healthiest church-goers around.
Aug 8, 2007
Stain Chart
Laundry time again! When is it not, right? Anyway, I have been discovering a new love for stain removal, ever since I discovered that I can't pass down half of my oldest girls clothes, because she ruined them much worse than the boys ever thought about. Now, every load of girls' clothes is like a battlefield, with Tide and Spray'n'Wash as the weapons. It has made me realize that almost everything in your laundry room has some kind of stain chart. If you look under your washer lid, there is one there. There is one on every detergent bottle, on the bleach bottle, on the stain remover bottle (you would think it would just say "spray me for everything")...they are everywhere. And they are completely useless.
Unless you have committed a murder in a very grassy area while spilling a glass of red wine down your shirt, there is no use for this chart. I have looked and looked, but nowhere does it tell you how to get mustard out of your clothes or out of the dogs fur. So if you are wondering where to find a yellow dog, I am your man, because that stuff does not go away!
If you have kids, you will understand the next two...baby poo and "drool bib". You would think that someone would have developed a line of baby clothes that is poo resistant, but they have not. If you wash it within one hour, it comes out like a dream. Any later than that, and your kid is a walking scrapbook of how much he likes or dislikes any particular outfit. "Drool bib" you have seen if you have a drooler. This is for the kid who drools all the time, and constantly has a wet spot on the front of his shirt, shaped like a bib. (Yes, at this point I have figured out that a bib would have taken care of that problem, but it's too late now!!!) The wet spot then attracts anything within 100 feet of the kid. So, by the time the shirt gets to the stain removal stage, you have no idea what is there, but you do know that it's not grass, blood or wine. (If you have been at a function with your childless aunts or uncles, you may want to check the wine thing, though, which could have been the cause of all the drooling.) So, therefore, a little chart in there for "drool bib" is totally called for. Also, this would be good for many older members of my family, because apparently, a lot of us missed swallowing class, and at any given time, at least three adults are sporting drool bib.
There is also nothing on any stain chart for pink lemonade. Pink lemonade is what you give your kid when you aren't being mean and making them drink water, and you don't want them to have pop. And it's a much bigger mess than anything else. I know some people would argue with me that Kool-Aid is the bigger mess, but I don't think so. When you hand a kid a glass of Kool-Aid, you also say something like,"IF you spill this, I am going to go track down (here insert the latest Harry Potter monster that has been keeping them up at night) to clean up the mess, and WHEN he is done, I am going to let him drag you down to his cave to dine on you at will." See? With Kool-Aid, there is fear there -- that kid is NOT going to spill that drink, and if he does, he will do whatever he can to make sure that you never know about it. But with lemonade, you think,"Hey, it's pink -- light-pink, even. And it's mostly water, so I'm good, right?" NOPE! That's where it all goes wrong!!! As soon as you give that cup away, at least half of it is soaking into the kids clothes before you even turn around. Why??? Because there was no element of DANGER!!! You just handed it over as if it were nothing. No, an ounce of terror as you hand off the drink would have totally eliminated the need for a pink lemonade stain chart, had you known any better. And now, standing by the washer, holding a white (and pink) shirt that is sticky and also covered in ants, you have nowhere to turn, because pink lemonade is not on the chart.
Spaghetti....need I say more? I can't even get the stuff off of my tile. That is the one meal my kids are allowed to eat naked, preferably while sitting in the tub, as well.
Cheetos. Why isn't there instructions for Cheeto slime??? Ok, I know that Cheetos are just orange powder and shouldn't be worthy of stain-fighting, but that's just not true! When a child eats a cheeto (and it need only be one), the orange powder (cheese???) mixes with whatever else is around (yup, enter pink lemonade and drool) and makes something else. Orange dye or something. And that is a very common problem, and there is no stain chart option that includes cheetos!!!
So, I have come to the conclusion that it is the clothing manufacturers who write those charts, just so you will have to buy more clothes. And somewhere, hidden in the basement at Levi, is a real chart, that only the clothing lords have access to, while the rest of us are standing in our laundry rooms, fists clenched, looking at the ceiling and wondering just how we are supposed to get silly string out of the baby's bloomers.
Unless you have committed a murder in a very grassy area while spilling a glass of red wine down your shirt, there is no use for this chart. I have looked and looked, but nowhere does it tell you how to get mustard out of your clothes or out of the dogs fur. So if you are wondering where to find a yellow dog, I am your man, because that stuff does not go away!
If you have kids, you will understand the next two...baby poo and "drool bib". You would think that someone would have developed a line of baby clothes that is poo resistant, but they have not. If you wash it within one hour, it comes out like a dream. Any later than that, and your kid is a walking scrapbook of how much he likes or dislikes any particular outfit. "Drool bib" you have seen if you have a drooler. This is for the kid who drools all the time, and constantly has a wet spot on the front of his shirt, shaped like a bib. (Yes, at this point I have figured out that a bib would have taken care of that problem, but it's too late now!!!) The wet spot then attracts anything within 100 feet of the kid. So, by the time the shirt gets to the stain removal stage, you have no idea what is there, but you do know that it's not grass, blood or wine. (If you have been at a function with your childless aunts or uncles, you may want to check the wine thing, though, which could have been the cause of all the drooling.) So, therefore, a little chart in there for "drool bib" is totally called for. Also, this would be good for many older members of my family, because apparently, a lot of us missed swallowing class, and at any given time, at least three adults are sporting drool bib.
There is also nothing on any stain chart for pink lemonade. Pink lemonade is what you give your kid when you aren't being mean and making them drink water, and you don't want them to have pop. And it's a much bigger mess than anything else. I know some people would argue with me that Kool-Aid is the bigger mess, but I don't think so. When you hand a kid a glass of Kool-Aid, you also say something like,"IF you spill this, I am going to go track down (here insert the latest Harry Potter monster that has been keeping them up at night) to clean up the mess, and WHEN he is done, I am going to let him drag you down to his cave to dine on you at will." See? With Kool-Aid, there is fear there -- that kid is NOT going to spill that drink, and if he does, he will do whatever he can to make sure that you never know about it. But with lemonade, you think,"Hey, it's pink -- light-pink, even. And it's mostly water, so I'm good, right?" NOPE! That's where it all goes wrong!!! As soon as you give that cup away, at least half of it is soaking into the kids clothes before you even turn around. Why??? Because there was no element of DANGER!!! You just handed it over as if it were nothing. No, an ounce of terror as you hand off the drink would have totally eliminated the need for a pink lemonade stain chart, had you known any better. And now, standing by the washer, holding a white (and pink) shirt that is sticky and also covered in ants, you have nowhere to turn, because pink lemonade is not on the chart.
Spaghetti....need I say more? I can't even get the stuff off of my tile. That is the one meal my kids are allowed to eat naked, preferably while sitting in the tub, as well.
Cheetos. Why isn't there instructions for Cheeto slime??? Ok, I know that Cheetos are just orange powder and shouldn't be worthy of stain-fighting, but that's just not true! When a child eats a cheeto (and it need only be one), the orange powder (cheese???) mixes with whatever else is around (yup, enter pink lemonade and drool) and makes something else. Orange dye or something. And that is a very common problem, and there is no stain chart option that includes cheetos!!!
So, I have come to the conclusion that it is the clothing manufacturers who write those charts, just so you will have to buy more clothes. And somewhere, hidden in the basement at Levi, is a real chart, that only the clothing lords have access to, while the rest of us are standing in our laundry rooms, fists clenched, looking at the ceiling and wondering just how we are supposed to get silly string out of the baby's bloomers.
Aug 7, 2007
Drunken Spiders
Well, I got to take a shower yesterday! It was very exciting, because I woke up before the kids. This meant that I could shower without a four-year-old asking me why my butt is so big if it is not going to have a baby. Needless to say, that sort of shower is very exciting, so I jumped out of bed and started the water going.
It really is the simple things that matter most, right? So, still blissfully unaware of any evil, I get clothes together, find a razor, and jump in. BRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no hot water! Ok, well, that's ok. That just means I will be REALLY awake for the rest of the day. Most people might go reset the water heater, wait an hour and take a shower then. I, on the other hand, would have to wait another three days to take a relaxing shower, so I decide to brave the frozen waters and pretend I am rafting or glacier hunting or whatever people do where the water is cold. Ok, so I begin soaping, and I am telling myself that it's not that bad, it's kind of nice, actually. I have no idea why it's kind of nice, but I keep telling myself that, hoping I will believe it.
Ok, so I didn't die. So now it's shampoo time. Up until this point, I had not been brave enough to get my hair wet, but it's time to take the plunge. I tilt back my head and squeeze my eyes shut, and waited for the brain freeze to stop. As soon as it did, I opened my eyes and screamed. There is a nice little light right in the middle of the ceiling over my shower. There was a nice big spider crawling out of it. And I am not scared of spiders, but this one was drunk. I am not kidding. It was trying to crawl away from the light, but it was going in this lopsided, zig-zag line, and at any given point in time, at least two of his legs were overcome by gravity and poking down toward, well, toward me, actually. I watched for a minute, and realized that gravity works on drunken spiders just like it does on drunken people. After each swerve, the spider would correct his course again, and promptly fall off of the ceiling. (Most drunk people only fall off a sidewalk, but hey, we aren't spiders.) He caught himself with a little web, I guess, but then he would actually get that all caught in his legs and fall again. Ok, I want out of the shower.
I am not scared of spiders, but I have a serious phobia of things being stuck in my hair. Actually, there are a lot of bugs I am scared of, and 90% of that is from the possibility of them being somehow caught in my hair, forcing me to run until I die, trying to get away from my own hair, knowing the whole time that I could just cut that piece off if I could stop long enough. This has never happened, but I have obsessed over it so much that I am pretty sure this is how I will eventually die. Ok, since I did have a lot to do yesterday, I wasn't quite ready to die yet, and this spider was a serious threat.
I decided to hide while I washed my hair, and to skip any extras, like conditioning or shaving. I hid under the water, and began to shampoo. I was looking up, back against the wall, the entire time, making sure that the drunk spider-of-certain-death wasn't going to meander over to my side of the shower. I rinsed with my eyes open and watching, until I got shampoo in my eyes. I had to stop and rinse out my eyes, all the while keeping my back to the wall. I still had a head full of shampoo when that swaying spider headed my way. I decided to jump ship and rinse my hair in the sink. I took a deep breath, judged the distance to the nearest shower-curtain opening, and made a leap for it. I immediately sprang right backwards, knocking my head into the wall as I went the complete opposite direction that I was supposed to be going!
This was because, as I was looking up and washing my hair, it had become tangled in a little bar of hooks (for hanging loofahs and things on) that my dearest recently attached to our shower wall. I am sure that, when he did that, he had no idea of the mortal danger it would eventually put me in as it barred my escape from the deadly spider.
I watched the spider as I tried to untangle my hair. It was getting closer and closer to my corner. It FELL! I said, in my loudest big-sister-I-am-the-boss voice,"NO, SPIDER!!!!". The spider had apparently had enough of the ceiling, so it decided not to heed my warning, and just come on down to the floor. It was heading right for my hair!!!! I yelled again,"NO, SPIDER! YOU CAN'T COME DOWN HERE!" It didn't work, but I did wake the kids up.
So, while the kids screamed and the spider inched his way down, I finally yanked my hair out of the hook, or out of my head (I still haven't checked to see which, but it did hurt), and leaped through the shower curtain like some kind of naked hairless superhero. And landed squarely on the wet tile (since dearest had removed the bath mat -- maybe he is out to get me), and proceeded to do a five minute get-my-balance dance that made me glad that I had locked the bathroom door. But I was safe! The drunken spider had changed his mind and gone back to the ceiling (probably about the time he realized that I was making the floor a very unsafe place to be).
I spent the next half hour freaking out because every one of my children were burning up as I got them out of bed, and I had no idea what to do. I really lost it when I realized that the baby was feeling like he was probably in a dangerous temp area, and we would probably all have to head to the hospital. So I made a pot of coffee, but, for some reason, the water was hot, even after I checked again to make sure it was on cold. At this point I discovered the reason that all my kids had fevers...my body temperature was so low after being trapped under the cold water for so long that they all felt hot to me, as well as the cold water.
From now on, I am going to check the ceiling before every shower, and when it comes down to it, just enjoy how much safer it is to take a shower while being insulted by a toddler!
It really is the simple things that matter most, right? So, still blissfully unaware of any evil, I get clothes together, find a razor, and jump in. BRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no hot water! Ok, well, that's ok. That just means I will be REALLY awake for the rest of the day. Most people might go reset the water heater, wait an hour and take a shower then. I, on the other hand, would have to wait another three days to take a relaxing shower, so I decide to brave the frozen waters and pretend I am rafting or glacier hunting or whatever people do where the water is cold. Ok, so I begin soaping, and I am telling myself that it's not that bad, it's kind of nice, actually. I have no idea why it's kind of nice, but I keep telling myself that, hoping I will believe it.
Ok, so I didn't die. So now it's shampoo time. Up until this point, I had not been brave enough to get my hair wet, but it's time to take the plunge. I tilt back my head and squeeze my eyes shut, and waited for the brain freeze to stop. As soon as it did, I opened my eyes and screamed. There is a nice little light right in the middle of the ceiling over my shower. There was a nice big spider crawling out of it. And I am not scared of spiders, but this one was drunk. I am not kidding. It was trying to crawl away from the light, but it was going in this lopsided, zig-zag line, and at any given point in time, at least two of his legs were overcome by gravity and poking down toward, well, toward me, actually. I watched for a minute, and realized that gravity works on drunken spiders just like it does on drunken people. After each swerve, the spider would correct his course again, and promptly fall off of the ceiling. (Most drunk people only fall off a sidewalk, but hey, we aren't spiders.) He caught himself with a little web, I guess, but then he would actually get that all caught in his legs and fall again. Ok, I want out of the shower.
I am not scared of spiders, but I have a serious phobia of things being stuck in my hair. Actually, there are a lot of bugs I am scared of, and 90% of that is from the possibility of them being somehow caught in my hair, forcing me to run until I die, trying to get away from my own hair, knowing the whole time that I could just cut that piece off if I could stop long enough. This has never happened, but I have obsessed over it so much that I am pretty sure this is how I will eventually die. Ok, since I did have a lot to do yesterday, I wasn't quite ready to die yet, and this spider was a serious threat.
I decided to hide while I washed my hair, and to skip any extras, like conditioning or shaving. I hid under the water, and began to shampoo. I was looking up, back against the wall, the entire time, making sure that the drunk spider-of-certain-death wasn't going to meander over to my side of the shower. I rinsed with my eyes open and watching, until I got shampoo in my eyes. I had to stop and rinse out my eyes, all the while keeping my back to the wall. I still had a head full of shampoo when that swaying spider headed my way. I decided to jump ship and rinse my hair in the sink. I took a deep breath, judged the distance to the nearest shower-curtain opening, and made a leap for it. I immediately sprang right backwards, knocking my head into the wall as I went the complete opposite direction that I was supposed to be going!
This was because, as I was looking up and washing my hair, it had become tangled in a little bar of hooks (for hanging loofahs and things on) that my dearest recently attached to our shower wall. I am sure that, when he did that, he had no idea of the mortal danger it would eventually put me in as it barred my escape from the deadly spider.
I watched the spider as I tried to untangle my hair. It was getting closer and closer to my corner. It FELL! I said, in my loudest big-sister-I-am-the-boss voice,"NO, SPIDER!!!!". The spider had apparently had enough of the ceiling, so it decided not to heed my warning, and just come on down to the floor. It was heading right for my hair!!!! I yelled again,"NO, SPIDER! YOU CAN'T COME DOWN HERE!" It didn't work, but I did wake the kids up.
So, while the kids screamed and the spider inched his way down, I finally yanked my hair out of the hook, or out of my head (I still haven't checked to see which, but it did hurt), and leaped through the shower curtain like some kind of naked hairless superhero. And landed squarely on the wet tile (since dearest had removed the bath mat -- maybe he is out to get me), and proceeded to do a five minute get-my-balance dance that made me glad that I had locked the bathroom door. But I was safe! The drunken spider had changed his mind and gone back to the ceiling (probably about the time he realized that I was making the floor a very unsafe place to be).
I spent the next half hour freaking out because every one of my children were burning up as I got them out of bed, and I had no idea what to do. I really lost it when I realized that the baby was feeling like he was probably in a dangerous temp area, and we would probably all have to head to the hospital. So I made a pot of coffee, but, for some reason, the water was hot, even after I checked again to make sure it was on cold. At this point I discovered the reason that all my kids had fevers...my body temperature was so low after being trapped under the cold water for so long that they all felt hot to me, as well as the cold water.
From now on, I am going to check the ceiling before every shower, and when it comes down to it, just enjoy how much safer it is to take a shower while being insulted by a toddler!
Jul 27, 2007
Why Blogger?
Well, I was starting this blog, planning to write daily. The point of this was mostly to amuse myself, because I actually find myself quite funny (lucky for me but not so for anyone who gets stuck listening to me). My plan had been to write something every evening, so that I could go back later and remember how funny things really are. And usually, that works out great, because they are always funny when I read about them long after I am done freaking out. But, the best laid plans...
I had a baby six weeks ago. Before that, I also had the privilege of having five other babies (not all at once, but really close). This is my only accomplishment in the last six years. I have done nothing at all except have babies. I can't really say I have done anything else that has stayed done. The best part about having babies is that you can't un-have them. The dishes can get dirty, the laundry gets undone, the dinners get eaten, the bills keep piling up...but babies stay had. Anyway, I had my baby, and he was ripped from my arms three hours later. Actually, he wasn't ripped, because the nurses were really nice about it, but that is what it felt like. He was whisked away to a different hospital to have an emergency surgery. My plan had been to spend that night ooh-ing and ahh-ing over him, and then do that for about two days, and then go home and do that some more. Well, that didn't happen. Instead, I spent that night wailing until my mommy came up and made me sleep. As soon as I woke up, I left my hospital and went to his. The sleep my mom made me get was the last I was to get for a long time. It turned out that the baby didn't need the surgery right away (he will have it in about two weeks), but he remained in the NICU for two days for testing.
I didn't rest during those days -- I mostly sat in his room, being startled awake by nurses every time my eyes dared to close. (I was allowed complete access to the chair in his room any time of the day or night, as long as I didn't fall asleep -- I have no idea why.) I planned to have my wonderful husband take the kids for a day after we got back so I could have my baby time, and also to have him take the baby one night so that I could get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Well...
That didn't happen. After the baby was born, my husband felt bad about the time he had missed from work (he was with the baby non-stop, as well), so he spent the next few days at the office. Then he was hospitalized. For two and half weeks. I spent those two weeks carting my kids to sitters, going to see my dearest, and just trying to hold everything together. My fabulous sisters, sister-in-law and mother kept me sane, and watched my babies for me. My mother-in-law and I teamed up to help my husband. I planned to get over this hospital stay and take one day to clean my house and put my life back together and keep it that way so I could enjoy my babies until school started. Well...
The night he got home from the hospital, he got a stomach ache. After three days of him bending over in pain, I finally insisted that he go the (guess where?) hospital. I believe he would have preferred that I go jump in a lake than sit there and nag him about going back to a hospital. I called in the troops (his mother). It turns out that he had appendicitis. One emergency surgery later (his appendix did burst, meanwhile, of course), he is in the hospital for another three days. This poor guy. So at this point, I start feeling sorry for him instead of me. I mean, I had missed out on a lot of lovin' on my babies, and I had missed my husband desperately, but he had all of those same problems, as well as all the pain and being cooped up. I planned on bringing him home and taking care of him and my babies and doing nothing else for pretty much ever.
But, lo and behold, life goes on even if I am not there to control everything. My adorable and brave grandparents managed to have a fiftieth anniversary last week. Congratulations to them! My mom and my aunts are throwing them a much deserved party. (I think the party is deserved by EVERYONE at this point.) So, the two nights after the hospital, I leave my husband at home and take my kids to help get things ready (I was not much help), and tomorrow, I will attend the party and probably leave him here again. So, at this point, I have figured something out.
See, God made me a big sister of six. I was born to be bossy and in control of everything. I am really good at it, I think. I am sure that everyone would be much happier if they did everything my way. This does not apply only to my younger siblings, but pretty much everyone in the whole world. Well, I am thinking that, with all of this planning I have been trying to do, God has been trying to tell me something. I can't imagine that it would possibly be that the Almighty is better than I at controlling the world, could it??? I wondered this on my way home this evening. Maybe it's something else...like maybe He wants me to take on bigger and better things...perhaps controlling the United States or something? Who knows? Because I can't possibly imagine how anything would manage to get done if I hadn't planned it!
But my sweet Jamesy Wamesy (wassup, cuz') taught me something tonight. He thought of an idea for us grandkids to do at the party tomorrow. It was a good idea. Like really good. And you know what? I didn't have anything to do with it! He thought it up all by him little selfy-welfy. Can you believe that? I couldn't. I mean, he's smart and everything, but seriously, can other people really honestly be as good as I am at knowing how everything should be????? What?!?!?! Well, apparently so. So, the Lord used James to show me something that the last six weeks of hospital visits hadn't managed to drum into my brain -- I DON'T HAVE TO BE IN CHARGE. I am actually NOT in charge, and I never was!!! (Are you all ready for this, because it may come as a shock to you that I am not who you thought I was?!?!) GOD is in charge!!! Thank Goodness for that, too, because my plans have the tendency to fall apart with a serious quickness. So, now that you have all been shocked with the news of Who is really the Boss, I will start trying to take a back seat from now on. If any of you do notice me trying to take the wheel again, please put me back into the back and strap me into the seat. I am sure that won't work, so keep the trunk unlocked just in case.
I had a baby six weeks ago. Before that, I also had the privilege of having five other babies (not all at once, but really close). This is my only accomplishment in the last six years. I have done nothing at all except have babies. I can't really say I have done anything else that has stayed done. The best part about having babies is that you can't un-have them. The dishes can get dirty, the laundry gets undone, the dinners get eaten, the bills keep piling up...but babies stay had. Anyway, I had my baby, and he was ripped from my arms three hours later. Actually, he wasn't ripped, because the nurses were really nice about it, but that is what it felt like. He was whisked away to a different hospital to have an emergency surgery. My plan had been to spend that night ooh-ing and ahh-ing over him, and then do that for about two days, and then go home and do that some more. Well, that didn't happen. Instead, I spent that night wailing until my mommy came up and made me sleep. As soon as I woke up, I left my hospital and went to his. The sleep my mom made me get was the last I was to get for a long time. It turned out that the baby didn't need the surgery right away (he will have it in about two weeks), but he remained in the NICU for two days for testing.
I didn't rest during those days -- I mostly sat in his room, being startled awake by nurses every time my eyes dared to close. (I was allowed complete access to the chair in his room any time of the day or night, as long as I didn't fall asleep -- I have no idea why.) I planned to have my wonderful husband take the kids for a day after we got back so I could have my baby time, and also to have him take the baby one night so that I could get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Well...
That didn't happen. After the baby was born, my husband felt bad about the time he had missed from work (he was with the baby non-stop, as well), so he spent the next few days at the office. Then he was hospitalized. For two and half weeks. I spent those two weeks carting my kids to sitters, going to see my dearest, and just trying to hold everything together. My fabulous sisters, sister-in-law and mother kept me sane, and watched my babies for me. My mother-in-law and I teamed up to help my husband. I planned to get over this hospital stay and take one day to clean my house and put my life back together and keep it that way so I could enjoy my babies until school started. Well...
The night he got home from the hospital, he got a stomach ache. After three days of him bending over in pain, I finally insisted that he go the (guess where?) hospital. I believe he would have preferred that I go jump in a lake than sit there and nag him about going back to a hospital. I called in the troops (his mother). It turns out that he had appendicitis. One emergency surgery later (his appendix did burst, meanwhile, of course), he is in the hospital for another three days. This poor guy. So at this point, I start feeling sorry for him instead of me. I mean, I had missed out on a lot of lovin' on my babies, and I had missed my husband desperately, but he had all of those same problems, as well as all the pain and being cooped up. I planned on bringing him home and taking care of him and my babies and doing nothing else for pretty much ever.
But, lo and behold, life goes on even if I am not there to control everything. My adorable and brave grandparents managed to have a fiftieth anniversary last week. Congratulations to them! My mom and my aunts are throwing them a much deserved party. (I think the party is deserved by EVERYONE at this point.) So, the two nights after the hospital, I leave my husband at home and take my kids to help get things ready (I was not much help), and tomorrow, I will attend the party and probably leave him here again. So, at this point, I have figured something out.
See, God made me a big sister of six. I was born to be bossy and in control of everything. I am really good at it, I think. I am sure that everyone would be much happier if they did everything my way. This does not apply only to my younger siblings, but pretty much everyone in the whole world. Well, I am thinking that, with all of this planning I have been trying to do, God has been trying to tell me something. I can't imagine that it would possibly be that the Almighty is better than I at controlling the world, could it??? I wondered this on my way home this evening. Maybe it's something else...like maybe He wants me to take on bigger and better things...perhaps controlling the United States or something? Who knows? Because I can't possibly imagine how anything would manage to get done if I hadn't planned it!
But my sweet Jamesy Wamesy (wassup, cuz') taught me something tonight. He thought of an idea for us grandkids to do at the party tomorrow. It was a good idea. Like really good. And you know what? I didn't have anything to do with it! He thought it up all by him little selfy-welfy. Can you believe that? I couldn't. I mean, he's smart and everything, but seriously, can other people really honestly be as good as I am at knowing how everything should be????? What?!?!?! Well, apparently so. So, the Lord used James to show me something that the last six weeks of hospital visits hadn't managed to drum into my brain -- I DON'T HAVE TO BE IN CHARGE. I am actually NOT in charge, and I never was!!! (Are you all ready for this, because it may come as a shock to you that I am not who you thought I was?!?!) GOD is in charge!!! Thank Goodness for that, too, because my plans have the tendency to fall apart with a serious quickness. So, now that you have all been shocked with the news of Who is really the Boss, I will start trying to take a back seat from now on. If any of you do notice me trying to take the wheel again, please put me back into the back and strap me into the seat. I am sure that won't work, so keep the trunk unlocked just in case.
Jul 22, 2007
New Beginings
Fortunately, creating this blog set up the perfect situation for me to write about here. This will be a place for random musings on motherhood, couplehood, and things that go along with them. As I locked myself away into the playroom to set this blog up (and to email a few lost friends), my children kindly created the exact kind of thing I love to write about. I was MIA for about an hour (they were in and out with me), and I walked back into a wonderland of diaper wipes and playing cards. I would like to speak with the gentleman who decided that one deck of cards wasn't enough for the kids, and they should have eight decks in one box. Here is the thing with kids...if there is a group of something (diaper wipes or cards, for example), and it is within their reach, they are going to do their best to "ungroup" it. They do this as a favor, so that you don't get bored with always finding things in one spot. See, this way, you can find wipes in your houseplants, under the coffee table, in the sink, and swinging from the fan, instead of constantly having to get the diaper bag. And if you are ever sitting inside of your kitchen cupboards with nothing to do -- Look! There are some cards to play! You can Go Fish and Old Maid for hours in there without ever needing to come out! And if you accidentally make a mess, check under your frying pan, there is bound to be a diaper wipe.
Another thing that is always in need of ungrouping is flour. Flour is really a staple, and most of us use it quite a bit. So why should it only be kept in the pantry? If you had some on your floor, it would keep the brownie batter you spill from sticking to it. If you had some all over the shelves in your pantry, you wouldn't have to be always getting out the entire bag. If you put a little in your trashcan, you get an exiting poof when you tie up the bag. And a little bit on the living room carpet goes a long way when you need to be able to see where you forgot to vacuum. You see? This is a favor, Mom!
If your kids are tired of the same old chores, you can have them try some other things. My kids don't really get tired of ungrouping very quickly, but on those rainy days, I like to have them do some "printing". Printing is an excellent way to childproof your house. In order to do this, you feed your children something that shouldn't be messy, but, somehow, it is. This could be ham and cheese, chips, some kind of noodle with nothing on it...be creative. The trick is to remember that, when touched to a child's hand, normal food becomes abnormally sticky and gooey. This has to do with hand chemistry, although I am not a scientist, so I can't explain how it works. Anyway, after they are good and gooey, you send them out printing. They run randomly through the house, touching everything they can reach. This may be your TV, your couch, the tables, the walls, the doors (and don't forget door handles), the stove, the potty, whatever. Let them go for about an hour. (One hour is good for one kid. I actually have five that can walk, so it really only takes them about eight minutes.) When they are done, check your house. Anything that has been printed is then labeled a "known reachable", and can therefore be childproofed accordingly.
Keep reading for some more excellent tips on getting your kids to help with the housework!
Another thing that is always in need of ungrouping is flour. Flour is really a staple, and most of us use it quite a bit. So why should it only be kept in the pantry? If you had some on your floor, it would keep the brownie batter you spill from sticking to it. If you had some all over the shelves in your pantry, you wouldn't have to be always getting out the entire bag. If you put a little in your trashcan, you get an exiting poof when you tie up the bag. And a little bit on the living room carpet goes a long way when you need to be able to see where you forgot to vacuum. You see? This is a favor, Mom!
If your kids are tired of the same old chores, you can have them try some other things. My kids don't really get tired of ungrouping very quickly, but on those rainy days, I like to have them do some "printing". Printing is an excellent way to childproof your house. In order to do this, you feed your children something that shouldn't be messy, but, somehow, it is. This could be ham and cheese, chips, some kind of noodle with nothing on it...be creative. The trick is to remember that, when touched to a child's hand, normal food becomes abnormally sticky and gooey. This has to do with hand chemistry, although I am not a scientist, so I can't explain how it works. Anyway, after they are good and gooey, you send them out printing. They run randomly through the house, touching everything they can reach. This may be your TV, your couch, the tables, the walls, the doors (and don't forget door handles), the stove, the potty, whatever. Let them go for about an hour. (One hour is good for one kid. I actually have five that can walk, so it really only takes them about eight minutes.) When they are done, check your house. Anything that has been printed is then labeled a "known reachable", and can therefore be childproofed accordingly.
Keep reading for some more excellent tips on getting your kids to help with the housework!
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