Monday, November 24, 2008

Angels And Ambushes

Just a quick note to say we are all one the mend after a long bout with colds/coughs/boogers/drugs/etc.  At least I'm on the mend.  At that's really what matters.  Not that I don't wish my kiddies health as well but somebody's got to cook and do laundry around here; hot dogs and mac 'n cheese will only take one so far.  And I'm hoping Little Moo's teacher didn't realize how many times he wore the same pair of pants to school last week.  Hey, jeans are jeans right?  And who's saying that stain didn't get on them this morning at breakfast.

Anyway, thanks again to all the friends in my life who showed up with helping hands, kind words, pots of warm soup and homemade bread, and fashion advice.  THANK YOU!  
Now, if you read the header of this post you are probably thinking, "Angels and ambushes, okay, here were some angels, but where does the ambush come in?"
I'll tell you.
And this is why it's important I am getting better.
The children get bored when left to their own devices for too long.  This is not good.  
As I was finishing cleaning up from dinner the other night I heard a voice bellowing down from the master-bathroom, "MOOOOOOM!  I'M READY TO BE WIPED UUUUUUUP."  (It has kind of a catchy sing-song melody to it--I'm sure you know it.)  So I dry my hands, take off my apron, and traipse up the stairs to clean the offending bottom.  As I enter my bedroom a goose down missile pelts me in the head followed by two more pillows thrown by less accurate arms.  AH HA!  I'm quick to grab a shield pillow and lob a couple more back toward the bed were Matthew has staked his claim.  But before we get to far into this fight I holler "Did you wipe yourself up?!"
And what is the answer.
No.  He did not wipe himself up.  He never went to the bathroom.  It was all a ploy to coax me into their game.  Oooooh.  Those clever little buggers.
But just you wait.  Next time I'm putting on that big ape suit and jumping into the room waving my arms like a lunatic and hollering for bananas.  We'll see who gets the last laugh then.  Ha ha.
Please don't turn me in to social services.

at 10:35 PM 3 comments

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Saturday Night: 11:15 PM

I was BORN for this.
Did you see me totally get 94%.  Yeah, I'm awesome.
I'm married to a ROCK STAR
~what's your hubby's secret identity?~

at 11:23 PM 5 comments

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Mothering

Yesterday my dear friend Malea left a comment here asking for some small help on my behalf (since she lives a couple thousand miles away and I would be over my little cold by the time she drove here).

Well, what does a 7:30 p.m. surprise knock at my door bring:  another dear friend Misty with sweet Piper in tow and care package in arms.  Warm apple cider (which I was just imagining), wafer-thin ginger cookies, and cars and coloring books to keep the boys occupied.
So here I sit with my mug of cider, warm relief spilling down my throat, and thankfulness filling my heart.  Thanks to Malea for the call to arms and to Misty for the answer.  Misty and her hubby just moved here a couple months ago at Chris' persuasion so I feel somewhat responsible for their happiness in their new city.  It ought to be me bringing treats to her and yet here she is, using precious evening time to care for me.  Thank you.  
Not that I would wish sickness on anyone, but it is nice to be reminded how much we need each other.  Nice to know that even though we are adults, at least in name, and much of us living away from family and our own mothers, we can fill that role for each other, to be the mother, and the mothered.  And if my own mother were here, she would give you a hug, and tell you thank you.  Thank you for watching out for me when she couldn't.  And then she would bake you a nice batch of luscious cinnamon roles.  
I cannot bake you a luscious batch of cinnamon roles.  I'm sorry.  But I can say thank you.  So THANK YOU friends.  Thank you for being my mothers. 

at 8:28 PM 3 comments

Monday, November 10, 2008

Descent

SATURDAY:

I went with Chris to a work party.  Unlike past years, this year I prepared ahead.  I scouted out a dress a couple months ago, went shopping for new shoes (I finally gave up on thinking the cracked sole really isn't so bad--I mean, whose going to look down there anyway), found some black patent leather high heel maryjane strap beauties (Joseph likes 'em too), asked all my girlfriends opinions on pearls vs. diamond studs, and showered at 3 in the afternoon (closed-toe negated the need for fresh polish).  Oh, and I plucked my eye brows during Joseph's nap while Chris had the boys at the movie.  Took up about all of his nap, plus ten extra minutes to unfold my legs after being cramped indian-style so long on the bathroom counter, and I needed three people to verify unity amongst the brows afterward but everyone gave me a positive "identical."  Little extra make up than normal, tamed hair (as much as possible)--point is, by the time 6:30 came along me and my little knee length black number were looking H-O-T hot.  (I can say this since I am not posting a picture and you have only my unabashedly biased opinion to count on.)  
SUNDAY:
Me in a ankle length, roomy skirt, long sleeve turtle neck, nylons, and black flats, NO NECKLACES OR DANGLY EARRINGS OF ANY KIND.  It was Primary Program Day.  I was in charge of seven four year olds.  We sat on the first pew and moved to risers in front of the podium for their speaking parts and each song.  During these times I crouched in front of them in the isle and pulled out every trick in the book to keep them smiling, singing, and away from picking noses, pulling pig tails, and bumping each other off the risers.  Some of these children are little boys, my Will one of them.  Some of these little boys like to jump spread-eagle off the risers into my arms when I am precariously balanced on the balls of my feet basically sitting on my heels.  Due to a couple program practices I was aware of this tendency and debated wearing shorts under my skirt to avoid the horror of being knocked flat on my backside in the middle on the isle with my skirt around my shoulders.  But the bulkiness was just too much, I had to maintain some dignity.  Thankfully, each time a child caught air off the risers I saw in the nick of time and was able to brace myself before impact and smoothly swing the darling into my lap without incident.  The program came off without a hitch and I took a shower as soon as I got home.
TODAY:
Old jeans, long sleeve waffle tee, sweatshirt, red slippers, pony tail, pockets full of tissues, chapped lips and red nose.  We all have colds.  We made it to the grocery store but other than that laid low and nursed a Zycam swab.
TOMORROW:
Well, who knows, we'll set our goal for:  shower.
So if you need a warm, cozy place to hang out this week--throw on your sweats, pack up your kids, grab a box of tissues and come on over.  We'll hang in the basement, play hot wheels and pillow fights, and dream of pretty shoes.

at 11:35 PM 6 comments

Monday, November 3, 2008

Boo!

last week, that is, or was it the week before that . . .
I know I've been gone a bit but a small explanation:  a little friend, and a little sickness.  Unfortunately the sickness was mine.  Ever since my pregnancy with Joseph I have been a little lactose intolerant.  
*side note:  I used to think that was one of those, how shall we say, uh, made-up illnesses.  Kind of like restless leg syndrome.  When I first saw the commercial for "RLS" I thought--seriously.  Restless Leg Syndrome.  Are you kidding me?!  They have medication for that.  I was indignant.  And yet, I later found myself lying in bed, tired to the bone, but unable to go to sleep for the crazy feeling that if I didn't move my legs the world just might implode on itself,  (a feeling which frankly I have had since childhood).  And after three times of getting drop-dead-pass-out-crazy-wife-of-Mr. Rochester sick each time after eating a bowl of cereal or ice cream I decided there might be some credibility to the lactose issue.
Back to the present, after Joseph was born I was pretty much back to normal but every once in a while when my digestive system is feeling neglected it seizes on a small bowl of ice cream, or in this case, a large mug of milk with warm cookies, to remind me that it will not be shamelessly ignored and taken advantage of.  So, Tuesday morning round about 2 a.m. found me writhing on the wood floor outside the bathroom--because, as I'm sure you know, the floor is low, flat, and cool, things one needs in a state of internal turmoil.  By the time the sun came up I had made it off the floor to the couch but have spent the better part of the week recouping (and the computer screen was just an omen of nausea so I stayed away).  I did, by the way, make it to the voting booth.  With the help of Tara I avoided the 3-5 hour wait and made it in and out in 25 minutes!
The other item of note:  Boo.
This is Boo.  She is now our kitty.  We went to the church Halloween party the Tuesday before and this is what we won.  Yipee for us.  She was there needing a family.  About ten minutes into the trip home from the party some severe panic set in and I almost turned around to drop that kitty right back where she came from.  But I didn't.  I made it home.  And I read Bridget's post and felt much better.  Tara came over, and refused to take the kitty, but did tell me cats are a piece of cake and I would be fine.  It turns out, cat's are a piece of cake and I am fine.  Chris got home late that night to a fun little surprise (but there had been much discussion of a pet and I knew he loved kitties so I felt fine surprising him).  He snuggled right up to Boo, let her nuzzle up in his neck, and ear, and hair.  And in the morning we found out she had fleas.  Tons of them.  And she's too little for flea medicine (1 lb) so I had to give her a flea bath.  And then another.  And then comb the dead fleas off her, and watch the remaining live one jump, yes jump (with that little pinging sound) off her back.  But the little bugger landed in the flea water bowl--ha ha ha, serves you right.  And Chris spent the day crazily itching every invisible prick on his body like someone paranoid they might have fleas--because he was paranoid he might have fleas.  Don't worry, he doesn't.  Or at least he hasn't.  Hasn't had them since he got back from Guatemala.  
So we have Boo.  And she spends her time playing around table legs, pawing at little hands,  
licking faces,
and being William's best friend."We finally have a girl in our family!" he said.
And, of course, we girls held down the fort
while the boys went out to collect candy. And hopefully, in about another week, she will be fully transformed from a barn kitty into a house kitty, and I can relax with the bleach bottle and flea wash.

at 8:58 PM 10 comments

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