Let me just begin by giving you some background on Kole and pulling teeth. #1 Kole doesn't pull his teeth! #2 He's now lost 8 to date and only the last one did he have any part of removing from his gums.
Tooth number 1 (because I know you're dying to know this), Nanny pulled. Sneaky Nanny had that one out before he had any idea what pulling teeth was all about. Tooth number 2, fudge cake that was over cooked. I will skip the drama surrounding it but it all took place at a pot luck after church at Nanny's cowboy church in New Mexico. Tooth number 3, Dentist and her billing office...ouch. Tooth number 4 literally fell out in his mouth, no blood involved. Teeth 5-7, one of the perks of being 7 and having surgery with loose teeth. Dr. prefers you not inhale them and pulls them and saves many hours of drama at home.
That brings us to my story today. The story of tooth number 8. I will now just refer to tooth number 8 as 8 for the remainder of this story.
8 had a plan from the beginning it seems. 8 was just as loose if not looser than 5,6 and 7 just 10 days ago and yet the Dr. didn't remove it. Something was obviously special about 8.
I served Kole a crunchy vegetable for an afternoon snack that Friday. That was all it took to loosen 8 to super floppy status as far as loose teeth go. I'd seen this all before and I was in no mood for the sure to come "drama". There was blood and there was moaning and for pete's sake it could've been a broken leg and it wouldn't have been as bad. Okay, when they ask those strange social media questions like "what are you known for"? I can never answer "compassion". Just not my gig, not the way I roll, not happening. Yes, I'll kiss a booboo, but now get over it and let's do something fun. Ignore issue and issue will surely be quiet, right?
So this tooth deal was getting no air play time from mom today. Seemed to be working after the bleeding stopped, as he geared up for the backyard and took off to scout out rodents or capture innocent insects. I hit the kitchen for my daily game show of "what to cook today and have it done in 30 minutes without any planning". The joys of being a fly by the seat of your capris kind of gal. You can insert your pity sigh of compassion for my family now. We are by all means boring eaters unless black char adds some kind of culinary bonus points I'm not aware of.
Next thing I know it's late, late afternoon and Kole is bounding into the house proclaiming "I pulled it"!! I'm thinking who hit you in the mouth and knocked it out, because this child DOES NOT pull teeth. Sure enough 8 is out. He has touched that tooth and moved it just enough that it has indeed fallen out. Sound the alarms and kill the fatted calf he finally did it!
So around 7:30 Kole informs me that the father of one of his friends has told him something about the tooth fairy. Apparently in some parts of the world, like Keller, you can write a letter to the tooth fairy and leave it with your tooth. Here's the good part so listen up. You can ask the TF for a toy. Oh yeah, a specific toy even. So, yeah, Kole is all on board with this new information and he's writing a letter to the TF tonight!! He's going to ask for a nerf gun. You betcha, Santa's got nothing on the TF now (other than months to prepare and plan and shop and pack the sleigh). Let me tell you, Kole's talk time with this Keller dad is now heavily monitored.
Crud, what in the world. Kent comes home and we eventually get around to this exciting development. Like it is now 9 o'clock and he's putting Kole to bed. He's looking at me and I'm staggering around the kitchen like , uh, I don't know....a nerf gun, I don't have a nerf gun, who writes a letter to the tooth fairy? you're the dad, you handle this kind of emergency, and just pretty much dumb founded and thinking this is just ridiculous anway right. I've pretty much tried to convince Kole through the evening that you don't really get toys from the TF. He hasn't bought it at all because JD's dad has told him and it DOES happen, thank you very much!! He's written the note and he's asking for a nerf gun, end of discussion. Well, crud.....
Kent asks me "so what are we going to do"? I reply "I don't know, I don't have a nerf gun"in one of those really tired parent voices.
Kent walks a few steps and it hits me. "Actually, there is a nerf gun in the guest room closet". I bought it a few years ago on sale for cheap, thinking it would make a cool birthday gift for some little boy. However, every time a birthday party rolled around I would dismiss the nerf gun as not right for X child and buy something else. You know because not all boys like nerf guns??? I know, but 8 was part of a grander scheme remember. So Kent trots off to the closet and assembles a nerf gun, because everyone knows you just write a letter and the TF brings it.
Next morning my sweet late sleeper comes dragging in to our room and with total disgust plops down a handful of pitiful coins and slaps a heart felt letter to the TF down and proclaims "she just brought me change"! He looks like someone stole his dog and replaced it with saw dust. Oh, and my heart sinks even though I know the gun is there somewhere. I want to sprint to his bed and show him, but I have to play along for a few minutes. I'm also wondering how he missed this not so small nerf gun? Where did the TF leave it anyway??
A reasonable amount of time later I head up and check out the room. There it is under the OTHER pillow. I redirect Kole and of course he's ecstatic.
I'm hoping there aren't any more teeth pulled around here for a while. Thank goodness God took care of that one. Parenting requires a good amount of God.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Zumba
I stepped out of my comfort zone today and tried it. TRIED being the big fat key word in that last sentence.
Zumba for those of you who haven't had the pleasure yet is a Latino dance/exercise (I think). My experience had quite a few "huh?" and "you think this body will do that?" and "my hips just don't go that fast" involved. Really, it was an experience. I wonder if those other women had a shot of tequila before class? Coffee just doesn't loosen the hips like that.
My friend, Nancy did the class with me. She's done it many more times and provided enough encouragement and laughter control that I'll probably try it again.
I have zero rythm. Make that minus zero in the rythm department. I felt sorry for the women behind me. You know how when you sit near someone who can't clap their hands to the beat and it throws you off. Okay, so you don't know, but it really messes me up because once again I am rythm challenged! Well anyone rythm challenged behind me was probably not at all amused by my moves this morning. I just tried to make sure I was facing the right direction most of the time.
I learned something though. I am without a shadow of a doubt or lack of freckle convinced that my bloodline made absolutely no treks south of the U.S. There is no way I could have an ounce of Latino blood and do what I failed to do this morning!
I did manage to break quite a sweat, maybe that was just my nerves. It appeared to me that everyone within my eye sight was shakin' and doing that "boom, boom, boom" move with ease.
The funniest thought I had this morning is that I truly believe my husband would LOVE Zumba. That boy has moves and rythm and I guess that fact that we have one blue eyed blonde child maybe more of an anomaly that I had realized. Maybe I should check his family tree now that I think about it......
Zumba for those of you who haven't had the pleasure yet is a Latino dance/exercise (I think). My experience had quite a few "huh?" and "you think this body will do that?" and "my hips just don't go that fast" involved. Really, it was an experience. I wonder if those other women had a shot of tequila before class? Coffee just doesn't loosen the hips like that.
My friend, Nancy did the class with me. She's done it many more times and provided enough encouragement and laughter control that I'll probably try it again.
I have zero rythm. Make that minus zero in the rythm department. I felt sorry for the women behind me. You know how when you sit near someone who can't clap their hands to the beat and it throws you off. Okay, so you don't know, but it really messes me up because once again I am rythm challenged! Well anyone rythm challenged behind me was probably not at all amused by my moves this morning. I just tried to make sure I was facing the right direction most of the time.
I learned something though. I am without a shadow of a doubt or lack of freckle convinced that my bloodline made absolutely no treks south of the U.S. There is no way I could have an ounce of Latino blood and do what I failed to do this morning!
I did manage to break quite a sweat, maybe that was just my nerves. It appeared to me that everyone within my eye sight was shakin' and doing that "boom, boom, boom" move with ease.
The funniest thought I had this morning is that I truly believe my husband would LOVE Zumba. That boy has moves and rythm and I guess that fact that we have one blue eyed blonde child maybe more of an anomaly that I had realized. Maybe I should check his family tree now that I think about it......
Monday, May 2, 2011
Royal Who?
I decided a Royal wedding deserved a royal post as this story does involve a throne afterall.
Our family doesn't watch the news or really any channel with "worldly information" minus some highlight reels. When those are flicking through the airwaves of my home my eyes usually glaze over and a to-do list takes over my brain.
I honestly would've missed pretty much all details of the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton if it weren't for my Facebook addiction. Luckily, all of the comments on there got my attention and I did my mother of a daughter duty and pried the remote from my husband's hand long enough to hit record.
Side note: just in case you haven't noticed, Prince William is remarkably handsome. I can tell you from being a young 20 something living in England for a brief time that he is off the charts handsome for an Englishman. How in the world that happened and he has a cute little brother to boot--the mystery remains, but if I was in my 20's and living in England I'd sure be trying to bump into Prince Harry! That boy just looks like he's overflowing with character of some sort.
Okay, I do like rabbit trails.
My mortgage man had absolutely no interest in watching a wedding and I don't blame him. What red-blooded American man of any use would when he could be analyzing NBA playoffs. So I decided Landrie would participate and also it really is my duty to share this experience with her even if she won't remember it in 2 weeks. I can tell her when the next wedding happens that she did indeed watch Wills and Kate tie the knot back in the olden days of 2011.
I check my DVR and notice something in neighborhood of 5 1/2 hours of time devoted to this Royal shindig. Okay, what in the world takes that long? I've been to Catholic weddings and really even those aren't this long. I quickly figure out the pre-wedding hour is not worth dealing with. What did we do before DVR's? Pain and misery is all I can think of. It takes Landrie and I about 3 different sittings to speed through and get the "good parts". Basically the parts where Wills and Kate were on the screen (or Prince Harry).
It had some interesting points and did remind me of my time in London. All good memories, minus the daily french fries and the effects of eating french fries daily. I digress though.
I am trying to keep Landrie somewhat involved in the wedding. Well more like I'm trying to just keep her entertained enough she'll stay in the room and allow me to watch a bit here and there. So I mention during the ceremony that he's going to kiss her. I didn't realize you don't kiss in Westminster Abbey and "the kiss" would not be hours later. I know, dumb mistake this is England not France. In France people roll around kissing everywhere and in England it's down right rude to even talk on the Tube. So why in the world would a married couple kiss during a wedding!
So day 3 of our Royal wedding speed watching started again today. Landrie is telling me she wants to see the kiss and she's asked a million questions about such things as "why are the horses white"? and "where's her (Kate) mommy"? It truly has been an educational and teaching experience. I'm just thinking this is so easy I should be homeschooling now. All I have to do is flip on the old boobtube and answer a few questions afterall. Landrie is now so full of knowledge about real princes and duchesses and a queen that delights in wearing yellow and a 90 year old duke that really looks pretty good. I do want to know what he uses on that face, because that man hardly had any wrinkles and you know being married to "The Queen" can't be that easy. Really, who do you think wears the pants in that house, err...palace/castle? I for one came away from the Royal experience with a bit more knowledge and actually quite a few more questions about the whole royalty deal. Like Prince Charles' wife is now a Duchess and a few years ago, she was "the other woman". I mean really, from shameless hussy to standing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with 2 billion people watching her now a part of the Royal family. I guess anything is possible, and it really isn't that crazy I suppose. I mean, that's pretty much what Jesus does for his flock. We go from shameless in our filthy sin to sharing heaven with THE KING. Actually being in the presence of THE KING (and I don't mean Elvis) is going to be so much cooler!! Wow. Know what, no pollution in heaven either. My last weekend in London I sat on that fountain (aka the Victoria Memorial) with a friend for more than an hour or two as we waited to see the changing of the guard. The traffic circles the memorial and 20 years ago there apparently were no pollution controls in London. I inhaled so much black exhaust it literally made me sick with the worst cold. I'll limit the details, but I had 100% proof of where my sinus issues came from.
So yes, good to be part of the Royal family of England but even better to be part of the Royal family of God.
Landrie and I finally got to the part where William and The Duchess of Cambridge were on the balcony and we were waiting and waiting and the kiss is seriously about to happen and my sweet Landrie sitting right beside me says in the most concerned of voices "after this kiss can I go poop in your potty"?
My 4 year old somehow "got" the hugeness of the wedding, because what 4 year old ever requests to go potty AFTER she waits for something!!? I did pause the DVR so she could watch the kiss in comfort a few minutes later. I think I'll remember those 2 kisses for a while, or at least until the next royal wedding when I can remind Landrie that she did indeed see this one.
Our family doesn't watch the news or really any channel with "worldly information" minus some highlight reels. When those are flicking through the airwaves of my home my eyes usually glaze over and a to-do list takes over my brain.
I honestly would've missed pretty much all details of the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton if it weren't for my Facebook addiction. Luckily, all of the comments on there got my attention and I did my mother of a daughter duty and pried the remote from my husband's hand long enough to hit record.
Side note: just in case you haven't noticed, Prince William is remarkably handsome. I can tell you from being a young 20 something living in England for a brief time that he is off the charts handsome for an Englishman. How in the world that happened and he has a cute little brother to boot--the mystery remains, but if I was in my 20's and living in England I'd sure be trying to bump into Prince Harry! That boy just looks like he's overflowing with character of some sort.
Okay, I do like rabbit trails.
My mortgage man had absolutely no interest in watching a wedding and I don't blame him. What red-blooded American man of any use would when he could be analyzing NBA playoffs. So I decided Landrie would participate and also it really is my duty to share this experience with her even if she won't remember it in 2 weeks. I can tell her when the next wedding happens that she did indeed watch Wills and Kate tie the knot back in the olden days of 2011.
I check my DVR and notice something in neighborhood of 5 1/2 hours of time devoted to this Royal shindig. Okay, what in the world takes that long? I've been to Catholic weddings and really even those aren't this long. I quickly figure out the pre-wedding hour is not worth dealing with. What did we do before DVR's? Pain and misery is all I can think of. It takes Landrie and I about 3 different sittings to speed through and get the "good parts". Basically the parts where Wills and Kate were on the screen (or Prince Harry).
It had some interesting points and did remind me of my time in London. All good memories, minus the daily french fries and the effects of eating french fries daily. I digress though.
I am trying to keep Landrie somewhat involved in the wedding. Well more like I'm trying to just keep her entertained enough she'll stay in the room and allow me to watch a bit here and there. So I mention during the ceremony that he's going to kiss her. I didn't realize you don't kiss in Westminster Abbey and "the kiss" would not be hours later. I know, dumb mistake this is England not France. In France people roll around kissing everywhere and in England it's down right rude to even talk on the Tube. So why in the world would a married couple kiss during a wedding!
So day 3 of our Royal wedding speed watching started again today. Landrie is telling me she wants to see the kiss and she's asked a million questions about such things as "why are the horses white"? and "where's her (Kate) mommy"? It truly has been an educational and teaching experience. I'm just thinking this is so easy I should be homeschooling now. All I have to do is flip on the old boobtube and answer a few questions afterall. Landrie is now so full of knowledge about real princes and duchesses and a queen that delights in wearing yellow and a 90 year old duke that really looks pretty good. I do want to know what he uses on that face, because that man hardly had any wrinkles and you know being married to "The Queen" can't be that easy. Really, who do you think wears the pants in that house, err...palace/castle? I for one came away from the Royal experience with a bit more knowledge and actually quite a few more questions about the whole royalty deal. Like Prince Charles' wife is now a Duchess and a few years ago, she was "the other woman". I mean really, from shameless hussy to standing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with 2 billion people watching her now a part of the Royal family. I guess anything is possible, and it really isn't that crazy I suppose. I mean, that's pretty much what Jesus does for his flock. We go from shameless in our filthy sin to sharing heaven with THE KING. Actually being in the presence of THE KING (and I don't mean Elvis) is going to be so much cooler!! Wow. Know what, no pollution in heaven either. My last weekend in London I sat on that fountain (aka the Victoria Memorial) with a friend for more than an hour or two as we waited to see the changing of the guard. The traffic circles the memorial and 20 years ago there apparently were no pollution controls in London. I inhaled so much black exhaust it literally made me sick with the worst cold. I'll limit the details, but I had 100% proof of where my sinus issues came from.
So yes, good to be part of the Royal family of England but even better to be part of the Royal family of God.
Landrie and I finally got to the part where William and The Duchess of Cambridge were on the balcony and we were waiting and waiting and the kiss is seriously about to happen and my sweet Landrie sitting right beside me says in the most concerned of voices "after this kiss can I go poop in your potty"?
My 4 year old somehow "got" the hugeness of the wedding, because what 4 year old ever requests to go potty AFTER she waits for something!!? I did pause the DVR so she could watch the kiss in comfort a few minutes later. I think I'll remember those 2 kisses for a while, or at least until the next royal wedding when I can remind Landrie that she did indeed see this one.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Sticky Situation (Rated PG)
Well my day started off with optimism. I was going to have 5 full hours of me time. The Mortgage Man looked to be in for a good day too, as he appeared from the bedroom in golfing attire. It is springtime in north Texas after all. You know how horses act when the weather changes, well my children must have horse blood.
The Mortgage Man offered to drop off our eldest for school, which meant I had more time to get the youngest ready for her day out. So far, so good it seemed. Laundry started, workout clothes donned, lunches packed and away we go.
I had a superior workout even with the knowledge my abs class had been canceled indefinitely. That's not what my abs needed to hear, so I did an extra 20 minutes on the eucalyptus machine (that's what mortgage guys from Oklahoma call it) and that was after sweating every drop of Revlon from my face. Yes, I put on makeup for the gym. Why? Because a friend of mine ran into W on the jogging trail one day and got to show all of us proof in a photo with him on her phone. No way am I go to risk a photo op because I didn't put on my face, even if it does eventually get dripped off. My first "sticky situation" of the day: sweat.
I decided to treat myself to some Chipolte for dinner if you're from the south and lunch if you've been indoctrinated by a school system to call the noon meal something other than dinner. Afterall, brownie mix for a meal does not qualify as not-processed and I'd also hate to think the past 2 hours of perspiration was all for not.
I did get to leisurely enjoy my bowl of heaven while reading a newly downloaded book on my phone. I dashed to my favorite little craft store for some ribbon to hang bows from. 45 minutes perusing the aisles and gathering items for a birthday party coming up. Not a bad day, so far I must say.
Time to pick up the youngest which means getting a very special hug followed by the request for a cold cookie. No doubt this child has my genes, begging for raw desserts!
I typically walk in, find her basket in the hall and brainstorm the best way to transport wet glue and paint home in a small backpack without tainting the value of the art. Today, as I gather surprisingly non-messy items I am quickly greeted by Mrs. E and "the note". My first time to receive "the note". It appears my youngest spent the day sparring with her favorite school friend. You know, the same one she begs to wear her hair like on school days. It finally culminated on the playground with mutual pinching. Did you know that 3 year olds are not too small for an intimidation trip to "the office". The wooden paddle days are gone, sniff, sniff but a stern talking to seemed to do the job today. I am wondering about the sterness of the event as my child didn't miss the fact that cupcakes were in the office at the time of "the talk". Just in case you're wondering they were later seen pushing each other in the swings and getting along peachy fine. Sticky situation number 2 for the day: the note.
We hurry home for a brief stop to unload the spoils of the craft store. Onward to retrieve my golden child that has never received "the note" nor has he stuck a key into his nasal cavity this week either.
Pickup done, children reloaded in vehicle and off we go again. This child is unusually chatty for the drive home. We're having a conversation that does not involve the words "can I have a playdate today". Nice!
P.E. day it seems and lots of fun games, not even to be spoiled by being paired with a girl. Segue into sports and the "fact" that boys play more sports than girls according to one confident 7 year old. I'm just egging the conversation on, because for once I'm not the rotten mom that makes children attend school, not plan playdates daily and lastly cause spring to come and with it allergies. Sigh. My shoulders do carry the weight of my offspring and their grievances with the world.
I am being informed that "girls don't play baseball or football, unless it's flag football. Boys do T-ball, baseball, soccer, basketball and oh yeah, girls do that mud fighting." Bubble in my brain is now popping and appears to say "no, he couldn't mean women mud wrestling". My children are in Sunday school almost every week unless ill and he does Bible study on another night and my word that child could quote the entire very long, long verse on his wall at 27 months of age! So I breath in and out and calmly inquire about this "mud fighting". Bless my heart I was not ready for this next explanation. He kept repeating the words "it's a sticky situation" as he described in detail "mud fighting". This is my over the top observant details are my game child. Bless my heart, I've tried so hard. I was still hopeful that he'd just seen some watered down cartoon bugsbunny version of mud wresting until he got to the wardrobe, or lack of wardrobe would actually be more precise. Then he just said "it's a sticky situation".
You should've seen his daddy's eyes when I had him retell it over baked chicken legs.
The Mortgage Man offered to drop off our eldest for school, which meant I had more time to get the youngest ready for her day out. So far, so good it seemed. Laundry started, workout clothes donned, lunches packed and away we go.
I had a superior workout even with the knowledge my abs class had been canceled indefinitely. That's not what my abs needed to hear, so I did an extra 20 minutes on the eucalyptus machine (that's what mortgage guys from Oklahoma call it) and that was after sweating every drop of Revlon from my face. Yes, I put on makeup for the gym. Why? Because a friend of mine ran into W on the jogging trail one day and got to show all of us proof in a photo with him on her phone. No way am I go to risk a photo op because I didn't put on my face, even if it does eventually get dripped off. My first "sticky situation" of the day: sweat.
I decided to treat myself to some Chipolte for dinner if you're from the south and lunch if you've been indoctrinated by a school system to call the noon meal something other than dinner. Afterall, brownie mix for a meal does not qualify as not-processed and I'd also hate to think the past 2 hours of perspiration was all for not.
I did get to leisurely enjoy my bowl of heaven while reading a newly downloaded book on my phone. I dashed to my favorite little craft store for some ribbon to hang bows from. 45 minutes perusing the aisles and gathering items for a birthday party coming up. Not a bad day, so far I must say.
Time to pick up the youngest which means getting a very special hug followed by the request for a cold cookie. No doubt this child has my genes, begging for raw desserts!
I typically walk in, find her basket in the hall and brainstorm the best way to transport wet glue and paint home in a small backpack without tainting the value of the art. Today, as I gather surprisingly non-messy items I am quickly greeted by Mrs. E and "the note". My first time to receive "the note". It appears my youngest spent the day sparring with her favorite school friend. You know, the same one she begs to wear her hair like on school days. It finally culminated on the playground with mutual pinching. Did you know that 3 year olds are not too small for an intimidation trip to "the office". The wooden paddle days are gone, sniff, sniff but a stern talking to seemed to do the job today. I am wondering about the sterness of the event as my child didn't miss the fact that cupcakes were in the office at the time of "the talk". Just in case you're wondering they were later seen pushing each other in the swings and getting along peachy fine. Sticky situation number 2 for the day: the note.
We hurry home for a brief stop to unload the spoils of the craft store. Onward to retrieve my golden child that has never received "the note" nor has he stuck a key into his nasal cavity this week either.
Pickup done, children reloaded in vehicle and off we go again. This child is unusually chatty for the drive home. We're having a conversation that does not involve the words "can I have a playdate today". Nice!
P.E. day it seems and lots of fun games, not even to be spoiled by being paired with a girl. Segue into sports and the "fact" that boys play more sports than girls according to one confident 7 year old. I'm just egging the conversation on, because for once I'm not the rotten mom that makes children attend school, not plan playdates daily and lastly cause spring to come and with it allergies. Sigh. My shoulders do carry the weight of my offspring and their grievances with the world.
I am being informed that "girls don't play baseball or football, unless it's flag football. Boys do T-ball, baseball, soccer, basketball and oh yeah, girls do that mud fighting." Bubble in my brain is now popping and appears to say "no, he couldn't mean women mud wrestling". My children are in Sunday school almost every week unless ill and he does Bible study on another night and my word that child could quote the entire very long, long verse on his wall at 27 months of age! So I breath in and out and calmly inquire about this "mud fighting". Bless my heart I was not ready for this next explanation. He kept repeating the words "it's a sticky situation" as he described in detail "mud fighting". This is my over the top observant details are my game child. Bless my heart, I've tried so hard. I was still hopeful that he'd just seen some watered down cartoon bugsbunny version of mud wresting until he got to the wardrobe, or lack of wardrobe would actually be more precise. Then he just said "it's a sticky situation".
You should've seen his daddy's eyes when I had him retell it over baked chicken legs.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Weekend Projects
We've had all of this snow and days at home with no school. It hasn't been conducive to me blogging it seems. Here's a story from a couple of weeks ago.
The weekend before the snow hit we had a rare day at home. Kent loves those! He gets that gleam in his eye that says "let's throw out some junk (or as I see it perfectly good stuff) and organize!" You don't know my husband if you don't instantly realize this just makes him giddy. Yes, a 42 year old man can get giddy when he gets to organize. I'm annoyed everytime I turn on the tv to some new punks "Organize Me" show. Kent's ticket to fame was obviously in that area and it's totally been exploited by the likes of Oprah types.
Oh, well, on to the Saturday of humoring Kent. He informed me that it was really "not fair" for the kids to try to play in all of those toys. (imagine weird expression on my face as I listen) Yeah, yeah I get it the playroom is a bit over stimulating, but really it has some BIG furniture in there that has no other place to go and one day we will use that room in a different capacity. So my point being the problem isn't REALLY the toys, right?
He didn't go for it and my anxiety at what was going to happen next was really spiking now.
Background information: this is the man who donated the mini-blind that went on the garage window. It was taken down by the painters. Okay, another blog topic, but yes the garage was professionally and decoratively painted and just in case you wonder that is NOT one of my designated rooms. Anyway, the blind was in the floor in front of the window and for some reason didn't get put back up. Next thing I know I'm mentioning to him for safety reasons that window needs the blind back up......"oh, I think I know.....".
So! Now you know why I get nervous when we start "organizing" etc.. I did inherit the "we might need that one day gene". I am not a horder, but the thought of repurchasing something I had at one time that has now been donated just annoys me. There is no time frame and I don't buy the "if you haven't used it since 1980" line either. Think "retro" and "vintage" people. Even clothes folks, one good weekend of food poisoning and you know you can get those old jeans back on.
The playroom is tackled and I'm quite confident that vital toys parts are probably missing now. I will know for certain in 20 years when I reorganize and try to complete sets of toys. I'll let you know how it turns out. Playroom is "straighter" now and two male people in my house are happier. I resign myself that happy husband and son trumps missing Little People animals. Sigh.
Kent had moved on to the great outdoors to power wash "stuff". Seriously, the motor on that thing had to be getting close to overheating. I was beginning to wonder if he was removing mortar from between the bricks on the house now. What could he possibly be washing still?
Kent had been mentioning to the children for a couple of weeks that he was going to let them repaint the step stool in the half bathroom. OK, I let Kole paint on the playroom wall (and then I painted a frame around it). Yes, it is something only a parent can appreciate and I'll probably cut out the sheet rock out if we ever move. Still I was a bit "concerned" at them painting this stool that sits in the guest bathroom. ??? Landrie can't drink out of a cup without spilling it, so how in the world was this going to work, much less look?
I suggested a base coat on the stool and Kent did a marvelous job painting it white. Lovely!! Okay, so we resolved to let the kids put their hands in paint and put cute hand prints on the stool. Lovely again! Bathroom will not look like splatter paint. (Hand prints do look a bit like a cross between a large great dane and a child, but it homemade afterall). Lastly, I was in charge of painting their names on the stool. No biggie. I decided at the last minute to put on my painting clothes, just in case. Smartest move of the day I might add. I painted little Landrie's name in pink to match her print. Four more letters for Kole and I'm done. Grabbed the green paint and next thing you know I look like I've been in a food fight with pureed asparagus. How? What? "Oh, I can't even move. It's everywhere!"
I'm standing in a puddle and realize my choice of painting shoes happens to be my good Sketchers.
I am a bit miffed, but I'm silenced by the shock of green goop that has soaked completely through my pants and is now clogging the pores in my skin. I decide to slosh around the house following the sound of the power washer. He looks at me and all I say is "you might want to screw the lid on the paint next time". (This was nearly two weeks ago and we are still happily married)
I'm not sure, but I think deep down that gleam got brighter in his eye at the thought of what he was going to get to power wash next. I carried my shoes to the kitchen sink and thoroughly washed them as best I could. I was satisfied that they would now have some stylish green paint, but I could live with that.. I threw my clothes back out there a few minutes later and ask him to wash them just so I could throw them in the washer later. I sat my shoes in the garage to dry, did I say to dry?
My paint clothes are now vintage with holes. If power washing is good enough for the drive-way, then surely.....Sketchers. They are broken in now and still have some pureed asparagus green to remind me of the day.
The moral of that story: Landrie isn't the only one that provides "entertainment" in the Hendrix home.
The weekend before the snow hit we had a rare day at home. Kent loves those! He gets that gleam in his eye that says "let's throw out some junk (or as I see it perfectly good stuff) and organize!" You don't know my husband if you don't instantly realize this just makes him giddy. Yes, a 42 year old man can get giddy when he gets to organize. I'm annoyed everytime I turn on the tv to some new punks "Organize Me" show. Kent's ticket to fame was obviously in that area and it's totally been exploited by the likes of Oprah types.
Oh, well, on to the Saturday of humoring Kent. He informed me that it was really "not fair" for the kids to try to play in all of those toys. (imagine weird expression on my face as I listen) Yeah, yeah I get it the playroom is a bit over stimulating, but really it has some BIG furniture in there that has no other place to go and one day we will use that room in a different capacity. So my point being the problem isn't REALLY the toys, right?
He didn't go for it and my anxiety at what was going to happen next was really spiking now.
Background information: this is the man who donated the mini-blind that went on the garage window. It was taken down by the painters. Okay, another blog topic, but yes the garage was professionally and decoratively painted and just in case you wonder that is NOT one of my designated rooms. Anyway, the blind was in the floor in front of the window and for some reason didn't get put back up. Next thing I know I'm mentioning to him for safety reasons that window needs the blind back up......"oh, I think I know.....".
So! Now you know why I get nervous when we start "organizing" etc.. I did inherit the "we might need that one day gene". I am not a horder, but the thought of repurchasing something I had at one time that has now been donated just annoys me. There is no time frame and I don't buy the "if you haven't used it since 1980" line either. Think "retro" and "vintage" people. Even clothes folks, one good weekend of food poisoning and you know you can get those old jeans back on.
The playroom is tackled and I'm quite confident that vital toys parts are probably missing now. I will know for certain in 20 years when I reorganize and try to complete sets of toys. I'll let you know how it turns out. Playroom is "straighter" now and two male people in my house are happier. I resign myself that happy husband and son trumps missing Little People animals. Sigh.
Kent had moved on to the great outdoors to power wash "stuff". Seriously, the motor on that thing had to be getting close to overheating. I was beginning to wonder if he was removing mortar from between the bricks on the house now. What could he possibly be washing still?
Kent had been mentioning to the children for a couple of weeks that he was going to let them repaint the step stool in the half bathroom. OK, I let Kole paint on the playroom wall (and then I painted a frame around it). Yes, it is something only a parent can appreciate and I'll probably cut out the sheet rock out if we ever move. Still I was a bit "concerned" at them painting this stool that sits in the guest bathroom. ??? Landrie can't drink out of a cup without spilling it, so how in the world was this going to work, much less look?
I suggested a base coat on the stool and Kent did a marvelous job painting it white. Lovely!! Okay, so we resolved to let the kids put their hands in paint and put cute hand prints on the stool. Lovely again! Bathroom will not look like splatter paint. (Hand prints do look a bit like a cross between a large great dane and a child, but it homemade afterall). Lastly, I was in charge of painting their names on the stool. No biggie. I decided at the last minute to put on my painting clothes, just in case. Smartest move of the day I might add. I painted little Landrie's name in pink to match her print. Four more letters for Kole and I'm done. Grabbed the green paint and next thing you know I look like I've been in a food fight with pureed asparagus. How? What? "Oh, I can't even move. It's everywhere!"
I'm standing in a puddle and realize my choice of painting shoes happens to be my good Sketchers.
I am a bit miffed, but I'm silenced by the shock of green goop that has soaked completely through my pants and is now clogging the pores in my skin. I decide to slosh around the house following the sound of the power washer. He looks at me and all I say is "you might want to screw the lid on the paint next time". (This was nearly two weeks ago and we are still happily married)
I'm not sure, but I think deep down that gleam got brighter in his eye at the thought of what he was going to get to power wash next. I carried my shoes to the kitchen sink and thoroughly washed them as best I could. I was satisfied that they would now have some stylish green paint, but I could live with that.. I threw my clothes back out there a few minutes later and ask him to wash them just so I could throw them in the washer later. I sat my shoes in the garage to dry, did I say to dry?
My paint clothes are now vintage with holes. If power washing is good enough for the drive-way, then surely.....Sketchers. They are broken in now and still have some pureed asparagus green to remind me of the day.
The moral of that story: Landrie isn't the only one that provides "entertainment" in the Hendrix home.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Soon to be on low budget cable channels
God is really having fun with me. I'm pretty sure our house is shown in heaven as an Earth reality show called "Mom in Training" directed by and starring Landrie Hendrix with guest appearances by other family members.
Just this morning I'm sitting with my mom friend, Danielle while we wait for our two angels to have state funded speech therapy. (another topic for another post) Our conversations are random due to sleep deprivation by both of us, even though we have 30 precious minutes (with only 1 bathroom interruption by the girls) to have adult conversation. I comment that my oldest child can be completely consumed once the tv is on. His cartoon can end and the DVR may switch channels to say a Lifetime movie. He doesn't care, he'll sit and get totally involved in the life of a middle age women trying to redefine herself. (This obviously requires careful monitoring!) I had always been a little intrigued by the phenomenon. It's partly my fault, or maybe 100%. When I was pregnant with his sister he would say as a mere 2 year old "Mom, I've got a deal. I'll watch a cartoon and you take a nap!" Pregnant and 39, so what do you think happened? He watched, I napped with one eye open, life was good! What an attention span he has........
Fast forward from 8:15am to 11:30am: Landrie is chasing me around the house begging to brush and comb my hair. She's got her pink doll brush and comb. She is persistent and very cute with her progressing speech. How can I resist? 2 or 3 more household errands and I give in to her request. I find a nice spot in the floor in front of the couch and inform her to sit on the couch so she can reach my head for what is sure to be the sweetest mother/daughter moment of the hour! Can't you just see it!! She does request a cup of water for the brushing and I politely decline having wet hair.
Well, Kole got a Wii for Christmas, which is total fun. When you play with Kole you abide by the official 7 year old rules! (subject to change at any split second) So I decide to flip on the tube and play a little Wii any way I want. Mario, here I come. I'm jumping and grabbing coins and getting hidden hints....too much fun. We played Pong as children and that is the extent of my video game expertise. 43 years of being deprived of video games, I'm having a ball now. Landrie is quietly and gently touching my hair, no fussing to distract me anyway. I'm being super mom right?! She's brushing my hair and I'm allowing it. Wohoo, look out for the crazy turtle Mario! I don't know how long this goes on, seriously. I'm just having fun and Landrie's having fun. "Ouch." I say. Landrie "sorry". More Mario, run, jump, yeah baby. Then, then, then I hear the strangest noise. I have heard this noise many times. You know, the sound you hear when you're sitting in the chair at the salon. The very crisp snipping sound. I am elevated to a foot above ground and land towering over Landrie and the couch in a nano-second. Unbelievable, she has small scissors from the child-proof locked knife drawer and there is a pile of hair nearly piled beside her. It appears to be the length of the highest layer on my head. I can't find a gouge, but if you see me with spikes near my crown in a month, well now you know.
A heavenly watcher of the show clicks it off and comments "43, and one more clue discovered. Will 15 more years of training be enough for her to figure it out?" Stay tuned.
Just this morning I'm sitting with my mom friend, Danielle while we wait for our two angels to have state funded speech therapy. (another topic for another post) Our conversations are random due to sleep deprivation by both of us, even though we have 30 precious minutes (with only 1 bathroom interruption by the girls) to have adult conversation. I comment that my oldest child can be completely consumed once the tv is on. His cartoon can end and the DVR may switch channels to say a Lifetime movie. He doesn't care, he'll sit and get totally involved in the life of a middle age women trying to redefine herself. (This obviously requires careful monitoring!) I had always been a little intrigued by the phenomenon. It's partly my fault, or maybe 100%. When I was pregnant with his sister he would say as a mere 2 year old "Mom, I've got a deal. I'll watch a cartoon and you take a nap!" Pregnant and 39, so what do you think happened? He watched, I napped with one eye open, life was good! What an attention span he has........
Fast forward from 8:15am to 11:30am: Landrie is chasing me around the house begging to brush and comb my hair. She's got her pink doll brush and comb. She is persistent and very cute with her progressing speech. How can I resist? 2 or 3 more household errands and I give in to her request. I find a nice spot in the floor in front of the couch and inform her to sit on the couch so she can reach my head for what is sure to be the sweetest mother/daughter moment of the hour! Can't you just see it!! She does request a cup of water for the brushing and I politely decline having wet hair.
Well, Kole got a Wii for Christmas, which is total fun. When you play with Kole you abide by the official 7 year old rules! (subject to change at any split second) So I decide to flip on the tube and play a little Wii any way I want. Mario, here I come. I'm jumping and grabbing coins and getting hidden hints....too much fun. We played Pong as children and that is the extent of my video game expertise. 43 years of being deprived of video games, I'm having a ball now. Landrie is quietly and gently touching my hair, no fussing to distract me anyway. I'm being super mom right?! She's brushing my hair and I'm allowing it. Wohoo, look out for the crazy turtle Mario! I don't know how long this goes on, seriously. I'm just having fun and Landrie's having fun. "Ouch." I say. Landrie "sorry". More Mario, run, jump, yeah baby. Then, then, then I hear the strangest noise. I have heard this noise many times. You know, the sound you hear when you're sitting in the chair at the salon. The very crisp snipping sound. I am elevated to a foot above ground and land towering over Landrie and the couch in a nano-second. Unbelievable, she has small scissors from the child-proof locked knife drawer and there is a pile of hair nearly piled beside her. It appears to be the length of the highest layer on my head. I can't find a gouge, but if you see me with spikes near my crown in a month, well now you know.
A heavenly watcher of the show clicks it off and comments "43, and one more clue discovered. Will 15 more years of training be enough for her to figure it out?" Stay tuned.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Once upon a time
Once upon a time, what I drove was a little more important for vanity reasons. I think life is that way with many things. Maybe for me, comfort just outweighs caring what other people think so much. I'm okay with that, but it also scares me that I'll get caught mowing the lawn some day, long past my bikini wearing days, in a stretched out overflowing bikini and mismatched tube socks.
I gave up the fast car for remote control doors on a minivan. Seriously informed my husband that I had "minivan envy" one day and those were my words! My back was killing me from hoisting a 2 year old in the middle of the back seat into a car seat. Why fool myself? Car seat in a car says it all, no matter what the car looks like. It was time for my sign to be a little more obvious is all.
Once upon a time I liked shoe shopping too. Then I turned 30 and my feet became aware of the fact that they were 30 too. Wearing a medical boot on my foot for a few weeks was enough to convince me that it was indeed time to go with comfort. Sketchers at least look better than that big boot. I must admit, every once in a while I see some really cute shoes with high heels and I think.....maybe? No! That shoe money would only cause pain and I would rather use it to buy a new scarf. Scarves, now there's a topic!
I had this conversation with another mom friend the other day. Seems we have both realized in the past year or so the warmth of a scarf. I used to think only old women used scarves. Who knew?! Hats, oh yes hats are good. I admit I only wear them when snow skiing, but you wouldn't catch me in a hat on the slopes 20 years ago! Oh no! No hat hair here. I'd freeze to death and get hauled down the mountain on a gurney behind a snow mobile before I put a hat on this hair. Mom always told me "keep your head warm and the rest of you will be warm too". Mom was right, again. Landrie is already protesting hats and she's only 3. Landrie also likes to pick out my clothes. That's probably a good thing given my comfort tendencies lately. Maybe she'll keep me from wearing that bikini while riding the Deere across the lawn in a few years.
I gave up the fast car for remote control doors on a minivan. Seriously informed my husband that I had "minivan envy" one day and those were my words! My back was killing me from hoisting a 2 year old in the middle of the back seat into a car seat. Why fool myself? Car seat in a car says it all, no matter what the car looks like. It was time for my sign to be a little more obvious is all.
Once upon a time I liked shoe shopping too. Then I turned 30 and my feet became aware of the fact that they were 30 too. Wearing a medical boot on my foot for a few weeks was enough to convince me that it was indeed time to go with comfort. Sketchers at least look better than that big boot. I must admit, every once in a while I see some really cute shoes with high heels and I think.....maybe? No! That shoe money would only cause pain and I would rather use it to buy a new scarf. Scarves, now there's a topic!
I had this conversation with another mom friend the other day. Seems we have both realized in the past year or so the warmth of a scarf. I used to think only old women used scarves. Who knew?! Hats, oh yes hats are good. I admit I only wear them when snow skiing, but you wouldn't catch me in a hat on the slopes 20 years ago! Oh no! No hat hair here. I'd freeze to death and get hauled down the mountain on a gurney behind a snow mobile before I put a hat on this hair. Mom always told me "keep your head warm and the rest of you will be warm too". Mom was right, again. Landrie is already protesting hats and she's only 3. Landrie also likes to pick out my clothes. That's probably a good thing given my comfort tendencies lately. Maybe she'll keep me from wearing that bikini while riding the Deere across the lawn in a few years.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Pushover Mom?
Well I'm not sure my kids should read this until they are grown. Nothing X-rated mind you, so don't minimize me yet! I was having a conversation with my mom the other day, the one that is by no means a pushover. Kent had gone duck hunting and I was at home rearing children like a good wife should. Mom inquired how the children were doing with Dad gone overnight. "Fine, I say!" Then I add "Well child 1 is getting better with me. He's perfect for his Dad, but he runs circles around me and is even manipulative.I don't remember trying to manipulate you Mom. I don't know why he does this to me!" Then I share my observance of him getting near the brink of discipline and suddenly having an ailment. This stunt has possibly been overused at this point.
My ever-so-wise mother informs ME that I'm like my Dad and I'm just more tender and tender hearted. WHAT? ME? Are you kidding me? I am totally flabbergasted. I've labeled myself a few things or a lot of things in my years, but tenderhearted? pushover? Oh good grief, I am black and white, stubborn and the most opinionated person I know! How can I possibly be a pushover?!!
I am certainly thinking at this point my dear husband who's dodged cell phones and garden hoses would not consider ME a pushover. Would anyone else?( minus my children and apparently my mother) consider this possible?
I really think the jury is still out on this one. I will admit I've been towing a much tighter line with child 1 this week and his respect level has come up a notch. So all things considered maybe Nanny's do know best.
Sigh.
My ever-so-wise mother informs ME that I'm like my Dad and I'm just more tender and tender hearted. WHAT? ME? Are you kidding me? I am totally flabbergasted. I've labeled myself a few things or a lot of things in my years, but tenderhearted? pushover? Oh good grief, I am black and white, stubborn and the most opinionated person I know! How can I possibly be a pushover?!!
I am certainly thinking at this point my dear husband who's dodged cell phones and garden hoses would not consider ME a pushover. Would anyone else?( minus my children and apparently my mother) consider this possible?
I really think the jury is still out on this one. I will admit I've been towing a much tighter line with child 1 this week and his respect level has come up a notch. So all things considered maybe Nanny's do know best.
Sigh.
Monday, January 3, 2011
I'm on a roll with this blogging now!
Today I will just post a few pictures from our week in New Mexico with my parents and share a bit about that. We flew from Love Field on Christmas Eve. It was an uneventful flight for the most part other than a few friendly people REMINDING my children that Santa would be coming that night. Which of course was not in the original play book. Mom and I had conspired that they would wait until we arrived to put up a tree. That meant we would all get to traipse through the Gila in search of the perfect Christmas tree. We dreamt of sipping hot chocolate while the kids enjoyed decorating it, yadda yadda....Christmas music you know like in the movies. My kids would get to experience the whole tree deal the way it's suppose to be done. If you don't know I grew up with A fake tree (yep, same one for must have been at least 25-30 years). Now Kent and I have continued the tradition with fake trees. So, this was a big deal for us to do a real live tree.
If you don't know my parents don't live near the airport(arrive and then drive at least 3 hours of which 45 minutes is dirt road). So we got up EARLY, got the kids ready, drove to the airport. Let me add this background--we always arrive barely in time, Kent dumps me, kids and as many bags as you are allowed to check per ticketed passenger along with carry on items at curb. Then anyone within 15 feet of us helps us scoot towards the SkyCab and relays their memories of traveling with kids to me, while I continuously count in my head kids and bags making sure not to lose anyone or anything.Then Kent comes breezing back in time to tip as they haul our bags off. That's the routine. Well this year, I got smart!! I inform Kent as we breeze up to the curb that I will be taking the car to the garage this time, while he has the HONOR of escorting our 11 bags and 2 children with coats to the SkyCab. He never knew what hit him. Didn't even give him time to think about it. I was gone! (I did offer to take 1 kid for fear he'd lose one, but he declined and instead sent me with one carryon to the garage to park).
I got back to the SkyCab just in time to grab Landrie and take her for a last minute potty stop while the boys checked bag. Thinking to myself what a genius thing this was. After all Kent didn't appeared nearly as frazzled as I would've been in the reverse situation and the only thing wrong was the fact my wool coat was left in the minivan. Mom would have an extra, so no biggie. Win, win! .....errrrr, maybe not.
We arrived back at Love Field late on NYE. We had just as many bags only fuller and a board game to carry this time. Landrie and Kole were both quite sleepy. As we approached the turn for the parking garage in the airport I offered to take the kids and head across the bridge and retrieve the mini-van while leaving hubby with 1 carry on and 8 checked bags to retrieve.
Kole was in no mood to walk 1 foot let alone out to the B garage (an indoor trip). His ears had been driving him nuts for the last 10 minutes of the flight and continued to do so. (he's basically getting the suck it up and keep walking speech from me at this point). I'm carrying Landrie, wearing his backpak and carry another bag and we are all in coats of some sort. On we trudge. We look for the car briefly in A garage before I notice the Big A's all around and we march on just like little grumpy dwarfs. Moving sidewalks were mostly not moving that night. We approach minivan and think happy thoughts only to discover the remote is having zero impact on the minivan. Rutt rowww....I manually unlock it with the key and discover the doorlocks won't even do a thing. Sigh. More instructions to Kole about his whining and ear options and the consequences of one more whine. Minor victory as he follows intructions for popping ears out after hearing them for the 70th time! He smiles, probably knowing a smile might be the one last thing to keep me from completely losing it in a deserted parking garage with under an hour until the new year.
I managed to locate phone and reach Kent. Kent is somewhere with 9 bags and a Jamaican grandmother he can't understand but has decided to risk helping with his dying cell phone battery. Thank the Lord he allowed the phone to continue for a bit longer until Kent communicated with me that my knight in shining armor riding a golf cart was on the way. He just forgot to tell me the kind of individual who works the NYE shift driving that chariot of good will might be. I'm certain 3 guardian angels were sitting on top of my minivan for a few moments that night. My description after the "rescue" mission was "creepy". My sweet 6 year old informed me "you should be ashamed Mom, he just helped us". Thank you angels and Mr. NYE Creepster we did make it home albeit in 2011.
If you don't know my parents don't live near the airport(arrive and then drive at least 3 hours of which 45 minutes is dirt road). So we got up EARLY, got the kids ready, drove to the airport. Let me add this background--we always arrive barely in time, Kent dumps me, kids and as many bags as you are allowed to check per ticketed passenger along with carry on items at curb. Then anyone within 15 feet of us helps us scoot towards the SkyCab and relays their memories of traveling with kids to me, while I continuously count in my head kids and bags making sure not to lose anyone or anything.Then Kent comes breezing back in time to tip as they haul our bags off. That's the routine. Well this year, I got smart!! I inform Kent as we breeze up to the curb that I will be taking the car to the garage this time, while he has the HONOR of escorting our 11 bags and 2 children with coats to the SkyCab. He never knew what hit him. Didn't even give him time to think about it. I was gone! (I did offer to take 1 kid for fear he'd lose one, but he declined and instead sent me with one carryon to the garage to park).
I got back to the SkyCab just in time to grab Landrie and take her for a last minute potty stop while the boys checked bag. Thinking to myself what a genius thing this was. After all Kent didn't appeared nearly as frazzled as I would've been in the reverse situation and the only thing wrong was the fact my wool coat was left in the minivan. Mom would have an extra, so no biggie. Win, win! .....errrrr, maybe not.
We arrived back at Love Field late on NYE. We had just as many bags only fuller and a board game to carry this time. Landrie and Kole were both quite sleepy. As we approached the turn for the parking garage in the airport I offered to take the kids and head across the bridge and retrieve the mini-van while leaving hubby with 1 carry on and 8 checked bags to retrieve.
Kole was in no mood to walk 1 foot let alone out to the B garage (an indoor trip). His ears had been driving him nuts for the last 10 minutes of the flight and continued to do so. (he's basically getting the suck it up and keep walking speech from me at this point). I'm carrying Landrie, wearing his backpak and carry another bag and we are all in coats of some sort. On we trudge. We look for the car briefly in A garage before I notice the Big A's all around and we march on just like little grumpy dwarfs. Moving sidewalks were mostly not moving that night. We approach minivan and think happy thoughts only to discover the remote is having zero impact on the minivan. Rutt rowww....I manually unlock it with the key and discover the doorlocks won't even do a thing. Sigh. More instructions to Kole about his whining and ear options and the consequences of one more whine. Minor victory as he follows intructions for popping ears out after hearing them for the 70th time! He smiles, probably knowing a smile might be the one last thing to keep me from completely losing it in a deserted parking garage with under an hour until the new year.
I managed to locate phone and reach Kent. Kent is somewhere with 9 bags and a Jamaican grandmother he can't understand but has decided to risk helping with his dying cell phone battery. Thank the Lord he allowed the phone to continue for a bit longer until Kent communicated with me that my knight in shining armor riding a golf cart was on the way. He just forgot to tell me the kind of individual who works the NYE shift driving that chariot of good will might be. I'm certain 3 guardian angels were sitting on top of my minivan for a few moments that night. My description after the "rescue" mission was "creepy". My sweet 6 year old informed me "you should be ashamed Mom, he just helped us". Thank you angels and Mr. NYE Creepster we did make it home albeit in 2011.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Onward in 2011
Okay, so I thought I would start blogging for 2011. Turns out I've started this blog 2 other times! Did I mention I have recently decided I am ADD? More proof turns up all the time it seems. My husband kept telling me I was and I thought he was joking. Took me 8 years of marriage to finally buy into it.
I thought back on my working (for pay) days. I thought all of those people that worked with clean desks were just neat freaks. My desks obviously didn't look like that, not that you could see my desk anyway. I now know why. If it was out of sight, then it was forgotten. I am thinking now I was wise to realize that! I just didn't know why.
I know some of you can relate! How many times have you stood in your pantry with that dazed look wondering "why am I here?" Uh huh! Or how about you walk into your bedroom to go get the dirty laundry and when you pass the bed you decide to make it. You walk to the far side and lean over pulling up the sheets and see the book by the bedside. So you grab it and head for the bookshelf in the office and along they way pass through the kitchen and think "I've got to load that dishwasher"....as you lay the book on the kitchen counter, the phone rings and you grab it and hear a screaming child upstairs and away you go with phone conversation too. Skip ahead 7 hours and your husband walks in and can't find the phone, wonders why the bed is half made and the book is in the kitchen and the sink is full of dishes but the dishwasher open and the washer sitting with water and no clothes and how in the world can you be so exhausted after doing OBVIOUSLY nothing all day.
Well....sounds like a typical day in the Hendrix home to me.
Off to watch the Mavericks or at least find out from hubby how they did.
Happy New Year!
I thought back on my working (for pay) days. I thought all of those people that worked with clean desks were just neat freaks. My desks obviously didn't look like that, not that you could see my desk anyway. I now know why. If it was out of sight, then it was forgotten. I am thinking now I was wise to realize that! I just didn't know why.
I know some of you can relate! How many times have you stood in your pantry with that dazed look wondering "why am I here?" Uh huh! Or how about you walk into your bedroom to go get the dirty laundry and when you pass the bed you decide to make it. You walk to the far side and lean over pulling up the sheets and see the book by the bedside. So you grab it and head for the bookshelf in the office and along they way pass through the kitchen and think "I've got to load that dishwasher"....as you lay the book on the kitchen counter, the phone rings and you grab it and hear a screaming child upstairs and away you go with phone conversation too. Skip ahead 7 hours and your husband walks in and can't find the phone, wonders why the bed is half made and the book is in the kitchen and the sink is full of dishes but the dishwasher open and the washer sitting with water and no clothes and how in the world can you be so exhausted after doing OBVIOUSLY nothing all day.
Well....sounds like a typical day in the Hendrix home to me.
Off to watch the Mavericks or at least find out from hubby how they did.
Happy New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)