the thing about laundry

I have this plan. It's such a great plan. I want to do one load of laundry every day. Simple, no? I put it in when I first get up and then sometime during the day take the ten minutes to put it away. Voila! No more mountains of laundry that require me to download a full movie to the ipad to even consider being able to fold and put it all away. I am usually so good at this sort of plan. I never, NEVER go to bed with anything but a sparkling kitchen, and if I leave the house without beds made and dishes done in the morning something has gone horribly wrong with the routine and I will feel anxious about it all day.  Possibly this is not a 100% healthy attitude towards this whole thing but I figure everyone has their thing and mine is a very productive thing to have, so, raspberry. Anyhoo, it's seems like this whole laundry thing should be so easy to incorporate into my already sort of regimented schedule, and it is, for like two days and then it all falls apart. And now it's Friday and I have an enormous pile of clean laundry on my bedroom floor waiting for me to choose the appropriate movie. Next week for sure. I have a plan. For reals this time. Please feel free to ask me how I'm doing on this, because seriously, the amount of time I am spending thinking about it is just preposterous. Next week I will tell you all about how I have to get up waaay earlier and how hate that but I will do it anyway because I have this thing about laundry and beds and stuff. I also vacuum in straight lines but that's a whole other story.

screen time

I am stickler about screen time. My kids aren't allowed to watch any T.V. on school nights and computers games (all of which are educationally based) are special treats. They don't have Gameboys, iPods  or any of that nonsense and the time they spend playing on the Xbox is strictly limited to special times with Daddy. See? Grouchy, right? I just have this thing about little kids playing outside and getting dirty and get all curmudgeonly and talk about how we never had any of that growing up and we were the better for it, blah, blah, blah.

Then, last week, my beloved iPhone developed a serious case of stripes. One moment it was sitting on the counter perfectly fine, chirping out the occasional text message from my sister with whom I was having a pithy conversation and the next the screen is all stripey and utterly useless. Oh, the horror! It was 6:30 on a Saturday afternoon. I did what any red-blooded American would do, I hopped on the computer and immediately made an appointment at my nearest Apple store for that very evening. Heaven forbid I have to wait until Monday. I know. I see you rolling your eyes. Even in that moment I realized just how ridiculous I was being. But. My Calendar (that was capitalized on purpose, it's just that important) lives in there, and since I haven't bothered to set up a home phone yet, that's where everyone calls us. I know that Ty has two (count them, two) phones and we could have easily used them for the 24 hours I would have had to wait. But my church stuff is all on there too and all my little conversations with loved ones and my crosswords and scrabble (to prevent Alzheimer's obvs) and the whole thing was terribly upsetting in my ordered and very digital little world. So, I went that evening, and they gave me a new one and everything was alright.

And I remembered, once again, what a hypocrite I am.

one more reason I will never be considered a"homemaker"

(she is making DIY gasoline for her car just with the ingredients she has in her kitchen!)

O.K. So lately I've been spending way too much time trolling around on Pinterest, dreaming of my new house. I have come across a rather upsetting trend. Make-your-own-every-single-little-thing. I get it. I'm a SAHM. I spend way too much time and energy on valentines and halloween costumes and seasonal wreaths for my front door. Two years ago for Christmas, my girlfriend and I made all of our friends homemade lavender vanilla body scrub, with custom made labels. It was ridiculous. And I loved doing it. Heavens, last year I made my sisters wedding dress. Sometimes it's lovely to have it be special and unique and handmade by me.  I give all sorts of handmade gifts and my house if full of my DIY efforts. Maybe you are super worried about chemicals so you make all your own organic cleaning supplies. If that's why do it, awesome. I clean my mirrors with vinegar. Or if someone at your house has a terrible and very inconvenient allergy, I have deepest sympathy for you and totally support your efforts. But now all these people seem to be making things like homemade automatic shower cleaner. It's dish soap and vinegar mixed together, but the real stuff isn't all that expensive, works way better, and the dish soap is still chemically based. And laundry detergent. We're doing that now? Because I have to admit, I'm super happy with the Seventh Generation All Natural stuff that Amazon helpfully delivers automatically to my house. And really. I am so busy. To be fair it's because I insist on gym and yoga time and playdates and swim lessons and piano and soccer and just regular laundry and housecleaning and yard care and doctors appointments and playing on the computer and church and reading and lunch dates. Plus all the stuff I make because it's fun and makes me feel creative or because I can't find exactly what I want. I don't have time for there to be all these extra steps, home-making all these extra things that don't even give me a creative high. Don't we have enough guilt already? I totally do. My kids ate instant oatmeal for breakfast today (and everyday this week). Instant oatmeal, not steel-cut or organic, and by no means homemade! Gasp. I guess if I spent a really lot of time making all my cleaning supplies and pressing my own olive oil and making organic ketchup and mayonnaise from scratch in my kitchen maybe I would save a little money. But I bet not a lot and really I'm not all that picky about ketchup or automatic shower cleaner. It's like I don't even care at all.

peck your head to a nub

We listen to audiobooks in the car. I don't do this solely because it's good for my kids. I'm sure it is, but that's not really why. See, Tommy is a smart little monkey and he has a really lot of things to tell me.  A. Lot. Of. Things. Plus, once Tommy starts talking, then Johnny feels the need to chime in and then they are both talking louder and louder over the top of each other and it's really just so very much talking. So. Much.  If I put a book on, they are instantly and completely silent.  It's pretty awesome, really.  Lately we have been listening to Junie B. Jones.  There are many of those. Many, many.  Junie has a very distinctive way of speaking. She uses lots of big words and she doesn't use contractions. It's adorable. Until I started doing it. In the last three days I have heard myself use at least three different Junie-isms.  It's probably not all that adorable coming from grown-up me. Sorry, everyone.

i'm fine, thanks for asking

I have learned a few things since my husband moved out. Wanna hear about them? Great.

1. Much of the mess in my house apparently comes from my spouse. Much. Also laundry.
2. I do not like to go to bed alone. So I stay up waaaay to late.
3. It turns out that I really only cook dinner for my husband. My kids don't care.
4. 9.5 hours is along time to drive on a regular basis.
5. My cruise control is not working correctly. It gets 'tired' every thirty minutes or so and has to take a break.
6. Going to the gym during the daytime (as opposed to the wee hours of the morning) takes like half of my day.
7. Skype is kind of buggy.
8. I don't like this one bit but there are lots of worse things and we are o.k.
9. I am madly in love with that guy.
10. I wear mascara even when I will not see a single adult all day long. I cannot defend this.

it is possible that i am an enabler

Yesterday morning we were running late. We often are. But unlike other rushed mornings, I had neglected to pack Tommy's lunch the night before as is my habit. I mentioned on the way out the door that perhaps he could simply purchase school lunch today. His faced creased in horror. You see, after much begging and cajoling on his part, I had allowed him to try school lunch a few weeks earlier to prove that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Apparently, he learned his lesson. Not a problem. I was heading back to the school in only an hour to volunteer in his class, I could bring his lunch then. Of course I forgot it. As I was getting ready to leave the school I informed him that he would have to eat the swill the school district provides after all. He looked stricken and so very sad and I felt guilty, guilty, guilty. After all, this was my fault. Twice. So I checked him out of school for an hour and took him out to lunch because, maybe your school is different, but at ours school lunch does not even qualify as food by my standards, and because I could. His grilled cheese on homemade bread came with handcut fries made from actual potatoes with the skins still on and it came in an awesome car-shaped container. And it came with a thrilled kid who couldn't stop talking about how his Mom was the very best.

on underpants and broken hearts

So. The pull-ups have run out. I have not purchased anymore. This means I am doing lots and lots of laundry. Some of it super disgusting. Sigh. I am doing all the tricks, candy, running, praising, scolding, standing on my head, you get the idea. We might have had a breakthrough in the last few days. He starting to urinate most of the time when I put him on the potty. He still does it in his underpants in between as well, but less often. That's good, right? It came at kind of a high cost. He comes out of the bathroom having pottied successfully and says hopefully,"Good boy? Me, is a good boy?" His big blues eyes begging, literally begging for my approval, the jelly bean is just a bonus. Apparently all the negative feedback has been a little rough on him. Why yes, that loud cracking sound you hear is my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He has taken to hiding soiled or wet underpants in lots of helpful places and today he hid his whole self after an accident he couldn't hide. Am worst. mother. ever. I don't think I've been all that over the top with the accident talk. We talk about how it is gross and yucky and big boys go in the potty but my little free spirit is feeling a little bruised. And it's all my fault. Dear universe, please make this over soon, please, please, please? For now, I am taking him to the zoo, it's his favorite place. I will pack lots of underpants. And buy him a snow cone.

*Mom- I love you, but you are not allowed to comment on this post due to your completely unrealistic view of the subject matter.  Kisses.

committed

Want to know something I am not good at? Potty training. I despise it with every part of my being. I thought I was O.K. at it because Tommy wasn't all that difficult to train. He is a pleaser, so when he figured out that doing his business in the potty made everyone happy with him, he was thrilled to comply. I took credit for this attitude. Johnny is not a pleaser. He is happy to go in the potty-if I put him on it every 45 minutes or so. I am pretty sure that if I was really consistent about this for a week or so that it would click and he would be trained. But. That requires lots and lots of 100% consistency on my part and it 's just not really happening. Turns out, I am totally lazy. So. I ask your your aid. This is my very last package of pull-ups. I will be consistent because when they run out, we are moving on to underpants and if I haven't been consistent, that will be super unpleasant. If you see me at Target contemplating the pull-up options, please slap my hand and remind me of this post. We are on a deadline, people. Preschool starts in 8 weeks. Watch this space for updates.

looking for zen in a bullseye

Last night, as soon as Ty walked in the door, I left. I was Fed. Up. Johnny had been very naughty. Tommy had been very high strung. Nothing but normal. Between the two of them I was at the end of my proverbial rope. I admit that there was yelling, in my mean voice. I hate my mean voice. So. In a torrential downpour I drove to the most calming place I could think to go besides yoga (too bugged for yoga). I went to Target. I got everything on my list because no one talked to me the entire time. I put in my earphones and completely tuned out every other person in the store and I didn't feel the least bit guilty. I tried things on, I meandered through seldom visited departments. I came home feeling almost human. And then there was today. And Ty had to work late (although he did bring me yellow roses for which he gets at least 17 points). And I didn't need anything form Target. And my current sewing project and I are having an extended argument. Besides, they trashed the house again and I never can sleep with it like this. I wish I felt O.K. about the fact that sometimes, I think my job is really hard. And that's the news from Moodyville, good night and good luck.

the rewards of persistence

I am afraid of football. Mostly just in terms of my children playing it. All the crashing into each other and trying to do bodily harm makes me nervous. So. I put Tommy on his very first soccer team at 3 1/2, as soon as he was old enough to play. I like soccer. It seemed like the perfect sport to try to push my poor kid into. We spent the next three seasons of soccer with the simple goal of getting through the game without tears. We seldom succeeded. Tommy understood what soccer was supposed to look like and he understood that he wasn't quite there yet. He is not a terribly patient kid and he has little tolerance for less than perfection. In all three of those seasons he scored a grand total of 2 goals. This lack of performance did not make him a happy camper. Every season I gave him the option of opting out, always expecting he would but he never did, he always wanted to play. Saturday was the first game of the season (really the second but the first was cancelled due to weather). Tommy scored four goals. Four. He has no idea how to be a good sport about such things because he has never, ever been very successful at this particular endeavor. All of the sudden he knows what he's doing. He steals the ball, he dribbles down the field, he scores in the appropriate net. He couldn't hardly contain his excitement and I don't blame him. It's been a long time coming.

all in the family

This morning I dropped Tommy off at a friend's house. At 6:30 in the morning.

Yesterday Johnny saw his ENT again. He has almost constant sinus infections despite his lack of adenoids and a rotating cast of antibiotics. Most of the options at this point are pretty invasive and so rather than proceed with the next surgery on the list, the doctor ordered a CT scan. I've had a few of these in my day, perhaps you have too. Not such a big deal, just hold very still for five minutes. Now do you begin to see the dilemma? Johnny is never, ever still for five minutes while conscious, ever. So they sedate the wiggly little ones. This involves IV lines and recovery time. The procedure was fine and quick but he slept and slept. When he finally woke up he drank the obligatory juice to prove he was alright and off we went. Here is where I demonstrated a severe lack of judgement. He was begging to go to "'Donalds". The poor child hadn't eaten a thing all day and had been confined to a bed even though he wanted to run and climb. We met Tommy and his friend (thoughtfully delivered by the early morning friend's sainted mother who had also taken my child to school this morning) at Burger King. I ordered a little food for the two of us and sat down with our group. Johnny jumped up out of his chair and immediately face-planted onto the hard tile floor. It didn't get better. All he wanted to do was play in the climbing structure but he just couldn't get his feet to obey. I helped him through once and it was awful. He couldn't keep his balance at all. After about 10 minutes I was finished. I took him home, his lunch untouched. Tommy went home with his friend. His mother kept him for the rest of the afternoon because she wanted to give me a break. I hope karma rains down good things on her for weeks to come. I put Johnny to bed and he was asleep before I left the room. I dozed for an hour or so. When Tommy's piano teacher came later in the afternoon (after he had been thoughtfully delivered to my front door) she brought us dinner. Just to be nice, not because she was aware that anything different had taken place today. Her son has a surgery in the morning and she brought us dinner. How did I get so lucky? My life is filled with people who are willing , able and even happy to help. People who texted to check on him and more who would have been more than willing had I asked. We have no official family here in Kansas, but that's only on paper.

He just woke up, he feels much better. So do I.


Thanks, everyone.

why the 'break' in 'spring break' is misleading

If you were to ask me I would tell you that I am good at saying no. I have believed this because I have successfully said no a few times when it was quite difficult to do so. It turns out that those times were flukes. I am not good at saying no. Instead, I am good at volunteering for everything under the sun. I want to be that person. You know, the one you can always count on to do it and do it well. It's just that there is not actually as much time in a day as I seem to think there is. Next week I volunteered to drive my two small children to St. George. From Kansas. By myself. That is at least as far as you are imagining and probably farther. But there's this family thing and plane tickets would be $1000 and so on and so forth... It's not like anyone is going to give ME that $1000 or anything so it's kind of hard keeping that in perspective. I've gone almost as far before and it was fine, not fun by any stretch of the imagination, but not so bad. You'd think that would make it less scary. Nope.

Also, because I am insane, I have volunteered for a rather large project for church this week that must be completed before I leave on Monday morning. And I need to rollover a 401k and reorganize the bank accounts and figure out how to submit claims to the FSA because, wow, do they owe use a lot of money. Oh yeah, and I need to make a baby gift for my dear sister-in-law who I will see on this trip. Her baby is now 9 months old. And I have a custom order due Wednesday and, of course, there is a playdate scheduled almost every day because heaven forbid my little social butterflies have to go a day without friends. And there are doctor's appointments and training runs and laundry and phone calls and bikini waxes.

It's only Tuesday and I'm exhausted.

Perhaps driving won't be so bad after all.

i don't think it's working

This one is trouble.

Unnaturally adorable trouble.

I love two. I have always loved two. They are so cute at two. Boy, does this one have two down. I can barely discipline him at all. Today after an exciting incident in the bathroom involving lots of water and not a few bubbles (given away by the peals of delighted laughter drifting through the house) I walked him to "time-out". He trotted along pleasantly and and sat there kicking his feet cheerfully. When I went to walk away he pulled me back in order to plant a kiss on my nose.

When he was sent downstairs at bedtime to find his blankie he instead moved three different kitchen chairs to the counter and managed to open every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, also both fridge doors (kitchen and garage) were wide open. Apparently he was looking for something. He was down there for all of 90 seconds. It was like that scene in The Sixth Sense when the Mom turns away and when she turns back all the cabinet doors and drawers are open and it's all creepy. When I ordered him upstairs in a rather stern voice (not yelling or anything exciting) he collapsed to the floor in a sobbing mess of despair at my disapproval. Sigh. He had to be carried upstairs because he was simply too sad to walk.

But lately it's his joyful, full-bellied laugh that is coloring our world. He loves to get a reaction, any reaction. I don't even have to work at it. I am the funniest thing he has ever seen and once he starts giggling, I'm gone. Tonight the two of them were telling each other jokes in the bathtub and we could hear them throughout the house. The jokes make no sense at all but often include the word toilet or underwear which are both apparently hilarious. They couldn't stop. And I was so glad to hear it.

He does not do anything like the books say, or like his brother, or even like himself yesterday. There is no predicting this child and frankly, I am completely charmed by his antics. At two, he has me under his power. He is fooled by none of my tricks and cowed by few of my consequences. The scales are tipped the wrong way in this relationship. I think I should be more nervous than I am.

pretty boys

More than once, I have had women stop me on the street to tell me that my children should be models. Yes, they are tow-headed and blue-eyed but, quite frankly, I think this has more to due with the fact that they grin and flirt with every single person who deigns to glance at them than anything else. Don't get me wrong, I think that they are preposterously cute, but we all feel that way about our offspring. It's the sly grins, the sideways tilt of the head, the blowing of kisses that really win people over, not the genetics.

Last May I got a fancy new camera for my birthday. The updated version of the one I have been pining for since I worked at a camera store my freshman year of college. You may have noticed the improved quality of my photos. I take a lot of pictures. Unfortunately most of those pictures are of aprons and capes and bibs and other things for my little etsy shop. Not nearly so many of the most photographable subjects in my house. I get busy and it seems like a lot of trouble to get the camera off the shelf for every little thing. Except that six months from now they will be doing different little things and I will have missed the window to catch that one. Without digital evidence there is a really good chance that I will forget many of the things all together. Quel dommage!

So- I have moved the camera to a lower shelf and I plan to waste a little more time messing around with it. They can be models for me. Models of what boyhood looked like during the 2010s in our house. I have no intention of becoming a professional like several of you are. But. I will become better at taking pictures of these two monkeys than anyone else could be. I will be the Annie Leibowitz (didn't even have to look that up!) of my little demesne. That way I won't forget because it's all a little too wonderful to forget.

#10- Take more pictures of my little family and the life we are living.

(he wouldn't put the sandwich down-I tried)

a day late, sigh

At least snowy dogs!

(according to Tommy, that's how you say "Merry Christmas" in Spanish)

fancy pants

To whichever one of my friends to whom I was recently extolling the virtues of the new Target brand diapers.

I made a mistake. We all know that there are many things that Target does well. Many. Diapers, as it turns out, are not one of them. I know I said otherwise, but it had only been two days and I was blinded by a low price and an abiding love of the red bullseye. We are a Pampers family. They have never, ever failed me. I was wrong to stray. Please don't let my poor judgement guide any of your future diaper purchases, I wouldn't want to wish all that extra laundry on anyone that I loved.

Love, Me

P.S. If you ever have to search for pictures of diapers on Google, be very careful. I don't understand why you would post a photo of the contents of your child's diaper on the internet, but apparently, people do.

looking for a sale on strawberry jam

I make homemade rolls. It's how I prove I am a good mommy. Mostly to myself. They're not really all that hard and everyone is very impressed when you conveniently mention that they are made from scratch. The boys adore them, especially Johnny, who would subsist on them alone if such a thing were allowed. Last night I pulled a bag of these family favorites out of the freezer to go with our homemade chicken noodle soup (I know, rock star, right?). Tommy must have jam on his rolls. Must. He has also taken to insisting on doing  things for himself these days. Whatever, more power to him. I handed him the jar and a spoon. Moments later I glanced over at him at dinner and saw this:

If you are not sure what is in the jar, here's a close-up.

I pondered how I felt about this, I mean, it was sugar-free and there had to be some fruit in there somewhere. Besides it was now ruined for anyone else to eat. I settled with a mild lecture on germs and eating directly out of jars and left it at that. After a few minutes I sent him up to take a bath and started doing dishes while Johnny finished eating. I returned from a trip to the dishwasher to find this;

I just let him finish the jar because he doesn't listen to my lectures anyway.

why i look like this

Dear Mom,

I need you. I need you to come stay with me for a month or so. I will teach you all about my bedtime routine and then, I need you to enforce it. I want to go run at 5:30 am, in order for this to happen, I need to go to bed by 9:30. That means lights off. No "just going to finish this chapter" reading, no computer, no texting, no cleaning, no laundry,and no more sewing. You have to help me be O.K. with going to bed with unfinished projects, because I just can't seem to do that and it is really messing with my sleeping. Then, I can't get up to run in the morning and so I have to go run while Tommy is at school which is when I should be doing all sorts of other things and the behind-ness just gets worse as the day progresses, thus causing me to stay up late at night finishing things and beginning the cycle all over. My kids go to bed on time almost always. This is because I understand how important it is for them to get enough sleep. Once again, I am a hypocrite. A very tired, puffy-eyed hypocrite.

I need what my children have. Someone who is so worried about their welfare that they will force me to do what is best for me even when I fight them. Ty can't help because he doesn't' believe in telling me what to do (bless his heart). If you don't come soon, I will lose my looks completely and become a bridge troll out of sheer orneriness. Hmmmm, do bridge trolls get to go to bed? Probably. I bet they don't even have unfinished projects.

Love, Me

guess what?

Guess how many times in a day that this beloved child starts a sentence with the above phrase. That's right! 74 billion times a day (margin of error is +/-100). I really, really love that he has so much to tell me, but I don't want to guess anymore. Seiously. No. More. Guessing.