Wednesday quick hits

Last night, Jim and I went on a bedtime strike. By accident. Jim had started a project in Girlface's room that lasted a little too long. I wanted to watch American Idol. Yeah, I know. Don't judge. It's my guilty pleasure. And, by God, I was going to watch it live last night if I had to tie the little boogers to their beds. Monday night's bedtime experiment was not pleasant at all. We tried letting them sleep in the same room and Girlface started hitting Big Brother. So instead of trying to get the kids to bed last night, I decided to just ignore them.

And it actually worked. Big Brother came down and watched Idol with me, while Girlface hung out with Jim. Jim came down and watched the rest of Idol with us. Girlface threw a shoe down the stairs but stayed upstairs. We sent Big Brother to bed at 9 and he went. For the next half hour, we heard some noises as they played in Girlface's room. By the time Jim went to bed, Big Brother was asleep on the floor in Girlface's room. Girlface was next to him reading a book. It seems that the frustrating factor in the bedtime routine is ... us. Who knew?

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If most of my one-year-old's food winds up on the floor, why is this kid pooping four times a day? Just another mystery that I may never solve. (It occurred to me the other day that I likely have two more years of diapers. Deep breath ... one day at a time.)

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I'm pretty sarcastic around my kids. I often wonder whether my children will misunderstand the meaning of such words as "fantastic" or "genius." For instance, will they believe that geniuses put their jackets on upside down or that spilling a pot of coffee whilst scaling the kitchen counter really is fantastic?

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The baby can now climb up on the sofa. He actually runs back and forth on the cushions. Clearly, I am now going to have to get rid of ALL the furniture. There is really no other way to keep him safe.

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Speaking of the baby, I used to call him "snuggle-up-a-gus" and think it was super cute and endearing when he would nestle against my chest and suck his thumb. Now he follows me around, arms outstretched like a zombie and moaning, until I pick him up. His new nicknames are "barnacle" and "zombie boy." Of course, he still nestles in and sucks his thumb, but only after wiping his nose one some part of my body. It's not quite as charming, but still quite nice.

Wednesday quick hits

Tuesday morning, I woke up at 5:30 with the baby. I had a headache. I was angry that the baby wouldn't go back to sleep and we had to go to the strawberry patch with Big Brother's preschool that morning.

Coffee just wasn't changing my attitude, so I turned on my Christian music station on Pandora and heard one of my favorite hymns:  


No guilt in life, no fear in death, this is the power of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny.


(Yes, I realize that I put reliance on caffeine ahead of reliance on God. It happens.)


AH. I felt an enormous sense of relief. If I have no fear in death, then surely I should have no fear in taking three children to the strawberry patch on very little sleep and with a raging headache (probably from the half a bag of Skittles I ate the night before). Twenty minutes later, the baby went down for a short snoozer. Oh, yeah, God's got this.

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Of course, the strawberry patch was not without its challenges. We left early because someone was disobedient and decided to run up and down the strawberry rows instead of staying with mommy. Oh, well. No day is perfect.

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By the way, you will never see me wearing lipstick and leg and butt toning sneakers on a preschool field trip to the strawberry patch.

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 I've found that I have the same mentality about an open box of Reese's pieces as I once did with an open bottle of wine: Might as well finish it off now that it's open.

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I often wonder just how much of my life has been spent standing in the kitchen trying to twist lids on kids' sippy cups. Actually, I've spent way too much time in the maintenance and care of sippy cups in the past four years. I hate sippy cups. Deeply.

That is all.

Wednesday quick hits

My husband washed a clean basket of my unfolded laundry last week. I fold everyone's laundry yet dress myself from a pile of wrinkled clothes all week. Meanwhile, my kids crumple their clothes while rummaging through the drawers. Maybe I should just fold my clothes instead.

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Incidentally, the husband has also washed the same pile of clothes that are supposed to go to the thrift shop at least twice already.

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I've always had trouble with left and right. I frequently hold my hands up to see the "L" of my forefinger and thumb just to be sure (and then panic as I forget for a split second what a capital L looks like). So, it's always a little nerve wracking to discuss left and right with Big Brother. One morning during such a discussion, however, I noticed that my left hand is the one with my wedding rings. OH! I've been married for 8 years now.

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If I can renew and put books on hold online, why can't I pay library fines online? I would like to avoid the walk of shame and the thinly disguised look of disgust from the librarians. I currently have more than $10 in fines for the second month in a row.

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The other night I went to make shish kabobs but couldn't find any skewers. We used to have a bundle of them in the silverware drawer. I  borrowed some from our neighbors. Later that night, ,I discovered about 10 of them above various doors in the house. They've been used for emergency keys for when the kids lock us out.

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By the way, while looking for skewers, I discovered that there really is nothing my husband won't screw down. He had screwed the silverware trays to the drawer. (I blame myself ... I bought him a drill for his birthday a few years ago.)

That is all.