The Hits Just Keep On Coming

I found my first gray hair tonight.  I think I'm officially sad.  

Sigh...

It's going to be one of those days, folks.  Sunshine is the lucky recipient of a raging ear infection, and I've only had about 3 hours of sleep.  Any bets on when Ladybug starts the descent into feverish, ear-clutching, crying madness? 

On the bright side, it happened this week, as opposed to next week.  When we're scheduled to visit the fam in VA.  Not feeling much of the bright side at the moment though.  

Whimpering

There's something about raising small children that instills in you the hearing of a super hero.   You hear it all.  The muttered protests of your preschooler at bath time.  Your child's cry from across the playground.  The small thud your toddler makes when she falls out of her newly converted crib.  (No worries.  It's less than a foot of the ground, and there's a comforter on the floor to soften the landing.)  The whimpering of a child, well past bedtime, from the top of the stairs.  I do think though, that it only applies in parenting situations.  I still can't hear my cellphone when it rings inside my handbag.  

It was the whimpering that we heard last night.  I was engrossed in the  Sex and the City movie.  I've only been waiting a year to see it.  But then I heard it.  Actually I should say that we heard it.  Now, my kids are sleepers.  Heavy, heavy sleepers.  So when one of them is whimpering at the top of the stairs almost three hours after they went to bed, there's a pretty big problem. 

 Todd, who has a far better back than I do, practically leapt up the stairs and had Sunshine in the bathroom before I made it to the top of the stairs.  I went to check the bedroom, and sure enough, everything needed to be changed.  Unfortunately I had just changed her sheets and duvet that morning.  But because I was on top of things, I had already washed and dried the extras.  Thank goodness I was productive this weekend.  

The speed with which Todd managed to get Sunshine showered and changed was matched by the speed with which I got her bed stripped and remade, and the carpet cleaned.  It astounded me.  Fast reflexes.  Add that to the list of skills that parenting sharpens.  

Poor Sunshine.  She did enjoy staying up a bit with us last night though.  Just needed to make sure that the situation wasn't going to repeat itself.  I was all out of clean sheets.  She was crushed that I had to cancel the play date we'd scheduled with one of her friends, but I think she's enjoyed being home today.  

***

In other news, the rigmarole that the Sate of Georgia puts you through in order to register your car is astounding.  We've put this off for this long just because the sheer amount of paperwork is astronomical.  And we can't even procure some of it because our bank wants things done differently from the DMV.  Lovely.  Neither side is willing to budge.  I love being caught in a lousy bureaucratic circle.  I'm hoping it's resolved soon.  I have no desire to drive to Virginia with expired Virginia tags.  

***

I'm so ready for March Madness to be over.  I can't stress enough how much I truly hate basketball.  Just have no patience for it.  And it drives me insane when I think about how my wonderful husband must watch EACH AND EVERY GAME, even though he doesn't watch basketball at any other time during the year.  It can't end soon enough.  

 

Laundry, Church, and Chickens

I think I've been having one of those weeks.  You know.  Those weeks where you just look at yourself and think, Is this really my life?  Not in a bad way, mind you.  Just in a reflective way.  I mean, I could have spent all week describing the mountains of clean laundry that are mutating out of my laundry room, taking over my house and threatening my children.  Or perhaps you might have liked to hear about the dozens of chickens that have sacrificed their lives in my crusade to roast the perfect chicken.  Because seriously, it seems like that is the sum total of my life these days.  Laundry and chicken.  Actually, I shouldn't say that.  It's laundry, chicken, husband, children with a small smattering of play dates, teacher conferences, and rain.  Somehow that doesn't sound much better.  I guess I've just felt like I haven't had much to write about lately.  

But, enough about that.  

We've been going to church lately.  I'm still not sure how I feel about that.  I'm leaning toward not wanting to raise my children as Catholics, but I'm giving it another try.  If we do decide to remain in the Catholic Church; I think it will be something that I struggle with on a daily basis.  That, and I will probably become a permanent nursery helper.  All in all, it's not a bad parish.  The people seem normal enough.  But there's a school there.  And that almost automatically means that my children will be left out because they will NEVER attend the school.  Nothing against people whose children do, it's just not for us.  

But, as part of our attempt to give it our best shot, we attended the Lenten fish fry dinner on Friday night.  I won't go into the fact that the only veggie on the plate was the ketchup.  That could happen anywhere.  The priest came over to us while we were watching the girls play after dinner.  He had already introduced himself to Todd, and was coming over to introduce himself to me.  We made small talk about how we had just moved from Virginia, and he quickly said that Of course Sunshine would start at the church school next fall.  Well, no.  I said that she was a student at a really wonderful Montessori school, that she was thriving there, and that I would like to, at some point, get my Montessori teaching license.  You would think, that after all that, he would have left it alone.  But no.  He had to then tell me how much trouble Montessori children had when transferring to Catholic school.  Wow.  Really, Sherlock?  No Montessori parent in their right mind would ever consider a Catholic school when faced with having to transfer their child.  Talk about totally different theories of education.  

I think this just irked me on a lot of different levels.  Sure, it might take a little while to get used to having to sit at a desk all day.  But Montessori kids are actually incredibly adaptable.  They can manage their own time, and they're incredibly free-thinking.  And I may be guessing here, but I think that was what the priest was talking about.  And that's not even mentioning the misguided attempt to up their enrollment numbers.  I was polite though, and said it was very nice to meet him.  After he left, Todd made a comment about how that was on his Top Ten List on How NOT to Endear Yourself to My Wife.  

Wow.  Well, right now I'm thinking that this was so NOT how I'd imagined this post going.  

On a lighter note, we sat down to chicken chili tacos for dinner last night.  Delicious.  And it gave my kids a chance to chow down on sour cream.  Because, given the chance, they will eat it by the spoonful.  And yes, I give them lots of greek yogurt.  Most of the time they don't realize that it's not sour cream.  And it's handy to have around for dips.  But I had the real thing out last night.  I took my eye off the container for one quick second.   Turning around, I thought I caught the sour cream spoon coming out of Sunshine's mouth.  A quick talk about no licking the serving spoon, a trip back to the silverware drawer, and we were back to eating dinner.  Not two minutes later, the spoon was coming out of her mouth again.  NO LICKING THE SPOON, I said.  Oh, but Mommy.  I didn't lick the spoon.  I put the whole spoon in my mouth, she said primly.  Lovely.  Looks like we're going to have to be much more technically correct in the future.  

It's been a busy weekend here.  I dealt with the mountains of clean laundry.  And even started on the mountains of not-so-clean clothes.  Bonus points for me.  Sadly, dealing with the latter leads to more of the former.  Oh well.  We did convert the dining room into an office.  Because we've only used it once.  And while that event was a success (no one cried), I can't imagine Todd would want to repeat it.  I'm actually sitting in the office right now, and it's beautiful.  Perhaps having our filing cabinets downstairs will actually make it a little easier to, you know, file all the stuff that gets sent here.  

By the way... I made this for dinner tonight.  It was amazing.  I roasted the chicken whole, instead of cutting it up.  I know, I'm lazy, but I can't stand cutting up chicken and it's so much cheaper to buy it whole.  I also added some diced butternut squash to the sweet onions.  I didn't have orzo, so I substituted Israeli couscous, and the kids couldn't get enough of it.  Huge success.  And the smoked paprika is so important to this dish.  Definitely worth a try.  I guess that's just one more chicken.  Well, it was a good way to go.  For a chicken.  

Crying Over Spilled Dirt

I bought Sunshine a pot of gorgeous hot pink gerbera daisies a couple of days ago.  They're her responsibility, and she's taking it quite seriously.  They stay in the girls' room, which gets some beautiful morning sunlight.  But during nap time, because Ladybug can now get out of her bed, Sunshine likes to take her flowers elsewhere for safekeeping.  

Both girls needed a nap today.  Well, Sunshine needed a rest.  It was heavily protested, but she grudgingly carried her daisies and a few books into our room.  Thirty minutes of listening to her dance around upstairs, we let her down.  

Later tonight, just after we'd put the girls to bed, I found a rather large pile of dirt on the floor.  Covered up by my pillow.  I had Todd get Sunshine out of bed.  She came in with her head hung low.  "But Mommy, I knocked it with my elbow.  I didn't want you to be mad at me."  We very quietly talked about how I wasn't upset at all, I just didn't want her to cover it up.  That spills happen all the time.  But that she should tell us, even if it's just so we can help clean it up.  

So what did I do to make my daughter so afraid to tell me that she'd spilled a little dirt?  We never get upset about spills.  Okay, well maybe if she's really goofing around.  It's possible that she was really goofing around during rest time.  But still, I don't want her to be afraid of me.  That makes me incredibly sad.  I hope our little chat tonight will help lessen her fears of coming to me. Fear can fester and grow, and I so desperately don't want to have this kind of relationship with my daughter when she's a teenager.  

When Ladybug Has a Blowout, or How I Spent My Day Today

When Ladybug has a blowout, you might notice the stench that seems to be everywhere.  You look for the source.

When you finally do pinpoint the source, you see that she has leaked everywhere.  You moved towards her carefully, for a closer inspection.

When you move in for a closer inspection, you realize that she has rubbed it all over her hair.  You decide that a shower is imperative.

You take her up to the shower, dripping everywhere, and carrying her as far away from your body as humanly possible.  

When you get to the bathroom and start carefully undressing Ladybug, you realize that you have zero change of getting out of this without a shower yourself.  You also realize that you are making a miserable mess.  You yell to Sunshine to bring wipes, and plenty of them.  And a plastic bag, don't forget the plastic bag.

After showering, dressing, cleaning the floor, and putting Ladybug down for a nap; you head downstairs to deal with the aftermath.

You start by calling to Sunshine to PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE start cleaning the playroom.  

When you've established that she is, indeed, picking up the playroom, you start to concentrate on the carpet spots.  

As you clean the carpet, you realize that your floors are in desperate need of sweeping and mopping.

You drag out the broom, dustpan, and mop.  You move all the furniture and rugs.  You start to sweep. 

As you are sweeping, you notice that the baseboards could use a wash.  Of course, you make a mental note if it because you are in the middle of sweeping.  You also knock you head on the hanging light fixture, because there is no kitchen table, or husband, to warn you that it is there.  You curse the light fixture.

After you curse the light fixture and finish sweeping, you start to mop.  As you mop, you realize that there are lots of marker marks on the floor.  You make a mental note to drag out the Magic Eraser.  You put place holders down by each mark, making the room look eerily similar to a crime scene.  In the process, you knock you head on the light fixture yet again, cursing it a little louder this time.

After you finish cursing again, you realize that Sunshine has finished picking up the playroom and would like another task.  You give her a full bottle of diluted vinegar, a roll of paper towels, and ask her to clean the windows.  You proceed to vacuum, sweep, and mop the playroom and living room.  While you're on your way to throw the sweepings outside, you knock your head on that damn light fixture again.  At this point the cursing can probably be heard in the development next to yours.  

As the throbbing in your head subsides a little, you realize that Sunshine has finished with the windows.  You let her loose on the baseboards.  As she sprays vinegar all over the house, you notice the shocking number of foam stickers that are stuck on various surfaces.  As you painstakingly scrape each and everyone on of them off, you silently curse the person who decided that the adhesive on said stickers should be NASA grade.  

After you're done scraping stickers, you realize that Sunshine has run out of vinegar after cleaning the baseboards, doors, and kitchen cabinets.  You wisely decide not to refill the bottle, and you both sit down to relax for a moment.  Just as you sit down, you hear Ladybug's voice.  She's awake and she needs a diaper change.  

And honestly, after all this, all I could think was THANK GOD WE DIDN'T GO TO THE AQUARIUM THIS AFTERNOON.  

1-2-3 Magic

I hate how difficult the early evenings could be.  I would love to spend them cuddled up with my kids, reading a book.  But they're tired, and hungry, and I've got dinner to make.  It's really become my witching hour.  I try so hard not to lose my patience with the girls, probably just as hard as they try not to lose their patience with me.  

Then they both want to stand on the one stool that we have and help cook.  So with one on each side of me, I do my best to not yell at both of them to find some work to do.  Out of the kitchen.   

Monday night was particularly fun.  It was late, dangerously close to the girls' bedtime when we sat down to dinner.  The girls had been especially difficult, impatiently waiting for Daddy to come home.  When we finally sat down to dinner, the cat started howling to go out.  I mean, the kids were finally quiet so I guess he felt the need to make the house as noisy as possible again.  Sunshine opened the door to let him out.  He balked, and kept howling.  Incredibly frustrated, I opened the door, told him I was going to count to three.  He could either leave the house, or I was going to throw him out.  

I still can't believe that I told my cat that he had till the count of three to leave the house or be quiet.  I think I've lost it.  So does my cat.