To the relief of my Nana, we're finally home. And she's most likely vacuuming her house like an insane woman, following our trail of cheerios, sand and dried up macaroni noodles.
We're trying to get our lives back in order and unpack, which the kids are INCREDIBLY helpful with. Blanket into the clothes hamper. Little boy giggles. A brief flash of blanket as it flies down the hall at top speed.
Sigh.
I've given up and am sitting at my kitchen table enjoying the down pour of rain and eating a banana. Something which my Nana says that she refuses to buy if they're still green, because she might not be alive long enough to eat it when it's ripe. She's morbid that way sometimes- which I cannot stand. Because MY Nana? Is going to live forever, or at least until I'm long gone.
She's said, "THAT will be the day," because if she DOES live that long? She couldn't emotionally handle all of the wrinkles that she'd certainly have by then. Which is absolute nonsense, because just as her carpenter told her incredulously yesterday, she doesn't look a day over 60. And aside from her youthful glow- she's just down right sexy anyway. That's right people, my Nana is sexy as hell (you hear that Marolyn?).
I wish there was a miracle drug that made you live forever.
What about Cheerios? They're supposed to be good for the heart, are they not?
Nana. Put. That. Vacuum. Down. And. Eat. Those. Crumbs. Because later today? I'm sending you a huge crate of BRIGHT, GREEN BANANAS.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Runaway Brain- Chaotic Momentum Post August 10, 2010
August 10, 2010
I refuse to answer the door if I'm not expecting anyone.
I do this for three reasons really;
1. I absolutely believe that whoever is there is not worth my time. How arrogant of me, I know, but how necessary is a census?
2. Typically, I'm half naked when home alone. Chasing after two hyperactive kids works up a sweat!
3. I have watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds, Law and Order and CSI. These television dramas have accurately proven that if you open your door to someone you do not know, you're likely to be killed, or worse. I'm sure I could have learned the same lesson from watching the news, which would be a little more beneficial to my intelligence- but the news and I? We're not friends. Not since Rob's left for his tour of Afghanistan anyway... I like to focus my evening dose of violence on the fictional horrors occurring within this continent, NOT the middle east.
So, our door? It stays locked.
And if you're the person on the other side, ringing our doorbell incessantly? This is what you can expect:
DING DONG!
WOOF WOOF WOOF! ARF ARF! WOOF WOOF WOOF!
MOMMA! SOME BUDDY AT DA DOOR! COME, COME! MOMMA!
Shhhh! Honey, it's okay. We're not expecting anyone.
DING DONG! DING DONG!
WOOF WOOF WOOF! ARF ARF! WOOF WOOF WOOF!
At this point in time, you might be able to see the image of my eyeball checking you out through a peep hole.
MOMMA! I SEE TOO!
Shhhh Payton.
At this point in time, you might be able to see Payton's eyeball.
I no know dis buddy Momma.
I know honey, let's go back to the to the table and color.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
WOOF WOOF WOOF! ARF ARF! WOOF WOOF WOOF!
And now, I'm thinking that you are missing your brain. Are you here to ask us if we have seen it? Did it run off in this direction? Squeeze it's way under the door?
You can hear us. We know you can hear us. You know that we know that you can hear us. And yet we're not answering. Why do you suppose that knocking would produce a different result than the ringing? Are you thinking that our doorbell perhaps doesn't work, which is why we didn't answer? Because we couldn't hear you and are unaware that you're there?
Fair enough. I kind of thought that listening to our conversation while checking you out through our peeper cleared that one up, but I have been wrong about many things before.
Shhhh Momma. Some buddy out dere. Let's hide.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!
Typically, this is when our unwanted guest gets frustrated, lets out an exaggerated sigh and walks away shaking their head as though we've thoroughly disappointed their opinion of humanity. Do they NOT watch any television? Do they NOT know the horrible things that could happen should we open that door?
Let me be clear, people.
If you're looking for a boost, I don't know where our cables are. Need a specific tool? I have no idea where to start with that. Money? We don't have any. Wanting to use our phone? Well, I do have that, but YOU CAN'T USE IT.
Because this? Is our safe house. And we're going to keep it that way, even if it means being impolite.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Oh. The. Drama. - Chaotic Momentum Post August 26, 2010
We had a busy day today, which means much drama for the Momma in the later hours.
My children are lovely, lovely children. But they are strong willed, hot tempered, little buggers at times. During these times? NOTHING makes them happy.
Case and point:
We've just finished our afternoon snack and we're playing in the living room, taking a little break from today's hot sun. Ryker is quietly doing a puzzle and Payton is sitting in the middle of the room with a pillow over her feet scowling at me.
"Is something wrong, Payton?"
"NO!"
"It seems like something's wrong, you look upset. Can I do anything for you?"
"NO! You no look at me!"
"That's just fine honey, I will do a puzzle with Ryker then."
"No, Momma! Come see me's toe!"
She extends her leg towards me and I move in to look at what she's drawing my attention to. "GO, Momma! You no see me's toe."
It's one of THOSE days, but now I'm thinking that there's something WRONG with the toe and the responsible parental thing to do would be LOOK at it. As much as that horrifies my daughter. I take another step towards her, "GOOOOOOOOO!"
"Payton, see Mommy's hands? They're up here. I will not touch your toe. I would only like to look at it."
Payton takes the pillow and repositions it more tightly on top of her foot, pulling it closer. She looks up at me indignantly and pulls her foot and pillow in another inch.
"Payton, can you please show Mommy your toe? It will be such a big surprise for Mommy to see it. I promise I will be so excited!"
She quietly contemplates this offer, as surprises are her most favoritest of things lately. Cautiously, the pillow is lifted, revealing a slight tear in her nail.
"Oh, honey, I AM SOOOO SURPRISED! What a GORGEOUS toe you have! WOW! It's AMAZING! I know it looks a little bit like a boo boo, but Mommy can cut your nail and it will be all better."
"You no cut me's nail!"
"But honey, if I don't cut it off, it might get stuck on something, which really WOULD hurt," I responded as I stood up to get the clippers.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"It's okay sweetie. Mommy promises it won't hurt. I promise."
"YOU. NO. CUT. MEEEEEEEEEEE!"
I wrangle her into my lap and quickly snip her tiny nail. It was the very tip that had torn, which is a clip that I am completely qualified to handle.
"See? Your boo boo's all gone! Isn't that better?"
Payton sniffles and says in her saddest of sad voice, "No Momma. It hurts me."
I pull her closer into my lap, "Can I kiss it better?"
"No. YOU make it hurt. You cut me's toe off, MOMMA." She says this last part with a tone of disgust that I'm far too familiar with.
"I didn't cut your TOE off, I just cut the end of your nail. Do you need another hug."
"I no need you's hug. You HURTS me. I HURTS! I so sad Momma..." She pulls her pillow back over top of her toe and buried her face in her knees.
"Can I do anything to make you feel better?"
"No, it's all gone. You cut me's toe off and it's all gone and it hurts," she snivels.
"Okay honey, but if you think of something that may help, you just let Mommy know, okay?"
"Okay," she responds, in a small, yet very dramatic voice.
She stands up (I KNOW- it's amazing that she can walk after such an intensive surgical procedure) and takes her pillow across the room to where Ryker is sitting. Carefully, she places the pillow on top of Ry's feet. He's in the middle of some serious puzzle business and pushes the pillow off.
Payton, with a grave look on her face, pointedly puts it back on his feet and looks up at him, "Keep toes safe Ry. Mommy cut them off. Here. Keep toes safe."
Dear God, please help me get through this night!
My children are lovely, lovely children. But they are strong willed, hot tempered, little buggers at times. During these times? NOTHING makes them happy.
Case and point:
We've just finished our afternoon snack and we're playing in the living room, taking a little break from today's hot sun. Ryker is quietly doing a puzzle and Payton is sitting in the middle of the room with a pillow over her feet scowling at me.
"Is something wrong, Payton?"
"NO!"
"It seems like something's wrong, you look upset. Can I do anything for you?"
"NO! You no look at me!"
"That's just fine honey, I will do a puzzle with Ryker then."
"No, Momma! Come see me's toe!"
She extends her leg towards me and I move in to look at what she's drawing my attention to. "GO, Momma! You no see me's toe."
It's one of THOSE days, but now I'm thinking that there's something WRONG with the toe and the responsible parental thing to do would be LOOK at it. As much as that horrifies my daughter. I take another step towards her, "GOOOOOOOOO!"
"Payton, see Mommy's hands? They're up here. I will not touch your toe. I would only like to look at it."
Payton takes the pillow and repositions it more tightly on top of her foot, pulling it closer. She looks up at me indignantly and pulls her foot and pillow in another inch.
"Payton, can you please show Mommy your toe? It will be such a big surprise for Mommy to see it. I promise I will be so excited!"
She quietly contemplates this offer, as surprises are her most favoritest of things lately. Cautiously, the pillow is lifted, revealing a slight tear in her nail.
"Oh, honey, I AM SOOOO SURPRISED! What a GORGEOUS toe you have! WOW! It's AMAZING! I know it looks a little bit like a boo boo, but Mommy can cut your nail and it will be all better."
"You no cut me's nail!"
"But honey, if I don't cut it off, it might get stuck on something, which really WOULD hurt," I responded as I stood up to get the clippers.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"It's okay sweetie. Mommy promises it won't hurt. I promise."
"YOU. NO. CUT. MEEEEEEEEEEE!"
I wrangle her into my lap and quickly snip her tiny nail. It was the very tip that had torn, which is a clip that I am completely qualified to handle.
"See? Your boo boo's all gone! Isn't that better?"
Payton sniffles and says in her saddest of sad voice, "No Momma. It hurts me."
I pull her closer into my lap, "Can I kiss it better?"
"No. YOU make it hurt. You cut me's toe off, MOMMA." She says this last part with a tone of disgust that I'm far too familiar with.
"I didn't cut your TOE off, I just cut the end of your nail. Do you need another hug."
"I no need you's hug. You HURTS me. I HURTS! I so sad Momma..." She pulls her pillow back over top of her toe and buried her face in her knees.
"Can I do anything to make you feel better?"
"No, it's all gone. You cut me's toe off and it's all gone and it hurts," she snivels.
"Okay honey, but if you think of something that may help, you just let Mommy know, okay?"
"Okay," she responds, in a small, yet very dramatic voice.
She stands up (I KNOW- it's amazing that she can walk after such an intensive surgical procedure) and takes her pillow across the room to where Ryker is sitting. Carefully, she places the pillow on top of Ry's feet. He's in the middle of some serious puzzle business and pushes the pillow off.
Payton, with a grave look on her face, pointedly puts it back on his feet and looks up at him, "Keep toes safe Ry. Mommy cut them off. Here. Keep toes safe."
Dear God, please help me get through this night!
Sleep Recession- Chaotic Momentum Post September 10, 2010
I am exhausted.
I need sleep people. Quality sleep. The sleep expert, from the late night advertisement for Obus Forme mattresses, agrees. He says that I should be getting eight to ten hours of quality sleep a night.
I think I just choked on something that was intended to be a guffaw, but was poorly executed due to sleep deprevation.
According to Mr. Sleep Expert himself, if you aren't getting the hours of sleep your body requires, then you slowly accumulate a sleep debt.
Pffft.
Stick him in these extreme anti-sleep conditions and see how he fares. I'm sure that he would be a hell of a lot less concerned about debt and would be choosing more appropriate words like drastic-recession-causing-severe-irreversable-trauma-likely-to-cause-death.
Just saying.
Mr. Sleep Expert has never had kids, guaranteed. Or, he's like Rob, and is able to sleep through a tsunami as it violently washes him out to sea. Either way, he has no idea what a night with children is really like.
My eight to ten hours? They look a little more like this:
10:00- Bedtime for moi.
10:30- I finally fall asleep.
12:00- There is crying. I am all disoriented from the deep sleep my body is trying to relax me into and fumble with my duvet. Desperate to rescue my distraught child before he/she wakes up the other sleeping child, I catapult myself from the end of my bed across the hall, making it into Payton's room in record time. Payton looks up sleepily, wondering what I'm doing. Ryker is now sobbing.
12:02- I leave Payton's room to get Ryker tylenol for his teeth. She is immediately hysterical, as it's conveniently come to her attention that I am not, in fact, lying right beside her.
12:06- I get Ryker settled in and join my daughter, smashed up against her wall as she lazily stretches her body in ways I don't believe I was ever able to contort. I am told that if I leave? She will cry, cry, cry.
1:00- I slowly get up from my crunched position, as my entire body is now in agony from the awkwardness. I quietly make my way to the door, and Payton sits up, wide awake. I am instructed to "No leave me."
1:15- Bravely, I attempt again. Success. I crawl into bed.
1:20- Abner has been startled awake by my presence and needs to relieve his bladder. He stands up, shakes and trots downstairs to pee. I am to follow, or clean up a mess in the morning. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I opt for the latter.
1:50- I have just fallen asleep and am woken to a tiny tongue licking my face. I had forgotten to snuggle Abner under the covers and he cannot seem to move the sheets high enough so that he can forge his way underneath. And he likes to be spooned. I should know this.
3:00- There is crying. I move to jump out of bed, but I am trapped. There is some kind of professional restraint in place to limit my mobility. Have I finally been admitted into a psych ward and fitted into a straight jacket? No. My struggles have induced a groan of disatisfaction that I recognize as Jewels, our pit bull. She is sprawled on top of me. I get up to go to Payton's room, who asks me, "Where Woody and Jesse go?" All kinds of important issues to deal with at this time of night, I tell you.
3:45- Again- I attempt to remove myself from my daughter's grasp. SUCCESS! Back to my room.
4:00- Abner needs to pee. Again.
6:15- A glorious two hours and fifteen minutes of straight sleep and Ryker has turned his music on in his crib and is jumping to the rythm of the song. He is awake and ready to party it up with his blankie, but wants Mommy to join him. Note: Mommy is not interested.
Add them up people, because if this whole sleep debt thing is accurate? It's a damn good thing that Rob gets a few weeks off when he finally returns. This will conveniently provide child care to coincide with my hibernation.
Speaking of which, that is SUCH a good excuse to eat the blueberry custard sealed away in the kitchen. You need to store calories for such a long endeavor, am I right?
I so am.
I need sleep people. Quality sleep. The sleep expert, from the late night advertisement for Obus Forme mattresses, agrees. He says that I should be getting eight to ten hours of quality sleep a night.
I think I just choked on something that was intended to be a guffaw, but was poorly executed due to sleep deprevation.
According to Mr. Sleep Expert himself, if you aren't getting the hours of sleep your body requires, then you slowly accumulate a sleep debt.
Pffft.
Stick him in these extreme anti-sleep conditions and see how he fares. I'm sure that he would be a hell of a lot less concerned about debt and would be choosing more appropriate words like drastic-recession-causing-severe-irreversable-trauma-likely-to-cause-death.
Just saying.
Mr. Sleep Expert has never had kids, guaranteed. Or, he's like Rob, and is able to sleep through a tsunami as it violently washes him out to sea. Either way, he has no idea what a night with children is really like.
My eight to ten hours? They look a little more like this:
10:00- Bedtime for moi.
10:30- I finally fall asleep.
12:00- There is crying. I am all disoriented from the deep sleep my body is trying to relax me into and fumble with my duvet. Desperate to rescue my distraught child before he/she wakes up the other sleeping child, I catapult myself from the end of my bed across the hall, making it into Payton's room in record time. Payton looks up sleepily, wondering what I'm doing. Ryker is now sobbing.
12:02- I leave Payton's room to get Ryker tylenol for his teeth. She is immediately hysterical, as it's conveniently come to her attention that I am not, in fact, lying right beside her.
12:06- I get Ryker settled in and join my daughter, smashed up against her wall as she lazily stretches her body in ways I don't believe I was ever able to contort. I am told that if I leave? She will cry, cry, cry.
1:00- I slowly get up from my crunched position, as my entire body is now in agony from the awkwardness. I quietly make my way to the door, and Payton sits up, wide awake. I am instructed to "No leave me."
1:15- Bravely, I attempt again. Success. I crawl into bed.
1:20- Abner has been startled awake by my presence and needs to relieve his bladder. He stands up, shakes and trots downstairs to pee. I am to follow, or clean up a mess in the morning. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I opt for the latter.
1:50- I have just fallen asleep and am woken to a tiny tongue licking my face. I had forgotten to snuggle Abner under the covers and he cannot seem to move the sheets high enough so that he can forge his way underneath. And he likes to be spooned. I should know this.
3:00- There is crying. I move to jump out of bed, but I am trapped. There is some kind of professional restraint in place to limit my mobility. Have I finally been admitted into a psych ward and fitted into a straight jacket? No. My struggles have induced a groan of disatisfaction that I recognize as Jewels, our pit bull. She is sprawled on top of me. I get up to go to Payton's room, who asks me, "Where Woody and Jesse go?" All kinds of important issues to deal with at this time of night, I tell you.
3:45- Again- I attempt to remove myself from my daughter's grasp. SUCCESS! Back to my room.
4:00- Abner needs to pee. Again.
6:15- A glorious two hours and fifteen minutes of straight sleep and Ryker has turned his music on in his crib and is jumping to the rythm of the song. He is awake and ready to party it up with his blankie, but wants Mommy to join him. Note: Mommy is not interested.
Add them up people, because if this whole sleep debt thing is accurate? It's a damn good thing that Rob gets a few weeks off when he finally returns. This will conveniently provide child care to coincide with my hibernation.
Speaking of which, that is SUCH a good excuse to eat the blueberry custard sealed away in the kitchen. You need to store calories for such a long endeavor, am I right?
I so am.
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