In case there’s anyone who isn’t aware, it’s August.
But last night? The temperture dropped below freezing. Seriously people.
When I woke up this morning, at five am THANK YOU RYKER, there was a thin layer of frost covering the grass. Which meant that I wasn’t exactly packing up our beach gear to head out to the lake. This is entirely disappointing.
We haven’t had nearly enough beach days and I was so pumped to show off my post child bikini body. Search for the sarcasm there people, but in all honesty, I really do feel ripped off when it comes to days in the sun. As our notorious Alberta winter quickly approaches, I feel that we haven’t had nearly enough warm days to make up for all of the nastiness to come.
Stupid global warming.
Looking out my front window, I can see the first pieces of yellow leaves starting to fall from the trees. And across the street, what’s that? There is a man walking to get his mail in a PARKA and beside him, three little kids in their bathing suits chasing each other with water guns. Not a scene you see everyday. Kids? They’re fucking brave when it comes to having a good time.
The You Can Die From A Water Gun Story, as told by Auntie Sandra (the names in this story have been replaced to save two teenage boys some serious embarrassment)
When Willy and Dick were little boys, there was nothing that they loved more in the world than to strip down to their nothings and play outside. Especially at Grandma and Grampa’s house, where they’d have their pool, huge buckets of water and two Super Soakers to race around with.
If you’ve ever played with a Super Soaker, you’d know the pump ones can be difficult to fill up. And once they’re full? They are heavy as hell.
This is where the buckets come in. The boys could put the ends of their guns in the bucket and pump away until their water containers were full again.
It. Was. Awesome.
Except for the one time where Willy almost died.
Grandma and Grandpa were watching their grandsons’ cute little bums racing around the yard pummeling each other with streams of water. They would then escape to their separate corners of the yard to reload.
But Willy didn’t do so well on the follow through. He put his gun in the bucket, and as he pulled the handle of the pump up for the fill, he slammed his penis in between the pump handle and gun handle. He did this with all of the strength a little boy has.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The kill-me-now-if-I’m-not-already-dead-excruciating-pain!
I am probably not giving the description of his injury justice to the severity he felt, as I do not have a penis. I obviously cannot accurately relate- which I am thankful for. But from everything I’ve been told in the past? I’m assuming that this would hurt like a son of a bitch.
And if this wasn’t bad enough for the little guy?
From the shock of the sudden explosion of excruciation, he dropped his gun. His gun which was filled with water and weighed more than he did. His gun that was locking his penis in between the two handles like a torturous vice.
With this move, his eyeballs nearly shot out of his head. Not knowing what to do, but aware that he needed help, he ran. Dragging the Super Soaker behind him, in between his legs, by his penis.
“GRANDMA! GRABDPA! HELP! I AM DYING!”
No shit.
They rescue him and apparently the damage does not look to be too severe or permanent. And yes, I know, it most definitely felt otherwise.
They were sitting seriously on the back deck with Super Soakers strewn carelessly to the ground when Auntie Sandra walked into the back yard.
Most likely discussing the possibility of future complications.
Auntie Sandra is unaware of the circumstances, smiles at the boys, and asks, “Who’s in for a water fight?”
Willy looks up at his aunt with the widest of eyes, and says, “Auntie Sandra, NO! You. Can. Die.”
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Drowning in Wisdom- Chaotic Momentum Post August 28, 2010
Our washing machine is constantly chug-chug-chugging. The laundry around here never ends, between Ryker dumping fruit shakes on himself and Jewels shedding on every blanket that she can snuggle into, my life consists of load after load of filth.
Payton loves to help me with this, which is quite adorable, but takes twice the time. She oh-so-carefully takes the cap off of the detergent, pours the detergent to the max line and puts the cap back on. Should you attempt to pour the fabric softener in simultaneously, she will surely collapse into a ball of anger and disappointment.
“I do, Momma. I do.”
Sigh.
In the liquid measure of life, the levels of my patience have been quickly decreasing, moving in a fast, downward spiral, past the max line and settling in well beneath the min line. The liquids down there are much more concentrated in degrees of frustration and annoyance. In a vain attempt to increase my quantity of patience, I tried to dilute the mixture a bit using all of the water we’ve saved since switching to a high efficiency front loader. I was all, “SUCCESS!”- hands in the air, head thrown back, excited when I saw the levels spilling over the top line. Unfortunately, all of that water quickly evaporated, leaving reserves of intolerance swishing around in the shallow pool below. And the residue left behind? Smells like ass.
This is totally irrelevant to Payton. She continues along her challenging path of development and chooses to argue with me at every point along the way.
Sometimes, I’ve just had enough.
Like with her refusal to apologize? That drives me completely insane.
“Payton, please tell Nana that you’re sorry for throwing her things.”
“No.”
“When you throw Nana’s things, that makes her sad and we tell her that we’re sorry to try and make her feel happy again.”
“Nana no sad.”
“She is, please tell her that you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, Momma.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, please tell Nana that you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, GA-GA!”
“Her name is not Ga-Ga, it’s Nana. Please tell Nana you’re sorry.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The patience I need for this girl…
Driving home last night, she was in a mood that was all kinds of cute and Ryker was laughing along with us throughout the drive. So awesome when that happens.
He would point up to the sky, “Eh?”
“That’s the moon, Ryker.”
He would respond in a fit of giggles. Pointing up to the sky, he would repeat, “Eh?”
“MOON, Ry.”
More giggles.
Payton is laughing along and she looks up to the moon in contemplation. I know this, because my rear view mirror? Aimed right on the kids. I don’t care what’s behind me if my children are whacking each other with books and throwing their snacks. I am a super easy target to tail, should you ever be interested in following me back and forth to Grammie’s house.
Payton points to the moon as well. It’s a full moon. “Moon has EYES, Momma.”
“It kind of looks like the moon has eyes, yes? It just looks this way though, it doesn’t really.”
“YES IT DO! YES IT DO!”
Short pause.
“Moon has happy mouth, Momma.”
“I know, the moon kind of looks like it’s smiling too, but it only LOOKS like that, it doesn’t really have a mouth.”
“YES IT DO! YES IT DO! MOON SEE ME!”
“Payton, you have been arguing with me all day. Can you please just listen and believe me? The moon just looks like it has a face, but it really doesn’t. It can’t see you, I promise.”
“YESSSSS ITTTTTTTT DOOOOOOOOO!”
Sigh.
I give up. I totally just have to sometimes.
And today, when watching The Bear In The Big Blue House, Luna the Moon comes on to talk to Bear. Luna, with her watching eyes and happy smile.
“SEE, Momma. Moon has EYES. Moon has MOUTH. MOMMA…” Payton shakes her head in disappointment that I did not agree with and learn from her vast amount of knowledge. Life would be so much easier if I did.
My patience level may have fell below the min line, but Payton’s level of wisdom? SO pouring over the max. It’s like a flood really, that I am currently drowning in.
Someone toss me a life boat, please!
Payton loves to help me with this, which is quite adorable, but takes twice the time. She oh-so-carefully takes the cap off of the detergent, pours the detergent to the max line and puts the cap back on. Should you attempt to pour the fabric softener in simultaneously, she will surely collapse into a ball of anger and disappointment.
“I do, Momma. I do.”
Sigh.
In the liquid measure of life, the levels of my patience have been quickly decreasing, moving in a fast, downward spiral, past the max line and settling in well beneath the min line. The liquids down there are much more concentrated in degrees of frustration and annoyance. In a vain attempt to increase my quantity of patience, I tried to dilute the mixture a bit using all of the water we’ve saved since switching to a high efficiency front loader. I was all, “SUCCESS!”- hands in the air, head thrown back, excited when I saw the levels spilling over the top line. Unfortunately, all of that water quickly evaporated, leaving reserves of intolerance swishing around in the shallow pool below. And the residue left behind? Smells like ass.
This is totally irrelevant to Payton. She continues along her challenging path of development and chooses to argue with me at every point along the way.
Sometimes, I’ve just had enough.
Like with her refusal to apologize? That drives me completely insane.
“Payton, please tell Nana that you’re sorry for throwing her things.”
“No.”
“When you throw Nana’s things, that makes her sad and we tell her that we’re sorry to try and make her feel happy again.”
“Nana no sad.”
“She is, please tell her that you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, Momma.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, please tell Nana that you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, GA-GA!”
“Her name is not Ga-Ga, it’s Nana. Please tell Nana you’re sorry.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The patience I need for this girl…
Driving home last night, she was in a mood that was all kinds of cute and Ryker was laughing along with us throughout the drive. So awesome when that happens.
He would point up to the sky, “Eh?”
“That’s the moon, Ryker.”
He would respond in a fit of giggles. Pointing up to the sky, he would repeat, “Eh?”
“MOON, Ry.”
More giggles.
Payton is laughing along and she looks up to the moon in contemplation. I know this, because my rear view mirror? Aimed right on the kids. I don’t care what’s behind me if my children are whacking each other with books and throwing their snacks. I am a super easy target to tail, should you ever be interested in following me back and forth to Grammie’s house.
Payton points to the moon as well. It’s a full moon. “Moon has EYES, Momma.”
“It kind of looks like the moon has eyes, yes? It just looks this way though, it doesn’t really.”
“YES IT DO! YES IT DO!”
Short pause.
“Moon has happy mouth, Momma.”
“I know, the moon kind of looks like it’s smiling too, but it only LOOKS like that, it doesn’t really have a mouth.”
“YES IT DO! YES IT DO! MOON SEE ME!”
“Payton, you have been arguing with me all day. Can you please just listen and believe me? The moon just looks like it has a face, but it really doesn’t. It can’t see you, I promise.”
“YESSSSS ITTTTTTTT DOOOOOOOOO!”
Sigh.
I give up. I totally just have to sometimes.
And today, when watching The Bear In The Big Blue House, Luna the Moon comes on to talk to Bear. Luna, with her watching eyes and happy smile.
“SEE, Momma. Moon has EYES. Moon has MOUTH. MOMMA…” Payton shakes her head in disappointment that I did not agree with and learn from her vast amount of knowledge. Life would be so much easier if I did.
My patience level may have fell below the min line, but Payton’s level of wisdom? SO pouring over the max. It’s like a flood really, that I am currently drowning in.
Someone toss me a life boat, please!
Canine Psychological Exploration- Chaotic Momentum Detour Post August 30, 2010
Abner... I feel obligated to worry, my love. I worry when your extreme anxiety leads you to ferociously chew at your paws when we leave you, but this mutilation takes things to a much more serious level. Self injury is linked to a variety of mental disorders, all of which I am certain you are afflicted with...
Is this your way of communicating the pain you feel inside?
Or are you expressing your anger and feelings of lost masculinity because everyone insists on calling you a she... I promise, we all know how manly you are.
Regardless of your reasons, I feel I should be more attentive to your emotional state. With all of the toys in the house, I doubt there's any coincidence that you chose an exact replica of yourself to destroy.
May you find your peace within, sweet boy, as we lay Barbie's pet yorkie to rest.
Is this your way of communicating the pain you feel inside?
Or are you expressing your anger and feelings of lost masculinity because everyone insists on calling you a she... I promise, we all know how manly you are.
Regardless of your reasons, I feel I should be more attentive to your emotional state. With all of the toys in the house, I doubt there's any coincidence that you chose an exact replica of yourself to destroy.
May you find your peace within, sweet boy, as we lay Barbie's pet yorkie to rest.
Note to Mommy- Chaotic Momentum Detour Post September 9, 2010
Note to Mommy:
THIS is how you take care of a baby. You're there when he needs you to love him or nurture him. You hold him and snuggle him close so that he knows how much you care.
You DO NOT leave him hyperventilating in distress at the YMCA child care while you and your daughter go to a yoga class.
Just saying.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Understanding Daddy's Absence- August 27, 2010
Payton and I have a lot of discussions about Daddy being in Afghanistan.
1. He lives on a plane. We are continually dropping him off at the airport and this fact just cannot be argued. 2. He’s working with the guys. The guys love him and hug him and kiss him. They’re very happy he’s there. 3. He will be very happy when he gets to see her again. He will hug her and kiss her and love her.
I’d say she’s ALMOST bang on with this theories.
Rob's deployment has him working closely with a team of four other bodyguards, protecting the man responsible for administering the Afghanistan police. He does not live on a plane, but the guys DO hug and kiss him with their love.
Throughout the day, Payton will often stop what she’s doing and crawl into my arms. “I miss Daddy,” she’ll say.
I hate that she’s hurting, but at the same time, am very relieved that she’s thinking of him. They have such a deep connection and I have feared that over such a long period of time, she may forget him. I should have given her a little more credit. She has forgotten nothing.
After one of these moments, I set her and Ryker up at the table to paint a picture for Daddy. Ryker’s decided that paint? Not as psychedelic in taste as it may appear to be in color.
We wrapped their canvases and jumped into the car to drive to the military base to drop it off. “Going on plane, Momma?”
“No, honey, the guys will take it to him for us. He’s too far away for us to visit, but he will be so happy that you sent him such a beautiful painting. He will put it up in his room and think about you.”
“I see the guys, Momma.”
“Okay sweetie, you can come in with Mommy to drop off the package and see the guys.”
“Daddy too?”
“No, honey, he’s much too far away for us to visit. That’s why we’re sending him something special to show him that we love him.”
“Okay, Momma.”
And into the deployment support center we head, Payton leading the way, pointing into each room ahead as I try to push Ryker in the right direction and carry an awkwardly large and heavy box. “This the guys?”
“No, honey, keep walking.”
“This the guys?”
“No, honey, up here.”
We walk into the room where we need to be and there’s a group of five men talking behind the desk. They immediately jump into action and grab the box from me before I topple over.
“These are the guys, Payton. They’re going to take Daddy’s package to him.”
The guy holding the box bends down to Payton’s level, “Would you like to put it with the other boxes that we’re going to take to Daddy and his friends?”
“Uh huh,” Payton responds, and follows him across the room, where there’s a huge container with tons of other boxes they’re sending out to all of the other soldiers.
“It goes in here and all of these boxes will be sent out to where your Daddy is.”
Payton thinks this over, “I go too. I go with box.”
“No, honey, you can’t go with the box. It’s too far away and Mommy would miss you so much.”
“I go!”
The guy bends down to her level again, “It wouldn’t be very safe for you to go with all of these packages. You’re Mommy’s right, you should stay here with her and your brother.”
Payton and I have a lot of discussions about Daddy being in Afghanistan.
It’s so difficult for her to understand why he’s gone, where he is and when he’s coming home. Hell, it’s difficult for me to understand most days. His return date has been fluctuating anywhere from late October to January and I would SO love hear something, anything, definitive. The unknown is one of the most difficult aspects of this deployment and I can only imagine how Payton feels when it’s ALL unknown to her.
She has determined a few things, since Daddy has left:
“Daddy no safe?”
Oh boy, here we go, “No sweetheart, Daddy’s very safe. He just means that for you to be on a plane without Mommy you wouldn’t be safe.”
“Daddy keep me safe, MOMMA!”
“Yes, he most certainly would, but Daddy won’t be on the plane. They’re putting the boxes on the plane BY THEMSELVES to take to Daddy.”
She is obviously disappointed by this, “Oh.”
We say our goodbyes to the guys and Payton ensures to instruct them to give Daddy hugs and kisses when they see him. How can they not agree to an offer like this. They all promise to give Daddy lots of love.
It’s a quiet ride home and I’m so happy that my sister, their Annie, is over at our house. They all head out back to play on the swing set and Payton hears a plane flying overhead. She looks up, “See Annie? It’s Daddy!”
“I see Payton, there’s a plane.”
She smiles happily, “Daddy see me on the swing. Daddy SEE me.”
1. He lives on a plane. We are continually dropping him off at the airport and this fact just cannot be argued. 2. He’s working with the guys. The guys love him and hug him and kiss him. They’re very happy he’s there. 3. He will be very happy when he gets to see her again. He will hug her and kiss her and love her.
I’d say she’s ALMOST bang on with this theories.
Rob's deployment has him working closely with a team of four other bodyguards, protecting the man responsible for administering the Afghanistan police. He does not live on a plane, but the guys DO hug and kiss him with their love.
Throughout the day, Payton will often stop what she’s doing and crawl into my arms. “I miss Daddy,” she’ll say.
I hate that she’s hurting, but at the same time, am very relieved that she’s thinking of him. They have such a deep connection and I have feared that over such a long period of time, she may forget him. I should have given her a little more credit. She has forgotten nothing.
After one of these moments, I set her and Ryker up at the table to paint a picture for Daddy. Ryker’s decided that paint? Not as psychedelic in taste as it may appear to be in color.
We wrapped their canvases and jumped into the car to drive to the military base to drop it off. “Going on plane, Momma?”
“No, honey, the guys will take it to him for us. He’s too far away for us to visit, but he will be so happy that you sent him such a beautiful painting. He will put it up in his room and think about you.”
“I see the guys, Momma.”
“Okay sweetie, you can come in with Mommy to drop off the package and see the guys.”
“Daddy too?”
“No, honey, he’s much too far away for us to visit. That’s why we’re sending him something special to show him that we love him.”
“Okay, Momma.”
And into the deployment support center we head, Payton leading the way, pointing into each room ahead as I try to push Ryker in the right direction and carry an awkwardly large and heavy box. “This the guys?”
“No, honey, keep walking.”
“This the guys?”
“No, honey, up here.”
We walk into the room where we need to be and there’s a group of five men talking behind the desk. They immediately jump into action and grab the box from me before I topple over.
“These are the guys, Payton. They’re going to take Daddy’s package to him.”
The guy holding the box bends down to Payton’s level, “Would you like to put it with the other boxes that we’re going to take to Daddy and his friends?”
“Uh huh,” Payton responds, and follows him across the room, where there’s a huge container with tons of other boxes they’re sending out to all of the other soldiers.
“It goes in here and all of these boxes will be sent out to where your Daddy is.”
Payton thinks this over, “I go too. I go with box.”
“No, honey, you can’t go with the box. It’s too far away and Mommy would miss you so much.”
“I go!”
The guy bends down to her level again, “It wouldn’t be very safe for you to go with all of these packages. You’re Mommy’s right, you should stay here with her and your brother.”
Payton and I have a lot of discussions about Daddy being in Afghanistan.
It’s so difficult for her to understand why he’s gone, where he is and when he’s coming home. Hell, it’s difficult for me to understand most days. His return date has been fluctuating anywhere from late October to January and I would SO love hear something, anything, definitive. The unknown is one of the most difficult aspects of this deployment and I can only imagine how Payton feels when it’s ALL unknown to her.
She has determined a few things, since Daddy has left:
“Daddy no safe?”
Oh boy, here we go, “No sweetheart, Daddy’s very safe. He just means that for you to be on a plane without Mommy you wouldn’t be safe.”
“Daddy keep me safe, MOMMA!”
“Yes, he most certainly would, but Daddy won’t be on the plane. They’re putting the boxes on the plane BY THEMSELVES to take to Daddy.”
She is obviously disappointed by this, “Oh.”
We say our goodbyes to the guys and Payton ensures to instruct them to give Daddy hugs and kisses when they see him. How can they not agree to an offer like this. They all promise to give Daddy lots of love.
It’s a quiet ride home and I’m so happy that my sister, their Annie, is over at our house. They all head out back to play on the swing set and Payton hears a plane flying overhead. She looks up, “See Annie? It’s Daddy!”
“I see Payton, there’s a plane.”
She smiles happily, “Daddy see me on the swing. Daddy SEE me.”
Modern Day Nightingale- Chaotic Momentum Post September 1, 2010
I am the night wanderer.
Roaming the halls of our home throughout the hours of darkness and tending to the cries of our babies as they take turns calling my name. The Florence Nightingale of mothers, if you will.
The Lady With the Lamp, also known as, the woman who has the advantage of a light switch. Modern day conveniences and all
Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room.
Florence and I? We’re totally kindred spirits.
I know, it’s not EXACTLY a house of misery, but when it’s four am and none of us have slept yet? It feels pretty damn miserable to me.
And I realize that I’m not exactly taking care of wounded soldiers, BUT I AM nuturing and caring for a wounded soldier’s children. I think that Florence girl would be all over that. We are so the same.
I suppose I should tell you that Rob is fine and is currently recovering in the hospital right now. He wouldn’t tell you that he’s fine, because it sounds like he’s pretty certain that he may keel over and die. But the doctor’s tell him that he will be fine.
He was hurt in the line of duty a couple of days ago, not shot, although I think he would have prefered that. He has a horrible case of food poisoning and has lost eight pounds in two days. They finally clued in that there may be a problem and hooked him up to an IV, which has so far pumped four litres of fluids into him.
I wish that there was a kindred spirit to my girl Florence over in Afghanistan, as it doesn’t sound like Rob’s getting the most excellent of care. I suppose, if there was, I may have something to worry about.
Because we Nightingale chickas? We are hot as hell.
Roaming the halls of our home throughout the hours of darkness and tending to the cries of our babies as they take turns calling my name. The Florence Nightingale of mothers, if you will.
The Lady With the Lamp, also known as, the woman who has the advantage of a light switch. Modern day conveniences and all
Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room.
Florence and I? We’re totally kindred spirits.
I know, it’s not EXACTLY a house of misery, but when it’s four am and none of us have slept yet? It feels pretty damn miserable to me.
And I realize that I’m not exactly taking care of wounded soldiers, BUT I AM nuturing and caring for a wounded soldier’s children. I think that Florence girl would be all over that. We are so the same.
I suppose I should tell you that Rob is fine and is currently recovering in the hospital right now. He wouldn’t tell you that he’s fine, because it sounds like he’s pretty certain that he may keel over and die. But the doctor’s tell him that he will be fine.
He was hurt in the line of duty a couple of days ago, not shot, although I think he would have prefered that. He has a horrible case of food poisoning and has lost eight pounds in two days. They finally clued in that there may be a problem and hooked him up to an IV, which has so far pumped four litres of fluids into him.
I wish that there was a kindred spirit to my girl Florence over in Afghanistan, as it doesn’t sound like Rob’s getting the most excellent of care. I suppose, if there was, I may have something to worry about.
Because we Nightingale chickas? We are hot as hell.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Sadistic Torture- Chaotic Momentum Post July 29, 2010
Sometimes I just can't do it all. Those people who tell you that when you grow up, you can be whatever you want to be? They lie. Because I'm grown up, I want to be a competant mother, and tonight, I'm failing miserably.
To give myself a little credit, the stars have aligned this evening to work against me and rip a hole in my sanity. It seemed like our day was going okay, we had finished dinner and were playing in the backyard to burn off some steam before bed. Payton's learned how to blow her own bubbles, and Ryker was running through the stream of water from the hose as I watered the garden. The kids were happy. Life was good.
Within seconds, the sun that we had been enjoying vanishes and the sky becomes dark and filled with ominous looking storm clouds. This isn't a strange metaphor to describe a change for the worse as far as our evening goes, but it might as well have been. Seriously, I felt like Dorothy and was waiting for the wicked witch to ride by on her bike through the darkness, cackling in amusement at my life.
Payton thinks that the sudden darkness and intense wind is amazing, and she excitedly helps me put away our outside toys, ordering Ryker around, "Hurry Ry, clean, clean, storm Ry. Hurry!"
Ryker's not listening though, he's doing his own thing over where I was planting shrubs against our fence yesterday. I'm thinking he's playing with the soil I had filled the edges with, which is fine, because we're on our way inside for baths. I go to scoop him up, and it's not soil. Oh no. It's poop. Dog shit.
We race inside, with him protesting and Payton trying to SAVE everything she can carry. I'm trying to steer her in the direction of the door while pinning Ryker's hands down away from his face, that's already covered in shit. It's just beginning to pour as we make it inside. I would never believe, until I had children, that a 25 foot walk could take 10 minutes.
The sky is seriously dark, and our house? Pitch black.
Payton goes to turn on the lights, and the power's out. "Lights broke Momma, Daddy fix. They broke Momma. No light, dark Momma. Where Daddy go? Daddy fix?"
My poor, sweet little girl is wanting an explanation, but Ryker is THRASHING to get out of my arms, and SCREAMING hysterically. I just want to wash his hands and face with soap. And bleach. And then some hand sanitizer. But, I leave it at the soap in an attempt to avoid giving my son serious chemical burns.
Tonight of all nights, I really, really wanted to bath him. And scrub him raw with his Buzz Lightyear loofah, that apparently is now Payton's since we just saw Toy Story 3. She's generously donated her Ariel puff to him instead. But instead of filling the bath, I'm racing around looking for flashlights with Ryker, who's terrified of thunder, on my hip. I'm lighting candles, but as fast as they are lit, Payton is promptly grabbing a chair from somewhere to blow them out. Serious child endangerment and fire hazard. And if a fire is started? My cordless phone won't work because of the power shortage, so there will be no 911 rescue for us. We're on our own. In a dark, bathless island covered in shit, with one overly excited toddler and one that's scared stiff.
Speaking of shit, someone pooped. It's Ryker. I carefully take the kids upstairs into the blackness, and continue lighting candles as Ryker sits on the floor screaming up at me in desperation to be held. It's times like these where I wish I was an octopus, because I need at least eight arms just to manage. Diaper changes by candlelight- this is what romance novels are made of.
Getting the kids calmed down and into bed takes over two hours, and this is with no bath, no chores completed, and no end to the nightmare in sight.
And here I am now. Sitting in my living room, writing my heart out and reliving the pain of this evening, because I'm into sadistic torture like that. I'm ignoring all of the tasks that I have to have done for tomorrow, because as fate would have it, the power just went back on. Just in time for me to feel compelled to finish everything instead of sneaking off to sleep early. As I said, the stars have aligned against me.
I might need glasses, but I could have sworn that the woman who just rode her bike past our house had a green face and Toto peaking out from under a blanket in her basket.
To give myself a little credit, the stars have aligned this evening to work against me and rip a hole in my sanity. It seemed like our day was going okay, we had finished dinner and were playing in the backyard to burn off some steam before bed. Payton's learned how to blow her own bubbles, and Ryker was running through the stream of water from the hose as I watered the garden. The kids were happy. Life was good.
Within seconds, the sun that we had been enjoying vanishes and the sky becomes dark and filled with ominous looking storm clouds. This isn't a strange metaphor to describe a change for the worse as far as our evening goes, but it might as well have been. Seriously, I felt like Dorothy and was waiting for the wicked witch to ride by on her bike through the darkness, cackling in amusement at my life.
Payton thinks that the sudden darkness and intense wind is amazing, and she excitedly helps me put away our outside toys, ordering Ryker around, "Hurry Ry, clean, clean, storm Ry. Hurry!"
Ryker's not listening though, he's doing his own thing over where I was planting shrubs against our fence yesterday. I'm thinking he's playing with the soil I had filled the edges with, which is fine, because we're on our way inside for baths. I go to scoop him up, and it's not soil. Oh no. It's poop. Dog shit.
We race inside, with him protesting and Payton trying to SAVE everything she can carry. I'm trying to steer her in the direction of the door while pinning Ryker's hands down away from his face, that's already covered in shit. It's just beginning to pour as we make it inside. I would never believe, until I had children, that a 25 foot walk could take 10 minutes.
The sky is seriously dark, and our house? Pitch black.
Payton goes to turn on the lights, and the power's out. "Lights broke Momma, Daddy fix. They broke Momma. No light, dark Momma. Where Daddy go? Daddy fix?"
My poor, sweet little girl is wanting an explanation, but Ryker is THRASHING to get out of my arms, and SCREAMING hysterically. I just want to wash his hands and face with soap. And bleach. And then some hand sanitizer. But, I leave it at the soap in an attempt to avoid giving my son serious chemical burns.
Tonight of all nights, I really, really wanted to bath him. And scrub him raw with his Buzz Lightyear loofah, that apparently is now Payton's since we just saw Toy Story 3. She's generously donated her Ariel puff to him instead. But instead of filling the bath, I'm racing around looking for flashlights with Ryker, who's terrified of thunder, on my hip. I'm lighting candles, but as fast as they are lit, Payton is promptly grabbing a chair from somewhere to blow them out. Serious child endangerment and fire hazard. And if a fire is started? My cordless phone won't work because of the power shortage, so there will be no 911 rescue for us. We're on our own. In a dark, bathless island covered in shit, with one overly excited toddler and one that's scared stiff.
Speaking of shit, someone pooped. It's Ryker. I carefully take the kids upstairs into the blackness, and continue lighting candles as Ryker sits on the floor screaming up at me in desperation to be held. It's times like these where I wish I was an octopus, because I need at least eight arms just to manage. Diaper changes by candlelight- this is what romance novels are made of.
Getting the kids calmed down and into bed takes over two hours, and this is with no bath, no chores completed, and no end to the nightmare in sight.
And here I am now. Sitting in my living room, writing my heart out and reliving the pain of this evening, because I'm into sadistic torture like that. I'm ignoring all of the tasks that I have to have done for tomorrow, because as fate would have it, the power just went back on. Just in time for me to feel compelled to finish everything instead of sneaking off to sleep early. As I said, the stars have aligned against me.
I might need glasses, but I could have sworn that the woman who just rode her bike past our house had a green face and Toto peaking out from under a blanket in her basket.
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