Death and Monkeys

I’m a little bit hyped up this morning, despite feeling like crap, thanks to a breakfast consisting of approximately five cups of coffee, one partially burnt brownie, and a glass of Emergen-C, as well as finding proof that I’m either on the verge of death, or totally fine, depending entirely on the nature of what I discovered.

That should be explained.

Right, so, there I was, plucking my eyebrows using crappy tweezers and a half-broken hand mirror that E kept poking at in an effort to rearrange my face (he’s obsessed with touch-screens and tries to make things happen on the TV, laptop, and mirrors using his finger). Due to a strange (or not so strange, really) fear of having anything lodged in my teeth and smiling at people (this happened to me! I had broccoli for dinner, went to Walgreen’s, and was feeling overly smiley one night and didn’t realize til hours later that there was broccoli winking at the cashier when I flashed my pearly whites at him(this also is a reason why flirting just does not work for me))…

Whoa, slow down.

Ah, yes. I curled my lips back in an ugly snarly way to see if any bits of brownie had taken up residence between my teeth, and that’s when I noticed a tiny little round black spot on my gums.

I poked at it, tried to scrape it off in the hopes that it was ground pepper (which was silly, because I’ve not consumed pepper in days, and yes, I have in fact brushed my teeth since then. At least once, but if my memory is correct, it’s been more like six times).

It didn’t budge. It also didn’t hurt, either, so, as any sane person would do, I Googled it.

By the way, if you’re going to Google any kind of medical anything, don’t bother looking at the pictures, because not only will you see disgusting photos relating to what you’re actually looking for, you’ll be distracted by disgusting photos that are completely UNrelated to what you’re actually looking for.

Man, there are people out there with really, REALLY gross mouths.

Oh, hell, I’m one of them now! I’ve got a BLACK SPOT ON MY GUMS!

Anyway, the information I found tells me that this spot COULD just be a discoloration. It COULD just be a bruise from vigorous tooth-brushing.

Or it could be oral cancer in its earliest stages and I’ll probably die a horrible death if I don’t go see a dentist ASAP.

So, I’m either totally fine, or on the verge of death.

Actually, nothing said anything about dying, but that’s just my mind’s natural progression; I find a spot that didn’t exist as recently as yesterday, and I assume it’s a death omen.

Like on The Muppets Treasure Island (er, is that right? You probably know what I’m talking about, regardless), with the black spot. Totally similar.

To make my day even better, I’ve got what I suspect is a cold, but feels more like the flu, and I only think it’s a cold because it started with just a runny nose, then has slowly gotten worse over the last several days. I am now at the point where I feel much like crawling under a blanket and sleeping for a week. The problem with this plan is that L won’t let me sleep that long, and E would just pull the blanket off of me to throw on the floor. And then he wouldn’t even play with it.

Why are children so mean?

To tie all this together nicely…

I’ve had a headache nearly every day since my nose first started being all snotty. I had assumed the headache was courtesy of whatever bug I’ve caught, but now, since finding the spot on my gums, it seems far more likely that the headache is being caused by a major brain tumor that is showing itself through the spot on my gums.

And this is why I should

A) Not be left to my own devices for long periods of time
B) Not pluck my eyebrows
and
C) Never Google anything. Ever.

Now all I want to do is call Clint at work to run my theories by him and see if he agrees that I’m likely to die in the next few weeks.

Oooh, he’d be so mad.

Yeah, not about my death, about me calling him at work to discuss my death.

…BUT WHAT IF I REALLY AM DYING?!

He’d probably say, “Well, we can worry about that when I get home. It doesn’t sound like you’re going to kick the bucket before dinner time. Oh, speaking of dinner, what are we having?”

Because dinner is an acceptable discussion to have while he’s on the clock, but not my death.

He’s gonna feel really awful if this black spot has swallowed my whole head by the time he gets home.

Note: I think Clint tends to sound fairly heartless in my imaginary conversations with him. This is not the case. He’s just not impressed by my frequent claims that I’m dying.

Also, I imagine that one day I really will, really and truly, be convinced that I’m dying, and I will look back over my life and hate myself for all previous false alarms. Such a waste of time! Why, oh why do I spend so much life on being afraid of death?

Right, I’m totally going to live it up now. Sky diving, and…roller coasters…and…

Whatever. I’ll get to that stuff when this cold goes away and I’ve seen a dentist.

P.S. Yeah, this post has nothing whatsoever to do with monkeys, but it’s the first title that popped into my (possibly cancerous) head. Oh, wait. Me and E watched Curious George this morning. So, there ya go. A monkey made it into this post.

 

 

Wherein I Accomplish Nothing

I was thinking this morning (about 3:45 this morning, actually) that I post way too much about my kids, and being their mom. So I tried very hard to come up with something completely different.

It got me nowhere, possibly because it WAS 3:45 in the morning.

Okay, so that’s not entirely true. I thought of a lot of things, all entirely unrelated to children and mommyhood, but after a lot of coffee, I realized, “Who wants to read about my opinion on…anything…when I can barely string together a sentence that makes sense?”

Evidently, I don’t really care, because here I am making a whole lot of no sense at anyone daring to muddle through this.

Sorry.

And then I put the kibosh on an entire post I’d written in my head involving not much else besides the proper procedure for snow removal and how much I want a pet giraffe.

I’d name him Elmer, in case you’re curious. And yes, it would be a boy giraffe, because in my experience, boy pets are the best pets. Girls are too…too…well, I’ve never had a female pet that I really liked. Probably our mood swings have been too similar and you know how a lot of times, when someone is JUST LIKE YOU, you somehow don’t really like them?

…what does that say about me, eh? Yeah, don’t answer that.

Oh, snap, I lied. I had a dog that I really liked. A girl, yes. My parents stole her and won’t give her back, though.

NOTE: That’s not true. Well, it’s true that they won’t give her back, but they didn’t steal her. I had to leave my doggy with them when I moved out, and it didn’t make sense to take her back because by then, she liked being with my parents, and they liked having her.

Dammit.

And now I’m stuck with one psycho kitten that really ought to be locked up for her own and everyone else’s safety (true story, we had her spayed a few weeks ago and the vet assistant refused to touch the cat to get her out of the cage, because this cat, as I said, is a psycho), one demon cat from hell, and one cat that seems totally out of place around here and throws up all over my house.

I put up with her puking because she’s the only cat we have who isn’t plotting my death. Or, more likely, she’s just being way less obvious about it.

I hate cats.

I also hate boxelder bugs, which I’ve been finding in my bathroom at random intervals all winter long. WHERE ARE THEY HIDING?! WHERE ARE THEY GETTING IN THROUGH?!

It occurs to me that I could solve so many of my problems with a flame thrower.

Overkill?

Absolutely, but talk about fun.

ANYWAY, my point is (oh yes, there’s a point), do I really want to be a mommy blog? I don’t even remember where I started this whole thing out. Probably I had grand plans, was going to DO things and then write about them. Cakes, maybe. Yes, I would write about cake. It’s an important part of my life.

And yet, strangely enough, my kiddos seem to be just a little bit MORE important than cake.

I guess that’s how you know you’ve crossed over from being just another house wife into Real Mommy Territory. By where cake ranks on your list of priorities.

Oh, I am totally posting this load of crap.

I’m Probably Already Way Beyond Crazy, But…

Because I am a stay-at-home mom/wife, and because there are now two little ones (both in diapers…ew) to hang out with, and because spring has not yet sprung and L is too little to go out in the cold yet anyway, and because over the course of the last month my house has become extremely un-cluttered…

I have a huge fear of becoming BORED. It’s like a four-letter word to me, except of course it’s really five, but that’s not the issue here.

I can’t afford boredom. It would come at a very high price, and that would be my sanity.

Here’s my situation:

I live in a tiny little town populated mainly by middle-aged and older people. Not that those people aren’t great (most of them), but I mean, Clint and I are 27 years old and much as we might get along with people who are older than we are (yes, as opposed to getting along with younger people, which we generally don’t)(wait, what the hell am I talking about? OH!), it’s not like we’re going to be hanging out at each other’s houses and inviting each other out to have coffee or…or…whatever people do to socialize with each other.

Cripes, I’ve become a hermit.

Anyway, we also live half an hour’s drive away from a real town (oh yes, I’ve just denied the actual township of my…non-town), and that being where most of my family lives, and it being a boring drive from here to there/there to here, not to mention (although I AM mentioning it…hmm) gas prices…

…

Sorry, the elipses was really entertaining, and yes, I use and abuse them. It? Is that plural?

Oh! And then there’s my best friend, and also my big sister, who live even further away.

And we don’t have free/unlimited long distance. If we could get decent cell phone reception out here, that wouldn’t be a problem. But, as things stand, my bestie (oh dear, I’ve done it. I swore I would never, NEVER, ever ever ever use that word) and my sister live JUST far enough away to be long distance.

Crappy.

It’s not like I don’t have things to occupy a good portion of my time. I mean, kids are pretty time consuming (no, that’s not a complaint, just fact), and then there are the average household cleaning duties such as laundry and dishes. However, since I’ve been washing dishes every morning, and sometimes in the afternoon too, and the laundry pile is dwindling down to almost manageable, and between me, my mom, and my other mom (she’s not technically mine, she’s Clint’s, but I always steal his stuff anyway, so why not his mom, too? Reasonable?) most every problematic, highly cluttered spot in my house is…organized.

It’s super weird.

Not the cleanliness of it, I just mean no longer having all these overwhelming piles of useless junk lurking in every available corner or closet or cupboard of my house.

Today, I dusted the entertainment center, and if you know anything about me, you know that’s a pretty drastic measure for me. I also washed the dishes, vacuumed, and cleaned up one of the last scary cabinets in the house.

Turns out, I have a LOT of empty picture frames.

And flower seeds.

And incense.

Also an inexplicable amount of masking tape.

I’ve also spent a lot of time with both of the munchkins, started a roast in the crock pot, and baked a double batch of brownies (oh yes, homemade and inevitably delicious). While mixing the batter, I sang and danced to terrible (and yet so loveable) songs from the 90’s while E sat by in his high chair and “helped” by smearing flour and cocoa around his tray, pausing every now and then to demand “more choc-late!”

I washed my hair.

I watched a deer climb up onto my neighbor’s porch.

I changed L’s stinky diaper THREE times in a ten minute period because APPARENTLY, I am impatient/kinda dumb.

I made fun of Michael Jackson to E, who laughed despite his lack of understanding just how hilarious the joke was.

Yeah, I’d say that if spring doesn’t get here ASAP, I’m likely to go completely psycho.

Comfortability

Most people have a personal bubble- an amount of space around them that they would like other people to stay the hell out of. I believe the amount of space varies from person to person, culture to culture. Was it Americans I heard have really small personal bubbles? Or were they big bubbles?

Dang, I can’t remember.

Anyway, my own personal bubble is huge. Basically, I would like for people to remain about five feet away from me at all times, or I start to feel crowded and overwhelmed and extremely uncomfortable. You know those people who like to stand almost toe to toe with you while they talk directly into your face?

I hate those people.

Back off!

In large crowds, I steer clear of the thickest piles of humans and if I have to actually try to walk through them, I tend to hold my breath and give myself a pep-talk.

I kind of wonder if I just hate people, period.

But then, it’s not ALL people that bother me when they’re close by. In fact, calm people, and people who don’t yell or touch or steal my breathing air almost right out of my nose don’t bother me. They can be ohh, two feet away.

High-energy people, however…

Ugh.

Crazy people. People who get loud. People who wave their hands a lot. People who just never hold still. I can’t handle them up close. It’s hard enough to deal with them in the same room, let alone all up in my business. They’re exhausting, and irritating. Or, even if they’re not irritating, I feel irritable towards them just for existing in all their overflowing energy-ness…

Yeah, spell-check doesn’t like that word, hyphenated or no.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is why I choose the doctors I do, and what makes me like/dislike hair stylists or cashiers or waitresses or anyone else who has reason to be within my five-foot radius of stay-the-hell-away-from-me.

Actually, come to think of it, this is all why I don’t like Princess Zelda, Psycho Kitten.

Too. Much. Energy.

What am I saying? I get freaked out by my own husband being too energetic or just plain crazy anywhere near me. What would be so wrong with just chilling the eff out?!

Right, so, that’s about the extent of my brain’s ability to function for now. I’m sure it was riveting.

Oh, and hey! Happy New Year!

Bugs, Bad Babies, and Oh! It’s Almost Christmas!

The night before last, I had a dream worse than almost any other nightmare I’ve ever had in my life. Most bad dreams I have don’t linger after I wake up; as in, I rarely wake up still feeling the way I did whilst dreaming. But this one, even after opening my eyes in the dark and determining the probable cause of said dream…I felt awful.

I was dreaming that I had lice.

Not even just that I had lice, but that I could feel the lice creepy-crawling around on my scalp, and I could feel myself scratching at it. My sister was there, for whatever reason, and she picked a nasty bug out of my hair and showed it to me and informed me it was lice before running far, far away from me.

More creepy-crawly feeling, more dream-scratching, and I finally woke up with a horrid sick feeling in my stomach, imagining that I could still feel the lice on my head. But then something in the real world pulled my hair and poked at my scalp, and instead of screaming like I kind of wanted to do, I reached up and grabbed hold of…

Princess Zelda, Stupid Attack Kitten.

Yeah, she was tangled pretty good in my hair. The more tangled she got, the more she attacked my scalp. It took about as long to stop feeling all icky from my dream as it did to get the damn cat out of my hair.

Mr. E has become quite the little conversationalist. He learned to say “stop it” (“toppit”) to the kitten, and he’s learned to tell me “all done” whenever he’s finished eating, drawing, playing, or getting his diaper changed. Those two are just the most currently relevant in his little baby vocabulary; he says all kinds of things, but for my own evil mom purposes, we’ll stick with just the two.

Yesterday after E finished eating his lunch, I used poor judgment and let him out of his high chair before I was finished with my lunch. He ran around for a minute before stopping in front of me. He pointed at my plate and said, “Toppit!” I ignored him and kept eating. He made a full lap around the house before coming back and pointing at my plate and saying “Toppit!”

I told him to buzz off and let Mommy finish her lunch.

Another lap around the house, and he was back. I was only sort of paying attention, so I didn’t see what was about to happen.

E lifted both arms in the air and brought his chubby little fingers down on the edge of the plate in my lap, sending crackers and cheese flying everywhere and the plate clattering to the floor. He grinned and yelled, “ALLLLLL DONE!”

Gah! Whose kid IS he, anyway?

I was pretty steamed, but also in awe of this little guy. Guess that’ll teach me to ignore him.

“Jeez, Mom! You coulda cut this up for me.”

He’s got an attitude as big as his dad’s (just kidding honey…!).

In other news, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Not that we haven’t had our outside lights up for almost a month now, but even the inside of my house is starting to look festive!

You can tell I put a lot of effort into inserting those photos. Hard work, I tell you. Now, if I don’t make it back here in the next couple weeks, Merry Christmas to you all!

Warning: Explosive!

I think it might be a good idea for me to slap a sticker on my forehead, warning others that I am currently very highly-strung, majorly combustible, easily provoked, and being plain old bitchy. Is there a good word for all that?

Oh, right- “Explosive”.

Yeah, you might want to back away now. Slowly. And don’t look me directly in the eye.

Poor Clint is getting all the absolute worst of my terrible mood swings in the last few weeks. I don’t remember having them this badly when I was pregnant with E, and I’m hoping that the intensity of these mood swings isn’t a sign that our little girl is going to be a major drama queen.

On the other hand…what little girl isn’t a drama queen?

The other night, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep on the living room floor- yeah, the hard wood floor, the one I am barely able to get up from when I’ve just been sitting there. The weird part? I was extremely comfortable there, until such time as Clint hollered at me because I was snoring and he couldn’t hear The Hills Have Eyes 2 over it (is that a movie that’s really worth listening to? I mean, I was sort of listening without watching, and I had no idea what was going on, so the screaming can’t have been important to the story…right?).

Then, once I’d managed to separate myself from the spot on the floor, we went to bed. At which point my anger kicked in, and after nearly half an hour of listening to me yell, Clint informed me I should be on Xanax.

Well! I had every reason to be cheesed off!

1. My left hip (the one I generally sleep on) has been doing this lovely thing where the bones grind together when I move. If I’m standing when it happens, I just about keel over. This makes it a bit difficult to ever be truly comfortable, even when lying down.

2. Clint was too close. Really. He was lying on HALF OF MY PILLOW! It’s MINE, you hear me? MINE! And I do not share pillows. Pillows are precious to me. BACK OFF!

3. Clint was too close. He was lying in the center of the king-sized bed. His knee touched me. His arm was on me. His toe touched my foot. Oh, HELL no. BACK OFF!

4. Clint was too close. He was in the same room. BACK OFF!

5. I tried to explain why I was so tired:

a) I’m growing a baby

b) I spend about 10 hours a day alone with a toddler

c) My sleep is interrupted every single night by a combination/sometimes all of the following reasons-

*My bladder is full

*I’ve been snoring and Clint has to make me roll over

*I have sudden heartburn and have to take something

*Mr. E has woken up crying

*Princess Zelda is trying to eat me

*Princess Zelda is destroying the house

*Princess Zelda is knocking toys down the wooden stairs

*I’m thirsty

*Clint’s alarm has gone off four times

*Princess Zelda is making the other two cats hiss at her

*I’ve drooled in one spot so much I wake up afraid I’m drowning

I figure that on an average night (average for the last two or three weeks, anyway), I’m waking up at least five times a night. It’s really tempting to wake Clint up with me every time, but in the light of day, this idea is irrational and not worth the effort. I’ve also been tempted to kill Clint when he’s asleep, just because he IS asleep and I’m not…but again, in the light of day, I reject this plan based solely on the fact that when I’m not sleep deprived, I actually quite like him.

And then there’s the fact that he hasn’t killed me for being a psycho every night. Really, how many guys can stand to be yelled at every single night by their wife and still somehow like her?

Probably I should hang on to him…and maybe, just maybe, tone down the insanity a bit.

We’ll see about that.

 

So, So What? I’m Still a Rock Star

*Brief political commentary! Beware!

I just want to share that I am, in fact, disappointed with the result of the presidential election. I spent several hours dwelling on it, and worrying, and being irritated. However, I am quickly reverting to my usual state of “I don’t much care”, and as the true optimist that I am, will hope that this does not all end in tears.

I would also like to add, for the 30 seconds more that I have given myself to care, that I think the electoral college business is seriously out-dated and no longer necessary.

Oh, and my state voted to legalize pot. Erm…whatever, on that one.

On an unrelated note, Mr. E has taken to “helping” me like a duck to water. Whenever I change his diaper, he now says, “Want? Help!” Which means he wants to hold something for me until we’ve got a dry diaper on him. He can also pick up his toys when I ask him to; about three of them make it into the toy box before he starts taking others out.

We’ve also started having drawing time a couple times a day. I give him paper and colored pens (crayons get eaten), and he makes the prettiest scribbles I ever saw. Of COURSE he’s an artist in the making. Although, it would be nice if he would stop putting the pen in his ear and turning his ear lobes pink or blue.

He does his best work surrounded by a mess- crumbs from his snack, apple juice, and of course his phone must be handy.

On yet another unrelated note, Clint and I got a start on putting Christmas lights up outside last weekend. On Sunday night, we turned them on and took E outside on the porch, where he spent the next half hour running from one end to the other yelling “light”, “wow”, and “yay”.

And, last and probably least, our kitten, Princess Zelda, has somehow gotten a noodle stuck in her fur on her back, and it’s been there for the last five hours. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t know why she’s leaving it there.

So, this is my life lately. Not exciting, but I kind of like it.

Load Me Up on the Short Bus…

…because I belong in Special Ed.

At least, that’s how I’ve felt for the last week or so. Two weeks? Three? All year?

I couldn’t tell you for sure when it started, because it seems like most of my life has been speckled with really ridiculously “special” moments. And then, I got pregnant the first time around and my brain took off on a vacation and never returned (probably Venice, the bastard).

And do you know, ‘baby brain’ doesn’t really go away after having the baby? This is bad news for me. Although, how I can claim to have baby brain and no brain at all, at the same time, well. Just goes to show, I’m right that I’ve turned into a lunatic or someone who ought to be wearing water wings and a helmet.

Not so very long ago, I was preparing to cook dinner using the Crock Pot. The inside part was in the dish rack, which, moments before, I had been very pleased to see; it doesn’t always happen that I can just throw stuff into a pot and go, since there is usually at least one dish that has to be washed first.

So, I cracked open the two different cans of cream of whatever soup I needed for the recipe, and dumped one in directly followed by the second.

And, um, there was no Crock Pot IN the Crock Pot.

Lots of fun, scooping/scraping condensed soup out of a shiny metal contraption that isn’t meant for having food directly touching it.

Worse, I didn’t notice my idiot move until after the SECOND can of soup.

Later on that day, I fell in the toilet. I’ve not done that in ages, despite having failed to convince Clint that he should put the seat down for me. In fact, I’m so used to checking the seat for down-ness that I can stumble into the bathroom in the middle of the night, in the dark, with my eyes shut, and still never fall butt first into the toilet.

Score another dummy point for me! I also managed to bend my thumbnail backwards when I tried to catch myself. Fear of drowning, and whatnot.

A few days ago, I put up plastic over our living room windows to help keep in heat/keep out cold. It’s sort of a big job for one person to do (although when I work with Clint, it just turns into a sort of big fight). First, I had to get the double-sided tape around the window frame. Then I had to peel the paper off one strip of tape, unfold the plastic sheet, stick it to the top of the window frame in a somewhat straight fashion, and so on and so forth until the window was covered. Once that part was done, I had to take the scissors to the excess plastic, trying not to cut like a drunk person, and then find an outlet for plugging in the hair dryer so that I could shrink the plastic to get rid of wrinkly spots.

Success!

Since then, my household is conspiring against all that tedious work by trying to bust through the plastic, thereby letting in the cold draftiness from the very old single-pane windows, and completely negating my efforts.

Mr. E likes to put his fingers on the plastic and push, or fall against it with both hands. The kitten likes to run from across the room to jump in the window sill, not realizing there is a barrier there, and she bounces off and flies several feet back toward where she came from. The older cats think it seems like a good place to try and sharpen their claws.

So, I’ve spent the time since I finished this job trying to protect my work; E gets in trouble for messing with the windows, the cats get booted outside or sprayed with water.  There have been several threats casually thrown around, mainly implying that the punishment for putting a hole through the plastic might possibly be death. Or, more realistically, I’ll just throw a pregnant-lady tantrum, get over it, and re-do the whole window with a fresh sheet of plastic.

Damn it.

And then, I was sitting here at the computer with a glass of iced tea, and needed a place to set it out of E’s reach. Without thinking about it, I went to set the glass in the window sill. My hand bounced off an invisible barrier and startled me into dropping the tea on the floor. Didn’t break through, but left a mark (wrinkled spot in otherwise perfectly smooth area).

At this rate, the plastic MIGHT last another week. Maybe.

At this rate, one more really DUH moment might just kill me off.

*Since posting this about half an hour ago, my old, mean cat has torn not just one, but TWO holes in the plastic. This cat makes me want to shoot her on a daily basis. Commencing Operation: Fix Plastic. GRR!

Grumble, Grumble

Sometimes, getting through a single day is enough of a work-out and brain teaser without adding into the mix the crazy mood swings of pregnancy. But when those hormones start flipping out, so do I, and today has so far been…

Well, I threatened several times to turn Clint into Mr. Potato Head. Which would be fairly normal, except that I wasn’t kidding. There were two more potato plants in the garden (blue potatoes, an experiment by a family member that didn’t work out very well), and I was supposed to dig them up ages ago.

Of course, I didn’t. And so today, Clint asked me (again) to pull the blue potatoes. At which point all the threats and grumbling started. Clint, in his infinite wisdom, took off to go do some kind of project that involved getting to listen to his iPod and drown me out.

Good plan.

I yelled at Mr. E. Not just trying to get his attention, either, but actual, angry, frustrated, I’d heard way too much crying yelling.

For goodness sake, he’s not even two yet. What is my problem?

Oh, right. Pregnant.

I didn’t have my normal pot of coffee this morning, and I had to drive 30 miles to go to the grocery store with a caffeine headache, and…and…

WAAAHHH!!!

That pretty much sums it up. And that’s ridiculous, because it’s not like I’m having the worst day ever or anything. I almost wish I was (so totally kidding, really, I don’t need that right now) just so I’d have a good explanation for why I’m so angry, weepy, irritated, and just plain worn out.

Although, right at the moment, I feel great. Possibly due to the huge mug of coffee I’m working on, or that E is down for a nap and isn’t fussy-facing at me, or because Clint is outside working when I’m not (I did at least dig the potatoes up…there were a whopping TWO of them).

Guess I’ll take advantage of the momentary peace and go outside and enjoy my coffee in the sunshine.

 

Stupid Monday

It’s fairly difficult to concentrate when there’s a wobbly purple hippo playing loud music at my feet, but sometimes, the urge to write something, anything, over-rides the urge to find and destroy all noisy toys.

My son just deposited a large, squishy, rumbling fire truck in my lap, and threw a ball at me.

He also stole the mouse and ran away with it.

These are a few of the many reasons I haven’t been posting very often lately (again).

I wanted to post something here that MEANS something, but I can see now that isn’t going to happen. If I were to play dead, would I be left alone for five seconds? Or would I actually have to BE dead?

Not that I’m not enjoying life, I’m just not enjoying my morning thus far. The coffee, even with creamer, tastes yucky. I’m drinking it anyway, of course, but I’m not enjoying it at all. Also, I keep being distracted by everything; not just the baby (who is now parked in his high chair and smashing bits of Poptart into his hair), and not just by the hoard (3) of angry cats who think they should be fed, but by Christmas.

Yeah, a tiny bit early for that, I know.

I also keep thinking about how to paint/decorate a room in the basement, what color to paint the kitchen, what delicious Crock Pot meal I’m going to have to start in a couple of hours, and the fact that I really need to redo my fingernails, but I’ve got no cotton balls.

Basically, I’m giving up on writing today, but I wanted people- who aren’t 19 months old- to know I still exist.