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.

Benefit of Recent Sleep Deprivation…

Last night, I was awake with L for a total of three hours. This was actually a good night with her, because those hours were not spent screaming and crying and grunting, but just eating and listening to Mommy sing a made up song about an “Early-Rising Girly”.

Poor little girl.

During those awake hours (that were not, by the way, consecutive), my over-tired brain was actually working. Thinking. Contemplating life, the universe, and everything (42!! And if that makes no sense to you, you’re missing out on some funny stuff. Weird, but funny).

One of those thoughts revolved solely around my big, fat, fatness…which, I am very happy to be able to say, is not so big and fat anymore.

I started out my pregnancy with L weighing a whopping 242 pounds. I lost ten of that before I found out I was pregnant, and I stayed right around 230 my whole pregnancy.

The scale delivered excellent news to me this morning, informing me that I now weigh 207 pounds.

Not where I want to be, but far better than where I was. Granted, after I had E, my weight dropped down to 205, and the more I thought about keeping the weight off, the faster it seemed to creep back on.

Not this time, dammit! Not going there again. E.V.E.R.

This time, I have a plan. And a fancy scale to check up on myself frequently. And two kiddos instead of just one, one of whom is old enough to learn bad habits or good habits from his parents. I’m shooting for teaching him GOOD eating habits.

Another thought was how much I really love being a stay-at-home mom/wife. I might not be spectacular at it, and chaos erupts several times a day, and I forget to pay important bills, and I lose my mind at random intervals…

But this role? It just…FITS. I can honestly say, despite the inevitable bad day here and there, that I have never been happier in my life than I am now, simply hanging around the house with E and my husband and now our daughter. I’m loving learning how to run this household in a way that not just works for all of us, but is comfortable and fun. I love those good days when everything (miraculously) is clean and nice for when Clint comes home. I love teaching E new things, and learning constantly from him. I’m beginning to learn to love L for more reasons than simply because she is mine.

I almost, ALMOST don’t even mind cooking so much anymore. Even if I still suck at it.

No, honestly, I’m horrible with food. As in, it’s a stroke of luck if I manage to cook a pot of pasta correctly.

Something else that occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning was that I am sick of being a door mat. I don’t mean that people are mean to me and I just sit there and take it (well, that doesn’t usually happen, anyway). I mean, it seems like nearly everybody I know has a stronger, more agressive, or more out going personality than I do, and therefore, I get trampled.

People rarely ever hear/listen to what I have to say on any given subject. For instance, I have a family member who will make a comment about something going on with E, and I will then try to explain what’s going on there. This person completely ignores what I have to say, which causes them to worry unneccessarily about E.

If they would just LISTEN, there’d be no problem. No worries. Granted, if this person DID actually listen to me, ever, it might mean that I am actually an intelligent human being WORTH listening to…

Maybe I won’t go into that right now. I’ll just get myself irritated.

Anyway, where I was going with this…

I don’t HAVE to be a door mat. I don’t have to be POLITE to everyone, I don’t have to waste my time trying to make myself heard in a POLITE way, I don’t have to let anyone else waste my time because I am trying to be POLITE and not tell them to buzz off.

More importantly, I realized that I don’t want to teach my children that it is alright to let other people treat THEM the way a lot of people treat me (i.e, as though my opinions/thoughts/time don’t matter). I want them to know how/when to stand up for themselves, something that I’m just starting to learn myself.

Wow, I should do more late-night thinking.

Three Weeks Later (almost)…

I think I’m having a weird time adjusting to this whole having two children thing. Not a hard time. Not a bad time. Just very strange, sort of like, “This is my life now? Huh.”

I was so used to it being just me and E around here during the week days. We watched a couple of cartoons on PBS in the morning. We laughed and talked while I changed his diaper. We made goldfish crackers swim, swim, swim and *MUAH*! Fish kiss!

We counted. We sang songs. We read stories. We went out for short walks.

Now, with little tiny, sweet, precious L in our lives, we TRY to still do those things. L sleeps much like newborns tend to do (as in, all the time if I’m not tired, and what feels like never if I’m exhausted). I have time for E. I talk to him and play with him maybe even MORE than I used to do, whilst feeding or changing L, because I’m so worried that E will end up being left out.

And E, he is the sweetest, most observant, most intelligent little boy I have ever met, and I’m absolutely terrified that one bad day, one too harsh word when all he’s trying to do is help, will ruin him for life.

He just gets so…so…SAD, when I have to get really stern with him.

And as for spanking him?

Clint and I always just assumed that we would spank our kids when they deserved it. We never really discussed what sort of behavior in a child actually warrants a spanking, but we figured we would just know when E needed a spanking. But then, through the first year, it made zero sense to us to swat his butt for things, because come on, he was still just tiny.

Now that he’s turned two, we still can’t see spanking him for anything. Partly because he’s still just tiny (albeit less tiny than he was a year ago…HEY, that means I’m doing something right!) and partly because he IS so tender-hearted.

So what do we do for discipline? Because let’s face it, we have a TWO YEAR OLD, and try as we might to be patient with him and let him explore his world, there are times when I want to tear my hair out and just let Clint handle it (actually, I never want to be the mom who passes off all discipline to Dad, thereby turning him into “the bad guy” or instilling any kind of fear into E of his daddy).

Anyway, this isn’t about toddler discipline (although you may think otherwise from the last few paragraphs). This is about…

Do you know, I don’t remember what I started this out as. And I even read through what I wrote.

Huh. Baby brain is still in full swing, I see.

Just to really throw my readers for a loop…

I can’t keep still. I had a C-section, for crying out loud, and from the time I came home from the hospital, all I want to do is things I’m not allowed to do.

Like vacuuming the ceiling. Oh, yes, I did. I held the vacuum in one hand (about two feet off the floor to make the hose reach the ceiling) and vacuumed cobwebs with the other. I don’t advise this for anyone who has just had any kind of surgery, by the way.

But darn it, I have so much stinking ENERGY since I had L! I absolutely cannot just SIT. I suspect this has a lot to do with how much weight I’ve lost since I first found out I was pregnant last spring (yeah, yeah…don’t worry, the pregnancy was fine, and L is perfectly healthy). Also, I absolutely cannot obey the rule about not lifting anything heavier than L. I HAVE to lift E. And he is a good twenty (twenty-four) pounds heavier than his baby sister.

Anyway, it’s been almost three full weeks since the C-section, and I know I’m supposed to chill for another three, but…

No.

All I want to do is clean my house all the time.

Speaking of which, this is kind of really strange behavior for me. I mean, I never really MINDED cleaning my house before, but this is a whole new side of me.

I get up around seven, as usual (although these days that’s only after a long night with L). I get E out of bed and feed him. I feed L while I have my coffee. I do the facebook thing. And then, by eight o’clock, I am washing the dishes. And vacuuming.

And HEY, would you look at that, I just had a package delivered by UPS, and it’s the comforter and sheets I ordered last week to replace a set I loved that my stupid, stupid cats tore apart (fake silk and cat claws…bad mix), and so I now end my ramblings.

Lucky you.  Oh, and here’s L at two weeks…

P.S.- By the way, I refuse to be held responsible for anything I say that makes no sense at all.

Keep Calm and…right, that’s not working for me

I’m on the verge of going into panic-mode over the impending arrival of our little girl. You know, like I haven’t been expecting this for approximately nine months. Well, eight, really, but who’s counting?

Besides me. And my husband. And our families. And the doctor.

Do you know how much work it is to prepare for the arrival of a baby? If you’ve never had a baby, you can probably only take a wild guess, and you’d probably be wrong. Not that I think you’re stupid, of course, but see, I’ve had a baby already and was still unprepared for the preparation of this second baby.

What I’m saying is, don’t have babies. They’re just terrible.

I’ve tried to separate in my mind all the projects/prep work into two categories- Finished, and Someday We Might Get This Done.

Under the Finished category, we’ve chosen a name! So instead of being Baby Number 2, she will, from here on out, be referred to as L, or any other cute nick names that spring to mind after I’ve seen her little baby face.

In 17 days. Or is it 16? Wait, I thought I was actually counting.

Also under the Finished category, Clint has finished with the two coats of primer that were necessary for a room in the basement to be turned into a guest room, mainly for my mother-in-law, who will be here to help us get/keep things under control. Hopefully. I mean, hopefully she will be here, not hopefully she will help. I know she’ll help. It’s just that there’s this whole annoying jury duty obstacle she’s trying to work around.

Like I said, hopefully she’ll be here.

As for the jury duty I was supposed to have last week, they postponed it for me, due to me sneaking up on my due date. Which means they’ll probably call me in for real at the earliest, and second most inconvenient time they can find for me.

Under the Someday category falls…everything else.

Sorting through E’s room and clothes. Sorting through L’s clothes and setting up her crib. Arranging our bedroom in a way that makes sense for a baby and bassinet to move in with us for a couple months. Actually painting/decorating the guest room.

Actually having this baby.

Oh, hell. I’m freaking out.

 

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!

Post-Christmas Weird Mood

Any time large numbers of people get together for any length of time, it’s a recipe for trouble. Maybe only a small amount of trouble, or maybe a huge amount, but trouble nonetheless. Someone, somewhere, is bound to get annoyed at something somebody says/does, and then all hell is going to break loose (on a large or small scale (although if it’s only on a small scale, is “all hell” really “breaking loose”?)).

This didn’t happen at my house over Christmas.

This didn’t happen anywhere near me over Christmas.

What did happen was that my mother-in-law was here for a week, staying with myself, Clint, and E. There was one night that was fraught with tension, and being the way I am, I was forced- FORCED!- to attempt to dispel that tension and make everything all sunshine and rainbows again.

And so my solution was going to be to “Buddy-the-Elf-it” and leap from the ottoman into the top of our 7 1/2 foot Christmas tree.

I didn’t.

In my defense, the reason I didn’t (mainly) was because of logistics; I’m very nearly eight months pregnant, and the amount of…um, you know…the invisible energy force that they teach you about in high school science (or maybe middle school, I don’t know, after 6th grade my brain signed out of all academics) that makes objects (or really pregnant, 5’9″ tall women) fly through the air and actually reach their destination…

I’m not sure where I was going with that. Either way, I thought better of my plan, and didn’t even get very many laughs for my empty threat.

Inertia!

…I think.

Moving right along…

After Christmas dinner with my husband’s mom’s side of the family, Scrabble was brought out. Four of us sat down to play, and I’d just like to state here that I am APPALLED at the actual rules of this game.

I thought I knew how to play; everyone draws their seven letters, someone plays first and so on and so forth, everyone maintains seven letters until there aren’t enough left in the bag, people score points from their words, someone wins. The End.

Oh, no.

Am I the only Scrabble-lover on the planet that didn’t know about the sneaky, horrible little rule that gives the points off of everyone’s remaining letters to the first person to use all of their letters?

Not only that, but those same points on the remaining letters are subtracted from your score! Well, whoever the letter(s) belong to, anyway. They lose those points while those same points are just given away.

If not for this rule (or, to place blame where it’s due, if not for my husband actually bothering to read the rules as we played), I would have won by at least ten points.

Stupid letter Q.

Now that Christmas is over and I’ve removed the giant tree from my living room, and since New Year’s is very nearly my least favorite holiday, all I really have to look forward to in the coming weeks is another doctor’s appointment where all they do is listen to the baby’s heart beat and ask how I’m feeling.

Oh, and jury duty.

Do you know, I have never before been slapped with jury duty. It seems like my husband gets it all the time, and that’s fine with me, because all he has to do is take off a little time from work. Not me. I don’t get off that easy. I have to make an extraneous trip into town, after finding a babysitter. Unfortunately, everyone nearby whom I would trust to watch my child will be all…busy.

Work, or some such ridiculous thing.

On the bright side, maybe when I call the night before to see if I still have to go, I’ll be told no.

And if I DO have to go, still looking on the bright side, maybe they won’t want a hugely pregnant, cranky, and totally biased woman with family in law enforcement on their jury.

Ha!

I think the cold, snowy weather is giving me a bad attitude today. I’m gonna go get that under control.

 

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!