I'll give you three guesses about what I was busy doing tonight, and why. Nope, not that. Ewwwwww, NO! Sicko. Okay, fine. Need a hint? It's very graphic, so don't click the link unless you are of hearty disposition. Don't say I didn't warn you. Ready? When sprinkles attack! Tomorrow my darling baby Monkey turns six years old. He will have CUPCAKES! And! SPRINKLES! at school. Then he will have CAKE! And! ICE CREAM! here at home. All of that sugar is pretty exciting, as is the prospect of presents, even though I've assured him that his grandmother sent a box of rocks and I plan to give him...
Before I had children, I believed that all toys should be educational. There would be no mindless video games, there would be no sexist, female-objectifying plastic dolls, no "latest and greatest" toys purchased because my child(ren) had been hypnotized by commercials to believe that without that toy, there was no point in living. And since my children wouldn't be watching television commercials, that would be easy. I'm not sure any of these plans actually involved a plastic bubble, but maybe if they had, it all would've worked out. So--as I'm sure you've already guessed--there were a few...
I am having a bit of difficulty getting into the holiday spirit right now. It's not that I don't want to, because I DO. I'm just finding it hard. I'm... too emotional. About everything. And so I'm either tearing up in awe and gratefulness that we're actually all okay, or I'm beating myself up over my inability to just feel joy without it dredging up all of those less-than-joyful feelings that oftentimes follow. Really the best I've been able to manage on my own is picking out and eating all of the peppermint bark squares in my Ghiradelli holiday assortment. I don't know if it's exactly...
This morning I dragged my children out of bed, nagged at them to hurry up, probably yelled at them during breakfast, threw my coat on over my pajamas, and finally got us out the door more or less on time. Half a block away from Monkey's school, I drove the car into the back of a very large dump truck. No, not on purpose. And we will all be fine, we will all be fine, we will all be fine; I have to keep saying that over and over and over in the hopes that it will somehow block out the flashbacks of the moment when I stood on the brakes, or the moment when I turned around and locked eyes with...
It's not politically correct to say that my children are weird. I'm aware of this. And usually, I say they're UNIQUE or VERY INDIVIDUAL or even, say, that they march to the beat of their own drum MACHINE (for a single drummer wouldn't be nearly enough, particularly in Chickadee's case). But sometimes, there is no word other than WEIRD that will suffice. I love them, you understand. But they are NOT NORMAL. This may mean that they will go on to receive international recognition as scholars, inventors, artists, or axe murderers. Or maybe they'll just grow up to be fairly unremarkable adults...
Have I ever mentioned that I love my kids? Has it come up once or twice? I cannot recall, on account of I've had about 3 hours of sleep all night, broken up into half-hour segments. I may have covered this before. But I do. I really, really... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.... Would anyone like some Earl Grey? I just drank a couple of mugs' worth, and next I plan to immerse my eyeballs in it. ("Earl Grey? Really?" "You're soaking in it!") Okay. I'll just apologize in advance. My cohesiveness is still in bed. Weeping, no doubt. I am so disturbed that my Google Ads are all about puking, now. I'd like to talk...
God grant me strength. EDIT: Okay, I guess that was cryptic. Basically I had this great day where I felt better than I have in weeks; I cleaned, I grocery shopped, I worked; the kids came home from school and we baked in preparation of Monkey's Thankgiving play and "feast" tomorrow; we had dinner; and then while I was loading the dishwasher and the kids were (I thought) getting ready for bed, actually Monkey was puking his guts out. To his credit, his aim was true. Huzzah! I was patting his back and stroking his hair while he finished up, and Chickadee stuck her head in the bathroom and...
Tonight the pre-bedtime routine went smoothly, because I bribed the kids into their pajamas before dinner. That's easy to do when dinner = cereal + movies. I really go all out for those kids, don't I? Friday nights have the advantage of being less frenzied than school nights. There is no scramble to pick out the next day's clothes, no constant checking the clock and mentally calculating exactly how cranky everyone is going to be in the morning if I don't manage to make lights out happen in the next ten minutes. And it's amazing how just an extra half hour of television buys such increased...
In case you haven't been following things over at my other haunt, you might want to pop over and look at today's post, which contains a picture of some very cool superheroes. Have a spooktacular evening, everyone!
