I have been sick. Yes, I have gotten colds and been a lovely cranky mess. Yes, I have had a tummy bug and yakked five pounds out. But this has really beaten me down. An acute sinus infection that set up shop in my ears, throat and eye orbits. I was told the built up mucus was distorting my eyeball. And here I thought random blurry vision was due to the boy gas that is rampant in my house.
Now that I am feeling human, and can swallow without feeling as if I took up sword swallowing, I noticed ....my house is a wreck!
Granted, when Mama is sick things grind to a screeching halt and survival is at a premium. But I look past the basics of "mommy no feel good". Yes, towels on the floors and toothpaste art in the sinks.
There is a certain look to my house. A look that other moms must recognize.
You see, at any given time, no matter how "clean" (and I use that term to mean disinfected) my house is, there is no doubt that kids live here. When I clean, I don't look to eradicate the kid evidence, just keep Haz Mat at bay.
But it dawned on me as my troop of noise buckets took off for school (God bless a carpool), that there was every evidence that not only did children live in this house, happy children live in this house. It is all in the kiddie decor.
The laundry room has the usual clutter, including a ball pump and an incubator with chicken and duck eggs. The latter being a 4-H project my daughter has embarked on. (guess who gets to help)
Going into the kitchen, the evidence of my juvenile decorating is even more pronounced. Matchbox cars on the table. Child art everywhere. (I feel like such a schmuck if I throw any away!). A corner of the kitchen is designated "art land" and it overflows with ribbon and crayons in a trail of creativity. The latest basketball schedule is on the counted, along with graded papers that have to oohed and awed over.
Soccer pictures, school candids and more artwork is on the fridge, along with a postcard of Hogwarts Castle, as Conner still thinks he might get a letter when he turns eleven.
On the counter are a handful of oranges that someone didn't eat in their lunch. Stray socks clutter a corner of the family room, where a dvd case is flipped halfway through. Obviously a child flipped through their collection and somehow forgot (really?) to put them back.
A tangle of blankets on the couch shows were we snuggled last night to watch American Pickers. A cluster of light sabers and plastic rifles shows the lookout post that kept watch, protecting me from rogue clone warriors.
The little bits are everywhere. Even if I had no pictures of my children (snort snort, laugh laugh) it would be obvious that not only do children live here, children are loved here.
And how was your day?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Magic Fingers Dining
Typical Fridays start with :Get up, basketball practice.
Followed by Caitlyn: Can I stay at Oh-My's?
Me: call her
Caitlyn: She said yes and that the boys said they are going to clean out her barn today!
Oh, I had forgotten. No big deal. I bring the boys to Mom's after practice. Caitlyn is basking, being the center of grand parental attention. The boys don boots and, reluctantly, coats and stomp out to the barn with Pop-pop.
I am adamant that my parents not pay the children for their efforts. In the past, the kids have been paid well above what I thought they did. They completely work their grandparents, who melt and smile at them and hand over a fistful of bills.
Steve and I are trying to establish a new fact with the kids. You are part of a family, help out. So far there are mixed results, but as I figure it, I have three sons who are reaching the right age for me never to have to take out trash, rake a yard or mow grass ever again. We are still having some issues on the concept of "hang up your own laundry", but it is slowly taking effect.
Pop-pop and Oh-My (my parents) are generous to a fault with the kids. Pop-pop more than Oh-My. Pop-pop will let them do what ever they want, and they know it. Oh-My follows the basics of mother-instinct-safety guidelines and first level home ownership (what do you mean I can't walk around the house in barn boots?).
So the new agreement that my kids have managed to swindle out of their grandparents is very very elemental: Will work for food.
The first time the boys cleaned out the barn, it was ice cream all around. This seemed to fit. My parents have two retired horses that are more lawn ornaments than horses. They do the usual horse things, but there are only the two of them, so it isn't as if the boys are cleaning out a dairy (and living near many dairies, I can say, thanks, but no thanks.).
This time the boys were promised lunch. At Burger King. The barn crew trudged out and with the guidance of the work foreman (Pop-pop) the finished in record time. They also stank. I am used to horse smells. We have 2.5, so it isn't as if that is a foreign smell. There is just something about that particular barn that produces the sourest of smells.
This is why, when we got to Burger King, Oh-My and I had the seating with Caitlyn and Tom-tom (my grandfather) and the boys and their boss got a booth all to themselves.
The meal started with a selection of errors that generally only happen to me or Lucille Ball. The ketch up dispenser was busted (hello? Can you say: crisis?) and then, when I was getting the drinks filled up, I pushed the button for Sprite and it wouldn't stop. I pulled my cup and pushed the button again.
The frothy drink continued to gush. I called out to any employee, but that ketchup dispenser was really absorbing their attention. I gave it some half hearted slaps. Nope. A few other customers were now giving me a wide berth.
Finally, I squinted my eyes and treated it like a home appliance. I grabbed the box over the nozzle and wrenched it upwards forcefully. Silence. It stopped. I capped the cup and told the next person in line to avoid that Sprite fountain. They just looked at me a bit wide eyed....maybe I had done my ninja yell when I fixed it? Who knows.
Our meal was ready by now and I passed food out to the starving masses. After all, it had only been two hours since their last feeding, I was obviously withholding food from them. I finally sat down with mom, Caitlyn and Grandpa.
We put Caitlyn and Grandpa on one side, closer to the boy and their aroma, and Mom and I sat on the booth where the bench connected to the bench of the booth behind us.
Mistake
You see, behind mom and myself were three young ladies of about college age. They had heavily made up faces and hair. They were wearing the latest in animal print clothing and had finger nails that had never ever snaked a drain or scrubbed a floor. Their jewelry was sparkling and they painted the whole picture of young people who have nothing to do.
This didn't really bother me at first. Hey, I was young with no responsibility once. No problem. Then the shaking started.
I guess at first I noticed my drink in my hand vibrating, as if a T-rex had caused an impact tremor. Of course, there are no dinosaurs in Portales. But I looked around to be sure.
One of the young ladies was chatting away on a cell phone. I, personally, will not carry on a conversation on a phone in so public a setting. The entire world can hear you. I had mentally tuned this conversation out after the first high pitched, "NO WAY!". But there she sat, engaged in an animated conversation, with her legs crossed, rapidly bouncing the one leg, which then in turn transferred it's kinetic energy to the entire booth.
Mom and I exchanged glances. It was going to be one of those meals.
Mom and I are used to things like this. We both seem to be cosmic magnets for rude customers, out of control teens and malfunctioning equipment.
We continued to eat when the bench started moving again, vigorously. It was like trying to eat a meal while sprawled on one of those old hotel beds that had the "magic fingers massaging action". If I focused too closely, the edges of my food blurred with the vibrations.
Another shared glance.
Caitlyn, using a new found female radar, realized that there was communication she wasn't privy to. Her radar kicked into high gear when she caught another shared look.
"What?"
"I'll tell you later." She dared to give me a dirty look for putting her off and I informed her that every tween show that had children sassing to adults was now off the menu. We had a lively discussion of what she could watch. We ended up with most things on Discovery, TLC, History and the Food Network.
Now the bench began to actually jiggle. I missed when I went to take a sip from my straw. The movement had my aim off by inches. I am not sure what the girls were doing at this point, but I was starting to feel ever so slightly sea sick.
I hurried up Caitlyn (just how long can she make one ice cream cone last?) so that we could leave.
We ended up leaving first. The movement in the booth was likely to continue for the next unsuspecting customers. The girls were having an animated conversation and I am guessing that multiple hand gestures were part of their language, because the motion on the booth was intense.
Walking to the door, I hurried the boys to the car and thanked Mom profusely for my dinner cruise.
And how was your day?
Followed by Caitlyn: Can I stay at Oh-My's?
Me: call her
Caitlyn: She said yes and that the boys said they are going to clean out her barn today!
Oh, I had forgotten. No big deal. I bring the boys to Mom's after practice. Caitlyn is basking, being the center of grand parental attention. The boys don boots and, reluctantly, coats and stomp out to the barn with Pop-pop.
I am adamant that my parents not pay the children for their efforts. In the past, the kids have been paid well above what I thought they did. They completely work their grandparents, who melt and smile at them and hand over a fistful of bills.
Steve and I are trying to establish a new fact with the kids. You are part of a family, help out. So far there are mixed results, but as I figure it, I have three sons who are reaching the right age for me never to have to take out trash, rake a yard or mow grass ever again. We are still having some issues on the concept of "hang up your own laundry", but it is slowly taking effect.
Pop-pop and Oh-My (my parents) are generous to a fault with the kids. Pop-pop more than Oh-My. Pop-pop will let them do what ever they want, and they know it. Oh-My follows the basics of mother-instinct-safety guidelines and first level home ownership (what do you mean I can't walk around the house in barn boots?).
So the new agreement that my kids have managed to swindle out of their grandparents is very very elemental: Will work for food.
The first time the boys cleaned out the barn, it was ice cream all around. This seemed to fit. My parents have two retired horses that are more lawn ornaments than horses. They do the usual horse things, but there are only the two of them, so it isn't as if the boys are cleaning out a dairy (and living near many dairies, I can say, thanks, but no thanks.).
This time the boys were promised lunch. At Burger King. The barn crew trudged out and with the guidance of the work foreman (Pop-pop) the finished in record time. They also stank. I am used to horse smells. We have 2.5, so it isn't as if that is a foreign smell. There is just something about that particular barn that produces the sourest of smells.
This is why, when we got to Burger King, Oh-My and I had the seating with Caitlyn and Tom-tom (my grandfather) and the boys and their boss got a booth all to themselves.
The meal started with a selection of errors that generally only happen to me or Lucille Ball. The ketch up dispenser was busted (hello? Can you say: crisis?) and then, when I was getting the drinks filled up, I pushed the button for Sprite and it wouldn't stop. I pulled my cup and pushed the button again.
The frothy drink continued to gush. I called out to any employee, but that ketchup dispenser was really absorbing their attention. I gave it some half hearted slaps. Nope. A few other customers were now giving me a wide berth.
Finally, I squinted my eyes and treated it like a home appliance. I grabbed the box over the nozzle and wrenched it upwards forcefully. Silence. It stopped. I capped the cup and told the next person in line to avoid that Sprite fountain. They just looked at me a bit wide eyed....maybe I had done my ninja yell when I fixed it? Who knows.
Our meal was ready by now and I passed food out to the starving masses. After all, it had only been two hours since their last feeding, I was obviously withholding food from them. I finally sat down with mom, Caitlyn and Grandpa.
We put Caitlyn and Grandpa on one side, closer to the boy and their aroma, and Mom and I sat on the booth where the bench connected to the bench of the booth behind us.
Mistake
You see, behind mom and myself were three young ladies of about college age. They had heavily made up faces and hair. They were wearing the latest in animal print clothing and had finger nails that had never ever snaked a drain or scrubbed a floor. Their jewelry was sparkling and they painted the whole picture of young people who have nothing to do.
This didn't really bother me at first. Hey, I was young with no responsibility once. No problem. Then the shaking started.
I guess at first I noticed my drink in my hand vibrating, as if a T-rex had caused an impact tremor. Of course, there are no dinosaurs in Portales. But I looked around to be sure.
One of the young ladies was chatting away on a cell phone. I, personally, will not carry on a conversation on a phone in so public a setting. The entire world can hear you. I had mentally tuned this conversation out after the first high pitched, "NO WAY!". But there she sat, engaged in an animated conversation, with her legs crossed, rapidly bouncing the one leg, which then in turn transferred it's kinetic energy to the entire booth.
Mom and I exchanged glances. It was going to be one of those meals.
Mom and I are used to things like this. We both seem to be cosmic magnets for rude customers, out of control teens and malfunctioning equipment.
We continued to eat when the bench started moving again, vigorously. It was like trying to eat a meal while sprawled on one of those old hotel beds that had the "magic fingers massaging action". If I focused too closely, the edges of my food blurred with the vibrations.
Another shared glance.
Caitlyn, using a new found female radar, realized that there was communication she wasn't privy to. Her radar kicked into high gear when she caught another shared look.
"What?"
"I'll tell you later." She dared to give me a dirty look for putting her off and I informed her that every tween show that had children sassing to adults was now off the menu. We had a lively discussion of what she could watch. We ended up with most things on Discovery, TLC, History and the Food Network.
Now the bench began to actually jiggle. I missed when I went to take a sip from my straw. The movement had my aim off by inches. I am not sure what the girls were doing at this point, but I was starting to feel ever so slightly sea sick.
I hurried up Caitlyn (just how long can she make one ice cream cone last?) so that we could leave.
We ended up leaving first. The movement in the booth was likely to continue for the next unsuspecting customers. The girls were having an animated conversation and I am guessing that multiple hand gestures were part of their language, because the motion on the booth was intense.
Walking to the door, I hurried the boys to the car and thanked Mom profusely for my dinner cruise.
And how was your day?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
A roll in the.. HEY! Knock That Off!
See the big problem with me is my heart. No, I have no physical aliments, my ticker is strong. It is my "heart" that is the problem. Why couldn't I have a harder heart? One that didn't have me melt at every furry or feathered creature that wandered my way. Why couldn't I be one of those people that takes the family on vacation simply after having the mail held?
No, I have to line up an in house pet sitter that is up to speed on horses, birds and attention starved dogs. I have to make sure that feed is in, that the pet numbers are lined up and that my fuzzy babies understand that mummy is leaving for just a bit!
I work hard. I make children's boutique clothing. I save my money to buy feed. Oh, sure, if I were not addicted to the fuzzy creatures of the earth, I could be spending money on myself. You know, lots of clothes, flashy jewelry, the works. But no, I buy at Goodwill and do without, so that my fuzzy and weathered babies can eat better and wear better.
So, after having a wonderful sale (I am not sure how that happened, I listed a steampunk outfit for 200 and it sold), I need hay. I make the call to Hal's Haystack and make arrangements to meet Hal to pick up about 25 bales of quality alfalfa.
I drive over to my parents' house to borrow their truck. When I get the keys, lo and behold, the truck battery is dead. Nuts. I need hay. I have half a bale left. I need hay!
I look at Zippy, my Dodge Caravan. It has Stow N Go. All the back and middle seats all fold easily into the van. I get to work tugging the straps and folding seats down. Soon, behind my seat is a veritable paradise of open space.
One small problem. The interior of my van is carpeted. Hmmm, I really need HAY! Okay, one large piece of painting tarp stretched along the back.
I expected to be able to load four bales of hay. This would tide us over until Dad's truck could be given new juice! However, I completely underestimated Hal's unique hay stacking abilities! He managed to get eight bales of hay in. So if you are ever asked, eight bales will fit in the back of one Dodge Grand Caravan.
Fast Forward: Truck repaired, 17 more bales brought in. Hay stacked neatly (mostly) in barn.
I go out to feed the horses breakfast feeling smug. I am a provider. I am cool on hay for at least several months.
I walk into the barn.....WHAT HAPPENED HERE!
The horses look at me innocently, their calm nickers proclaiming their hunger for breakfast. But how, how on God's green earth could they be hungry after pulling down three bales of hay and eating one entire bale!
I give them ugly, ugly looks. I heft a meager breakfast over the cattle panel that divides the hay from the horses. It bows suspiciously toward the hay. It strains against the hooks screwed into the barn walls.
My gelding, Shiloh merely looks at me, as if, really, did I expect anything less?
So, today, while the horses watched with disdain, I ran hot wire from the fence line down the wall and across the barn and along the barn divider. HA!
I tested it (using a screwdriver, I didn't touch it!) and it works. I look forward to seeing if my naughty equines have managed to by pass the wire and filch hay.
Now, how to keep the ducks from chasing me....
and how was your day?
No, I have to line up an in house pet sitter that is up to speed on horses, birds and attention starved dogs. I have to make sure that feed is in, that the pet numbers are lined up and that my fuzzy babies understand that mummy is leaving for just a bit!
I work hard. I make children's boutique clothing. I save my money to buy feed. Oh, sure, if I were not addicted to the fuzzy creatures of the earth, I could be spending money on myself. You know, lots of clothes, flashy jewelry, the works. But no, I buy at Goodwill and do without, so that my fuzzy and weathered babies can eat better and wear better.
So, after having a wonderful sale (I am not sure how that happened, I listed a steampunk outfit for 200 and it sold), I need hay. I make the call to Hal's Haystack and make arrangements to meet Hal to pick up about 25 bales of quality alfalfa.
I drive over to my parents' house to borrow their truck. When I get the keys, lo and behold, the truck battery is dead. Nuts. I need hay. I have half a bale left. I need hay!
I look at Zippy, my Dodge Caravan. It has Stow N Go. All the back and middle seats all fold easily into the van. I get to work tugging the straps and folding seats down. Soon, behind my seat is a veritable paradise of open space.
One small problem. The interior of my van is carpeted. Hmmm, I really need HAY! Okay, one large piece of painting tarp stretched along the back.
I expected to be able to load four bales of hay. This would tide us over until Dad's truck could be given new juice! However, I completely underestimated Hal's unique hay stacking abilities! He managed to get eight bales of hay in. So if you are ever asked, eight bales will fit in the back of one Dodge Grand Caravan.
Fast Forward: Truck repaired, 17 more bales brought in. Hay stacked neatly (mostly) in barn.
I go out to feed the horses breakfast feeling smug. I am a provider. I am cool on hay for at least several months.
I walk into the barn.....WHAT HAPPENED HERE!
The horses look at me innocently, their calm nickers proclaiming their hunger for breakfast. But how, how on God's green earth could they be hungry after pulling down three bales of hay and eating one entire bale!
I give them ugly, ugly looks. I heft a meager breakfast over the cattle panel that divides the hay from the horses. It bows suspiciously toward the hay. It strains against the hooks screwed into the barn walls.
My gelding, Shiloh merely looks at me, as if, really, did I expect anything less?
So, today, while the horses watched with disdain, I ran hot wire from the fence line down the wall and across the barn and along the barn divider. HA!
I tested it (using a screwdriver, I didn't touch it!) and it works. I look forward to seeing if my naughty equines have managed to by pass the wire and filch hay.
Now, how to keep the ducks from chasing me....
and how was your day?
Monday, January 10, 2011
Throw Mama from the Drain
Today I exacted my revenge on the stubborn tub drain. The boys maintain their innocence on the matter of why the drain was clogged. I spent my evening pouring liquid plumber down it in an attempt to clear the murky blue water out so that I could see the drain.
I sent the boys to shower in Caitlyn's shower and girded myself for battle.
A leatherman mutli tool, a multi head screw driver and a number 4 boyle knitting needle. Thus armed, I knelt at the side of my foe. The blue water had drained, but there remained a suspicious viscus white sludge. I proceeded to take the drain apart. This required the use of the screw driver, but since the remaining water was still soapy, I had to employ the leatherman grip to turn it. This resulted in my hand slipping off the grip and slamming into the side of the tub.
Several graphic and illegal forms of child torture flitted through my mind. I bellowed for a washcloth and calmed myself with a variety of images of me making my children take care of me in my old age. I plan on living a very very long time, incontinent. Now with my hand covered in the washcloth, and holding the grips that were turning the screw that holds the drain cap, I exerted mighty force. A horrible noise squeaked through the tub and then it gave. Whoever designed a drain that required slippery hands to turn a tool tightened screw at the bottom of the tub should be brought forth and tarred and feathered.
I finally pulled the knob off and there was yet another screw to be turned, only this time it was submerged. I employed my new skill of screw driver manipulation. Another terrible squeal went up and I imagined it to be the plumbing saints urging me on. The mechanism was now fully exposed. Ah! My battle cry reverberated through the bathroom. The dogs quickly left the room, not wanting to be the target of my wrath.
I took my number 4 Boyle knitting needle (please, knitting friends, forgive me) and rammed it into the small space that some childless engineer thinks is adequate to drain a large tub. Resistance and then soft white flotsam came to the surface. It looked eerily familiar. Then it hit me. Memories of the great toilet back up of 2009. Toilet paper. There was roughly half a roll of toilet paper down there!
I stabbed again and again into the heart of the beast. White entrails of paper succumbed to my efforts. Then, more blockages. I reversed the needle and used the cap to snag a small strand of blue mesh. Ah, this I had in front of me, the blue bath scrubby. I tossed it into the trash. The drain gurgled slightly, as if it were a heart monitor sprung back to life! I had to save my patient!
I used the needle again and pulled out enough hair to cover a Yorkie! The drain burped noisily, the life coming back to it. I went in hard and pulled up a plastic bubble stick. The drain sucked in air noisily and the last of the water swished away.
I cautiously ran water and then yelled my war cry! I DOMINATED THE DRAIN!
It was functioning happily! I was happy, the drain was happy!
I went down the hall to put away my weapons and savor success.
"Mom"
I was queen of my domain.
"MOM" Caitlyn's shout crushed my day dream.
"What?"
"Did you say the boys could use my shower?"
"Yes"
"Well, now the water won't go down."
sigh
And how was your day?
I sent the boys to shower in Caitlyn's shower and girded myself for battle.
A leatherman mutli tool, a multi head screw driver and a number 4 boyle knitting needle. Thus armed, I knelt at the side of my foe. The blue water had drained, but there remained a suspicious viscus white sludge. I proceeded to take the drain apart. This required the use of the screw driver, but since the remaining water was still soapy, I had to employ the leatherman grip to turn it. This resulted in my hand slipping off the grip and slamming into the side of the tub.
Several graphic and illegal forms of child torture flitted through my mind. I bellowed for a washcloth and calmed myself with a variety of images of me making my children take care of me in my old age. I plan on living a very very long time, incontinent. Now with my hand covered in the washcloth, and holding the grips that were turning the screw that holds the drain cap, I exerted mighty force. A horrible noise squeaked through the tub and then it gave. Whoever designed a drain that required slippery hands to turn a tool tightened screw at the bottom of the tub should be brought forth and tarred and feathered.
I finally pulled the knob off and there was yet another screw to be turned, only this time it was submerged. I employed my new skill of screw driver manipulation. Another terrible squeal went up and I imagined it to be the plumbing saints urging me on. The mechanism was now fully exposed. Ah! My battle cry reverberated through the bathroom. The dogs quickly left the room, not wanting to be the target of my wrath.
I took my number 4 Boyle knitting needle (please, knitting friends, forgive me) and rammed it into the small space that some childless engineer thinks is adequate to drain a large tub. Resistance and then soft white flotsam came to the surface. It looked eerily familiar. Then it hit me. Memories of the great toilet back up of 2009. Toilet paper. There was roughly half a roll of toilet paper down there!
I stabbed again and again into the heart of the beast. White entrails of paper succumbed to my efforts. Then, more blockages. I reversed the needle and used the cap to snag a small strand of blue mesh. Ah, this I had in front of me, the blue bath scrubby. I tossed it into the trash. The drain gurgled slightly, as if it were a heart monitor sprung back to life! I had to save my patient!
I used the needle again and pulled out enough hair to cover a Yorkie! The drain burped noisily, the life coming back to it. I went in hard and pulled up a plastic bubble stick. The drain sucked in air noisily and the last of the water swished away.
I cautiously ran water and then yelled my war cry! I DOMINATED THE DRAIN!
It was functioning happily! I was happy, the drain was happy!
I went down the hall to put away my weapons and savor success.
"Mom"
I was queen of my domain.
"MOM" Caitlyn's shout crushed my day dream.
"What?"
"Did you say the boys could use my shower?"
"Yes"
"Well, now the water won't go down."
sigh
And how was your day?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Tell Tale Tub......
Friday night....Knit Night at the Shabby Sheep Yarn Shoppe. I look forward to this night. An evening filled with laughter, hilarious stories of our children, of yarn projects gone astray (like Erin's Rasputin of a purple cowl!) and yummy food.
I was anticipating the moments when I could snag my yarn bag and skip from the house without a care or a kid. Oh, dear reader, it is never ever that simple in my land.
The children ate a hearty dinner (okay, chicken and rice, my creativity in the kitchen is at an all time low) and were headed to their showers. Sounds simple enough. The boys spent most of the day helping the crew install the metal posts for our new fence and hard work and the great outdoors had definitely scent marked them.
There was the usual giggling, thumping and loud random noises from the upstairs, so Steve decided he was going up.
It was then that the noise escalated and I heard the dreaded words, "Hunny, can you come up here, please."
Oh NO! He called me Hunny, and he said please. I considered my options, flee, suicide or face the music. Option number one graced through my brain, but curses....my yarn bag was upstairs.
Suicide wasn't truly an option, because I have far too many unfinished project (like my life!). So, with a trembling in my heart, I climbed the stairs.
At the landing, I heard Steve berating the boys on their toothpaste painting habit. Maybe that was it. After all, I had cleaned the bathrooms on Monday, could it really be that bad?
I climbed the second set of stairs. Caitlyn was standing in her doorway with wide eyes. Perhaps she shouldn't see the carnage, I sent her to her own shower.
I walked closer and Steve was addressing the boys in stern and serious tones. He saw me. Crap, nowhere to run.
"Have you seen this?" and he pointed to the tub.
(insert horror movie scream)
There was trash all over the floor (hate to admit it, but my boys have lousy aim, more on that some other time). There were towels on the floor. Well, it is a kid bathroom. With a trembling in my heart, I lifted my eyes to the tub.
Bright blue water, the same color as their shower gel. Cold water, with chunks of white ivory soap floating in it. Three shower poufs. A plastic shark. A lego guy (I think maybe young Obi wan). CARNAGE!!!
Steve asks, "Okay, who did this?"
"Not me."
"I don't know"
"I didn't"
Ah, my dreaded extra three invisible children.
Conner said in a small voice, "the water won't go down."
I drop to my knees in agony....not a backed up tub. Please no, no no.
In my world, backed up tubs are far worse than backed up toilets. A toilet you can plunge without getting wet (much) and can clear easily (it is also a good cardio work out). The last time there was a clogged tub, it involved one army figure and a band aid that was murderous to remove.
Steve proceeded to chastise the boys. They hopped to remove towels and trash, scrape toothpaste off the counters and I fished my hand into the tub.
The water was frigid and I felt my hand cramp right away. I turned the stopper to the left and lifted. The stopped turned to the proper open position, but the water remained. Cold and blue, it taunted me.
I couldn't see past the shower gel induced azure, but I was fairly certain a wild experiment involving the drain and floating soap had ensued. I suck my fingers into the icy blue and tried to spin the stopper to remove it from view, to allow my most treasured tool access.....the snake.
The stopper spun merrily and defied my efforts. My hands began to cramp more and my thoughts were: NO! Not on Knit Night! How can I crochet (I am a non knitter)? How can I feel the yarn in all it's textured glory. NOOOOOOOOoooooooooo.
Anger was the next emotion. It must have showed on my face. Steve quickly went to finish dishes (isn't he sweet and SMART), the boys went and had record fast showers in my bathroom and only left one towel behind. I stalked to the closet, Caitlyn popped her head into the hall, saw my face and quickly withdrew and shut her door.
I reached in my closet and pulled out my next best tool.....the wire hanger.
Yes, I still have wire hangers. In this enlightened age you may ask, why?
Because I can MacGyver it into anything. It has cleared out vacuums and hooked items from the roof. Now I was going to employ it to go where my snake was unable to fit.
The children left, the dogs voluntarily went to their crates.
It was me and the cold blue tub.
I closed my eyes and sent a prayer to the plumbing saints (I am not Catholic, but there have to be plumbing saints.) and reached my hands into the icy blue.
I threaded the end of the wire hanger into the small gap left under the tiny space of the open stopper. The wire met resistance. I pushed and there was the slightest sense of give. I was right. Soap. I turned on hot water and as it trickled, fresh foam appeared. I pressed harder with the wire and knew I could move it no further.
I was on my knees, up to my elbows in frigid water. The tub mocked me with it's still waters. I poked futilely on the blockage.
But come on....not on a KNIT NIGHT!
I couldn't feel my fingers, my knees were aching. Motherhood isn't for sissies.
I decided to surrender....for the short term. I gathered my strength and rammed the wire into the softest part of the blockage and left it there.
Mother of Mayhem....giving up?
No, dear reader, a strategic retreat.
I left and soaked my numb hands in warm water. I went downstairs where my clean and freshly showered boys (no getting away with a sprinkle of water and spritz of Febreeze tonight!) watched me cautiously.
I grabbed my yarn bag and told my husband I would deal with it later. I lifted my chin and went to Knit Night, I earned it!
My revenge? This morning the tub was empty except for some boy dirt, soap scum and a bend wire hanger rammed into the drain.
My new plan? Some industrial strength pipe cleaner.
Oh, and I am seriously thinking that the boys should build their own sweat lodge and use that.
And how was your day?
I was anticipating the moments when I could snag my yarn bag and skip from the house without a care or a kid. Oh, dear reader, it is never ever that simple in my land.
The children ate a hearty dinner (okay, chicken and rice, my creativity in the kitchen is at an all time low) and were headed to their showers. Sounds simple enough. The boys spent most of the day helping the crew install the metal posts for our new fence and hard work and the great outdoors had definitely scent marked them.
There was the usual giggling, thumping and loud random noises from the upstairs, so Steve decided he was going up.
It was then that the noise escalated and I heard the dreaded words, "Hunny, can you come up here, please."
Oh NO! He called me Hunny, and he said please. I considered my options, flee, suicide or face the music. Option number one graced through my brain, but curses....my yarn bag was upstairs.
Suicide wasn't truly an option, because I have far too many unfinished project (like my life!). So, with a trembling in my heart, I climbed the stairs.
At the landing, I heard Steve berating the boys on their toothpaste painting habit. Maybe that was it. After all, I had cleaned the bathrooms on Monday, could it really be that bad?
I climbed the second set of stairs. Caitlyn was standing in her doorway with wide eyes. Perhaps she shouldn't see the carnage, I sent her to her own shower.
I walked closer and Steve was addressing the boys in stern and serious tones. He saw me. Crap, nowhere to run.
"Have you seen this?" and he pointed to the tub.
(insert horror movie scream)
There was trash all over the floor (hate to admit it, but my boys have lousy aim, more on that some other time). There were towels on the floor. Well, it is a kid bathroom. With a trembling in my heart, I lifted my eyes to the tub.
Bright blue water, the same color as their shower gel. Cold water, with chunks of white ivory soap floating in it. Three shower poufs. A plastic shark. A lego guy (I think maybe young Obi wan). CARNAGE!!!
Steve asks, "Okay, who did this?"
"Not me."
"I don't know"
"I didn't"
Ah, my dreaded extra three invisible children.
Conner said in a small voice, "the water won't go down."
I drop to my knees in agony....not a backed up tub. Please no, no no.
In my world, backed up tubs are far worse than backed up toilets. A toilet you can plunge without getting wet (much) and can clear easily (it is also a good cardio work out). The last time there was a clogged tub, it involved one army figure and a band aid that was murderous to remove.
Steve proceeded to chastise the boys. They hopped to remove towels and trash, scrape toothpaste off the counters and I fished my hand into the tub.
The water was frigid and I felt my hand cramp right away. I turned the stopper to the left and lifted. The stopped turned to the proper open position, but the water remained. Cold and blue, it taunted me.
I couldn't see past the shower gel induced azure, but I was fairly certain a wild experiment involving the drain and floating soap had ensued. I suck my fingers into the icy blue and tried to spin the stopper to remove it from view, to allow my most treasured tool access.....the snake.
The stopper spun merrily and defied my efforts. My hands began to cramp more and my thoughts were: NO! Not on Knit Night! How can I crochet (I am a non knitter)? How can I feel the yarn in all it's textured glory. NOOOOOOOOoooooooooo.
Anger was the next emotion. It must have showed on my face. Steve quickly went to finish dishes (isn't he sweet and SMART), the boys went and had record fast showers in my bathroom and only left one towel behind. I stalked to the closet, Caitlyn popped her head into the hall, saw my face and quickly withdrew and shut her door.
I reached in my closet and pulled out my next best tool.....the wire hanger.
Yes, I still have wire hangers. In this enlightened age you may ask, why?
Because I can MacGyver it into anything. It has cleared out vacuums and hooked items from the roof. Now I was going to employ it to go where my snake was unable to fit.
The children left, the dogs voluntarily went to their crates.
It was me and the cold blue tub.
I closed my eyes and sent a prayer to the plumbing saints (I am not Catholic, but there have to be plumbing saints.) and reached my hands into the icy blue.
I threaded the end of the wire hanger into the small gap left under the tiny space of the open stopper. The wire met resistance. I pushed and there was the slightest sense of give. I was right. Soap. I turned on hot water and as it trickled, fresh foam appeared. I pressed harder with the wire and knew I could move it no further.
I was on my knees, up to my elbows in frigid water. The tub mocked me with it's still waters. I poked futilely on the blockage.
But come on....not on a KNIT NIGHT!
I couldn't feel my fingers, my knees were aching. Motherhood isn't for sissies.
I decided to surrender....for the short term. I gathered my strength and rammed the wire into the softest part of the blockage and left it there.
Mother of Mayhem....giving up?
No, dear reader, a strategic retreat.
I left and soaked my numb hands in warm water. I went downstairs where my clean and freshly showered boys (no getting away with a sprinkle of water and spritz of Febreeze tonight!) watched me cautiously.
I grabbed my yarn bag and told my husband I would deal with it later. I lifted my chin and went to Knit Night, I earned it!
My revenge? This morning the tub was empty except for some boy dirt, soap scum and a bend wire hanger rammed into the drain.
My new plan? Some industrial strength pipe cleaner.
Oh, and I am seriously thinking that the boys should build their own sweat lodge and use that.
And how was your day?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Christmas and revelations
Okay, I have been a complete slacker. I really don't have any great excuses.
Maybe one, alright, two! or four!
Christmas came with many laughs, too much food and great company.
We had our traditional Italian feast on Christmas Eve and the kiddos were amazed and excited when Oh-my and Pop-pop gave them.....FULL SIZE MOUNTAIN BIKES!
Rock on! They can really cover ground now. They have taken a few trips up the road and back, loving the freedom. One time I followed on Shiloh, who thought this whole process stank, until the kids shared their snacks. Then he was quite happy to follow.
Christmas Day brought happiness in the form of legos. Gotta love those! Cailtyn also was happy to receive a custom pink horse grooming kit and carry case that she had seen and LOVED! We had a less than traditional meal going with brisket instead of turkey, but I have to tell you: Clean up was much easier!
We enjoyed lazy mornings (7 rather than 6!) and family time (I can take you in Sorry Sliders!).
My big revelation? My friend, Liberty, introduced me to ravelry. How awesome is this!!
If you knit or crochet, here is the place for you. I have gotten back into crochet and I honestly didn't realize how much I had missed it!
I have made several scarves and am making granny squares for throw.
I also am at The Shabby Sheep Yarn Shop some mornings, and love meeting all of the crafty people in my community!
So if you are a Portalian...swing by and say hi!
And how was your day?
Maybe one, alright, two! or four!
Christmas came with many laughs, too much food and great company.
We had our traditional Italian feast on Christmas Eve and the kiddos were amazed and excited when Oh-my and Pop-pop gave them.....FULL SIZE MOUNTAIN BIKES!
Rock on! They can really cover ground now. They have taken a few trips up the road and back, loving the freedom. One time I followed on Shiloh, who thought this whole process stank, until the kids shared their snacks. Then he was quite happy to follow.
Christmas Day brought happiness in the form of legos. Gotta love those! Cailtyn also was happy to receive a custom pink horse grooming kit and carry case that she had seen and LOVED! We had a less than traditional meal going with brisket instead of turkey, but I have to tell you: Clean up was much easier!
We enjoyed lazy mornings (7 rather than 6!) and family time (I can take you in Sorry Sliders!).
My big revelation? My friend, Liberty, introduced me to ravelry. How awesome is this!!
If you knit or crochet, here is the place for you. I have gotten back into crochet and I honestly didn't realize how much I had missed it!
I have made several scarves and am making granny squares for throw.
I also am at The Shabby Sheep Yarn Shop some mornings, and love meeting all of the crafty people in my community!
So if you are a Portalian...swing by and say hi!
And how was your day?
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