Any mother of a little boy knows this statement is all too true.
So this is the story---
I found a box of old toys that me and my brother and sister used to play with forever ago. There were ninja turtles, hotwheels, trolls, and my one and only Polly Pocket.
Keygen took a liking to the Polly Pocket immediately because you can put water in it and Polly has a little Jacuzzi she can lounge around in. Lucky girl that Polly.
So yeah, he has been playing with it a few days and every few minutes its "Mamma Mamma water! Need water!" And each time I'll say "Mamma can't keep filling this up, you need to not keep spilling the water."
Well, a few minutes ago I walk into his room and say "You need more water Mr.Keygen?"
He says proudly "No Mamma....I peed"
And he did. He so peed in the Polly Pocket Jacuzzi. Very innovative that one.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Well Hello
So basically, this is the problem--
Some time today some random pieces of space junk are supposed to fall from the sky. And while NASA apparently is being all whatever about it (they say we PROBABLY won't get smashed by this), I can't help but be a tiny bit disturbed. I have discovered by this entire situation that I am definitely a "the cup is half empty" type of person. Instead of living today like it could potentially be my last, I am blogging about what I won't be able to do because this freaking jerk satelite. Yeah, that's right. I haven't even had my morning coffee yet and I already need a stiff drink. So yeah the list of things I won't be able to do if this thing falls on my face:
1. I won't be able to watch any Golden Girls episode I may have missed in the past 28 years.
2. I won't be able to finish the dishcloth I started knitting *cough* 3 months ago *cough*
3. I won't ever find out if Kim Kardashians butt is real.
4. I won't be able to climb Mt. Everest, sky dive, parachute or any of that other crap I only think about when things fall from the sky.
5. I will never get to finish P90X. Whatever, I may look skinny to the naked eye, but naked I am a train wreck with a bad case of the mom bod.
6. I will never get to go to Ireland with Reed and frolick in the meadows. I mean, I guess they have meadows over there..
7. I will never learn all the words to Barenaked Ladies "One Week" This.Is. Serious.
8. I will never be able to do that cool bottle juggling trick Tom Cruise does in Cocktail.
9. I will never get to read War and Peace. (......crickets...)
10. Most importantly, I will never see Keygen grow an awesome mustache like these guys http://www.holytaco.com/25-awesome-mustaches/
I think a moment of silence is in order.
So yeah, excuse me Mr. Satellite, but my destiny has not been fullfilled. Obviously. So...... land in the ocean and demolish a couple fish instead (Sorry PETA).
Some time today some random pieces of space junk are supposed to fall from the sky. And while NASA apparently is being all whatever about it (they say we PROBABLY won't get smashed by this), I can't help but be a tiny bit disturbed. I have discovered by this entire situation that I am definitely a "the cup is half empty" type of person. Instead of living today like it could potentially be my last, I am blogging about what I won't be able to do because this freaking jerk satelite. Yeah, that's right. I haven't even had my morning coffee yet and I already need a stiff drink. So yeah the list of things I won't be able to do if this thing falls on my face:
1. I won't be able to watch any Golden Girls episode I may have missed in the past 28 years.
2. I won't be able to finish the dishcloth I started knitting *cough* 3 months ago *cough*
3. I won't ever find out if Kim Kardashians butt is real.
4. I won't be able to climb Mt. Everest, sky dive, parachute or any of that other crap I only think about when things fall from the sky.
5. I will never get to finish P90X. Whatever, I may look skinny to the naked eye, but naked I am a train wreck with a bad case of the mom bod.
6. I will never get to go to Ireland with Reed and frolick in the meadows. I mean, I guess they have meadows over there..
7. I will never learn all the words to Barenaked Ladies "One Week" This.Is. Serious.
8. I will never be able to do that cool bottle juggling trick Tom Cruise does in Cocktail.
9. I will never get to read War and Peace. (......crickets...)
10. Most importantly, I will never see Keygen grow an awesome mustache like these guys http://www.holytaco.com/25-awesome-mustaches/
I think a moment of silence is in order.
So yeah, excuse me Mr. Satellite, but my destiny has not been fullfilled. Obviously. So...... land in the ocean and demolish a couple fish instead (Sorry PETA).
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Just between you and me...
I see a theme with my writing lately. Let's take a gander shall we?
Exhbit A (Had to write a story that involved matches and included the line of "And that's how I ended up in the middle of nowhere---naked)
---death, blood,right?
Exhibit B--- (Had to write about getting stopped by the cops)
Exhbit A (Had to write a story that involved matches and included the line of "And that's how I ended up in the middle of nowhere---naked)
My mother always told me not to play with fire. The thought entered my mind as I struck a match against the heel of my boot and lit the cigarette that set loosely between my lips. I took a long drag and then tossed it absent mindedly on the sidewalk next to me. As I walked purposefully towards the trailer park, smoke curled in the air from where the cigarette lay. Walking up the steps, I could hear the sounds of love making from inside.
I squinted as I imagined him on top of my wife sweating and panting. With a heavy sigh, I pushed open the door and walked through my living room. I strolled down the hallway calmly, too calmly. I looked at the pictures of our life together. The fishing trip three years ago, the day we bought the trailer, and finally, our wedding day. No children yet, but we always talked about it. Then, this happened. About a year ago, I had suspected she was sleeping around, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, surely it was just nonsense. Then, two weeks ago, I overheard her on the phone with him.
“Baby, I just need time. You know Jim's mother died just a few months ago, I can’t leave him yet.”
At that that moment, I knew what I had to do. I dug around in the shop behind our trailer until I found the old .22 my dad had given me when I turned 16. I loaded two bullets into the clip and then I waited for the moment that I could build up enough nerve to do what needed to be done.
Fortunately, that didn’t take very long. This morning, I called into work and then told Jenny that I was going in and would be back around 5. I parked down the street and then walked up the sidewalk near our trailer park, he was already there. I hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes. Now, here I was waiting for the right moment to blow them to pieces.
“Oh God! Yes!”
That was all it took. With one swift movement I kicked the door open and fired off two shots. When the smoke cleared there were pieces of blood on the walls, on the bed, on me. I threw the gun down and ran to my car. I drove until I could hear nothing but the loud beating of my own heart. I was on a long stretch of dessert highway when I stumbled out of the car. I wiped my blood stained hands down my shirt and began to scream at the realization of what I had just done.
Suddenly, I felt this urge to get their blood as far away from me as possible. I ripped my shirt from my chest and tugged my jeans off. Finally, relief.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
---death, blood,right?
Exhibit B--- (Had to write about getting stopped by the cops)
I was reaching for my last cigarette when I caught a glimpse of the flashing blue lights in my rearview mirror.
Shit.
With a heavy sigh, I let the unlit cigarette fall to the ashtray where remnants of my habit still remained.
A few moments later the rim of a state trooper hat was blocking the sunlight from my face.
“License and registration, ma’am.” The trooper barked. I definitely wasn’t getting out of this one.
“You got any idea how fast you were going back there?” \Luckily, he didn’t care what I had to say because immediately he answered that question for me.
“98! You know how many times I have had to scrape kids off of this very freeway for doing what you were doing back there?”
As I reached for the glove compartment to retrieve the documentation, the trooper continued on.
“…..God damned near 100 miles per hour.”
When I opened the compartment, my entire life came crashing out of it. Old receipts, empty pack of Marlboro Lights, and a half eaten carton of McDonald’s fries scatted all over my floorboard. As I fumbled through the disaster of papers, a piece of yellow notebook paper made me catch my breath.
I knew exactly what it was before I opened the crumpled letter. I had meant to mail it months ago, but never seemed to find the time, now it was too late.
The letter read:
Julie,
Look, I’m sorry for all the shit that happened during Thanksgiving. I know that coming home for you is a really big deal, and I was a total ass for what I did. I have been thinking a lot about what you said and you are right. I really do need to grow up and get my shit together. I really do love you and I know I never say it, but I am really proud of you for what you are doing. We’ll get into fights and we’ll say things we don’t mean, but no matter what we’ll always be sisters. I love you Jules, always have and always will.
Your kid sis,
Kristen
Seeing those words, my eyes filled up with tears and my mind raced back eight months ago to Thanksgiving Day. I had just turned 21 three weeks earlier and I had spent every single night getting totally hammered. My mother called me that afternoon, and of course I was still sleeping off the night before.
“Kristen, you know that Julie is coming home today. Who knows when we’ll see her again. You know how those tours overseas are. Please be here. Please do not make a scene.”
I knew what she meant by “making a scene.” Four days ago I had showed up hung over and smelling like take out and vodka to my cousin’s baby shower. Nobody was impressed.
I slung the covers back and got out of bed. I rummaged around for some jeans I was sure were dirty and threw on an old sweater. I took a quick shot before leaving my apartment. I felt like shit and I needed something to take the edge off.
As I pulled into my mother’s driveway, Julie’s car was already there. I pulled up quickly, too quickly. With a jerk and a loud crash, I came to a halt. When I looked up I realized I had totally smashed in Julie’s bumper
Julie came running out of the house. My mother followed behind her.
Julie took one disgusted look at me and threw open my car door.
“What the hell Kristen? You smell like a bar. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me? At least 500 bucks!”
I sat in a drunken stupor, but she continued on.
“Really Kristen, you need to grow up. You’re going to pay for this one way or another. That is a promise.”
She stomped back into the house and I drove home. Who was she to tell me how to live my life?
Two weeks later I wrote her this letter. I knew she was right. I knew I was out of control. I needed to tell her I was sorry. A few days later, we got the call that Julie had died in a bombing just outside of Afghanistan.
“Ma’am!”
The booming sound of the trooper’s voice jolted me back to the present.
“Here is your ticket. Have a great day.”
I looked down at the ticket. $500.00
Touché big sister, Touché.
--more death...really?
Exhibit C
---overdose? Gah.
Exhibit whatever
The smell of sweet honeysuckle and fresh cut grass told the secret that summer had arrived. I was fifteen and beautiful but too young and dumb to realize it. The world was my oyster, but I didn’t care. The plan was to learn to smoke and grow boobs within the next three short months. Boredom was surely to be my cause of death and I desired independence, something I knew existed but never explored. Then, like a sign or an answer or a warning, there he was.
He was ordinary, like me. He smelled like weed and cheap cologne, screaming that he was trouble. His smile was crooked and strained, suggesting it was a rare occurrence. God, how I was thrilled to be the cause for that smile. He was from the wrong side of the tracks and I was the innocent, bright eyed girl ready to take on the world. Typical and disastrous.
The first night we talked for hours about nothing and everything. At eighteen his voice was low and husky, telling the lie that he knew his place in this world. He lived a life decorated with a broken home, failing grades, and partying. As he told me his story, I listened with perfect naive splendor. Then, as a single tear fell from his complicated hazel eyes as he spoke about his drug addicted mother, I wiped it away, knowing I could save him from whatever it was that had broken him. The way he looked at me startled and uneasy, made me want to cry with him. Instead, he kissed me softly. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and a hint of sweet whiskey. He tasted dangerous and I craved more. I kissed him back long and hard, allowing my first kiss to be as passionate as I had always imagined. He smiled into my mouth and told me to breathe.
For the entire summer we were inseparable. He taught me about sex, and drugs and how to drive. I was completely infatuated by his rough exterior and the contrast of our sensitive talks. Then, the moment came where his hormones desired more. We sat in the backseat of his beat-up Mercury Cougar for two hours while he confessed his never dying love for me. I knew that he loved me and we would be together forever. So in the matter of moments I gave him all of me, praying the entire time that he felt the same.
Then, as the leaves began to change so did the way that he felt about me. He told me that true love comes easy and I was too hard to figure out. I knew it was a lie. I had fallen hard and he wasn’t ready. Two weeks later he moved somewhere that didn’t have telephones or mail service and he took with him my broken heart and a pair of panties that were stuffed in the backseat of his car the night I gave him all of my innocence.
Finally, I learned how to smoke.
---drugs, disappointment...why could I not make them have a happily-ever..whatever?
So basically folks, I am obviously writing myself into a depressed hole which is filled with drugs, death, and more drugs and death. I need to watch more Spongebob (totally not going to happen) and maybe more sunrises as well (um, no, sleep) Hmm. I'll just make some cookies or something. That totally balances out whatever my brain is working through right now. I need to go to sleep.
As I walked toward the back of the trailer, uneven boards squeaked beneath the weight of my feet. Once I made it to the bathroom door I cringed at the sight I was sure that awaited me.
I lived in this sunken trailer since it first started to slump which if I had to guess would be from about the time I was six years old. I remember sitting out on the front step of the condemned mobile home wishing I could be anywhere but right where I was.
As a kid, I was embarrassed to be seen sitting on that cracked step that matched the chipped paint of the trailer that stood behind me. The June air was always hot and heavy, so for no other reason other than pride; I would pull the hood of my jacket over my knotted hair and jerk the drawstrings tight. So tight, I could barely see the world and I was sure that the world couldn’t see me. The self-made furnace was hotter than hell; the price of saving face.
I grimaced as I slowly turned the doorknob and walked into the bathroom.
There she was, exactly where I thought she would be. As her half-nude body slumped against the mildewed motel bathtub, a needle fell from her right hand. Her drugged smile spread across her entire face before teardrops began to fall and create rivers in the crevices that formed around her mouth. She looked like an empty shell of the woman I once knew. Still, I loved her.
“Mamma, let’s get you to bed.” I pulled her frail body off of the bathroom floor as a cockroach crawled over the toe of my barefoot.
“Jessie, you came back.” She stammered in a drug induced daze.
“Yeah mamma, I came back.”
I had never left.
Monday, September 19, 2011
One of those days...
It all started at 2:27 AM (which was actually 2:23 AM, but I can't seem to conform to setting my clock like a normal person) when I woke up in a panic that one of my teeth had fallen out. I am sure I could pull some deep rooted meaning out of this but basically I think it stems from the fact I haven't been to a dentist in 4 years (judge me, I do) After running my tongue over my teeth and realizing that there was no gummy hole, I tossed and turned for about an hour thinking about everything from flying to Arkansas with Keygen alone (sigh) to flying back from Arkansas without him (heavier sigh). Finally, I fell asleep. Then at 5:31 (again, my problem with setting a clock) the wretched BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP rudely interrupted my wonderful dream that involved something to do with cheese and classical music.
Of course, I am the one that sleeps next to the alarm clock, don't ask me why this arrangement exists in my marriage, perhaps it was concocted from the same idea that I should always rummage stuffed socks out of dirty boots (more on this later). So anyhow, as keeper of the clock, I also am in charge of literally kicking my husband out of bed (this job is usually ok with me) Anyhow, this is moving too slow so I'll jump to the the part where I became dead-eyed and mono-toned.
So Reed leaves for work, and I crawl back into bed. Sounds lucky, right? EXCEPT I happen to live with this little person who always wakes up exactly at that moment where I am just entering the peacefulness of precious sleep. As usual, there is a little hand pulling on mine "Mamma Peeeease!" I try to ignore it. "Mammma!" I turn the other way wondering if it really was necessary that we stopped using a crib. Then he speaks the magic words that he KNOWS will force me to my feet. "Mamma I hungry" And I don't know what it is, but every time he says this phrase I imagine one of those Save the Children Infomericals and I just can't stand the idea of my little baby starving. So I get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen.
"Did you have a good sleep, Keygen?"
"Uh-Huh"
"Do you want some breakfast?"
"Uh-huh"
"Do you want cereal?"
"No"
"Oatmeal?"
"No"
"How about some yogurt?"
"No"
"Are you sure you don't want cereal?"
"Nooooooo"
"Eggs?"
"No egg mamma"
"Banana?"
"No" (I held my breath for this answer because just as I asked it I saw the blackened carcass of what once was a banana setting in the fruit bowl)
"Ummmm, how about some toast with jelly"
"No mamma"
"You sure you don't want some cereal?"
(with raised eyebrow) "No mamma"
"How about some PEANUT BUTTER toast?"
"YEAH!"
I felt like I had just solved Davinci's code.
So I put the bread in the toaster, waited for it to pop out so I could have one of those awesome "I just caught the popping toast" moments and ya know, I think that is one of those moments that is saved for the movies and NEVER happens in real life (I should know, I try every time I make toast) Then, I slathered peanut butter on the perfectly golden bread and I cut the edges off because I guess not liking the crust is something that is engraved in every child's DNA.
I set down at the table and awaited Keygen's inevitable "MMMM this goooooood Mamma" which he always says when he is most pleased with what is on his plate.
Instead, I get "Mamma, I want cereal".
Forehead in palm. "What color bowl do you want?"
Flash forward to early afternoon. Mind you, we had spent an entire morning swinging at the playground in our backyard, swinging at the larger playground a few yards from our apartment, and building various houses for his red and blue power rangers to live in. I felt like it was a pretty productive morning, I was beat, so I was sure little Keygen must be wore out. For two hours, repeat TWO hours, I diligently tried to get Keygen to take a nap. I gotta hand it to the little dude, he is pretty crafty at dodging a nap. First he ran in the living room with a panicked look, "Mamma I peed my bed"
I go to check, I feel it, I smell it. (Hey, when you're a mom you do gross things on the daily) My research proved that it was not pee, but a certain little boy's apple juice strategically spilled in the center of his bed. Still, I change the sheet and tell him to get in.
A few moments later, "Mamma, I poop I poop!!" Not wanting to be fooled again, I do a quick finger check in the back of his diaper. He was not bluffing that time.
After a couple of hours, I was wiped out. I gave up. If he wanted to be awake that bad. Fine. Great. Set a record for being the toddler that stayed up for twelve days in a row. Then, the crazy started. There is something about when a kid is extremely tired they just start losing their mind. First, Keygen pulled out all the rags from the drawer and threw them all over the kitchen floor. Then, he picked up a wooden spoon and smacked me right in the ankle. Just when I thought my patience could take no more, the screaming started. I took a deep breath and decided to do some laundry to ignore it.
Now enters the stuffed gross smelly foul socks in boots.
I love my husband. He is kind. He is compassionate. He is very smart and attractive. He helps around the house and he even does dishes and cooks dinner. But, he has a problem with socks. He leaves them in the middle of the floor, he stashes them under the couch (maybe stash is a strong word, they just happen to end up there) and lately....he wads them up in his boots. This is so disgusting to me.
1. It is a dirty sock in a dirtier boot, too much dirty at one time.
2. I have to actually TOUCH the sock to get it out of there (usually I strategically arrange other clothing around the said dirty socks so I don't have to actually make contact with it)
3. I don't like the texture of day old sweaty, dirty, stinky socks. They are all stiff and crunchy, ugh, makes my teeth chatter just thinking about it!
So anyhow, after my disaster of a morning, needless to say I was in no mood for dirty stinky boot socks, but there they were. I let out an exasperated sigh that I really wanted to be a full blown scream. I sat down on the edge of the bed and I seriously contemplated making all of his shirts belly shirts and all of his pants booty shorts.
A while later I skyped with Nan and she didn't really seem to share my dramatic irk about the super energized two year old and stinky dirty socks. Instead, she tried to tell me how thankful I should be for having such a good little boy and a husband that loves me. If looks could kill, she was a gonner in .05 seconds. Poor Nan, she puts up with me even in my most impossible moments.
Finally, Reed came home. Rather, he entered the wrath which is that of Sheree. He ended up taking Keygen to run a few errands and left me to bring myself a couple octaves down from insanity. It helped. I needed a few minutes alone. I got caught up on some school work and tried to find my happy place. THEN, after dinner we had the crazy idea to go to the store. Tired two year olds+grocery store=natural disaster.
Once there, Keygen of course was a little whiney, a little moody, being very much a two year old. Then, I saw a woman with that all too familiar zoned out look. It was in that moment I realized today wasn't so rough. Dealing with one kid wasn't that terrible. After all, I could be like her...and have 4 of them.
Of course, I am the one that sleeps next to the alarm clock, don't ask me why this arrangement exists in my marriage, perhaps it was concocted from the same idea that I should always rummage stuffed socks out of dirty boots (more on this later). So anyhow, as keeper of the clock, I also am in charge of literally kicking my husband out of bed (this job is usually ok with me) Anyhow, this is moving too slow so I'll jump to the the part where I became dead-eyed and mono-toned.
So Reed leaves for work, and I crawl back into bed. Sounds lucky, right? EXCEPT I happen to live with this little person who always wakes up exactly at that moment where I am just entering the peacefulness of precious sleep. As usual, there is a little hand pulling on mine "Mamma Peeeease!" I try to ignore it. "Mammma!" I turn the other way wondering if it really was necessary that we stopped using a crib. Then he speaks the magic words that he KNOWS will force me to my feet. "Mamma I hungry" And I don't know what it is, but every time he says this phrase I imagine one of those Save the Children Infomericals and I just can't stand the idea of my little baby starving. So I get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen.
"Did you have a good sleep, Keygen?"
"Uh-Huh"
"Do you want some breakfast?"
"Uh-huh"
"Do you want cereal?"
"No"
"Oatmeal?"
"No"
"How about some yogurt?"
"No"
"Are you sure you don't want cereal?"
"Nooooooo"
"Eggs?"
"No egg mamma"
"Banana?"
"No" (I held my breath for this answer because just as I asked it I saw the blackened carcass of what once was a banana setting in the fruit bowl)
"Ummmm, how about some toast with jelly"
"No mamma"
"You sure you don't want some cereal?"
(with raised eyebrow) "No mamma"
"How about some PEANUT BUTTER toast?"
"YEAH!"
I felt like I had just solved Davinci's code.
So I put the bread in the toaster, waited for it to pop out so I could have one of those awesome "I just caught the popping toast" moments and ya know, I think that is one of those moments that is saved for the movies and NEVER happens in real life (I should know, I try every time I make toast) Then, I slathered peanut butter on the perfectly golden bread and I cut the edges off because I guess not liking the crust is something that is engraved in every child's DNA.
I set down at the table and awaited Keygen's inevitable "MMMM this goooooood Mamma" which he always says when he is most pleased with what is on his plate.
Instead, I get "Mamma, I want cereal".
Forehead in palm. "What color bowl do you want?"
Flash forward to early afternoon. Mind you, we had spent an entire morning swinging at the playground in our backyard, swinging at the larger playground a few yards from our apartment, and building various houses for his red and blue power rangers to live in. I felt like it was a pretty productive morning, I was beat, so I was sure little Keygen must be wore out. For two hours, repeat TWO hours, I diligently tried to get Keygen to take a nap. I gotta hand it to the little dude, he is pretty crafty at dodging a nap. First he ran in the living room with a panicked look, "Mamma I peed my bed"
I go to check, I feel it, I smell it. (Hey, when you're a mom you do gross things on the daily) My research proved that it was not pee, but a certain little boy's apple juice strategically spilled in the center of his bed. Still, I change the sheet and tell him to get in.
A few moments later, "Mamma, I poop I poop!!" Not wanting to be fooled again, I do a quick finger check in the back of his diaper. He was not bluffing that time.
After a couple of hours, I was wiped out. I gave up. If he wanted to be awake that bad. Fine. Great. Set a record for being the toddler that stayed up for twelve days in a row. Then, the crazy started. There is something about when a kid is extremely tired they just start losing their mind. First, Keygen pulled out all the rags from the drawer and threw them all over the kitchen floor. Then, he picked up a wooden spoon and smacked me right in the ankle. Just when I thought my patience could take no more, the screaming started. I took a deep breath and decided to do some laundry to ignore it.
Now enters the stuffed gross smelly foul socks in boots.
I love my husband. He is kind. He is compassionate. He is very smart and attractive. He helps around the house and he even does dishes and cooks dinner. But, he has a problem with socks. He leaves them in the middle of the floor, he stashes them under the couch (maybe stash is a strong word, they just happen to end up there) and lately....he wads them up in his boots. This is so disgusting to me.
1. It is a dirty sock in a dirtier boot, too much dirty at one time.
2. I have to actually TOUCH the sock to get it out of there (usually I strategically arrange other clothing around the said dirty socks so I don't have to actually make contact with it)
3. I don't like the texture of day old sweaty, dirty, stinky socks. They are all stiff and crunchy, ugh, makes my teeth chatter just thinking about it!
So anyhow, after my disaster of a morning, needless to say I was in no mood for dirty stinky boot socks, but there they were. I let out an exasperated sigh that I really wanted to be a full blown scream. I sat down on the edge of the bed and I seriously contemplated making all of his shirts belly shirts and all of his pants booty shorts.
A while later I skyped with Nan and she didn't really seem to share my dramatic irk about the super energized two year old and stinky dirty socks. Instead, she tried to tell me how thankful I should be for having such a good little boy and a husband that loves me. If looks could kill, she was a gonner in .05 seconds. Poor Nan, she puts up with me even in my most impossible moments.
Finally, Reed came home. Rather, he entered the wrath which is that of Sheree. He ended up taking Keygen to run a few errands and left me to bring myself a couple octaves down from insanity. It helped. I needed a few minutes alone. I got caught up on some school work and tried to find my happy place. THEN, after dinner we had the crazy idea to go to the store. Tired two year olds+grocery store=natural disaster.
Once there, Keygen of course was a little whiney, a little moody, being very much a two year old. Then, I saw a woman with that all too familiar zoned out look. It was in that moment I realized today wasn't so rough. Dealing with one kid wasn't that terrible. After all, I could be like her...and have 4 of them.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Stick a fork in it, the weekend is DONE!
This weekend was eventful.
My husband rented a canoe from the college rec center, so we were both pretty excited to take it out on a small lake area just outside of Logan. On Saturday morning we woke up in great spirits ready to embark on the journey of canoeing in an unfamiliar land (So ok, we were feeling a little Swiss Family Robinson) but, then...... it happened.
My husband (Reed) went in to my son's (Keygen) room to feed the fish (that were less than a week old) and you guessed it.....we had a floater. Keygen, who is two years old, is patiently waiting his chance to see the fish begins pulling at Reed's leg hair. With a panicked look (or was it pain from being plucked?) he asked 'Should we tell him?" I shake my head with a look of "absolutely not!" Then I take Keygen in my arms and raise him to look at his now solitary fish. Not missing a thing he says "Mamma, two fish...two two two" Thinking fast I say, "Cheetah (yes, we had a fish named Cheetah) went to work as a showboat fish in New Orleans" Yes, I felt crazy for telling this to my two year old son, but he responded with "Oh, Cheetah work go bye bye" And all was well at our house again.
Quick thinking Mamma-1 Dead fish trying to ruin our day-0.
After an hour of hustle and bustle to get all of our gear packed, we were ready to start rowing. Of course, I have never rowed a canoe a day in my life so I had no idea where to start. Of course, I was a natural (sarcasm) and we moved like lightning across the lake (more sarcasm). After a few moments of getting used to actually moving my arms and keeping my hands in the right position (right hand on top of the handle. ON TOP! ON TOP! as Reed reminded me over and over....and over again), we were finally paddling at a pretty good speed. Keygen was very impressed with all of the ducks and he was even more impressed with how he could run his little fingers along the boat's edge and get his fingers soaked. And of course, those soaking wet fingers would find their way to his mouth. This went on for a few minutes, until a very large fish (definitely a record-setting 100-pounder) jumped near our canoe. Then, I was convinced that one of those monsters would mistake my baby's hand for fish food. No more little soaking wet fingers.
Next, Keygen realized how much fun it was to throw things from the canoe. Twice, he threw a lid from his juice into the murky water, and twice we had to paddle back to retrieve it. I told him trash in the water would destroy a duck's digestive system. Hey, you gotta start explaining this stuff early. And he did stop throwing lids in the water, but not because of my in depth "save the environment" lesson. No.The only reason he stopped throwing lids in the water, is because he discovered the GPS and tossed that in instead. A GPS does not float, in case you were wondering.
We went out twice on the water Saturday. At the end of each trip I would remind my husband that I'm not a man and I'm not meant to lift canoes. He seemed unmoved by this realization.
Then this morning came and against my better judgment (I was still a smidge upset about the GPS fiasco) we decided to go back out on the water one last time. It started out same as before, a little wobbly. I got aggravated because Keygen wouldn't sit in his seat and insisted on sitting on top of me. I was hot. I was hungry. .......And then we got lost (I guess I can find solace in the fact that the GPS WOULD have been able to help us). I stopped looking at the birds with awe, stopped caring how beautiful the sunlight looked on the water, and I even lost my fear of some dangerous creature leaping out of the water and eating us. In fact, I was beginning to think that would be a better fate. I just wanted to be on land. For about an hour, Reed guessed which way we should go. Each time he would confidently say "this is the way". I flirted with the idea of what would happen if I pushed him in. Would I be able to find my way back? Then the fear of the monster fish crept back into my psyche. Ultimately, I figured he was useful and could stay.
After a few long minutes of being completely irritated, I realized how lucky I was to be out on the water. It was a beautiful day. We had the water to ourselves. And I was spending time with the two most important people in the world. And, it also helped that Keygen curled up in his chair and fell asleep. He looked absolutely precious and I even laughed to myself about how funny the situation was...and how funnier it would be if it was happening to someone else.
Finally we made it to shore. We got the canoe loaded (I still was insisting I was not a man) and we made it home in one piece.
Today was the end of a great weekend. I love my family. I love my life. It also helped that we got to enjoy a 3 hour nap :) Hey, those canoes are heavy!
My husband rented a canoe from the college rec center, so we were both pretty excited to take it out on a small lake area just outside of Logan. On Saturday morning we woke up in great spirits ready to embark on the journey of canoeing in an unfamiliar land (So ok, we were feeling a little Swiss Family Robinson) but, then...... it happened.
My husband (Reed) went in to my son's (Keygen) room to feed the fish (that were less than a week old) and you guessed it.....we had a floater. Keygen, who is two years old, is patiently waiting his chance to see the fish begins pulling at Reed's leg hair. With a panicked look (or was it pain from being plucked?) he asked 'Should we tell him?" I shake my head with a look of "absolutely not!" Then I take Keygen in my arms and raise him to look at his now solitary fish. Not missing a thing he says "Mamma, two fish...two two two" Thinking fast I say, "Cheetah (yes, we had a fish named Cheetah) went to work as a showboat fish in New Orleans" Yes, I felt crazy for telling this to my two year old son, but he responded with "Oh, Cheetah work go bye bye" And all was well at our house again.
Quick thinking Mamma-1 Dead fish trying to ruin our day-0.
After an hour of hustle and bustle to get all of our gear packed, we were ready to start rowing. Of course, I have never rowed a canoe a day in my life so I had no idea where to start. Of course, I was a natural (sarcasm) and we moved like lightning across the lake (more sarcasm). After a few moments of getting used to actually moving my arms and keeping my hands in the right position (right hand on top of the handle. ON TOP! ON TOP! as Reed reminded me over and over....and over again), we were finally paddling at a pretty good speed. Keygen was very impressed with all of the ducks and he was even more impressed with how he could run his little fingers along the boat's edge and get his fingers soaked. And of course, those soaking wet fingers would find their way to his mouth. This went on for a few minutes, until a very large fish (definitely a record-setting 100-pounder) jumped near our canoe. Then, I was convinced that one of those monsters would mistake my baby's hand for fish food. No more little soaking wet fingers.
Next, Keygen realized how much fun it was to throw things from the canoe. Twice, he threw a lid from his juice into the murky water, and twice we had to paddle back to retrieve it. I told him trash in the water would destroy a duck's digestive system. Hey, you gotta start explaining this stuff early. And he did stop throwing lids in the water, but not because of my in depth "save the environment" lesson. No.The only reason he stopped throwing lids in the water, is because he discovered the GPS and tossed that in instead. A GPS does not float, in case you were wondering.
We went out twice on the water Saturday. At the end of each trip I would remind my husband that I'm not a man and I'm not meant to lift canoes. He seemed unmoved by this realization.
Then this morning came and against my better judgment (I was still a smidge upset about the GPS fiasco) we decided to go back out on the water one last time. It started out same as before, a little wobbly. I got aggravated because Keygen wouldn't sit in his seat and insisted on sitting on top of me. I was hot. I was hungry. .......And then we got lost (I guess I can find solace in the fact that the GPS WOULD have been able to help us). I stopped looking at the birds with awe, stopped caring how beautiful the sunlight looked on the water, and I even lost my fear of some dangerous creature leaping out of the water and eating us. In fact, I was beginning to think that would be a better fate. I just wanted to be on land. For about an hour, Reed guessed which way we should go. Each time he would confidently say "this is the way". I flirted with the idea of what would happen if I pushed him in. Would I be able to find my way back? Then the fear of the monster fish crept back into my psyche. Ultimately, I figured he was useful and could stay.
After a few long minutes of being completely irritated, I realized how lucky I was to be out on the water. It was a beautiful day. We had the water to ourselves. And I was spending time with the two most important people in the world. And, it also helped that Keygen curled up in his chair and fell asleep. He looked absolutely precious and I even laughed to myself about how funny the situation was...and how funnier it would be if it was happening to someone else.
Finally we made it to shore. We got the canoe loaded (I still was insisting I was not a man) and we made it home in one piece.
Today was the end of a great weekend. I love my family. I love my life. It also helped that we got to enjoy a 3 hour nap :) Hey, those canoes are heavy!
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