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.

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!