You said it, Lola!
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Do you ever get one of those beautiful, carefree days tossed your way? Happy family... loving your life.... blue, blue sky with not a cloud in sight? Just a
perfect day?
Well, today doesn't look like one of those days.
But, luckily, yesterday was. I'm glad I savored the day as it was happening because this morning we're off to a rockier start. Nothing earth-shattering, but I did put Owen on the bus with tears still in his eyes this morning. Man I hate that. He had been bawling over the fact that I went downstairs before him this morning-we were running late and I had to get his breakfast started more quickly than his snail's pace upstairs was going to allow- so he didn't get to hold my hand coming down the stairs this morning. (He's a very loving guy, so to him this was probably the equivalent of having been dumped.)
This same, exact event recurs occasionally with Owen at our house, but I usually cave in, go back up and hold his hand since I know in five years he probably won't even be able to imagine
ever wanting to hold my hand. However, this morning I decided to take a stand. A stand against expectations and presumptions because, from time to time, I just get sick of it. Sick of being reliable/predictable enough that everyone thinks they know what's coming next so they expect it and then throw a hissy fit when I dare to stray from routine. So sometimes I like to jab a stick in the spokes to stir things up. ("No, Owen, I'm already downstairs and it's rude for you to ask me to come all the way back upstairs simply because you were too busy chatting with your brother to pay attention to the fact that I gave you fair warning that I was on my way downstairs.") Yeah, I decided to take a stand this morning. This always seems like a better idea about five seconds before I actually do it. Today was no exception.
*sigh*
Enter lots more crying... Then there's me yelling up the stairs over the crying at him that he has precisely 4 minutes left in which to get his booty down the stairs & eat his breakfast (in its present state, still just a package of instant cream-of-wheat in my hands), get his shoes on and get outside for the bus. Of course, this all took about 45 more seconds- what with all the crying, so then I had to inform him that he now had 3 minutes and 15 seconds in which to do all this and that I was walking into the kitchen to prepare the darned cereal so if he wanted to hop down the stairs and hold my hand from there, he could. He did. And he then proceeded to cry while eating the cereal, which, of course, made the cereal-eating take even longer. The crying slowed down as we walked toward the mudroom to toss shoes and a backpack on him,... just in time for the second-wave of crying that you knew by now was coming. We did some deep-breathing on the porch, which was somewhat successful, but he was still sniffling with assorted whimpers mixed in for good measure. Then the bus came.
Next time I will remind myself that it is much easier to just conform to expectations. Brother.
OK, so right now Rocco is shredding up some perfectly good window envelopes at my feet as I type this. He has a room full of toys just feet away, but he prefers to be in here with me- shredding papers, throwing data CDs around and creating general chaos in my office. Which- those of you who have seen my office already know- is a completely unnecessary task. I do just fine making a complete disaster in this room on my own. I like to think it's because I'm a creative mind. I can't be tethered down by tidy thinking spaces. At least that's what I tell myself. But honestly, the office has been working towards a much more presentable appearance lately so this little deviant is, well... an especially evil little deviant. He's trying to unravel any good I've managed to do in here. On purpose. You can see it in his eyes. Those of you who are going to suggest that I keep some toys in the office for him- don't bother. He's onto that trick. No way are those plastic shapes and wooden blocks nearly as interesting as the installation CD for the new modem or as pleasing to the ear as the crinkling of perfectly-good window envelopes.
Can you see the evil plans formulating behind those eyes??
Just look at my office floor, would you?!
**********************************************************So just when I think I'll have a few minutes to tackle one of the many open projects I've got laying around... Now I'll have to clean up this mess first. And, let me tell you, I have a 102" table full of open projects: There's the quilt and sewing machine taking up a good 60" of it... Then there's the leftover party supplies from Rocco's birthday... And the stack of card-making supplies for making the somewhat-tardy, thank-notes for lovely gifts from said birthday party.... Toss in a few random copies of paid bills just because I've been too lazy to file them, add a couple of the kids' toys and... you get the picture. Ah, but don't forget the boxful of mail sitting on the floor next to the table! I haven't opened some of it. Most of it has been opened and I've pulled out the most urgent things. I think. But it desperately needs my attention. I know you're thinking that I should be attending to this disaster instead of writing. What's your point? Blogging clears my head and this is the only baby book my kids will probably ever get.
Dining Room table- full of misc. projects
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Box O' Mail
**************************************************The other day I was watching one of my new favorite shows in which the main character is a blogger. He echoed my sentiments to a tee on this week's episode when he states his loathing of the non-language-that-seems-to-be-quickly-becoming-an-accepted-form-of-speech: internet slang. Like Hank, I simply cannot tolerate "LOL." It really gets under my skin. I'd much rather see "haha" than LOL. "LOL," "BRB," "CUL8R," "ROTFL," and all of their kin are simply tools of the devil. I'm convinced. You'll never see one of them in this blog... Maybe it's because it actually takes me longer to figure out how to write out the acronyms than to just type out the real word. But I don't think so. If I practiced enough I'm quite sure I could spit them out at lightning-speed. But I have no desire. Their mere existance just feels like the beginning of the end of the English language. Especially when someone uses them in an actual, live, "real-person" conversation. (Hank's girlfriend did it on this episode.) In a face-to-face discussion it's just embarassing. Besides, why on earth would you
say "LOL" in person, rather than
actually LOL'ing?! Mind-boggling.
Anyway,
the show is great. I, oddly, feel like the character is the man-version of the real me. Sort of. Well, if I were a womanizer. (But who's saying I'm not??
haha) Okay, so I'm not a womanizer. Or a man-izer. (??) But there was that middle-aged guy at the Ruby Tuesday's the other night whom I left hanging... Skip thinks maybe I made him up. Which I didn't. Oh, he was real, all right. He definitely said "Hi" to me and smiled at me like I was his new girlfriend. And what did I do?? I said "Hi" back and then
just walked away. Heartless. I may have broken that 40-something-year-old's button-down-shirted heart that night. Yep.
But, enough. I have buckets of mail and laundry to sort. Plus I think there's some leftover Hamburger Helper in the fridge with my name on it. Here's hoping the day improves a little. It's not really a bad day- it just started that way. Oscar's actually been pretty fun today. Except that I finally tracked down the can of whipped cream that I had forgotten he blatantly took out of the fridge against my orders... (two days ago.)
I somehow forgot I was supposed to be looking for it until this morning while changing Rocco- who had just dumped out the fresh, full bowl of water I set down for Lola and was having himself a crunchy Iams snack when I finally registered the tell-tale clinking metal bowl sounds I was overhearing and ran in there to find him sitting there, in the outfit he'd had on for all of 15 minutes that was now soaking wet. This all occurred about 20 minutes before we were supposed to be at the eye doctor for Oscar to find out if he needs glasses. (Not yet. Phew. Like I need to worry about keeping track of Oscar's glasses on top of everything else!) It takes us a solid 10 minutes to get to the doctor and now I had to change a baby before loading the kids up for the drive. So I was muttering things under my breath as I took Rocco up to switch outfits. I laid him down on the floor next to the dresser since that seems less objectionable to him than actually being ON the changing table top, where he will immediately start shrieking- not letting up until you pick him back up. I wasn't in the mood for his attitude, so we went with the floor. As I was pulling his overalls on, I happened to glance some silver underneath the dresser. Sure enough, the whipped cream. If Oscar had been smarter about this and placed it somewhere more unsavory like, oh, I don't know... the diaper pail, he would have totally gotten away with it. It had completely escaped my mind. But as it is, he lost a couple marbles from his jar. Maybe he could follow Owen's lead and "try to think better." (That was Owen's goal he made for himself at school this year. I told him that he thinks just fine, it's the listening that he should be focusing on... Can always count on good ole mom to tell the truth, right??)
I think a fortnight (or so) ago I was signing off. I need to do that for reals now. My tiny love is now moving the mouse around... I think he doesn't want me to forget to tell you about how big he is now. So I'23ll l
(rocco's typing there. I3'm giving up backspac
ing
.and
a retyping 3so .from here on out it 'sa joint effort. what 3do
you
think>?) ;)00.02
OKay3, R. Here
ar3e.
his stats from
hius0.0. 12 month check up
l.
ast wee
k:
Rocco's 12-month visit stats from Friday:
Weight: 22-1/2 lbs. (4
oth %)
Height 27"
Head
Circ. 19"
Love to all.
xoxo k.
(and r.)
