So now that I'm lucid (as lucid as one can be after a couple hours in their own head and a few glasses of wine), I realize that my reaction to the kid's distaste for conclusions was not really appropriate.

It doesn't bother me at all to edit out a lot of Twain's narrative exposition. It doesn't bother me to rewrite snatches of Peter Pan as I read it aloud, but their distaste for conclusions bugs the crap out of me.

Last night, Peter killed Hook, and the little jerks said, "Oh, the book is over." The book was not over at all so I yelled at them a bit and tried to plow through the ending. This is not a new problem: Crusoe gets rescued, eff the rest of it. You can make up your own examples, but as far as they're concerned, it's climax and shut the book (maybe it's a male thing). Anyway, when the shouting (mine) subsided, I just pouted and read the beautiful conclusion to myself. Then, I told them about it tonight while they ate a bedtime snack.

But it doesn't seem right to scream at them just because they don't dig endings so maybe I have to accept that shortcoming in their personalities and move on.

That's it. Happy Thanksgiving.

Four Shoes? Five Shoes? Other Big Decisions

Recently, the man got a bonus, and while I was looking up at him, I said through a mouthful of cock, "Oh, omniscient, great one, you earned that bonus, you spend it however you want." It was actually easy to do that because I don't pine for material possessions (usually).

About five years ago (I apologize if you've heard this before but it was a big moment for me), I noticed that I was fixating on a new futon cover. I realized that I could either spend forty dollars or I should stop thinking about it. At that moment, I didn't have forty bucks so I slung a red sheet on the futon and called it good, and literally from that moment, I have not allowed myself to pine for material possessions. ever. It's such a waste of mental energy. I wish I could stop my brain from perseverating on the million over non-important issues that it seems to fixate on, but that's just a wish at this point.

After I was done blowing him, I did let my mind wonder into the wanting side for a while, and I realized that I could spend a grand pretty quickly (new furniture, better wall pictures, new wardrobe, and a bedspread), but alas, I've shelved those ideas.

However, I do have to make one very important decision about shoes. Years ago, the Evangelical housewife told me that she only needed two pairs of shoes (flip flops and snow boots). I adjusted that to four (flip flops, snow boots, dress boots and chuck taylors), and I've been shoe-tastic ever since. However, about a six months ago, I bought some running shoes so that I could do the couch to 10k. I never even made it to the preposition in that proposition, but I did get some nifty shoes out of the deal. Sadly, I've just noticed that my Chucks have a hole in the sole, and this is the problem....   do I stick to my four shoe guns or yield to the need for Chucks?

It's an important issue that I'm going to ponder over a bottle of Pinot Noir. Two kids at a sleepover, one man at work, and one toddler going to bed soon (Yeah!!!)  

Mice! (Freakin' Out!)

Oh my god. I just saw a mouse. I was taking the bag off my vacuum cleaner so that I could shake it out and reuse it, and the little fucker darted right past me. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Right, I know it's not a big deal. I deep cleaned eight or so days ago and didn't see any poop so I'm pretty sure he/she is a lone agent, and I've set 8 traps (which is a lot considering this place is less than 1000 sq feet). So, it will be okay.

But rodents symbolize failure to me. As my mother says, "Only dirty people have mice" Well, maybe she doesn't say that, but I'm pretty sure she thinks it. I think she actually said if you're clean, you'll find the poop before you see the rodent. Whatever.

We had mice over-running our last two places, and it was completely uncomfortable to live there, but I've learned something about mice since then. A) Mice can get through the smallest cracks, and those places were (unlike this place) full of cracks and crevices that invited mice in. B) We are a haven for mice in terms of food on the floor (I've just vacuumed, but it's still a haven if the little fucker wants to set up camp). C) Mice breed every six weeks so there is no time to fight about whose job it is to set the traps which is why I have set the traps and will reset the traps.

C--is the only thing that is relevant in this situation.

This was my Facebook status from a couple of years ago (just to illustrate how bad the mice actually were):

In theory, I love my children to the moon and back, but when that love is tested by my middle son shouting help me mommy as he hops around with a sticky trap stuck to his foot with two little squeaking mice also stuck to it, I love him just enough to turn and run in the other direction.

Now, I'm leaving....  hopefully this fucker know that we're armed now. If the traps don't get him, I'll have the man sit up with the gun.

Babysitters

So you would think that I would be excited about the fact that we're going out twice tomorrow without the kids (once in the morning to a wedding reception and once in the evening to the chop house), and eventually, I'm sure that I will be excited (like after I'm gone and the alcohol is swirling in my blood).

However, at the moment I'm still a little West of stressed over it. First of all, I have to clean everything before the babysitter gets here....  I mean what will she think if I don't scrub all of my kitchen cabinets, scrub the place between the fridge and the counter, and clean out the bathroom drawer and buy new toothbrushes and paste. I would be mortified if anyone found out that until an hour ago our bathroom drawer was caked with toothpaste and had five empty tubes and four toothbrushes floating in it (yes, just four, becuase we all just brush our teeth with whichever brush we hope wasn't in the toilet). That would be mortifying if anyone found that out so I've got it looking all status-quo now.

Then, there's the issue of the babysitter herself. Normally, we don't have a babysitter more than once a year so I always have to find a new one. This year, we have had a babysitter more than once, but I've lost my phone in the meantime and can't figure out how to get a hold of that virgin Wisconsinite that I've mentioned in previous posts. Then, of course, there's the issue of it being a double shift. What if she hates the kids and refuses to come back. Usually, they're pretty good for babysitters, but there was that one time when Boy One was almost four and I left him against my better instincts to go to my BFF's wedding rehearsal dinner....  When we got home, the babysitter said, "He took a while to adjust and then he was fine". The neighbors said that he stood in the backyard for forty-five minutes screaming, "You're not my mother! Get the fuck out of my house!". I don't think that will happen again becuase he's not three, and the other two aren't giant freaks, but heck, anything could happen here.

Lastly, there's the issue of my wardrobe (yes, I know; it's a first world complaint, and people are starving all over the world---skinny bitches). However, it is starting to show that I spend less than eighty bucks a year on clothes and that my weight is up and down. It also doesn't help that any time I lose two pounds, I jubilantly give away my size tens, and yet I am clinging to two boxes of size fives (that are probably out of style anyway) in the basement.

But don't worry, I'll overcome. If I have to I'll bribe the babysitter with extra cash, and I'll drink until I look good before I go out.

Otherwise, I am in a very good mood. I was mentally very productive and happy while scrubbing my cabinets yesterday, and in fact, I've been in a great mood for over a day now!!!! That is all.

A Good Day

I woke up this morning to four or five minutes of the most stunning sun rise. I watched it amazed, through a bit of a hangover acquired last night around the fire pit. I'm not sure if I need to remember much of that.

Today, my son revived my faith that the children will be okay. He had been counting the days on the calender for close to two weeks because today was the day that he was getting a game he had been wanting. At the check-out counter, his brother wanted some legos so he instantly put back one of  the card decks with his game so that his brother could get the legos.

We need those moments more often, but when they come, they are bliss.

And now it's been nineteen hours since that sunrise, just more than a day since we sat by the fire pit drinking wine and roasting marshmallows. It's all covered with snow. An eerie orange light fills the sky, and I've  opened the door several times to listen to the silence, silence only broken by the intermittent sound of cracking as limbs weighted with snow fall from their trees.

Petulant Whining

A) I'm surprised if I don't already have a post with this title. B) If you have anything to do, I would suggest just by-passing this and moving on with your life.

I'm just going to admit it. I liked the part of adulthood that was about beer and cocaine. I liked the part of it that was all about holding little babies. This part where I am compelled to scrub carpet stains even though two kids are at grandma's, one kid is sleeping, and one man is at work is tres yucko.

A few weeks ago, I was feeling overwhelmed trying to balance being a good mother (decent is probably a better word not sure that I ever hit the good mark), being a not-bitchy wife (ok, that never happens), keeping the house (reasonably) clean, working from home two to five hours a day, and cooking (constantly it feels like-- by the time I've finished washing the dinner dishes, the mouths are open again), and then when that's all done, I have my project that I'm working on and if I don't work on that at the end of the day (if I for instance read or watch a movie instead) I feel a horrible dose o' guilt. Mostly I was feeling overwhelmed by all of those things a couple weeks ago becuase the man was working a ton o' hours and extra days, and I'm the only one for the kids from the moment they open their little eyes to the moment they finally close them. Anyway, overwhelmed has come and gone, and now, I'm just feeling whiny.

And I think Virginia must have been around before carpet because otherwise she would have written, "A Room of One's Own and a Damn Tile Floor". So now, Imma gonna scrub my nasty carpet, think of whiny crap, and that's it, I don't want to overtax myself or anything.  

Note to Self

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is our latest bit of bedtime reading, and we all love it. I think my kids were meant to live in the 1800's. Tom does all the things that the boys love: warring, frolicking naked, catching bugs, playing pirates, meditating, smoking, and although they have never swung a dead rat from a string, I wish they would...  it seems like a sad bit of boyhood that no one's doing that any more. 


Okay, technically, they do not smoke. Even yesterday when I tried to diffuse a little kid anger by handing them all pretend peace pipes and inhale, exhale, let the anger smoke rise up to the ceiling and float away, they still refused to smoke. This parenting tactic, by the way, was a massive failure. Boy One was twitching on the floor apparently dead from smoke inhalation. Boy Two was still mad. Boy Three just pulled out his junk and suggested they have "wiener time" which seemed to calm them all down. But the fake pipe definitely soothed me, and I'm pretty sure that's the most important thing.


My mantra for the last week or so has been: "Minger, don't be an asshole" because in the inimitable words of Tom Hank's character in Apollo 13, "We're not doing this, gentlemen. We are *not* going to do this. We're not going to go bouncing off the walls for ten minutes, 'cause we're just going to end up back here with the same problems!" 


So that's it. I can be an asshole (to the kids) and ten minutes later, we'll all still be here, or I can not be an asshole, and ten minutes later, we'll still be here...  probably in a better head space to boot. So I guess, note to myself: walk away, grab your fake peace pipe, and re-approach the kids when you're ready to act like an adult non-asshole. These little mirrors (the kids) reflect all of my faults so I may as well try not to have so damn many.


P.S. Here is my favorite line from Tom Sawyer so far. The line refers to a boy that Tom is approaching and Tom is criticizing the boy's too fancy looks (keep in mind that my poor kid got pulled out of Karate to wash his feet which I hadn't noticed were black and it was Saturday and he probably hadn't worn shoes since Monday): 


He had shoes on --  and it was only Friday.