Many Things and my Live-In Elrond of Sorts

Amazing Allysen just up and quit talking right after my post on Friday. Apparently she asked my daughter to hand her her cell phone so she could dial a friend for Truth or Dare and then she started yapping but no sound would come out. The way my daughter imitates the incident cracks me up. I was quick to write etoys about the issue and they said, "no worries, dispose of that doll as you see fit and we are shipping you a new one express mail."

WHA??? What sort of good fortune is that?! Unheard of customer service! I am going to have to give them eleven stars in their review. Let's just hope this Allysen actually holds up and works.

My Martin is still in the shop. Maybe it will be back on Thursday? My phantom Martin...it has been eleven weeks. Did you hear that? ELEVEN WEEKS. Eleven sets of seven. Seventy seven days? Nope, seventy eight.

I saw 300 over the weekend. Thank goodness for rentals, eh? Good grief, Dear Sir and I have not been to a movie in ages. I mean, real ages. No sitter. And we probably couldn't afford one anyway. It gets to look like ten bucks an hour around here, no joke. Dinner and a movie quickly turns into over a hundred bucks with that kind of spending.

About 300---I don't think those abs were real. I mean, they looked gross, and I don't know if they are humanly possible. Even on a Spartan. Maybe I am wrong. And that is pretty much all I have to say about that movie!

And the mailbox that got annihilated about a month ago---still is sitting there in the same state. Anyone have advice on what to say to the slacker neighbors to get them to fix it? I find it very interesting that they have to fix our mailbox now when they can't even walk to get their mail. You know, the drive box people? Search your memory. I just ran a lot and I am too tired to link it. They are famous in my house for pulling up to their mailbox every day and getting their mail in that fashion instead of getting out of the car once they get home and walking a few steps to retrieve.

Dear Sir's birthday is tomorrow. The man will be younger than his real age (I estimate it to be around 71 years). He is an elf, I tell you. A man of the ancient times, who cracks old, dusty books open and inhales ancient mites. He is a very patient man. His ability to wait is a gift many of us never are able to grasp. And he is smart. Real smart. And he acts like I am smart too, but it is ok that he is just being nice because like I said, he is an old soul and he is a wise man. Wise men do this. The day after watching 300 he gave me a huge lesson by mouth about Xerxes, the Spartans, and all that stuff. I think he was there, man. And you know what? That's why I don't think those abs were real because he saw them. He witnessed them.

I think he senses I am writing this so I better go.


Also, I think Carolanne tagged me for a meme since my name is Rachel, but not sure. I will do it anyway just in case :) :

FIVE THINGS TO LET KIDS KNOW BEFORE THEY GROW UP:

1. Do not seek to please anyone on this earth except God. If you do this, you will find that this will miraculously please others as well, but always please God first and foremost. Live in love.

2. I am not perfect so please do not put me on a pedestal. I will fail you, but God will not. My failings I hope, will show you how great the measure of God's grace is.

3. Flee from idolatry---nothing else will satisfy you like God, which brings me back to #1. (Game Cubes, cars, money, spouses, etc will not fulfill you)

4. You need a degree if you want to get a decent job. This is learned the hard way.

5. Discipline physically and spiritually (this the most) is how one should go about living as an adult.

the Girl

I bought this blueberry and almond oatmeal from Target yesterday (Archer Farms) and I have pretty much never eaten such delicious oatmeal in my life. I feel ready to do a commercial for it, it is so stinking good. I kept singing it's praises as I was eating it and the kids were like, "Mom, we get it. It's good. Maybe we will like it when we are adults. Get over it." If you love oatmeal like I do you must purchase it.

I am a sweaty mess from running. I should get out of these nasty clothes and shower. I have decided that I would get on a decent schedule this week and get up when Dear Sir gets up (around six) and take care of him (yes, that means make his lunch and feed him breakfast and then give him a kiss) then run for an hour and then take care of the kids. I have been schooling the Girl early and that has been going well. She is reading a book about the Civil War. It is funny to hear her read words like "Rockwall Jackson" "Rebs" "Feds" "Will did not want to get shot" "cannon" and "Appomattox". It helped her along to know that a girl wrote the book.

I swear, having Amazing Allysen has helped in some ways. At least for now. She is toted around and calls my Girl 'best friend' and chats with her, so it helps with the loneliness department. I know that sounds sad. The Girl even made a bed for her. The boys love to make the doll play games and she seems to respond the best with the Oldest because he has that Mickey Mouse voice, I imagine. He gets annoying though because he yells through the house just to be annoying and then Allysen gets confused and makes my Girl repeat stuff. You know, talking to Allysen is much like talking to the robotic people when you want to deal with the phone company or check your balance on your credit card. Allysen also, from time to time, says, "Brrrr...I'm cold...can you put my pants on?" and she has pants on already. I suppose the sensors are off a bit. My Girl just shakes her head, looks at me and says, "she always says that."

Have a sensational weekend. Allysen just "dared" my Girl to hug herself and scream, 'I love myself'! She actually did it. Do you guys remember "Talking Tina" from the Twilight Zone? That's all I am saying about that....

Annoying Allysen

Apparently the only one in this house with a cell phone is the annoying doll that talks. She is on it all the time. She has an especially annoying friend who has a dog that barks into the phone.

The girl really wanted this thing for Christmas but I was not willing to fork over a hundred bucks for it. Instead, we waited until now (when she has successfully kept her bed dry on a continual basis) to get the doll for her and it was half off! Yes! And she doesn't like running on cheap batteries, I have learned. She came out of the box moving around but her voice had no volume. Argh.

To make the day complete with misery (besides my daughter screaming at the doll so that she will hear her) the Game Cube just completely bit it and my Oldest utterly wept in despair. How pathetic. I had to go over there and get a new one and then all was fine after that. Good grief, you would have thought the last dog died.

Trust me, when my guitar finally gets back into my hands I will take a photo of it so you can see it. I am starting to think that it does not exist anymore and the world is playing tricks on me. I got a call from the repair guy yesterday and he said it will be one more week. The poor guy feels bad, I don't blame him, it is just hard to be without it, but ok enough. Hey, Noel Gallagher plays a Tak, I can do it too.

And the Girl got a haircut. Cute, huh?

Gibberish

My chicken is most likely burning on the grill as I type. Burn, smurn. I don't care. I will probably not participate in dinner tonight, but just eat a powerbar instead anyway. Rations.

Let me check the poultry, I'll be right back...

More and more I have been more incredulous with my laziness this ongoing summer. It took yesterday to finally get me to clean the grill (which should be done weekly but I do it monthly if that). I had been putting up with the bits of ash and whatnot catching on fire, toasting whatever it is I am grilling (let's just say the usual, chicken), and I have to be quick about blowing out the flames manually. And I mean, with my mouth and my hair pulled back.

I tried doing this while on the phone last week and it worked, but my friend on the other line was on the floor or off the side of her couch laughing so hard I was a little embarrassed. You see, it is all because I am too blastedly lazy to clean the thing. I don't take the time lately. I just run my stupid butt off and then tire myself out with that and do nothing else. Well, that's not true, but close. "Hold on---POOF! POOF! The fire is a little smaller, uh, just hold on one more second---POOF! POOF!--it singed my hair. Gross...uh, POOF! There it goes. All out now."

So I cleaned the thing yesterday so nothing flamingly spectacular is going on out there except some usual cooking. Nothing burning, nothing in flames. That's good, eh?

This morning in my haste to get the kids to the free summer movie, we found that one of our trash cans was demolished. I mean, run clean over and twisted so much so that it looks much like a green plastic tuba. I thought it was the trash guys (they are my favorite people anyway) but alas, Dear Sir emailed me and informed all of us that it was not the trash people that did it, but he did, and it took him a great many pulls forward in the car to get the can out from under the tire. I just love it. This is a can though that has a missing wheel, is utterly useless, and is missing a lid (the exceedingly wondrous trash guys lost it and refused to reimburse me), so Dear Sir said this, "I will hack the can apart somehow and throw it away..."

Yeah, that will be fruitful. The garbage guys take ANYTHING, including dead people, lawn mowers, Christmas trees, sharp objects, you get the picture. Why would they not take a demolished garbage can? How will Dear Sir hack this thing apart, I wonder? With Pampered Chef kitchen shears?

Dear Sir, how will you do this act of wonderment? Don't shake your head at me!

Well, the chicken is probably burned by NOW, so I better go tend to it.

Be at peace my friends and don't run over any trash cans, ok? Clean your grills, put out your fires. It's dangerous out there...

Nothing

My Oldest just finished playing one measure of a dire sounding "Row, row, row your boat". He sang, "Life is but a dream!" and cackled a sort of haunting laugh.

It is gloomy and somewhat rainless outside today.

A friend turned me on to Flight of the Conchords. These guys are funny. Look em up on YouTube. Dear Sir loves this song. Reminds him of the Pet Shop Boys.

I have a mountain of laundry to fold and I better hop to it.

Do you guys think that the government hires people to go lower than the speed limit on country roads so that I can't go fast? Just wondered.

30

If I run five and a half miles today I will reach my week goal of thirty miles. Not like any of you care, but it would actually be a goal accomplished without my knee or my calf giving out, which would be so entirely cool. When I get done posting this I will get going on that. It has been nice to set a goal for myself this week (even a goal so silly as that) to get myself a little cheery about finishing something for the week.

Another thing I am excited about is that I dusted yesterday and made a batch of soap.

And I have discovered that if you have stinky breath from eating garlic and onions or anything that makes your breath reek, drink coffee and it will deodorize it. I suppose that is why EmmaSometimes always has smashing breath. Dear Sir is a big clean breath sort of person and if I stink, he tells me. I still have yet to develop a thick skin about it. I think my issues stem from my cannibalistic tendencies, but I won't go into detail. At any rate, I will no longer avoid Dear Sir when I eat spicy hummus, I will meet him head on in close up conversation right after I have a cup of coffee. Seems fair. But I will brush my teeth first. And pop a mint.

On the downside, I have discovered (but I was not surprised) that I can only do one half pull-up (as opposed to a full pull up), and I experienced some fear yesterday when I was attempting to show the Oldest how to swing on the monkey bars. I swung my way across like in grade school days, but I actually was afraid! What a wimp I am! And apparently I need to start lifting weights or something because my arms need some strength. Or else I weigh too much. I have dreams where I am trying to punch someone out and I barely put any force in it at all, I can't. In my dreams I fly but I am actually swimming too. I am wading through the air like I wade through water. I have to get a good run first before I set off too (which would seem natural for me).

And now I am sure you wanted to know all that.

You all have a good weekend, Dear Sir and I are going to do a bunch of nothing.

I think the number thirty is haunting me. Thirty miles, thirty years this year. A good friend of mine said that she will not acknowledge the number when she hits it next year because it seems too old, is not who she is inside, and by golly, it is frightening! I am not scared of thirty though. Thirty means that all that time has gone by---with what to show? And then I realize that my battle is not failure really, it is pride, and then that is what is scary. Thirty years and I am still prideful. It is funny what we expect of ourselves. I am not God, which reminds me:

Yesterday the Oldest was eating a pack of Smarties and I put my hand in it, pretending that I was going to help myself to his bounty.
"Hey---" he said.
"Gotta tithe your ten percent, boy," I said.
"YOU are NOT God!" my son said, laughing, taking off, Smarties with him.

Coffee

I am a little better today, I got some good sleep.

When I get up I am immediately pummeled by the kids wanting food, especially coffee. I always hold back a bit and only let them have some if I have left overs (and that is rare) because I tend to think of it as an adult drink. And I don't have coffee every day. My kids LOVE coffee. I remember as a kid myself wanting my mother's coffee (she drank it black) because it smelled so good.

I remember the days as a kid going to church and sitting in the kitchen there while Mom and Dad were casting out demons in the pastor's lounge or delivering some sap from the sins of the flesh. I have talked about this some. I would be starving, eyeing half-eaten donuts but not hungry enough to desire graham crackers and drink watered down apple juice from Sunday School. Those were the times I went to Sunday School during the first service and then changed poopy diapers during the second service with the toddlers. The smell of strong (and probably gross) coffee down the hall always cheered me up and lured me in. I drank it black, like my mother, and loved it that way.

I think I loved it more for the forbidden nature of it rather than the taste itself. I am sure I would have enjoyed it more if I put the the sugar cubes (that I regularly sucked on) inside the Styrofoam cup instead of either, like I said, in my mouth, or cradled in the palm of my hand. There was truly nothing to do there, the boredom was endless. Too strong of coffee tasted good, it felt good to plop my head down on the faux wooden/black finished particle board fold up table, and I remember those days as being days where I was so hungry and tired I never knew what I wanted to do once I got home---eat or sleep. And we had a huge trip. And I got the lovely pleasure of crunching myself in the hatchback trunk. With my sister. The hour long drive would put a kink in my neck while my stomach rumbled and my fatigue set in. All I could think about was bed or a big fat hamburger. But where would I find the strength to eat it?

My parents never brought snacks. What is the deal with parents bringing snacks now days to everything? I ALWAYS do. I mean, if we go out for a drive I am packing the water and pretzels or something in case someone feels a hunger pang. I always carry a power bar in my purse for emergencies. If I don't need it, I dole it out to someone else who does.

I remember when my older brother and sister would come back to the church kitchen after hopping the wall and going to the Carl's Jr. next door. I always knew without lifting my head from the faux table it was Carl's because I could smell the mustard on the burger. McDonald's never did that (I think that is why they got more popular with kids). They usually earned their own money somehow and could purchase something to eat, while I had already spent my 50 cents on a Snickers for second breakfast. And since we lived so far away we were always in a rush to get to church anyway---I doubt we really ever ate breakfast. I just remember the seven of us running around like crazy getting ready and then piling in the car.

So coffee smelled good. But I was desperate then. I wonder if it is in my blood? My kids are coffee scavengers. If I have some cold stuff left in the pot they are on it. They want an iced coffee then (I make killer iced coffee). I frequently buy coffee ice cream too and they love that as well. But of course we live in a coffee society where a Starbucks is on every corner or everyone is toting a cup with a lid around indicating they spent four bucks for their morning pick me up. I do the math in my head at times and it freaks me out. I get one of those like ten times a YEAR. It is a treat, not a daily allowance. You brew the stuff at home. But that is just me.

"You'll stunt your growth, quit drinking that stuff!" some guy in a suit would say as he picks up a donut, takes a bite, and eyes me with my head on the table, cup in hand.

Yeah right, I would think.

That makes me laugh really. I am the tallest girl. My mother is 5'2, my older sister is around that, and I am 5'5. Heck, coffee made me grow.

:(

Pretty much all I am going to write right now is depressing stuff because I am kind of depressed lately. Especially today. I feel like sitting down and having a cry, but then my kids would think I went insane. It is a good thing to not be alone in this world, that God provides people that you create (like children) and the person who you love (who helped you create).

I am not going to get into detail about my sadness. Life can be just a plain disappointment laughing in your face. I hate time but I love it too. When my father died it helped bring home that our lives are short and we do not have time to do the things we thought we could do. We make decisions and things happen to us. Or we make them happen to us. Whatever it is, I don't care. What I am saying is we ourselves are to blame for where we are at, a good place or a bad place. My neighbor can tell me I "don't know how good (I) have it" but she has no clue what a fight it was and is to maintain. It is work, this life. Hard work, if we want to make it good. Things just don't happen, very few win the lottery, very few make the book to the publisher, very few do a great thing that will be remembered.

The only hope is God, I know. But it is all still depressing, a long continual crumbling of the mountain. I am in a bad place right now, full of uncertainties, disappointments and frustrations. At least I have the bikes safely in the shed.

Seventy Times Seven

I have been a blogging bum and I am totally ok with it sort of.

Yesterday I heard my son crying and whimpering at the top of his lungs as he was mowing the lawn and I ran out there to see what was up. Apparently he was all freaked out by the bugs in the long grass but knew he needed to finish the job. I took over and did some cutting (the second time in my life) while the Oldest stood under a tree and watched me. Before I went out there to help him mow there were kids in our yard yelling at the boy and threatening him with a pointed stick. I ran out there and told the kids to get the heck out of my yard. Apparently my kind neighbor who insults me frequently is taking in her niece who has six kids or something. It has been chaos ever since. All they do is scream and steal our stuff.

Gee whiz, when I was telling those kids off and they went running, the Oldest stopped the mower. I could have pelted him over the head, I was so mad. I have no idea how to start it and Dear Sir was already in a mood so I was not about to call him out to do it. The Oldest sort of told me how Dear Sir does it and I took that string thing and pulled. I pulled a freaking muscle is what I did. My shoulder is pretty much TOAST now. I went to swim today in the pool and winced at every stroke I took. Gee whiz.

So--yes, these kids keep taking Eraser Eater's bike. We came home this morning to the kid riding his bike and I stopped in the middle of the street and rolled the window down. "Put the bike back!!!!" I yelled.

The kid just looked at me and rode back to the house.

When he dropped the bike to the ground I said, "I hope you understand that is stealing. You can't just take my son's bike without asking. And if you ask and I say no, that means no."

He just walked off.

Then about fifteen minutes later as I was on the treadmill the Girl comes in and tells me the kid came back again and heisted the bike. I almost blew up, I was so angry. Two miles into my run and I have to get interrupted, I am not a happy woman. I stormed out there, yelled at the kid again, and he came back with the bike. I went to talk to him. I said, "What do you think you are doing?"
"I don't know."
"I told you not to take the bike."
He shrugged.

I got my shed keys and took every stinking bike, scooter and toy you can find in the yard and locked them up. That ends that.

Yesterday the kid took the bike periodically through the day and then Dear Sir told the boy he needed to return it and so he did. Then the boy approached and asked if he could borrow the bike. Dear Sir said no. The boy asked again. Dear Sir said no. The boy rang the bell at the door and asked again. Dear Sir said, no means no.

Limits, anyone?

Hey, Hey, My My

The Girl finished up her swimming lessons (she was taking level 1) and ended up getting a certificate that says she passed level 2! She also got a big raspberry sucker and ate it immediately when we got home.

I am about to head on out to the pool. It is blazing out there.

So I have a question. Every time you go in the kitchen and open up something that has a loud wrapper do your kids come rushing in wanting to get in on the goods? It is one of the most ridiculous phenomena in my home.

Since I am a guilt-ridden person I end up feeling bad when I say no or hoard the food for myself. I remember as a kid the Lucky Charms were dad's, the Drumsticks were dad's, the Jelly Bellys were dad's, the red, white, and blue popsicles were dad's. No one could touch them. I could name things too that were strictly my mom's as well.

I guess I don't feel guilty, never mind. It's my turn now. I almost flipped a lid one time when I found that the Oldest had eaten one of my three Cadbury Eggs that I consume a freaking year.

And I was so proud when I saw a video last night of Noel Gallagher playing a Takamine for MTV Unplugged. Even though I miss my Martin, it made me enjoy my own Tak more because you know, Noel plays one. And if you don't know who Noel is (get your head out from under that rock), he is the lead guitarist and most valuable member of Oasis.

Gotta get to the pool. Have a good one you guys.

Delay

Honestly, I have not had time to do any blogging lately. Yesterday I went up to Dear Sir's work with the kids and we toured the building and went to lunch. I then went to my SIL's apartment to go to the pool with the kids and the piercing gate that gets in my head, and then I dropped the kids off with my man and went to band practice.

I sang myself practically hoarse.

And I want my Martin back. It is still, to this day, in the shop. It has been in for eight weeks now.

The ladies at the pool finally talked to me this morning but only asked if the girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes was mine and what grade she was in. I told them that she will be in first. They were about to ask if she went to school and I said that I homeschool. END CONVERSATION.

They ignored me the duration of the swimming lessons. People hate me, man. They hate me. I'm going to go cry myself to sleep tonight.

I have five plus miles to run today (I have been delaying it for a spell) and then I have to take the kids to the library where someone will most likely tell me to read the backs of books to get the proper info I need.

I am feeling bitter today. Maybe it is because I am so hot in this house (it is almost eighty degrees for some odd reason---I must report to Dear Sir about that) and I feel like a sweaty pig. And the drive box neighbors across the street took a huge truck and dismantled our mail box at ten o clock the other night but they have not fixed it yet. And I mean a couple of weeks ago they did this. They put a card in the mail box that was hanging by a thread that said "oops!" on it. Yeah, oops. I could barely open up the mailbox, it was all tweaky and lop-sided.

And I am getting hungry a lot, but then I don't eat as much as usual because for some reason I do get hungry but get full fast. Then about a half hour later I am starving again. It is annoying. I am the kind of person that eats a lot. Talks while eating yogurt over the phone. Makes no sense. People asking what I said over and over and then I get mad and have to repeat it. Dear Sir just gives up. "Are you doing something?" He will ask. "Yeah, eating," I will say. "I'll let you go..."

I think I am getting hungry because I am forcing myself to run five miles a day and so my body is probably dying slowly. My brother in law calls it beating myself to death. I rather like the sound of that. I pay penance that way, I guess. I always wimp out one day (usually Sunday) so I never hit the 30 miles a week mark because Saturday I usually just run a few miles for lack of time. Darn it. Who knows, if I hit thirty maybe I will start snacking on my kids.

Well, I better go and sweat some more in this eighty degree house. I have to call the DMV today too, that ought to be fun. Let's hope they don't ask what school my kids go to...

Emma Got Me Started Again.

I wanna stop cooking. I swear, I want to hire a cook that makes food for me and then makes food for the others.

I made tacos the other night---fried the shells and everything like old times. The only other adult in my home came in from work and said, "Guess I'm eating a burger!" and went to the freezer to get the patty.

I just decided to give up last night when my niece and nephew were here for dinner and made fried chicken. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Dear Sir: "I was so glad to see that you made fried chicken out of wingettes." Yes, it gets that picky. Even to the point of what kind of chicken.

My niece and nephew: "We don't like bones."

I pulled the meat off of the bones for them and they liked it all ok.

This morning I made pancakes.

My niece: "I don't like burned pancakes, Aunt Rachel."

I let my pancakes get nice and brown because I think when they get crispy on the edges they taste better. At least that is how I have always made them. I don't like doughy stuff.

Now, my nephew actually did get a burned one (I always mess up one pan) and he ate the whole thing and smacked his lips. Never know what kids will eat.

I am coveting because I asked a friend if her husband was picky since she was making a zucchini casserole and other things that I could never dream of making in my entire life.
She said, "Oh, I could make boiled water and he would sit down and drink it up and say, boy, this is good!!!"

I think Dear Sir would do well going into a concentration camp for picky eaters. They could serve him beetles and grass and then he could come home starving, ready and willing to eat anything that resembles real food.

I remember one day he came home starving from some event or potluck where they had NOTHING Dear Sir would put a fork to. I mean, that's bad people. Real bad. And I don't mean bad because they had nothing he would eat, but bad because he would eat nothing they would serve. So, I don't know how it happened but there was not much ready made once we got home except left over apple pie from the day before. I have been known to make a pretty decent apple pie in my time (I don't do any of that much anymore). The man will not eat it. Cooked fruit, or some crazy reason like that. Anyway, he walked by it and smelled cinnamon, apples, and other spices and he went wild with hunger. "That smells really good, Rach. Get me a slice of that."

I almost fell over and died. Just bury me already, I was that shocked. I could barely cut the piece, my hands went numb. He is going to try a piece of apple pie. This is a dream, this is not real. What wickedness the mind plays on us. But, in reality, the man tried it, liked it, thanked me (ate the whole blasted piece), and has never touched a piece since.

What trickery!!!

I know, I am always gnawing on this old bone. Oh, woe is me, no one eats my food. Well, they do, but I can't be free in this area. I have to make the same junk over and over and even that isn't good enough. I can make just about anything, I am that gifted my friends (and you know, I am not even saying this with pride, as you can see, I have been humbled to the dust), but I have just given up. I don't really even try anymore. I don't think when I bring something to someone's house that I am talented anymore. I just bring it, slap it down on the counter, and think, maybe someone else will like this slop. I know my family won't eat it. And get this, when we do go to potlucks, Dear Sir and the kids count on ME to bring something they WOULD eat. So I am trapped into making mediocre meat and potatoes kind of junk no matter what I do. I do rebel though because I get mad about it. When I do this someone always says, "Well I guess I'm not eating anything today!" Like I was their only hope.

I know, you say, just don't do it. Make whatever you want. Yeah, I could. But the man can live on saltines and hot dogs. I have tried it. My desire for their health is stronger than my desire to make what I want. I eat powerbars a lot. I like them better than the food I make around here.

Isolation

Gee whiz, I hate that Game Cube. It brings out the worst in people. I think it also brings out the best in my Oldest son because it controls him.
"Uh, cut that out or you say goodbye to your precious Game Cube."
"Yes, Mom."

Oh yeah? No more "yeah, mom, whatever"? Oh, you learned that lesson, huh?
I can pull out that shiny card forever, I guess, it is so useful.

My thigh keeps twitching and it is getting really annoying. Over and over.

Today will be my fourth time going to the swim lessons and besides the lady that talked to me the first day (she has not returned since, but her daughter has instead) no one will talk to me. Not that I have gone out of my way to talk to anyone, I just sit down and wait. No one will sit close to me either. They all try to congregate by one another and stay clear of me. Or at least that is what it looks like if someone were to walk in on the scene.

Maybe I freaked people out when the Oldest asked if he could stick his feet in the pool and I said only if he would not splash. He said ok. I said, "if you do...." and then I acted like I was a mobster and used my finger to slit my throat and made that slicing sound.

Eraser Eater let out a bellowing laugh and said, "Mom's don't do that stuff, Mom," in a soft voice. Then he said something about being a criminal.

The slice meant bye-bye Game Cube.

Fools in Pools

This morning the Girl decided that she was not happy wearing her alternate bathing suit (since her Ariel one was in the trunk and stinky from yesterday) to go to lessons, so she piled on the freak fit and made us late. She does that once in awhile. Makes me nuts. I have to threaten her with certain torment if she whimpers and cries one more second. I get all short and mean; everyone gets quiet, no one crosses me. I go sort of insane. I absolutely hate it when someone pulls something the time I have to leave in a hurry and then I have to stop and manually squeeze the tallow, drop by drop, into a pot. There were definitely some discipline things that had to go on before exiting the door, and that happened, but there was still the issue of being late to a thirty minute swim lesson that was canceled yesterday, by the way. I arrived there on time and everything with the girls (the neighbor girl included) and the life guard was like, "Oh, no one called you?"

Come here while I take your nose and twist it off...
I know, so Christian of me.

Well, it wasn't canceled today even though there was a synchronized swimming class going on at the same time. The Pointer Sisters blasted as older, big women flailed their arms around in the pool, looking like they were doing not much of anything. They were having fun though. I admired their drive. It was sort of chaotic. A swim lesson with all these women in a circle not much further in, with Barbara Streisand going nuts to some beat. I couldn't hear anything that the lifeguards were saying to the girls, I was surprised they heard anything. Whatever.

Yesterday I took the kids to the pool up north in Manassas at my SIL's apartment. We sat next to this gate that sounded like a piercing shatter every time a kid went through it and I regretted it immediately. It was like a shard would go through my ear every time a kid walked by there. I had finally had it when some kid did it again about mid way through our visit.
"Hey!" I said to the kid, "Would you mind gently closing that gate and not slamming it? The sound is getting in my head, I hate it!"
He immediately started calling me ma'am and stuff so it didn't happen anymore from any other kids besides my own. I could not believe the Oldest and Eraser Eater started doing it once things were fine. GRRRRR....

I am sort of mean to kids at pools. Some were splashing around a couple of weeks ago and got some water on my book. "Hey!" I yelled. "Hey kid, you got some water on my book! I wouldn't do that if I were you!" and I started to get up. They were all freaked out and were all apologetic. I let out a huge laugh and they loosened up after that, but didn't splash on me again. Kids can be well-mannered if you force them.