Breakdown II

Not much is going on. I have been schooling the kids like normal---we just do a series of "intervals" now and that seems to be doing the trick. Maybe. I don't know. I still lose my cool far too often. Maybe it is because I am a racist and am mean like that. Sorry, Leesburg Reader, I just had to say it. Ha ha. Maybe if I knew who you were I would not joke around like that.

In other news, I am working on more music. At some point when the Prof. gets something up I can put my finished music files up for you to download. That is, if you want them.

In other news today I
*ran six miles
*lost feeling in three of my right toes and then later the pad of my foot
*ate ice cream for lunch (I am on the "ice cream diet", Professor)
*lost my mind breaking up a fight between Eraser Eater and the Oldest, later telling the Professor that I was tempted to gnaw on their necks with my bare teeth (chilling, I know)
*bought a plethora of books at a curriculum sale
*experienced such extreme cold upon getting myself in the shower that I yelled at the faucet to hurry up and get me some warm water
*solved many algebraic equations that the Oldest had gotten wrong
*forgot to use a decimal point at one instance leaving the Oldest in doubt of my abilities. He said, "Do you need food mom? Perhaps some exercise? Your mind is not clear today."
*told the Oldest to put the dishes away four times now---wait---five times now and he still has not done it---excuse me while I put the smack down...
*realized that I am inconsistent, irrational, annoying, out of it, and perhaps a racist (I just couldn't help myself)

Doozie style, I will say, "over and out."

Fat Intake is Always Good For You

I accidentally poured in a little too much heavy cream in my coffee just now. It made my eyes go a little wide when I saw it. Oh well. I only made enough coffee for one cup and that's all I got, baby. Tastes nice.

I am officially addicted to Nutella. Do you know what that stuff is? Let's see if I can get a picture up here. No, I can't or just something won't work and I don't have time to use my brain and figure it out. Good grief, I love Nutella. Why has no one told me of this insanely delightful slop of chocolate goo? To all of you who have left me in my ignorance, I am angry at you.

"I LOVE Nutella!" I shouted to my daughter while we were grilling chicken outside.

"I know mom! It is wicked!"

"No, it is beyond wicked. I'd eat it on bread. I'd eat it on beef. Heck, I'd eat it on chicken."

"Yes, it is beyond wicked---it is so vile and evil!" she shouted.

"Absolutely," I said, "I think Nutella is going to make me Nufatta."

She laughed and shook her head. "You're crazy, Mom."

My greatest friend told me last night that I could buy Nutella at Costco. Can you imagine? Two mega jars in one shrink-wrapped pack? When I learned this I gasped because I just had returned from Costco and must have skipped that aisle.

Lack of Dinner

After making dinner for the kids, I headed out the door yesterday to get to work. I was sort of in a hurry because I even went without eating or drinking so much as a protein shake. The vitamin water I threw in my bag leaked all over and once in the car I had to grab the reserve of napkins in the glove compartment and wipe up the seat and the bottom of my bag. Even my name tag got wet.

Then when I went to make my right turn I hit someone from behind. Barely, actually. He was going about two miles an hour and since it was raining (I think) my foot slipped on the break and then I bumped him. We got out of our cars and he stared at me---just approached me as I got out. He was a gnarly old man. "What were you trying to do?" he asked.
"What? What do you mean?" I asked, squinting.
"What were you trying to do?" I almost told him that my foot slipped but he would not have cared. I got out of the car.
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Your car looks fine."
"Yeah, it's fine."
"So does mine."
"Yeah." He got in his car and took off.

Once at work I was relating the story to someone: "When I bumped him, I said 'crap!'" I realized that I was talking to a person that cusses. A lot. I forgot about that. I was thinking of how the bad stuff comes out of me when bad things happen. I was tipped a little and here I was, not thanking God that everything was fine and I was ok, I was shouting crap at the top of my lungs and putting my car into park.

"You mean you didn't say something with an 'sh' before it?"
"Uh, no," I said, realizing now I was pinned. Lack of dinner will do that to me.
"You don't cuss, do you?"
"No, I don't," I said.
"I say cuss words in front of you all the time! I have such a terrible mouth!"
"I don't expect you to be like me," I said.

The pastor at our church just preached a sermon about we as Christians being incognito all the time. I feel I am that way at work sometimes. I am usually pretty bold about some things, but this work setting is a little different. I am working with homosexuals, Muslims, and many people that do not care for children. And even though I do not agree with these people, I like them, and I think they are very pleasant. It is funny how God uses the loss of dinner for me to slip up. If I were to be tortured by my enemies because of a want of information, all they would have to do is starve me.

It's either lack of dinner or lack of brains. Most likely both.

Dresser Worship

Read here to see what it was that I did last week. We sat two seats away from each other. Somehow we still shared food a little bit, but often our way of talking was looking at each other from that distance and smiling. That's what ten years does for you.

Last night I spent my whole night organizing Eraser Eater and the Oldest's room. It was pretty horrible. I got so overwhelmed at one point I almost fainted, but then I realized that I should quit and make dinner. That was a good thing to do.

Eraser Eater kept saying that he wanted his "Aneboda" over by the window so when people walked in they could see its beauty. We had to rearrange some things as well. It was a sort of nightmare. So---the Oldest was organizing his shelf and putting things on the bottom. He was in such a position that when I went over to clean off the surfaces, I had locked him in down there, stuck, without my knowing it. I was just cleaning the shelves. And the boys are always afraid that if they make one complaint while I help them that I will leave, so the Oldest just patiently waited, crouched down, until I was finished.

Eraser Eater yelped, "I haven't seen this in ages! {Oldest}! Come look at it!"

I was still cleaning the surface of the Oldest's shelf, so he was glued to his dungeon beneath me.

"I very well can't," mumbled the Oldest, "I am bowing down to this thing," he said, meaning the shelf.

I looked down, realized that I had pinned him in in a bowing position and laughed my sides off.

"What?" he asked, "was that funny? How was that funny? Mom, wait. How was that funny. Please tell me how that was funny."

"Stop asking her that!!!!" belted out the Professor from our bedroom. I imagine he was playing my hand held Tetris game. The scoundrel.

I kept laughing. The Oldest, in his frustration, was a little miffed.

Eraser Eater kept going on about his "Aneboda"at that moment. "Look at its beauty! I could put all my things on it. People could see it when they come in!"

"I could care less about your anaconda," the Oldest said.

"It's an "Aneboda", not a snake."

"Whatever," he mumbled, aware that he biffs up every word known to man.

Racism Has Many Forms

I am pretty irritated. I guess not eating lunch and going to the post office never mixes well. I would blame myself but there was a real piece of work behind the desk who barely glanced at me when I asked for a flat rate box.

"We don't have a flat rate box," she looked down at some papers and tape and refused to look at me.

"Ok," I looked at her. She would not look at me. Some people in line looked at me shaking their heads.

"We have flat rate boxes!" another postal worker cried out, overhearing my exchange. "They are over here," she said, pointing, "in the back. We walk by it."

"As far as I was concerned, we didn't have them," she said lazily, not bothering to look at me, treating me like crap.

"Well, can I have one?" I asked.

She looked unwilling to move. In fact, she sort of winced down into her papers and tape.

"I'll get it," the other lady hollered.

"No, I will," my mean lady said.

I almost blurted out that I would rather the other lady get it since she seemed helpful, but I didn't, I just waited.

"We have these ones. The ones without the tape," she said, handing me one.

My mean lady barely looked at me. Well, she didn't.

"Can you give me some tape?" I asked, since the one I wanted (with the tape provided was not available).

The mean lady shook her head. "We don't provide tape to the customer." She gave a snotty look.

I almost reached over and smacked her.

It was all body language too. She acted like I was scum. She would barely look at me, roll her eyes, not even move to help at all. I guess she is racist. That is the only thing that makes sense. A bad day does not cut it at all. It looked to me that she did not like the look of me and she had no intention of getting me a box even though she knew there were some. Her answer was a little too quick for my taste.

New Song II

Excuse my cold; my vocals are not the greatest. But my Martin sounds nice! :)

Falling Down

I realize that I always talk about being old. I know that I am not that old, but yes, I suppose I am getting up there. Yesterday was no exception for me; I realize that no matter how in shape I am, I will feel youth slipping through my fingers for the rest of my life. We went to an amusement park for the Oldest's belated birthday celebration. We had a great time except for the fact that my daughter who is sick cut her teeth on a hugely savage roller coaster and we had to calm her down for a good spell afterward. She did not literally cut her teeth, but if I were using the idiom correctly I mean that she started out with the hard stuff. Not good. She was petrified.

Eraser Eater and the Oldest had gone on the cart before us and the Girl and I were next. When the boys got off the cart, Eraser Eater looked white as a sheet and the Oldest looked splotchy, much like he was crying or even say, weeping. He stumbled around trying to find the exit while Eraser Eater pleaded with me not to allow the Girl to go on it, the ride was too fierce. He almost broke down on the spot when I insisted that we remain where we were and he turned to let us face our doom. I saw his little form in the distance, downcast and horribly worried, slowly going to meet the Professor at the bottom of the hill.

At the first jerk of the coaster the Girl moaned. It all happened so fast. Instead of a pleasant ride (which it would have been for me because I love ridiculously thrilling rides), I felt like it was me, the mother bear, against this horrifying roller coaster, trying to eat my child. She slid down a little and I held her tight with one arm while holding on with my other arm. I used one strong runner leg to hold her legs in place while at the same time using the other to hold me still by pushing on the bottom of the cart. I spoke to her the whole time to get her through it. She was terrified. She cried a little when we went through a short tunnel, but soon enough the ride was over and she was carried out of the cart by her mother and safely put to land once at the bottom of the hill where the Professor stood, backpack over one shoulder.

Eraser Eater almost wept and lamented at the sight of us. He thought surely the Girl would not have made it. "I almost barfed!" he yelled in despair.

And why was the Professor at the bottom of the hill? That's a good question. He hates rides. He hates heights. He hates thrill anything. He can't even watch The Turn of the Screw (by Henry James) on PBS. I scare him continually when I come out in the lawn when he is mowing it. He always clutches his heart and shakes his head. This happens so regularly I would have thought by now, after ten years, he would come to get used to it. I have to think of creative ways to make my presence known without scaring the daylights out of the man. This is hard to do. Really, really hard. Actually, I am running out of ideas.

So---the man patiently waited while we went on rides all day long. Well, he went on the bumper cars, these old fashioned cars that drove very slow, and the carousel. And he ate cotton candy and popcorn. He did become obsessed with watching people, their feet dangling from some "torture device" (as he called it). Well, he could barely watch it. Finally I could stand it no more because he was obsessed with this drop tower ride that you can see from all areas of the park. He kept talking about it, kept watching the helpless people in lapbars and seats getting elevated up this huge pole to the very top to then be dropped and then caught again right before the ground met them head on. "That is CRAZY!" He kept yelling. "Why would anyone do that?! It gives me sweaty palms just thinking about it! That's it----I am sitting down on this bench to watch these sad people get dropped this time. I'm going to sit here and watch for a minute. Wait--come over here and sit down and watch this madness close up...."

I handed him the backpack. "I'm going on it," I said.

"What?! You are crazy!"

There was no line. I got right on. I sat there and stared at him, sitting on the bench. The kids got close to the gate and yelled at me things like, "Mom, if we never see you again, know that we love you!"

"I hope you don't die!"

"Are you sure this thing is safe?!"

The guy next to me who was to meet his doom said, "Are those your kids?"

"Yep. They think I'm going to die."

"Are you scared?" he said.

"No," I said, "just cold. It's really cold today."

"Yeah. I was really scared when I went on the ride before last. I had to prove to myself that I could do it. I dared myself. I just want you to know that when you drop, you can't breathe."

"Ok."

The coolest thing about the ride was that I saw trees as far as I could see. Then when I dropped it was the most elating experience. Instead of not breathing, I breathed a huge breath and laughed. This is what Alice must feel like when she is falling down the rabbit hole.

The Little Kids These Days

Last night I came home from work entirely disturbed.

While I was going in and out of the stock room grabbing various shoes for people a little boy, about nine, was standing outside the stock room doors peering in. When I looked at him from time to time he had his mouth hanging open. Now, I could tell there was nothing mentally wrong with him, I just thought that he was incredibly curious to know what was going on back there. I used to wonder that myself as a kid. At one point he was standing in my way as I was going out. I pointed my finger at him in a scolding way (lightly joking) and said, "You can't come back here, I'll have to call the police."

He stared at me and said nothing, just let me walk by.

After a few more minutes I was walking out of the stockroom yet again and he said something lightly to me. I walked closer. "What?" I said.

"Can I have your phone number?"

"What?! Why?" I asked, not understanding.

"Because you are hot," he said.

I immediately imagined my nine year old son, Eraser Eater, saying this to a thirty year old woman. I didn't think it was funny or cute.
"I am an OLD LADY!" I said to the boy, pointing my finger once again, eyes wide. I walked off.

"...no you're not..." he tried arguing with me as I walked away.

Now, I am not saying this to generate comments on what the boy was talking about. I am not interested in that. I just think it terrible that a nine year old boy would even know what "hot" means, or be interested in something like that! I am SO glad I homeschool! I would understand, with some disgust, a grown man doing that (well, not peering into the stock room----I'd call security if that were the case), but not a little boy. Nope. How sad this world is.

I Feel Numb

Yesterday my left finger just went numb. It was not cold, it just has lost a lot of feeling. A little tingly. I think I have been playing my new Martin so much my nerve got damaged. Is that not insane? It is still numb today.

And I wrote a song the other day----I woke up to it playing in my head, from a dream, and I got up, half asleep, to plunk it out on the piano. I don't play piano, I just know the notes. I don't know theory either. My son caught me (my Oldest) and said, "Mom, it would be a lot easier to score it."

"Yeah," I said, "That would be useful if I could read music and I knew theory."

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

I had a friend ask me once if I wrote anything other than Christian music. "Sure," I said. But I could hardly think of anything that I had written. I started to play a song for her called "In the Aftermath" that I wrote, and when I sang "Jesus" she laughed out loud and said, "You really don't sing about anything else!" Sadly enough, I had forgotten that Jesus was in the lyric.

I get to the point in songwriting where I hit a brick wall. It is when I want to write a love song, or when I want to write about something other than God. I can flip open a Psalm and write a decent adaptation of it in two minutes, but when I want to write about how much, say, I love the Professor, I slam right up against the bricks. I am much too serious, I guess, to sing "silly love songs" (BTW I HATE that song by McCartney).

And the thing is, I wanted to say to my friend, "You know, it is not like I am a great Christian anyway, it is just the only thing good that I can do." My best "secular" song yet I think, is "Enough is Enough". And I don't even know if I could qualify it as secular. In a way, that is silly.

It is a joy to write music. But to me, it is also a sort of thorn in my side. Where will it go?

At any rate, the song got semi-finished yesterday, and perhaps I will put it on YouTube for you all to listen to. It is not amazing, just a worship song---the words could be more unique, but hey, I wrote it in a matter of minutes, so consider it a work in progress.

Gotta literally run.

Today

Today I got woken up by the Professor because the Girl has been ill and needed medicine. He could not find it. It was just as well because I was sniffling myself, barely able to fall back asleep. When doling out meds the man found a tick on the Girl's neck, completely latched on. Great.

I got my "ticked off" device and removed the nasty thing. The man hopped around a bit, watching, because he had to pull the Girl's hair taut. Ticks make him very jumpy and nervous. Yesterday I caught a bumble bee that made its way into the house by scooping it up in a glass and covering the top with my ten year anniversary card. Nice and stiff. Then I took the buzzing glass and released the bee by lifting the card once outside.

Remember my Oldest is afraid of flying things. He shrieked the whole time. It was a big bee though. For one of the first times in his life, he hid in the sunroom (where the bees tend to fly into) to seek shelter. He crouched down into a corner and yelped for a good spell until I got the flying insect out of the house.

So, since I am all pumped full of Sudafed, I am feeling a bit out of it. I ran six miles and then the delivery truck came from Ikea. I ordered myself a bed and the boys a new dresser. I put them all together in a few hours and cut myself multiple times on nails, sharp metal pieces, wooden corners, and anything else potentially hazardous. I also knocked my knees against many things in addition to a few things falling on my toes and bed slats smacking against my ankles. I have been continually saying loudly, "That felt great!"

Well, my hair was in literal knots by the time I got to the shower.

Now I am here and I have to pick up a pizza.

Bye.

I do have some good news, even though I have been very busy. Seriously. April is about the worst month to try to contact me....ever. Every year it is this way. For one thing, it is the Oldest's birthday. The other thing is that it is the anniversary of the Prof. and I. Since I started homeschooling, I have purposefully had us take "vacation" in the month of April to avoid more chaos. Seriously, we do have chaos going on around here.

My house, which was clean last week, is now grimy and dirty. Laundry had to be folded at ten o'clock last night because I was busy buying the Oldest birthday presents earlier. And I have no clue what to get him. I mean, I got him some stuff, but I am going to give him some money to cut the stress. He is getting old.

I did get a new Martin guitar to replace my cracked one. I had a pick-up put into it and had it all adjusted to my taste, so it is completely stellar. I am pleased as punch, as my friend Jade would say. I just keep looking for an imaginary crack, I have been so....what's the word...traumatized.

I have discovered that I never go to the same hair stylist. Yesterday I went to get a trim and wanted to try the new place down the road. I think I view hair stylists like I view a new item on a menu, so I need to quit that. I don't know how to stop it either, I do it without even thinking.

I have such an enormous amount of things to do on my plate today and tomorrow that my white board is completely full and I can not fit another thing on it. I find it sad that I have to put a sign in my house stating all the things I have to get done because I am so forgetful. I find that I make room for spontaneity because I typically find that if I do not seize the moment when the notion strikes me (like getting a trim) I will forget for a few months. And I WILL.

Eraser Lloyd Wright

Eraser Eater is driving me nuts. Who else would, really? He is a very lovely boy, but at times he can truly get under my skin only because he knows exactly what to do to make my blood boil. Maybe we are similar or something.

He has been on Architectural Digest kicks lately. Yes, you heard that right. The boy is NINE (mind you) and he is obsessed with Architectural Record, Architectural Digest, anything that has plans and buildings and "modern designs".

The other day he was looking through his one and only copy of Architectural Record that I picked up at a newsstand at the Ronald Reagan Airport a couple years ago and he stopped turning pages when he reached his favorite house, some modern, wall-less structure that looks semi-uninhabitable. He threw the issue across the room along with his pencil, sketches of plans, and sketchbook full of various houses he designed (including the Silo House).

He yelped into the air, "Forget this! I can't be an architect! This architect (I think he stated his name but I don't give a rip what his name is so I don't remember it) already thought of the coolest house design and I can't beat it! Forget this! Throw my sketch book away! I give up!!!!"

"Wait a minute," I said, "Are you telling me you are giving up because some grown man has already come up with a design you covet and you are mad because you didn't think it up?"

"Yes," he moaned. He slunk himself against the hall wall where I was standing. He looked to the floor in defeat.

I went into the bathroom to wipe the toilet down (those are always my most bright and shiny moments, by the way) and said, "Do you think this architect, who apparently designed this house when he was an adult, designed houses when he was NINE?"I was about ready to blow, actually, because he had been moaning about this for a few hours already.

"No."

"Don't you think that this architect as well was inspired by other designs he saw and created his own?" I looked up from the toilet. His face was still a bit downcast.

"Yes."

"I bet you," I said fiercely, "that this architect had no idea what he wanted to be when he was nine years old. I bet you that he barely knew what an architect was. All you need to worry about now is math, geometry, and practice. You get those down, you will be better than that guy. You have an eye for it."

His eyes brightened slightly in a morbid, mad professor sort of way. (Gee, I wonder where he gets that from)
"You will see, Mom. I will be in Architectural Record. I will be the greatest architect. I don't really care if I am in Architectural Digest, I just really want to be in Record. That is the magazine that has the best designs. More modern. I like modern. So, what do you think? When I make your house on Chesapeake Bay, would you like it to be made mainly of steel or glass? Dad says that he likes the glass, but he also likes steel. That material suits him. I thought that I would put the house a little under ground and then from the top there will be a sort of loft where you can see the ocean from and let me go get the plans...." he ran to get his plans.

Here we go again...

Just on Sunday we passed a sign from the freeway that boasted of a Frank Lloyd Wright building just off the next exit. The boy practically screamed with delight. "We must go there!"

Just yesterday as the boys were all doing math, Eraser Eater yelled from the sun-room, "Mom? Can I just skip this math and start Algebra? I mean, I just want to get to it faster. I'll do fine."

I had to explain to him that he needs to take it slowly, he is already books ahead in math and soon enough he will be taking algebra. Gee whiz. I told him that the math he is learning now will help him to understand algebra, so he is on the road to being an architect already.

"I know," he said.

They All Like to Torture Me

Yesterday I took my Oldest to his piano lesson. Since the previous day was his teacher's birthday, we went and bought a little cake and the numbers 3 and 0 to put on top. Yes, she is the dreaded age, the one to nail the coffin shut. 

I laughed as I bought the numbers. As you know, I am already thirty and I didn't even get a cake with the number thirty on it, so it was sort of fun to do. It felt good, in a bad way. She didn't want to be reminded that she is now thirty. 

"Wow! She is turning thirty?!" yelped Eraser Eater, "You look younger than thirty and you are thirty-four!"

My head almost spun off. 

"WHAT?!"

"Oh yeah, that's right. Dad is thirty-four. Sorry, Mom."

Heaven help me when I turn thirty-four.

No, heaven help you when I turn thirty-four. That's more like it.

Or heaven help the Professor. Gee whiz.

Last night upon getting under the covers he felt my arm. "Goose flesh," he said.

"Don't say that."

"What? Why?" he chuckled.

"It is one of my words I can't stand."

"It's British, it's cool, so be prepared to hear that the rest of your life."

I shoved him.

"Goose flesh!"

"Be quiet."

Hey

It is now my job to always go in the crawl space every spring and turn on the water. Then, in the fall, I get the lovely privilege of turning it off. It is not a terrible crawl space, just a little cramped and uh, spidery. This time I just saw a bunch of spider eggs. Gross. I guess I will have to go back down there this week with some spray. Yack.

I got a new dish washing machine, like I said. I can't believe it washes dishes. I mean, you can leave food on dishes and it will leave them sparkling when finished. It really is incredible. The Professor still refuses to "not rinse" despite my argument that this is a brand new washer that says on the instruction manual, "it is not necessary to rinse the dishes."

Last night when at work (I work in shoes at a famous dept. store) a lady asked me if we had a certain style of shoe in different colors.
"No," I said, "we only have what is out."
She looked at me like she was going to hurl the shoe at me. "Now I don't believe that!" She snarled.

To appease her I looked in the system to see if we had other colors besides the few we had. We didn't, like I knew. I told her. She went to the other guy I was working with and to appease her he looked in the back. He came back empty handed.
"Thanks for bothering to look in the BACK," she said to him, meaning I was too lazy to do that great service for her.

The guy I was working with glanced at me like, "what the heck is her problem?"

I would have helped her find something else but apparently she didn't like the look of me before I spoke, so I just avoided the whole mess and let the other guy deal with her. It was slow.

I don't get people that just think being a raunch to other people is acceptable. I don't care if I am an employee somewhere having to cater to someone's needs. She didn't have to pretty much say to my face that I am a liar.

You can never make everyone happy though. That's just life.

Insomniac Desperation

I am sorry I have not blogged much! I have been working part time, so it has been a little hectic around here. 

I do have some current news I did not have before and I will save it for later. 

I think I left some clothes in the washer from two or three days ago. Yikes. I remembered that as I stayed up all night, hit with an attack of extreme insomnia. I think I got three hours of sleep once I wrote a few emails, read the instruction manual to my new dishwasher that was delivered yesterday morning, and played a few games of solitaire. I know. 

I dreamed about scabies and ticks. For some reason because it is spring I have been very itchy lately, so I feel like bugs are crawling all over me. When I could not fall asleep after three hours of trying, I went downstairs and did the aforementioned things for a spell. Finally I took the Professor's advice that he gives me whenever he hears of an attack of insomnia and downed the last glass of wine in my wine bottle. I didn't even bother to put it in a glass. I was a full-fledged wine-o. I confess. I just uncorked the sucker and drank away. 

I immediately got that Ny-Quil feeling. ---The burning in the stomach, the immediate wooziness in my head from eating no food. Straight to the blood, baby. I went up to bed after that. My mind dithered around for another hour, thinking, "I will wake after three hours with a jolt because alcohol always does that to me," but I just dreamed about ticks and the beach and other weirdness. Just before I drifted off though I remembered that I have a load of white laundry in the washer still from days ago. My heart pounded thinking about it but slowly my mind wandered to other things---ticks, most likely---and soon enough I drifted off. I remember thinking, "I need to make a list...."

Now I am off to washing that load again because I am sure it stinks.

The phone was not for me. 

It was for my daughter. 

She is six.

She said, "Anna wanted to know what I wanted to play on when we meet at the park tomorrow."

Oh brother. 

She even put the phone to her wet ear (she was still in the tub).

She gets called per day now about as much as a Muslim prays toward Mecca.

I didn't realize that it had been this long since I had written anything. I don't want to get into how I feel lately (healthwise---just bad), so I will just say that I have been busy with schooling the kids and trying to get some energy despite the fact that I exercise and eat well. 

I took the kids to the park just a bit ago and actually drove there. I had no energy to walk like usual. They played, I slept with the window rolled down. 

Now I am here with a pile of laundry, a girl who got dirty in the lake water who is taking a quick bath, and the phone is ringing. 

The end.

Staples

I am always forgetting my stapler when I teach at Co-op. I finally just stole the Professor's because I am too cheap to buy one for myself. The man doesn't use it. But on a separate note, this story is my worst nightmare!

Does Des not write amazing? Check her out.

Walkersville, MD

Hey chick from Walkersville, Md:

Quit using my blog to stalk people I know. That also includes the times you get on my blog from Frederick, Md. as well. I know who you are----you have no business harassing people. The fact that you use my blog name in a google search every single day so you can stalk someone is an insult and a violation. Quit NOW. I'm pretty much hardly a hop, skip and a jump from where you live too.

Thank you very much ahead of time for your willingness to cooperate. Oh, and in case you didn't know---I read my site meter.

Sincerely,
R

The Peasant Revolt

Ok, so I still have pink eye. The weird meds that my doc prescribed me settle in my sinuses. My skull is hollow in some areas? I mean, if I put some meds in my eye socket the meds trickle down and suddenly I have some weird, nasty tasting post-nasal drip. Bet you wanted to hear about that. 

Not only that, but the drops she prescribed have cortisone in them---so I have white gooey stuff coming out of my eye in addition to the yellow gooey stuff already coming out. That'll look nice when I go to work. I do have some pride. 

I took the kids to the grocery store yesterday and they were terrible. It has been a long time since I have had to say over and over again, "get over here!" At one point the produce guy was in between the Oldest and I during one of our staring matches. I could see faintly through my oozing eye that the guy was slightly curious to know what I was going to do. 

You know, all I can think of to make this situation seem understandable is this: it is like shopping with a bag of marbles. The marbles keep spilling out all over the place while you are grabbing lettuce or cheese, and you have to stop and gather them all up again. 

"You are ALL OVER THE AGE OF SEVEN!" I shouted in the car. Apparently shouting is not beyond me. I think they can not hear. Well, they can't because when I say "get over here" it doesn't work. As I drove, I went through each child, one by one, and labeled and stated their transgressions. 

I pointed to the Girl----"you poke and annoy the boys so they will get in trouble by how they react to you, and then I turn around and think it is just them but really it is you, isn't it?" I said.

"Yes," she admitted in a small voice. 

I pointed to the Oldest----"Are you three?"

"No."

"I felt like I needed to put you in a grocery cart, boy. Only three year olds run around when put on the ground. You are nearly TWELVE years old! Grocery carts are for three year olds. They contain them. Do you need to be contained?"

"No."

I pointed at Eraser Eater---"You will quit begging for stuff----TODAY! Do you think I had an enjoyable shopping experience with a NINE YEAR OLD who kept begging for something at my side constantly? Do you think I want to give you any more money for allowance if that very money is dying to be spent and you want to give in every time we go outside? How about I don't give you money anymore when you do your chores and that temptation is eliminated?!!!!" 

"Yes, Mom."

I hope my oozing eye made me look more scary.