Miss me? I fell asleep at 7:30 with the toddler last night. I woke up at 10:30 when Larry came to bed, and I started crying and saying I had to get up. "That's okay, honey," he said. "I finished the kitchen clean-up; you can just go back to sleep." (Yes, he is nice.)
"You don't understand," I sobbed. "I had 4 points left to eat today. That's 2 Twix bars. I have to get up and eat them now, before the points go away."
"Let me get this straight," said Larry. "At midnight, the Twix bars turn into a pumpkin?"
Essentially, yes. They did. Because I was too tired (from starvation, maybe?) to get out of bed and unwrap their wonderful deliciousness and consume them. Damn. And I missed Knit Night, also.
I'm trying to break Rachel of her complaining habit, or at least get her to complain in a voice that is not high-pitched and whiny. She was kvetching nonstop at breakfast this morning (reason? we were having raisins in the oatmeal, instead of jelly), so I sent her out of the kitchen, telling her she could come back when she stopped whining. She didn't return. Then she complained the rest of the morning that she was hungry.
Somehow, I don't think I won that one. And my ears hurt.
Theo had to change a poopy diaper yesterday while I was out, and he was not happy about it. But I think it's good for the teenage males to be reminded every once in a while what exactly being enamored of a pretty girl can lead to. Lord knows, it happened to his father.
I've updated my blogroll a bit, in case any of you desperate enough to land here need something decent to read. Enjoy!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Weigh-In? What Weigh-In?
So, I weighed in today, and somehow I managed to gain 2 pounds this week. While starving to death. Personally? I feel that the woman at the desk was jealous at how the pounds are just slipping off me and fudged the figures....either that, or the scale is off. But what do I care? I don't need no stinkin' weight loss. Round can be cute, so the hell with it.
What? Why, yes, I did have some chocolate when I came home. How did you know? And I just may have a little more, right now. It's okay so long as I write it down, right?
Larry came home, ate dinner, and took David to Cub Scouts. At some point this evening I may get a chance to speak with him, but it will probably be one of those conversations where I end up pointing out the zillion and one things we need to do around the house this weekend. He loves that.
The children started talking at dinner about our having another baby, and I explained to them that I am probably too old to have any more. Rachel agreed, saying, "You would die before it could grow up." Thanks, dear. And who do I have to thank for my premature aging, anyway?
Anna is interested in boys. I knew this already, and I was pretty much taking it in stride. I even gave her a funny book about dating that she actually bothered to read. But it has lately transpired that there is a specific boy who likes her. And e-mails her. And every time I think about this, I start hyperventilating. Anyone remember Kevin Bacon in "She's Having A Baby," right after Elizabeth McGovern says, "I stopped taking the Pill 3 months ago"? That whole scene where he imagines himself in the path of a powerful locomotive? That's me. I am so not ready for this.
Excuse me, I have to go breathe into a paper bag again.
By the way, I really appreciate all the comments on yesterday's post. I am relieved to hear that I am not mean (or, if I am mean, I've got lots of company) for shutting my kids in their rooms by 8 o'clock every evening. Either I do that, or I scream uncontrollably; and I do hate to frighten the children.
What? Why, yes, I did have some chocolate when I came home. How did you know? And I just may have a little more, right now. It's okay so long as I write it down, right?
Larry came home, ate dinner, and took David to Cub Scouts. At some point this evening I may get a chance to speak with him, but it will probably be one of those conversations where I end up pointing out the zillion and one things we need to do around the house this weekend. He loves that.
The children started talking at dinner about our having another baby, and I explained to them that I am probably too old to have any more. Rachel agreed, saying, "You would die before it could grow up." Thanks, dear. And who do I have to thank for my premature aging, anyway?
Anna is interested in boys. I knew this already, and I was pretty much taking it in stride. I even gave her a funny book about dating that she actually bothered to read. But it has lately transpired that there is a specific boy who likes her. And e-mails her. And every time I think about this, I start hyperventilating. Anyone remember Kevin Bacon in "She's Having A Baby," right after Elizabeth McGovern says, "I stopped taking the Pill 3 months ago"? That whole scene where he imagines himself in the path of a powerful locomotive? That's me. I am so not ready for this.
Excuse me, I have to go breathe into a paper bag again.
By the way, I really appreciate all the comments on yesterday's post. I am relieved to hear that I am not mean (or, if I am mean, I've got lots of company) for shutting my kids in their rooms by 8 o'clock every evening. Either I do that, or I scream uncontrollably; and I do hate to frighten the children.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Children? I Don't Hear Any Children...
Larry (aka Mr. Security) has managed to load enough "protection" onto our new computer to make it almost as slow as the behemoth I was typing away on previously. You'd think, if he really wanted me to spend less time on this thing, that he would see the error of his ways, wouldn't you? Alas, I'm once again stuck watching pages load at a glacial pace; but virus-free, of course. And on a bigger screen.
As I type, Brian is indulging in one of those irritating, drawn-out whines that make the sound of fingernails on a blackboard pleasant by comparison. I cannot see the use of whining, evolutionarily speaking. It most definitely doesn't encourage the continuation of the species. Perhaps my children are a Darwinian dead end.
Dear Lord, don't let me kill him.
In other, more pleasant, child-related news, Lego's are 50 years old today. I heard on the news this evening that there are enough Lego bricks for each person on Earth to have 62 of them apiece. So, I am asking all the people who have obviously left their share in our living room to please come pick them up. Thank you.
Can you even imagine a world without Lego's? Do you realize this news means that, prior to 1958, parents had not only precious little in the way of TV to entertain their children, but also no decent toys either? What the heck did kids do? Play with sticks? Outside? All the time? Did parents back then simply shove them out the back door in the morning and slide the lock? And how many question marks can I put in one paragraph?
Brian is still whining. Say what you like, that kid has endurance.
Is there anyone else out there who cannot stand their children in the evening? I'm fine (well, I guess that may be debatable) until approximately 7:30 PM, when I suddenly realize that I have to share my entire life with these creatures and I cannot take it anymore. The whining, the nose-picking, the tattling, the Berenstain Bear books - everything becomes intolerable. So, I send them all to bed. The teenagers probably resent that a little, but tough. They need lots of sleep, anyway.
Let's not talk about kids anymore. Let's talk about knitting. So much more soothing....I'm knitting a scarf (the mistake-rib pattern from this post of Crazy Aunt Purl). Only I'm using size 13 needles. She must be a tighter knitter than I am. This is a very exciting project because I am using my brand new circular-needles kit (yes, I know you don't need circulars for a scarf; but I didn't own size 13's, which deficiency provided me with the perfect excuse to buy needles and I, um, sort of got carried away). Now I have a fun little carry-case out of which, on the merest whim, I can whip out a pair of any-size needles (from 2-15) and various size cables to connect them. I am knitter, hear me roar....
Pardon my exuberance, but knitting purchases are just so exhilarating. Better even than homeschool curricula purchases...I guess because knitting purchases don't involve children who may not want to cooperate with your plans to teach them 3 foreign languages before they are 12 years old. Knitting is just for me. Me, me, me, me, me.......
Hmmm....now I'm sounding like my 2-year-old. Maybe because Larry ("Aren't we paying 40 bucks a month for Weight Watchers?") won't let me have any more Twix bars. Even though I have 5 activity points to use up before my weigh-in tomorrow....isn't he mean?
As I type, Brian is indulging in one of those irritating, drawn-out whines that make the sound of fingernails on a blackboard pleasant by comparison. I cannot see the use of whining, evolutionarily speaking. It most definitely doesn't encourage the continuation of the species. Perhaps my children are a Darwinian dead end.
Dear Lord, don't let me kill him.
In other, more pleasant, child-related news, Lego's are 50 years old today. I heard on the news this evening that there are enough Lego bricks for each person on Earth to have 62 of them apiece. So, I am asking all the people who have obviously left their share in our living room to please come pick them up. Thank you.
Can you even imagine a world without Lego's? Do you realize this news means that, prior to 1958, parents had not only precious little in the way of TV to entertain their children, but also no decent toys either? What the heck did kids do? Play with sticks? Outside? All the time? Did parents back then simply shove them out the back door in the morning and slide the lock? And how many question marks can I put in one paragraph?
Brian is still whining. Say what you like, that kid has endurance.
Is there anyone else out there who cannot stand their children in the evening? I'm fine (well, I guess that may be debatable) until approximately 7:30 PM, when I suddenly realize that I have to share my entire life with these creatures and I cannot take it anymore. The whining, the nose-picking, the tattling, the Berenstain Bear books - everything becomes intolerable. So, I send them all to bed. The teenagers probably resent that a little, but tough. They need lots of sleep, anyway.
Let's not talk about kids anymore. Let's talk about knitting. So much more soothing....I'm knitting a scarf (the mistake-rib pattern from this post of Crazy Aunt Purl). Only I'm using size 13 needles. She must be a tighter knitter than I am. This is a very exciting project because I am using my brand new circular-needles kit (yes, I know you don't need circulars for a scarf; but I didn't own size 13's, which deficiency provided me with the perfect excuse to buy needles and I, um, sort of got carried away). Now I have a fun little carry-case out of which, on the merest whim, I can whip out a pair of any-size needles (from 2-15) and various size cables to connect them. I am knitter, hear me roar....
Pardon my exuberance, but knitting purchases are just so exhilarating. Better even than homeschool curricula purchases...I guess because knitting purchases don't involve children who may not want to cooperate with your plans to teach them 3 foreign languages before they are 12 years old. Knitting is just for me. Me, me, me, me, me.......
Hmmm....now I'm sounding like my 2-year-old. Maybe because Larry ("Aren't we paying 40 bucks a month for Weight Watchers?") won't let me have any more Twix bars. Even though I have 5 activity points to use up before my weigh-in tomorrow....isn't he mean?
Sex and Taxes
Aaah - I just filed our state and federal taxes.
Done.
Pretty amazing, huh? I think so. Of course, our fat refund is enough of an incentive to be proactive about filing. Gotta love that child tax credit, you know. Gosh, with all these kids, we're practically making money. Maybe we had better go have some more...
I cleaned the house and caught up on laundry this morning while Larry and the children were at church (major advantage to agreeing to raise the kids in your spouse's religion, not yours), all so I could escape to our annual Yoga Center luncheon this afternoon. It was a treat to enjoy a meal on a non-vinyl tablecloth with glassware that wasn't plastic; and no one there whined the entire time. The food was terrific, unlike the slop that I dish out day after day, week after week,....so good, in fact, that I spent the rest of the week's Weight Watcher points on it. Which is unfortunate, because I would really like to eat something tomorrow.
I did weigh-in at 2 pounds lighter last week (for a total of 4.5 pounds - go, me!); but I forgot to boast about it, what with being so busy having run-ins with the law and googling "chastity belts" to buy for my teenage daughter. This morning I informed her that if she's not mature enough to take care of a baby, she's not mature enough to be having sex with anyone. I also told her that, despite how the movies and TV make it seem, teens can resist their sexual urges and keep their clothes on. And I'm not raising her babies.
I think I embarrassed the heck out of her. Good.
Larry wants the computer - he's starting to mutter something about "wasting time" and "imaginary friends" again. He's just jealous he doesn't have a blog.
Done.
Pretty amazing, huh? I think so. Of course, our fat refund is enough of an incentive to be proactive about filing. Gotta love that child tax credit, you know. Gosh, with all these kids, we're practically making money. Maybe we had better go have some more...
I cleaned the house and caught up on laundry this morning while Larry and the children were at church (major advantage to agreeing to raise the kids in your spouse's religion, not yours), all so I could escape to our annual Yoga Center luncheon this afternoon. It was a treat to enjoy a meal on a non-vinyl tablecloth with glassware that wasn't plastic; and no one there whined the entire time. The food was terrific, unlike the slop that I dish out day after day, week after week,....so good, in fact, that I spent the rest of the week's Weight Watcher points on it. Which is unfortunate, because I would really like to eat something tomorrow.
I did weigh-in at 2 pounds lighter last week (for a total of 4.5 pounds - go, me!); but I forgot to boast about it, what with being so busy having run-ins with the law and googling "chastity belts" to buy for my teenage daughter. This morning I informed her that if she's not mature enough to take care of a baby, she's not mature enough to be having sex with anyone. I also told her that, despite how the movies and TV make it seem, teens can resist their sexual urges and keep their clothes on. And I'm not raising her babies.
I think I embarrassed the heck out of her. Good.
Larry wants the computer - he's starting to mutter something about "wasting time" and "imaginary friends" again. He's just jealous he doesn't have a blog.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Just The Facts, Ma'am...
What's worse than being pulled over by a policeman? Being pulled over by a policeman with 3 impressionable children in the car....
"Mommy, why are we sitting here?"
"That policeman behind us wants to talk to me, honey."
"Why, Mommy?"
"I don't know, sweetie." (And really, I didn't.)
"Well, why is he just sitting in his car?"
"He's checking our license plate and making sure the car isn't stolen."
"Our car is stolen?"
"No! No, honey, it isn't. He's just making sure."
"Mommy, are you going to go to jail?"
Turns out I had rolled through a stop sign (barely, okay? I all but did a complete stop, dammit) waaay back, and then I was so busy explaining to my kids the difference between a limo and a hearse (don't ask) that I didn't see the police car following me with his lights flashing. Duh. When I finally spotted him, I pulled over thinking he needed to pass me. That's how innocent I felt. Really.
When he came to the driver's window, I felt as though I were being arrested by my teenage son Theo, as the cop looked all of 19 (which he may have been - he was an MP on an Army base). One great thing about being stopped by an MP is they sure are polite. Ma'am this, and ma'am that - hey, I may be a criminal, but I still get respect. And he let me off with a warning. I could have pinched his sweet baby cheeks, I was so grateful. But I didn't. I drove off (carefully) and made it to the commissary without being stopped again. And with the kids pointing out every single stop sign all the way there.
"Mommy, why are we sitting here?"
"That policeman behind us wants to talk to me, honey."
"Why, Mommy?"
"I don't know, sweetie." (And really, I didn't.)
"Well, why is he just sitting in his car?"
"He's checking our license plate and making sure the car isn't stolen."
"Our car is stolen?"
"No! No, honey, it isn't. He's just making sure."
"Mommy, are you going to go to jail?"
Turns out I had rolled through a stop sign (barely, okay? I all but did a complete stop, dammit) waaay back, and then I was so busy explaining to my kids the difference between a limo and a hearse (don't ask) that I didn't see the police car following me with his lights flashing. Duh. When I finally spotted him, I pulled over thinking he needed to pass me. That's how innocent I felt. Really.
When he came to the driver's window, I felt as though I were being arrested by my teenage son Theo, as the cop looked all of 19 (which he may have been - he was an MP on an Army base). One great thing about being stopped by an MP is they sure are polite. Ma'am this, and ma'am that - hey, I may be a criminal, but I still get respect. And he let me off with a warning. I could have pinched his sweet baby cheeks, I was so grateful. But I didn't. I drove off (carefully) and made it to the commissary without being stopped again. And with the kids pointing out every single stop sign all the way there.
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