Randomettes... Ummm...

Think, think, think...

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...

I fear I've lost the will to rant.

I thought I'd have something to go on about after tent camping for 3 nights, but not really.

I didn't love sleeping in a tent on an air mattress or that the bathrooms were so far away, particularly in the middle of the night. Not that I walked to the bathrooms in the middle of the night, but my ass got rather cold while I was squatting in the bushes down wind from the tents. 

I also didn't love that the boy had a middle of the night, hour long, pain induced, freak out that damn near sent us searching for an ER at 2 a.m. (he's fine, we think it was gas. horrible, painful gas), but that wasn't because we were camping. That would have sucked at home too. Also the girl had a meltdown, mainly due to too much fun and lack of sleep (this we can blame on the group party camping), but all was well after a nap. 

Otherwise, the whole thing was pretty good. Fun even. The food was fantastic, thanks to Double D Moma and her mad menu planning, food & drink purchasing, and cooking skills. The company was fabulous. The setting was beautiful. The kids had fun. Scott had fun. I had fun. The dog seemed to like it and only wandered away from camp to be brought back by a ranger once. 

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After many, many games off having my ass handed to me, I finally beat Blondie in a game of Scramble. So the score is somewhere around: Lil Tirade- 1, Blondie- 93. It's a very small victory and I will cling to it. 

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I've been teaching the kids to do their own laundry. The boy is into it. He's 6 and loves to help around the house and do things on his own. Today he said, "I'm doing my laundry Mom". And he did. All by himself. Hamper-washer-dryer-dresser. The girl, age 11, is totally capable of mastering this task, but is way less enthusiastic. I told her that she is lucky because she got 5 more years of laundry service than her brother. The eye rolling and sighing leads me to believe she does not concur.

peace & love ;-)

I'm Going Back to 1976 to Get a Good Night's Sleep.

*SCROLL DOWN TO THE END OF THE POST FOR AN UPDATE




This morning. 2:30 a.m.: 


The boy, age 6, showed up on my side of the bed which he does every time he needs to pee in the middle of the night rather than heading straight for the toilet. Always my side. Never Scott's side. Always my side. Always.


Me: "Go potty."


The boy: (runs off to use the potty, turns on the bathroom light, closes the door loudly, slams up the toilet seat, pees, flushes, slams down the toilet seat, washes hands, opens door, turns off light and returns to the bedside) "Please tuck me back in."


Me: "hmmff" (haul self out of the warm bed, down the hall & up the loft bed ladder)


The boy: "It's 2:30. I have 4 more hours to sleep. I can do that." (He then rolls over and is asleep... like instantly)


Me: (down the ladder, down the hall, to the bathroom -obviously since I'm already up-, back to bed & wide awake) "WTF?"


I don't think it took me too long to go back to sleep, but it wasn't roll over and be out. I tried that and I was awake long enough to know it didn't work. 


I've decided I need to invent a pill, a method, a something that gives adults 'kid sleep'. So many times Scott and I have discussed just how much we'd pay to have one night of kid sleep. I think we have upped the ante to somewhere around 3 gazillion dollars. 


I've never taken Ambien or the like and I'm not lining up to do it, because I would certainly eat random things in the night or drive over to ARCO and pump gas in just my underwear or something else dangerous and/or embarrassing and/or fattening. 


I'm down with having wine, or whatever your pleasure is, to ease you towards slumber, but in my experience it doesn't produce 10 hours of solid sleep or allow for easily going back to sleep at 3 a.m. It has been suggested that maybe I'm just not drinking enough of it, but I don't really want to feel like I've been run over by a bus every morning so I've decided against chugging copious amounts of wine as a sleep aid. I have considered, but not actually tried, keeping a glass bedside for middle of the night sleep inducement. That seems like borderline alcoholic behavior though.


Narcotics without an IV of Compazine make me hurl so no.


The Michael Jackson drug, propho-something-or-other, seems like an extremely bad idea and I don't actually know Nurse Jackie so I doubt I could get my hands on any.


My invention will be all natural, organic, be legal everywhere without a special card, will have no side effects and will allow you to sleep long and hard without worry like my children do. Like I did when I was a kid and would fall asleep draped over the top of the couch and have no memory of being moved to my bed. Like I was even able to do when I came home from college, but never ever able to do in my dorm, apartments, or houses. The sleep that comes with the deep rooted sense of security that someone else is in charge, you will be taken care of and not even the smallest part of you needs to be on alert. 

That's the sleep I crave.
Me circa age 5.

Another solid example of fabulous kid sleep.
Also circa age 5.

I'm starting to think a pill is the wrong direction to go. A time machine seems like the better choice here. That's clearly the easier path to take. I'm going to get right on it. Just think when I am rich and famous you can say you knew me when.


peace & love ;-).




*UPDATE: 


This morning at 3:33 a.m. I got a text from my mother:


Mom: "Read blog at 3:23. 2 thumbs up on pics."


My phone lives on my night stand right next to my head during the night as I don't have a land line and if anyone needs to call me in an emergency situation that is the only way to contact me. When my text noise went off at 3:30, I sat straight up thinking my alarm was going off and did I forget I was teaching at 6:00.  


Scott: "Does she think you are always awake at 3:30?"


Me: "I think she thinks my sound is off or the phone is downstairs or maybe she thinks I started that wine sipping thing and am passed out and won't hear it."


So today I text back:


Me: "Thx. BTW, your 3:30 a.m. text woke me up. 2 thumbs down."


Mom: "Noooo. Why is your sound not off at night?"


And there you have it. 

Now if I could just get Alanis' "Isn't ironic" out of my head...

I Could Cut A Bitch

I am so fucking crabby today for no actual reason that I can pin point. I have had some idiocy and annoyances cross my path today, but no more so than most other days. It's the kind of crabby, bitchy if you will, that you feel more in your loins than in your head. It rises up through your chest and tries to escape out of your mouth and you have to choke it back. You have to repeat things in your head like "chill out", "don't react", "take a breath", "you are bitchy for no reason", and "DO NOT REACT!". While the likelihood that other people are being douches is high, your normal ability to deal with such douchery is replaced by the urge to freak the fuck out. 


DO NOT SAY IT! DON'T EVEN THINK IT! I am absolutely not on/about to get my period. That is such a cliched, bull shit, male-centric thinking. I expect better of you people, dammit! I know that I'm not about to bleed out, because I don't even get periods anymore. So there! Thanks to my Mirena baby IUD, which by the way is better than sliced bread. I'd slice my own bread for eternity rather than bleed and cramp for 1 out of every 4 weeks. Hands down. No contest. 


The crabbiness as it were started this morning at 5 a.m. when I was actually sleeping and was awoken mid-dream by Scott telling me that the girl had been in the shower since 4 a.m. What the fuck man? I don't care! I'm asleep! 


My irritation continued to fester during Kindergarten centers (5 & 6 year olds are so self-centered), it started escaping during a draining game of Qwirkle (more 6 year old fun), and it came spilling out during the girl's baton "practice time" (you can make special arrangements and you can lead a twirler to the gym, but you can't make them have a productive practice). 


I possibly over-reacted a bit both during the Qwirkle and the baton. Is it bad parenting to tell your 6 year old you're not going to play games with him anymore if he keeps peeking at your tiles and that it's bad strategy to keep turning in all your tiles when you clearly have moves you could make and to hurry it up already? What about if instead of the normal yelling that falls on deaf ears, you just sigh and exhibit disappointment and hurt that your tired child who is on her 4th day in a row of baton practice isn't giving 110%? 


It's still January and I may already be out of the running for Mother of the Year. Bollocks.


Did I mention that, because apparently I've been bad and karma wants a good laugh, Scott, who almost never works late, is working late tonight so it's just me and my rapscallions my lovely offspring till bedtime and beyond? 


I may or may not have come home and started eating powdered chocolate frosting mix with a spoon. 


I may or may not be considering starting dinner early so I can open wine to use in a sauce and then pour myself a glass. It's common knowledge that once you start preparing dinner, it's okay to have a drink. What? Just in my family, then?


To be fair, even though I don't ovulate or cleanse my uterus, I do notice I still have some occasional hormone and mood issues. So, that actually probably could be the issue. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to jump down your throat? I apologize. 


I would go apologize to the kids, but they are separated and in time-outs for a very legitimate reason I assure you.


peace & love :-)

No...Wire...Hangers!

While I was with the girl at her activity yesterday afternoon, Scott and the boy ran a couple errands including going to the market. 


Greatly appreciated. 


BUT, when I got home and walked into the pantry, I saw... brace yourself... BOXES ON THE SHELVES. Multiple boxes of cereal and granola bar boxes. WTF dude?!? 


Boxes of food in the pantry is normal you say? Not in my pantry. Not anymore. Not since the the Great Pantry Moth Invasion and War of 2011 which you can read about here. I have officially declared Victory in the war, but I will remain forever vigilant. I will not go back to non-sealable containers, bag clips or boxes sitting on the shelves. Boxes may seem innocent, but they are in fact very good hiding places for pupae containing cocoons. Not gonna do it. Would not be prudent. Everything goes into clear sealable containers or thick Ziploc bags. EVERYTHING!


So upon spying the boxes I say very lightheartedly: "You guys broke the pantry rule. There are boxes on the shelves." 


The boy then says: "We know, but we didn't know how you'd want it done so we left the boxes for you."


Six! The boy is six. Oy!


What I then did was repackage the food appropriately without comment, but what was going on in my head was a full on Mommie Dearest style rant.


NO...MORE...BOXES...IN...THE...PANTRY...EVER!


Peace & Love ;-)