It really is Spring

It’s so warm out, it’s practically summer. I have two crocuses blooming in my garden and everything else, including the trees, is trying to burst forth. Ron finally dug out his motorcycle and rode off on it after lunch. Addison is now gone for the afternoon & evening. He biked across town to go play card games with his buddies. Sarah already read the two thick books she got out of the library yesterday, but hse hasn;t done much else. Meaghan wants to make candles. Emma is sitting in her stroller, also dug out of the garage, and pretending she’s a baby while parked in front of the tv.

I walked all the way down to the gym, did most of my workout then walked all the way back. The walk is 15 minutes down a busy street and today I noticed the fumes and general dirt in the air is icky. Maybe it wasn’t a good day for me to wear all black.

My arms feel all wiggly from lifting weights after not doing it for a week. I’m kind of looking forward to my gym membership running out so I can switch my workout time to very early in the morning. Hopefully I can get everyone else back on track, but you’ve heard that before.

Oh, and I submitted a bunch of things all over the place, and today I got a rejection back, but she had all sorts of helpful contructive criticisms and asked me to fix it and resubmit. So I take that as good.

Mom says I should’t tell lies about her sweet Emma online.

Well, I was going to post yesterday afternoon about how a trip outside left Emma being her usual happy self, but then we went to the grocery store and I told her no. This was after I told her that she could get something, actually a few somethings, that she picked out herself. But then I wouldn’t let her get candy and more candy and cookies and popsicles and a book on top of that.

So it was our turn to stand in the extremely long line at the grocery store with the screaming child.

And why is it that every other shopper in the store conspires to show up at the checkout just before I do?

Anyway, she was a perfect angel at the Sally Ann and the library, even charming the crusty librarian by telling her, “This is a perfect place!” She found the rack of kid videos, picking two out, and saying, “Can we buy them, please Mommy? Please?” They also have a shelf with all the board books, right at kid level, and when she found that, she said, “Look at all the little kid books just for me! It’s perfect!”

Yep, a little angel.

By the time we got home, with her screaming pretty much most of the time (“I don’t wanna sit in my seat! I don’t wanna drive home! Don’t look at me!”), she had calmed down some and we had a little chat. Addison played outside with her and she felt all better. She must be hitting some sort of milestone or growth spurt or something. Usually, I don’t write much about when we have a bad time, or she (or anyone else) is being impossible because at the time it’s usually hard to find something funny about it, or at least write about it funny.

But I figured I would, partly to show it’s something we have to deal with too.
Emma being cute.

Three is such a fun age.

Yesterday afternoon I was getting slowly back to normal. (Emma calls the past tense “last morning”.) We had to take the girls out last night, and the plan was to drop them off then do some window shopping with Emma. Ron and I get to stroll and semi-converse, spending time together, and Emam gets to run around in circles.

Well, as soon as it was time to go, she had a big meltdown, so we left her here with Addison. She didn’t want to go shopping any more, she wanted to play outside. We were almost to the bridge, when Sarah realizes she forgot something Important. Back to the house.

I dunno what happened next, but Emma came with us, and she wasn’t happy. By the time we dropped the girls off, Emma was asleep. I suggested to Ron we go thru a drive-thru and go parking, so we did.

We sat parked at the marina for almost an hour, just talking and stuff, sipping our coffee or hot chocolate. Emma slept the whole time. When we got back to the house, to wait for the girls to call and say they were done, Emma was cranky coming in, and then she was so cranky I put her upstairs in the bed, telling her calmly that when she was done being cranky, just holler for me.

She fell asleep.

She woke up a half-hour later because she had a bad dream, so I brought her downstairs. And then she started. She wanted juice, but not from Daddy. She wanted a hot dog, then popcorn, but didn’t want to eat it when we brought it to her.

Eventually, when Ron brought the big girls back home, we just took her to bed. (time: almost 10) Ron read her some stories. “Just one, Daddy.” Then just one more. She slept on her bed, on the floor with her sleeping bag and eventually cuddled up to me. She insisted she was going to nurse.

Finally, I let her, and she nibbled for about a minute, a dissapointed look on her face. “It’s all gone.” she told me with a sigh, and put my shirt back in place. She rolled over then and fell asleep.

I kept putting her back in her bed and she kept crawling in next to me. She takes up a whole mess of room. My hands hurt from being squished.

Toay I have to clean up my house and remember to get her outside before we leave to get groceries, or she’ll take a fit then too.

Not much today

My brain is pretty empty today. I used it up yesterday submitting 5 (?) articles to 4 different places, mostly without pay. Heck, they can have my reprints.

(Any suggestion for more places to submit are welcome. Should I post a bunch of writing links I have?)

Today I’m dealing with ADD + PMS and the ramping down of my cold. Minus a week of not exercising, and it’s a miracle I could get out of bed this morning. But I hear the husband is taking me shopping this evening, to amuse Emma, so I think some retail therapy will go a long way.

Wonder if we could find a bargin book bin? I could hardly keep my book list updated, what with Allconsuming acting funky on me, and the inability I had in finishing the last four or five I started. The one that is listed now I finished yesterday.

You can’t keep a good woman down.

I’ve been sick for almost a week, and my house does not look it. In fact, I’m only slightly suspicious. This doesn’t look good for my job security, is what my first though is. It might be the drugs, or the lack of sleep, but it took me a while to clue in. Or it could be the fact that the raging mutant mucous monster in my head has finally been reduced to a glue-like substance.

So yes, I have a pretty good husband, and even the semi-grown children in the house managed. The laundry got done, so did the dishes, and I could even stumble to the couch without stepping on too many things. Frankly, I was starting to feel a little useless. But there were a few things that happened that I now remember that will help keep my position secure.

Last Thursday, before I became completely comatose, and after I managed to buy a week’s worth of groceries without once collapsing in the aisles like I wanted, I had my first clue. I had one hand on the door knob, leaving to pick up Ron since I had the van, when Addison asked if he could start cooking supper. He knows how to cook, I remembered that. “Go ahead,” I told him, “The frozen pizza’s waiting on the counter.”

“Which one do I cook first?” he asked, since we need two. “And how hot does the oven need to be” This was shortly followed by, “And how long do I need to cook it for?”

It didn’t quite go that fast, since I kept saying “Whaaaat?” becuase I couldn’t hear, and then had to repeat myself because HE couldn’t hear me. “Read the box in your hand!” I finally managed to croak out, and I left to navigate traffic. I met up with Ron okay, and we floated back home. I parked myself on the couch, and when the second pizza was ready, discovered that no one had chopped up some extra veggies for my section of the pizza. Like I do every single time we have pizza. “We didn’t know you wanted it that way.” is what they said.

Another thing I noticed, was every time I managed to raise from a prone position, there was Emma on her potty. She would see me, and pipe up, “Mommy! Wipe my bum!” It is a special skill only I have.

“I’m to sick to cook,” I groaned on more than one day. I was met with more than one blank stare “But what do we have to eat?” Patiently, I related my secret to meal planning to the kids. “Pick a starch,” I told them. “Potatoes, noodles or rice.” They nodded in rapt attention. (Maybe I was delusional at this point, or they were starving and weary, who knows?) “Then, figure out what meat goes with it that you want. Meaghan, you can skip that part.” I finished up with a, “And don’t forget a vegetable. The freezer is full of green bags. Pick one.”

“What am I doing for school?” one of them asked me. “Where’s the list I wrote for you?” I asked back, between sneezes.

Sunday rolled around. “Are we having Sunday dinner?” various people who live in my house asked me. I made the call to my Mom’s. We went there.

Monday night rolled around. “Do I have to drive the girls out tonight or tomorrow?” Ron wanted to know. The sticky note was on the computer monitor from last week.

My worries and fear were groundless. My family could get on well without me, but they still need a manager. A flight director. The maitre’de.

I am the Mom. I am the Brain.


So the other night at dinner, my mom is telling me about her weekly (?) conversation with my brother, who lives in another city. “He told me that he and Melissa went to a 50 Cent concert the other night, and I thought to myself, ‘Boy, concert tickets are getting cheaper!’ ”

Big laughs all around as we explain 50 Cents is a rapper, and the tickets probably cost a pretty penny. Later we wondered if Nickelback were openers, just to keep with the theme.