The Ladies' Man, at eight years old

At Nolan's band concert tonight, Ryan came over and settled in my lap.  It was vacant, for once, but not for long, like always.

I noticed the little girl in front of us turning around, over and over, as she gave him a little grin/giggle combo.  I couldn't help myself, I whispered in his ear, "Are you making friends with a giiiirl ?"

There was a sharp letting out of his breath, and he smiled and said, so rapid-fire I almost didn't catch it all:

"No, not really.  Not like I have a crush on her or something.  Not like Shannon has on me.  You remember Shannon, from kindergarten?  She's in my class again, and she has a crush on me.  She smiles at me all the time like this"  (he pauses to demonstrate a cheesy-but-cute grin) "you know, the kind of smile that is kinda creepy?  I mean I like her, but like a friend"  (the hand gesturing starts) "not like a g-friend"  (he looks over his shoulder at me) "that means girlfriend, Mom." 

Thankfully, the music started again, because I don't know how long I could have held my understanding nod, I was seconds away from side splitting laughter.  As it was, I managed enough silent shaking to make Mr W look at me quizzically.

I mouthed to him, gesturing to Ryan with my head--"Babe magnet."

And I swear, I saw my husband sit up a little straighter, sparkle in his eye.

A physical representation of "That's my boy!"

Real men aren't afraid of pink

It's the true sign of a seasoned parent, isn't it?  Sleep is more important than the fact that you are doing it anywhere else in the house than in your own bed.

Recliner, sofa, hanging off the side of the crib....

Or on your daughter's pink, ultra-girlie, Hello Kitty sheets.

My husband worked really late Monday night. 

I had a feeling I wasn't gonna see him until morning, so I made up my mind to get some rest.

But because I'm a bit of a chicken, and don't like to sleep alone if he's not around, I let Audrey stay in bed with me.

This morning, I woke up with a start at 5 am, looking for Mr W, but not seeing him on his side of the bed.  I'm not sure if I see his stuff over there, either (cell phone, etc).  Wow.  That's a loooong day, I thought.  I nodded off again, because the next thing I heard was the alarm.

As I groggily made my way to the bathroom, I saw Mr W's cell phone by the bed.  I moved Audrey over, and went looking for him so he could come lay down.  I figure he's asleep in the magic chair....no...the sofa....no.   I know I'm not wearing my glasses, but I don't think I'd miss a man in my bed.

So I go on a search, and I have a feeling I know where I might find him...

I have to stifle a giggle.   There he lay, dark blue undershirt contrasting against the light pink Hello Kitty sheets.  He didn't even take off the guard rail.   He is using her pillow.  Niiiice.  Cute!

Was I tempted to take a picture?  Oh, you bet I was.

However, I know how persuasive Remo can be, and I decided it might be better to take a mental picture as that kind of photo isn't likely to be emailedto everyone in the department.   There are training purposes, and then there are training purposes...

Yup, real men aren't afraid of pink.

And you just gotta love that.

Channeling my Mom

There are times, like yesterday, that my kids make me hold my breath.

Not in the cherubic-I-love-this-kid sense, but in the sense that if I didn't hold my breath for a second, and collect myself, I'd be calling someone to post bail.

It actually started last Wednesday, when Nolan needed help with some homework.   And the homework turned into a project he'd known about for a week, and was attempting to pound through the night before it was due.

Now, I am the Queen of Procrastination.  My best papers were always ones I completed the night before they were due.  I can sympathize with him there.  But we'd spent the week thusfar asking him every night, "Did you get all your work done?  Are you sure?" only to hear "Yeah, I'm good."

Mr W was beside himself, he was so annoyed.  He wasn't happy that I wasn't quite on the same page with him.  Was I annoyed too?  Yup.  Doubly so, because I'd asked about supplies Nolan might need coming up soon (that I'd seen on sale at Target) and he'd blown me off.   He even shrugged off a suggestion I made to make this one look better, "We're supposed to make it look old."   "How am I supposed to know that,"  I snapped, "if you don't show me the requirements of the assignment?"  I'm the thing that looks old, I thought, as I left the room.

I was done after that, and while Mr W fumed, I told explained my stance. 

"First of all, he'd probably going to turn in something that looks like what the other kids are doing, no better, but no worse.  And when he passes, he will be smug, and we will have gotten all worked up about nothing.  And secondly, I remember doing the same thing a couple of times, and my Mom, she let me fall on my face.  I hated to get bad grades, and she knew it.  It took me messing up a couple of times, but I caught on, and stopped springing projects that needed extra stuff on her at the last minute."

"Nolan is a good kid, a good student, and he knows what we expect of him.   He'll come around."

I let it pass, and we got through the weekend.  

Yesterday, I was picking up his friend (I'm the drop-off ride this week) and his Mom asks me about a band concert. 

It's tonight.   They have to dress accordingly.  And when she mentioned it, it was the first I'd heard of it.

Deep breath, I tell myself. 

Afterschool, I tell Nolan he needs to try on his pants from his Spring concert.  I know they won't fit, but what the hell?

He barely buttons them, and tries to tell me they will do.

"Only if you plan on singing soprano,"  I point out.   Off we go, to get him pants and a shirt.   When we are done, I send him off with Audrey to find his brothers in the Halloween aisle (we were in Target), I find myself shaking my head, thinking, I can't even really get mad.  This is just like me.  I remember my Mom driving me around to various relatives' houses to cobble together an outfit (skirt here, shirt there) or scrounging through her closet the night before some event at school.   She made it look so easy, why am I sweating it in Target?

As I'm paying, I tell Nolan we need to find him some shoes next, to run to Payless and I'll meet him there.  (At the rate he's growing, Payless is all I'm willing to pay for, for one night.)

"Mom, my shoes are fine."  "Um, no, they're not.  Remember, you barely made it into them for the last concert??"  "Oh.  Yeah."

I have visions of smacking him upside the head, security cameras be damned.

Finally, we are all home again.   I'm on the home stretch, and getting them all to bed.  We had a good night, watching a movie while I made dinner and we ate, it was nice.  Mr W was still at work, so we were all helping each other out.

It's about nine.  Ben comes up to me, "Mom."  He holds up his inhaler.  "This feels empty, like all I'm getting is air."

It's NINE.   I tell him to use it anyway, and point out to him we were just at Target,  I could have had it refilled then, why didn't he say something sooner....

"I forgot."

I'm mentally swearing a blue streak, how can he forget, I'm not the one using it each day, how am I supposed to know....

And I think of my Mom.

Who by now, is probably scratching a cosmic itch, giggling to herself.

I shake my head at him.  "I'll take care of it tomorrow."

Next time I see my Mom, I'm hugging her as hard as I can. 

Because if I didn't have her patient, loving example in my head every day, she would be down a grandchild or two.

Musica

My brother and my best friend have recently crossed over to the dark side, and bought iPods.  I guess they've heard someone gushing over how fantastic they are, and decided to join in the fun.

I was excited for them, until they started asking me about my music.   As in, "cool, now we can share music."  Both of them are quite animated when discussing the possibilities, my brother going on about how my taste is different from his, but how that would supplement his library well.

I am about to say something that will make me sound like a wacko.

I am not sure I want to share.  

It's not that we would do anything illegal, or anything like that, it's just that I'm not sure if I'm ready to lay my soul bare to them in this way.  Melodrama aside, what I mean is, I don't want to have to defend my musical taste to them.  It's my music.  They might not like it all.  I don't want to hear snickers and stifled laughter when they happen upon some of my um, more eclectic selections.

You think that wouldn't happen?  Think again.

We are all nosy when it comes to some things, to anything that would give a clue into the psyche of someone else.   The parts they keep a little hidden.

Who hasn't perused the books in a bookshelf in a friends/relatives/parent-of-your-child's-friends house, just out of curiosity?  Or looked at the stack of CDs they left on the counter or in their car?  (Or, ahem, looked at the empty cube of a coworker, to see their pictures and doodads, getting a little of the flavor of their personality thru sheer nosine...observation?)

As you look at the titles, you think, "Oh, I like that too.  Love that.  I wonder if I can borrow this?  What the hell...no way!!!"

Still don't believe me?

A couple of weeks ago, I had my laptop open, music library out where all could see.   I turn around and Mr W is sitting there, checking out what I have in it.  I didn't mind, I'd wanted him to pick some stuff out so I could burn him a CD.

I hear a snort.  "Culture Club?"  he says, eyebrow raised.

"It's one song.  ONE!"  I find myself sputtering, hands fluttering around in my defense.

Do I really want my brother to see how much Sarah MacLachlan is lurking in the wings; to explain to Jenny how Justin Timberlake is an ass-shaking genius and she should try it sometime?

(**I have to step aside to say yes, I bought that CD the day it became available.  I love it.  And after I explained to Mr W--who had guffawed again when he thought I'd brought it to the car for a listen---that that CD got him laid the night before, he stopped laughing.  Get your sexy on, folks.)

I'm sure I will get over it, and be swapping away in no time.

You see, no one can enlighten my brother.

Maybe some Toby Keith, Liz Phair, or UB40 can.

Enough.  On to the Saturday Six.  I'm not doing last week's, which I missed.  This week's has all kinds of dating questions in it.

I don't date.

Much.

Saturday Six - Episode 127

1. You find out that you've just gotten a new job in a different state. Besides your spouse, who is the first person you tell?

My Mom.  And then I'd have to call an ambulance.

2. With the money in your pocket, wallet or purse right now, could you make change for a $20 bill? Could you make change for a $1 bill?

For a buck, maaaayybe.  For a twenty, are you kidding?

3. Is this ability (or lack of ability) to make change a typical reflection of how much cash and coins you regularly carry?

Absolutely.   I have four children.  Whatever is not tied up in their upkeep, is left for us.   Which is about $2.95 a pay period, and that won't even get me in the door at Starbucks.

I only have change on me when I know there will be a vending machine around and I have to bribe someone. :p

4. Take the quiz: What mythological character are you?

My results say:

You Are a Mermaid

You are a total daydreamer, and people tend to think you're flakier than you actually are. While your head is often in the clouds, you'll always come back to earth to help someone in need. Beyond being a caring person, you are also very intelligent and rational. You understand the connections of the universe better than almost anyone else.

I'm not flaky, but I'll say I am if it means I get to have a mermaid rack.

5. Are you typically the "heart breaker" or the "broken-hearted" in your relationship history?

Aw, geez, I don't know.  Mr W is my dating history.  Broken-hearted, as he is quite a cool customer, and to this day, I think I am waayy more into him than he is to me.  (Yes.  I am 13 years old.  And he has just assured me that I am full of crap.)

6. Considering your answer to #5, would you rather be the opposite?

You mean, would I prefer to leave a swath of broken men in my wake?  Of course, dahlink.  Who wants to be the one chasing after the car as it drives away, Kleenex in hand, eyes swollen and red from crying, snot trailing in the wind?? 

Of course, I realize that with my personality, that might be a tall order.  I would have to be really, really pissed off or hurt to not be one of those people who is friends with her exes.  Imagine what Thanksgiving dinner would be like at my house....

On this note, I have to go.  I'm reading this really engrossing book about a teenage vampire. 

Did I just hear someone scoff??

Freebie

This is waaaay cool.

And the reason Mr W got this for me.  I'm waiting for Audrey to get out of school. 

Using my laptop at a local eatery that has WiFi connections. 

Yes, there's a big giant grin on my face. :D

Monday night, I was able to pull off Ryan's party.   His little friend came, and the Mom who brought him wasn't the Mom-who-hates-me.   Not to say that this Mom wasn't "interesting".

The little guy had a great time, and everyone was happy, which is what a birthday should be.

Yesterday, the Schwan's man came by.   It was the usual day, but not the usual guy.   I like the Schwan's man, even though he's a little pricey.    I only get a couple of things from him anyway, and figuring how much money he's saves me keeping me out of Costco, it works out just fine.

I was talking to him, and I added something different to the order.  I'd realized on my way home from an earlier errand that I'd forgotten to give Nolan lunch money, and he probably didn't get any lunch because of it.  I figured I'd make it up to him by having something ready when he walked in the door.

Geez, not even Mr W gets that treatment. 

Well, not often, anyway.

I said to the guy, "They're like locusts when they come home."

He starts laughing.   A lot.

"How many locusts do you have?"  "Four."  "Ice cream okay for them?"  "Sure."

Why did he ask me that, I wondered, as he went to get the stuff I ordered...

A few minutes later, he comes back, with my stuff.  And a little plastic bag.

"I got some ice cream in here for the kids.  And a little something extra in there for you, because you made the funniest remark I've heard all day.  Locusts!! hahahaha!"  He spots Mr W walking by.

"She said the funniest thing!"  he calls over to Mr W.   Who looks at him, with a 'yeah, try living with her' look on his face.

"Locusts!"  he giggles some more.  "It's like that scene in the Blues Brothers where John Belushi is talking to Carrie Fisher and she's holding the gun to his head..."

"Yeah, I know that scene."

We chat a minute or two more, then he's on his way.   And I'm giddy over my bag of ice cream treats, pondering which one is mine.

Stuff like that rarely happens to me.

But it's nice when it does.

And it's funny to me, because I always say that about the kids.

Afterschool, anything not nailed down is fair game and potentially a snack.

Even the cats run and hide.

That little son of a ....

I woke up this morning, fully prepared to write a birthday missive for Ryan, as it is his birthday today.

How I love the little guy, and how I'd lamented last week to Mr W, "he's gonna be EIGHT!  already!  My baby, my little guy!"  (not that I'm discounting Audrey, who is actually the baby,but really, she is in a class all by herself).  There was the wringing of hands and furrowing of brows and beating of breast that is usually seen only in the best telenovelas.

Mr W countered with a snort and a tale of his own, about how Nolan was on the other side of the dining table, standing on a footstool, which is dangerous as they to tend to scoot out from under the kids and Mr W thought Nolan might put himself through the window behind him.  He said he was about to yell at Nolan to get off the footstool, when he realized he wasn't standing on anything at all.  He is just that tall. 

He felt that the sudden increase in height, the change in Nolan, trumped Ryan's increase in age.

I'll give that to him.  Mr W wins that round.  Because Nolan forgot his shoes at my Mom's weekend before last, and wore a pair of my old sneaks for a day or two.  Wore.  MY.  Shoes. 

At least he didn't ask for the sparkly flip flops. 

But anyway, it's Ryan's birthday today.   He had a little celebration at my Mom's yesterday, with a cake and some pizza and his two cousins.  We usually do this because it's easier to do it over there, for that set of relations,  and the kids dig it because they get an extra 'party'.

So sometimes that's it, sometimes they have a few friends to the local pizza place and we have the "real" birthday party.   (I say a few friends, because if I left it up to Ben, he'd have the whole class there, and there just isn't enough overtime in the world to foot that kind of bill.)   

Ryan had mentioned to me that he wanted to have a pizza party.  Then he said, no, let's have it at home.  No, the pizza place.   (I sighed, because I was hoping we'd be phasing out of these by now, but know I have a few years of them left because of the younger kids.)  I told him that as his Dad was on call this past weekend, we wouldn't do the party then because he might get called away.   And we couldn't do it today, as it is Monday.   How about this coming weekend?

Ryan wasn't happy, but he was okay with it.  Or so I thought.  I got the invites, and was talking to him about it this morning, when...

He told me he really wanted to do it today.  "It's my birthday."

Lest anyone think I'm a pushover...

Oh, screw that.  You people know I'm a pushover. 

I told him that if that is what he truly wanted, he was crazy.  No way I can get anyone to come on a Monday with no notice except us, and the three boys we always do things with..."and Kaylen?"  and Kaylen.  "But I really want Kyle to come, too." 

"Just Kyle?"

"Yes, just Kyle."  
"Honey, he might not be able to come.  And if we do this tonight, this is IT.   Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

"Yes."

In between all of that, I was trying to talk him out of it, thinking I should put my foot down, and say no outright, which as you know is probably the best course of action.

But.

It's his birthday.  I'm coming off the heels of bargaining with Ben all summer, my sweet Ben who always gets shuffled, who didn't get a party or cake-at-Nana's like usual because he was sick on his birthday and school let out and his mother is unorganized and selfishly wanted summer to come so she could have relief from the grind of pick-up/drop-off then bang, summer was over; now I'm trying to save birthday face.  (Ben and I have his party for this year on the books already, Mr W-is-my-witness.  Poor kid isn't getting stiffed again.)   They're good kids, who don't ask for much (ha) and I can do this one thing. 

Good lord, I gave birth, why is that not enough?

I'm being ridiculous and I know it.

What is it they say, that acknowledging you have a problem..???

Also, this Kyle he speaks of, I'm not sure which one he means.  There's a Kyle A and a Kyle B in his class, and one of their mothers hates me.   She is a petite little-you-know-what that treats me like I'm the bull in the china shop.   Really.  She's smirky and repunante, and makes me uncomfortable. 

As I leave the message on the answering machine, I'm hoping beyond all hope that it's not that Mom. 

I guess that this is my birthday missive to Ryan, that I love him enough to try and make this happen for him today.  As unreasonable as the request is, this is one of those Mom-things that Moms do.

I can do this.  I feel better.  Well, I felt better, until:

Audrey just came up to me, with a question.

"Mommy, does everyone have ducks?"

"Ducks?" 
"Yeah, ducks."  She points at her girly parts.  "Peepee comes out of them...."

Are you kidding me?

"Does everyone have one?"

It's 9:15 am on a Monday morning.  Do I not get a running start before I have to jump through this hoop?

<No, everyone doesn't have one, but everyone can be one.>

I'm a little baffled as I don't do slang words when I talk about parts with the kids.   I tell them that other words exist, what they are, etc.  She says she asked one of her brothers the word, for where the peepee comes out.  Fabulous.  Now I get to figure out who's giving out false information.  And who isn't closing the bathroom door when they're in it.

"Sweetie, if you have a question, ask me or Daddy.   Not your brothers."

She has school today, and it's her turn for show-and-tell.

I hope she sticks to ponies.

The statement that makes it all worthwhile

This is what happens next, that makes me forget all my irritation.

Kinda like how you 'forget' the pain of childbirth.

"Mommy, you're a good cook-er."

"Mommy, you should open a restaurant."

"Mommy, can I eat another one of your delicious cookies?" 

"This is yummy."

"Thanks, Mom."

They go on like that, and it's nice.   I have stopped taking deep breaths and can appreciate their comments.

"Who's doing the dishes?"

It's a vicious circle.

A simple question that annoys me to no end

Of all the questions I answer each day (and believe me, with these kids, the number is sometimes in the thousands) the one that annoys me the most, right out of the gate, is "What's for dinner?" 

Followed closely by:  "Are you thinking about what to make for dinner?"

Which is followed closely by *sniff air* "What's that your making for dinner?" 

On the heels of Mr W leaning over, looking into the pan and asking "What's that?"  with a look on his face that telegraphs 'there's no way in hell I'm eating it.'

I should not be bothered by so basic a question, yet it brings out the twitch in my left eye like no other. 

Mr W had the audacity to ask me tonight, "Why does that make you mad?  Why does it upset you so much?"

Why?  Why??  WHY? 

I can't believe he asked.  Then again, we are at my Mom's house--there are witnesses present.

Why it annoys me:

1)  It's always me that gets asked.   (It must be the resemblance to Emeril.)

2)  Ask once, I'm fine.  Ask me 4 times, with my Dad and Mr W thrown into the mix, and I'm done. 

3)  "But I don't want that."

Those are reasons that come to mind immediately.   There are myriad others, I'm just in a hurry here.

It's time to make dinner.

How ice keeps my family alive

Things have been pretty hectic around here.  Which is kinda odd, because nothing is truly different; kids go to school, hubby to work, blah, blah...but I find the days fly by and before I know it, I'm drooling in my pjs, asleep wherever I happened to sit down.

Which is fine if I'm at home, but not-so-fine when I'm at work.  So far I've only been able to convince my male coworkers that circles, perfect circles around the eyes are fashion statements, and not from the imprint of my microscope + glasses.  

Anyway, all the day-to-day things usually throw me under the cranky bus by about dinnertime.   It can get u-g-l-y.   So there are a couple of things I do to ensure that everyone remembers me as their wonder-Mom and not some shrieking harpy. 

Because it's not a good sign when the four-year-old comes up to you and says, "Mommy, tomorrow, in the morning, will you be happy?"

1)  I put my headphones on, and turn up the volume, while I'm cooking.  It goes a long way toward altering my mood.  Poof, all the piddly battles are on mute, so should I turn around, it's like a family of mimes.   (Mimes who occasionally shed blood.)  And there's nothing like shaking your groove thang as you stir up some spaghetti sauce.  (I'm working on not spilling all over myself.)

2)  Nugget ice.  Those little squarish nuggets of ice, like you get at Sonic.   Did you know that Sonic sells that ice in bags for you to take home?  When there's room in my freezer, there is a bag of that ice in there.  And it's mine.  I don't share it. 

We found out that a gas station nearby has that ice in one of the fountain drink machines.  I love that ice so, I am not ashamed to resort to all kinds of feminine persuasion to get it.   (Just the other day, Mr W was going out to run an errand, and I whispered something that included "superlatively,"  "dirty", and "later" in the sentence.  And he came home bearing icy goodness.)

It might seem odd that such a simple thing as ice would keep me from going bananas, but let me just explain.

I talk the big drinking talk, about how my days can sometimes drive me to drink.  It's true, somedays, when I happen to walk by the liquor aisle, I'm eyeing all the things that interest me.  However, I rarely do it; and good lord, I still have an unopened bottle of tequila that's been sitting on my counter for more than a year. 

(I realize that that is just wrong.  So, so wrong.)

A little nuggetty ice, and maybe some tea or a soda, and I'm all set.   Ahhh.  Yes, kids, you may skip your homework and play video games.  

It seems to me that I saw a drinking question somewhere today...oh, yeah, it was in the Saturday Six.

Saturday Six--Episode ??

(Patrick has a typo, and I'm too lazy to go back and figure it out)

1. How do you feel about a National ID card to replace individual state driver's licenses?

Geez, to hear my husband tell it, people have enough trouble keeping track of their regular driver's licenses....I just don't see the point in it.      

2. Where's the most embarrassing place you've ever fallen asleep?

Hmm.  I used to fall asleep in lectures back in college all the time.  Oh, yes, I was the one whose notes trailed down the page in an indecipherable scrawl.  

Work-- well, I'm not the only one who's nodded off there. 

I'm shameless, I guess, because I can't think of one, and I know I fall asleep everywhere.   Yikes.

3. How long does it take you, when looking at someone for the first time, to determine whether or not you are really attracted to the person?

Now, here I think I am embarrassed.   I find lots of people attractive, in an appreciating-the-finer-points-of-attractiveness way.   However, I have to say that only a couple of people have given me that real visceral reaction where you just know that oh, yeah, it'd happen; and it was within seconds that I knew it.  I'm married to one of them.  The thought of the others is making me blush and fidget right now.  Must. Clear. Mind.

4. Take the quiz: What kind of drunk are you?

It says I'm a Wild Drunk.

You can get enough drink. Seriously, you'll just go puke and start pounding them back again!

Not true.  I never ever drink till I puke.  Good genes?  Bad genes?  When I drink, I do get a little wild, but I love everybody.  So I'd say Wild, Friendly, Drunk.  Bolder.  lol 

5. When is the last time you were really drunk?

At my work's Christmas party last year.  My God, I was LIT.

6. What caused the condition: Alcohol or something else?

Alcohol.   Too much wine and bad food, and I was moments away from karoake-ing like a superstar. 

Turned the frown upside down

This week has been particularly trying on us.  Mr W had a busy week at work last week, in such a way that it spilled into this week.  Audrey has turned into a raging insomniac, and she comes into our bed all night long. 

Letting her stay with us is only half a solution, though.  I mean, we have a huge bed, and when the boys were small, they certainly slept with us a lot, but with Audrey it's different...because sleeping with her is a contact sport.   Watch out nose, watch out toes, watch out--well, you get the picture.

On the bright side, I've been sneaking in a nap.  Or, rather, passing out in the late afternoon because I just can't go on. 

The last time it happened, I was reading to Ryan.  Reading!  I fell asleep while reading out loud, how sad is that?

Where was I?  Oh.

Mr W has been busy.  Busy enough that he is in the use-it-or-lose-it category for vacation time.  He took Wednesday off, and is home today.

Wednesday morning, we had no sooner gotten the boys off to school when the hissing began.  I was cranky.  I made some comment to Audrey about how I didn't want to watch tv with her, I wanted a nap.

"You want a nap?"

Oh, great.  Now we're going to get into the age-old argument, your-sleep-is-much-better-than-my-sleep-therefore-I-deserve-to-sleep-now.  The argument where I offer an understanding wifey-nod and pat his back as he heads down the hallway.  I hate to let regular stuff turn into a pissing match, so a lot of the times, I shrug and let it go.  And hiss later, when he's rested and feeling guilty.

But not today.

So no one slept, and Mr W decided to open up another can of worms.  He took started rooting around in the broom closet. 

 Great.  He's gonna start cleaning.  <Aw, man, go back to bed.  I'll go get some coffee, you win.>

Now, most women would say they like it when hubby pitches in, and should he pick up a cleaning implement, hallelujah; but not me. (Unless it's laundry, he rocks at laundry.  :D)

Because when my husband does it, he does it with an air of moral superiority, an air of "If I don't take the helm of this UNTIDY ship, it will surely crash on the shores of Pigdom and we will remain there for all of eternity." 

Huffily, he moves things around.  And he doesn't know I intended to do the floors this morning, nor will he believe me at this point.  <I have to admit, they're pretty bad.>  "I have to vacuum,"  I tell him, as I hear him get the broom out.

Next thing I know, he's vacuuming our bedroom.  I'd be happier if he wasn't so desde about it.  I try to make peace.   I go down the hall, knock on the door, and pleasantly ask him if he's hungry, fully prepared to offer pancakes.  He scoffs when I ask, and tells me "I'm trying to get this clean."

Oh, really?  Did I miss something, like the ingestion of an a**hole pill? 

So now I calculate my options.  1) Should've gone to work like I'd originally planned, 2) pack up the laptop, head to Starbucks, 3) help out by sweeping the floors elsewhere.

I grab the broom and start sweeping, because I don't want it to look like I'm not doing my part.  Sigh.

Mr W finishes up our room, and moves on to the front room.  I make our bed, sweep and mop.  He comes up to me and hugs me, and at the exact same moment as I grab his ass, he asks, "what are we doing today?"  so we both crack up.

"You know, if we stay home, I'm just gonna get ornery."

I contemplate sparkling light fixtures vs. leaving the house, and offer up going to the mall, or a movie, or just OUT.

But not before an attitude adjustment.

The light fixtures weren't sparkling, but the smile on his face lit up the room.

No pancakes required.

How a straight line can make me reconsider the value of patience

Think about a straight line.  Simple, huh?

Unless you are asked to walk in a straight line, light shining in your face, it's probably not something that you ponder often.

I've had to ponder it every day this week.

Audrey has been growing out her hair, too.  It's finally long enough that she can wear ponytails.   She likes this, and likes to finish off the look with bows.

I was beside myself with joy the day she came to me and asked me to do it.   Isn't this what having a little girl is all about, I thought, as I got out the comb and began combing out tangles.

I told her to be still.  I was very careful, but the occasional "ow" yelp was still unavoidable.  Good God, is that...a bit of lollipop?  Didn't I just bathe her???

Concentrating on a steady hand, I part her hair.

Wait, that's not quite right. (do it again) 

No, not it...

Maybe this time.

"Hold still."

(damn it &^^%%$#@@*&)  Deep breath...

Got it.   Now, for the holders....

I'm trying to make it smooth, and get it into the holder.  Tighten.  (damn it &^^%$#@)  So. NOT. Smooth.

Again.

Try again. 

And again.   Are you kidding me???  <I'm not gonna cry.> 

Again.

<Stop being so anal retentive, Anna.  This isn't that hard.  It doesn't have to be perfect.> 

<Yes it does.>

At last!  Victory!   I try not to be offended as she turns her head, looking in the mirror, and implies it's too tight by pulling the skin by her eye back, ala ponytail facelift.   

<Suffer for your beauty, sister, learn it now.>

I put the bows in, and she trots down the hallway, bouncing ponytails the adorable reward. 

About three hours later, she takes them out..

Oy.

"My head felt itchy."

Right then, I swear I heard my Mom laughing.....