Pre-Waffle Blurbage
It seems that it's time for a blurb blog, which basically means that there were too many little stories that I'm too lazy to post about separately and actually develop into real stories. I'd apologize but, let's be honest, this is not a surprise to anyone. I've been doing this for years now. On that note, here we go!
The Man finally bullied me into buying a GPS watch for my runs. He says it's so he and the kids can keep track of me during my long runs, but I know the truth. The truth is that if I get eaten by a bear or alligator, he wants to be able to hunt down and shoot the beast that left him to raise 5 kids on his own. Incidentally, said GPS watch likes to beep at me at various times during the day and tell me to "Move!" Communist. YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! (I totally got up and moved, which tells you a lot about how susceptible to suggestion I am.)
After 5 moves, I've finally figured out my decorating style: just add more books to it. Fixes every decorating problem known to man. Also, I had someone tell me that they had a friend who might actually have more books than I do. My internal response: challenge accepted. Sounds like it's time to take the kids book shopping again...
I gave the Little Man his first sewing lesson this week. He seems highly motivated--and may that so continue. Life skills for the win.
I overheard the twins playing a game of pretend with Twinkle yesterday. In it, Bee pronounced loudly that marriage was prison. While her dad may be happy that his brainwashing skills are working and he will never be replaced in her life, I'm wondering what subconscious messages she is picking up...
The funny thing about losing stuff that had been placed in large boxes is that you don't realize just what all got lost at the off set. So, as you unpack and set up house, you keep having realizations of "Oh, and that was in that box too..." You also find yourself unpacking and putting away at least three dozen different things that you wish the movers had lost instead. Seriously, movers, you couldn't have lost the pancake griddle that was on its last legs instead of the heirloom family art?
Some of my children, who shall remain nameless, spend their days toting around enough attitude for a whole bevy of teenage girls. It has not escaped my attention that we are still two years from double digits for child number one, much less the rest of them. The sarcasm, the eye rolls, the drama: I'd be impressed if I weren't supposed to be helping discipline these little sinners.
My children are also in possession of a lot of Opinions (capital O necessary) about how to hang pictures and put together furniture and serve meals. I maintain the right to ignore all Opinions except my own (and possibly the Man's) and to respond, "Nobody asked you, Patrice!" even though none of my kids will get that reference.
Twinkle's favorite part of hanging family pictures: getting to see Dada whenever she wants.
Blueberry war paint is the in thing right now. I'm trying to decide whether the purposeful face painting is worse than the kid who ate neatly but is still left with startlingly blue teeth.
Toddler nursing: when they pause periodically to pull pieces of chewed up apple out of their chipmunk cheeks and gift them to you. Also, when they get out of bed at 230am, walk downstairs, and scare the crap out of you by waiting right next to your face so that you'll nurse them and put them back in bed. Also, when they signal that they are so over library time by flopping into your lap like a dead fish and proclaiming, "Nur." Thankfully she was momentarily distracted by a bouncy house so that I could get out of there without public indecency (kid has no appreciation for my attempts at modesty...or scheduling...or weaning).
Lego sword fighting: explosions of legos at every sword strike. Some ideas were meant to die early deaths, preferably before one's parents die early deaths by killing themselves stepping on legos that one left everywhere post lego sword fight. And no, lego shields do not fix this problem.
On that note, it's Saturday morning, and I should probably go make breakfast a reality for the hordes before they revolt. And yes, before one of you helpful people points it out, there are no pictures of Bruiser in this post. I have a lot of kids. There will not be equal representation at all times. Life is not fair. But at least there are waffles on Saturday mornings and the hope of a beach trip.
The Man finally bullied me into buying a GPS watch for my runs. He says it's so he and the kids can keep track of me during my long runs, but I know the truth. The truth is that if I get eaten by a bear or alligator, he wants to be able to hunt down and shoot the beast that left him to raise 5 kids on his own. Incidentally, said GPS watch likes to beep at me at various times during the day and tell me to "Move!" Communist. YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! (I totally got up and moved, which tells you a lot about how susceptible to suggestion I am.)
After 5 moves, I've finally figured out my decorating style: just add more books to it. Fixes every decorating problem known to man. Also, I had someone tell me that they had a friend who might actually have more books than I do. My internal response: challenge accepted. Sounds like it's time to take the kids book shopping again...
I gave the Little Man his first sewing lesson this week. He seems highly motivated--and may that so continue. Life skills for the win.
The funny thing about losing stuff that had been placed in large boxes is that you don't realize just what all got lost at the off set. So, as you unpack and set up house, you keep having realizations of "Oh, and that was in that box too..." You also find yourself unpacking and putting away at least three dozen different things that you wish the movers had lost instead. Seriously, movers, you couldn't have lost the pancake griddle that was on its last legs instead of the heirloom family art?
Some of my children, who shall remain nameless, spend their days toting around enough attitude for a whole bevy of teenage girls. It has not escaped my attention that we are still two years from double digits for child number one, much less the rest of them. The sarcasm, the eye rolls, the drama: I'd be impressed if I weren't supposed to be helping discipline these little sinners.
My children are also in possession of a lot of Opinions (capital O necessary) about how to hang pictures and put together furniture and serve meals. I maintain the right to ignore all Opinions except my own (and possibly the Man's) and to respond, "Nobody asked you, Patrice!" even though none of my kids will get that reference.
Twinkle's favorite part of hanging family pictures: getting to see Dada whenever she wants.
Toddler nursing: when they pause periodically to pull pieces of chewed up apple out of their chipmunk cheeks and gift them to you. Also, when they get out of bed at 230am, walk downstairs, and scare the crap out of you by waiting right next to your face so that you'll nurse them and put them back in bed. Also, when they signal that they are so over library time by flopping into your lap like a dead fish and proclaiming, "Nur." Thankfully she was momentarily distracted by a bouncy house so that I could get out of there without public indecency (kid has no appreciation for my attempts at modesty...or scheduling...or weaning).
Lego sword fighting: explosions of legos at every sword strike. Some ideas were meant to die early deaths, preferably before one's parents die early deaths by killing themselves stepping on legos that one left everywhere post lego sword fight. And no, lego shields do not fix this problem.
On that note, it's Saturday morning, and I should probably go make breakfast a reality for the hordes before they revolt. And yes, before one of you helpful people points it out, there are no pictures of Bruiser in this post. I have a lot of kids. There will not be equal representation at all times. Life is not fair. But at least there are waffles on Saturday mornings and the hope of a beach trip.
