1. My friend emailed me a coupon for $50 microderm abrasion.
2. I went to a new doctor and left saying "is she old enough to have gone to med school?"
3. A much younger friend said she wants to go see Lady Gaga and it was $600. Her sister (my age) said "That's a new set of tires." All the old people at the table agreed.
4. I don't watch Jersey Shore, and I don't want to.
5. My highlights turned out bright pink, and I actually made my stylist turn them red(ish).
6. I am sad that Leno is getting his old gig back because I can't stay up til 11:30 to watch him!
7. I haven't worn anything but sneakers and Uggs since I took off my summer flip flops.
8. My highlight of the week was finishing the laundry.
9. Music, TV and my family are just too damn loud.
10. I was home by 10:30 on Girls' Night Out.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Dear Pat,
I am not going to reiterate the stupidity that came out of your mouth yesterday. I am not going to let my blog filled with wit and humor (or bullshit and mental breakdowns) become a platform for your hatred and moronic opinions. My readers don't deserve your idiocy and you don't deserve anymore venues from which to spread your venom. However, I am going to take a moment of my day, one teeny tiny moment, to let you know how completely stupid you are. Then I plan to ignore your existence for the rest of my life.
Pat, a group of people who share this world with us are in trouble. A group of human beings with souls and feelings are suffering. An entire city of this world is gone, and with it, 50 thousand people or more have perished. 50 thousand mothers and sons and daughter and fathers and uncles and aunts and friends are dead. 50 thousand people are no longer walking this earth. 50 thousand people that you don't know, Pat, are gone. Forever. 50 thousand people who could be healers, comforts, Christians, Jews, Muslims, friends, geniuses, caretakers and lovers are dead. And, there are probably more that aren't even accounted for. 50 thousand people, Pat, whose lives were cut short. And what do you do, Pat, in light of this tragedy? You sit in judgement. Not of one. Not of two. But of 50 thousand people that you have never seen, met, talked to or know a damn thing about. And you judge them and blame them. Mother Nature dealt them a cruel hand and you blame them for what.... existing? You spit ridiculous notions of deals with the devil as if this earthquake that killed innocent children is somehow a justifiable punishment. And why? Because in 1804 Haiti became independent from France and were no longer forced into slavery. Those bastards! How dare they fight for freedom! Obviously God must be smiting them 206 years later. That ought to teach them a thing or two about wanting to be free! Gotta wonder, Pat. We fought for freedom from tyranny in 1776 and won... when is our smiting? And, we fought to end slavery in 1862... is God coming for us next?
Pat, the reality is that I don't really care what you think. In fact, I don't really care about you at all. You don't enter into my brain on a regular basis at all. The truth is, I know you just about as well as you know the 50 thousand Haitians that you think deserved to die. But, people listen to you, Pat. With that ought to come some sort of moral responsibility to not feed them a load of shit in the midst of this global crisis. An entire city is decimated and you ought to be spouting ways to help and give and support these victims. You ought to be donating your money and your time to the Red Cross and other organizations because you know what, Pat... that is what makes a Christian. Offer prayers of support, offer outlets to grieve, offer something other than hatred and vitriol and then... maybe then... you will deserve the title of Christian and the following that you've gathered.
With forgiveness for your stupidity,
Lynn
PS: In case Pat Robertson isn't the only one reading... if you want to help the people of Haiti (a people who've endured more pain and suffering than any community ever should) please text the word Haiti to 90999 and a $10 donation will be made to the American Red Cross. The money will be added to your cell phone bill, and let's just say... if we can afford cell phones and computers, can't we afford to help someone else? I can. And I did.
PPS: or PSS: I don't know which: In case anyone in Haiti or anyone related to people there happen upon my little post, please know that you have my utmost love and support and prayers. Please, God, be there for these people who desperately need it most. (And, if you wanna smite Pat for talking out of school, I won't judge.) Amen.
Pat, a group of people who share this world with us are in trouble. A group of human beings with souls and feelings are suffering. An entire city of this world is gone, and with it, 50 thousand people or more have perished. 50 thousand mothers and sons and daughter and fathers and uncles and aunts and friends are dead. 50 thousand people are no longer walking this earth. 50 thousand people that you don't know, Pat, are gone. Forever. 50 thousand people who could be healers, comforts, Christians, Jews, Muslims, friends, geniuses, caretakers and lovers are dead. And, there are probably more that aren't even accounted for. 50 thousand people, Pat, whose lives were cut short. And what do you do, Pat, in light of this tragedy? You sit in judgement. Not of one. Not of two. But of 50 thousand people that you have never seen, met, talked to or know a damn thing about. And you judge them and blame them. Mother Nature dealt them a cruel hand and you blame them for what.... existing? You spit ridiculous notions of deals with the devil as if this earthquake that killed innocent children is somehow a justifiable punishment. And why? Because in 1804 Haiti became independent from France and were no longer forced into slavery. Those bastards! How dare they fight for freedom! Obviously God must be smiting them 206 years later. That ought to teach them a thing or two about wanting to be free! Gotta wonder, Pat. We fought for freedom from tyranny in 1776 and won... when is our smiting? And, we fought to end slavery in 1862... is God coming for us next?
Pat, the reality is that I don't really care what you think. In fact, I don't really care about you at all. You don't enter into my brain on a regular basis at all. The truth is, I know you just about as well as you know the 50 thousand Haitians that you think deserved to die. But, people listen to you, Pat. With that ought to come some sort of moral responsibility to not feed them a load of shit in the midst of this global crisis. An entire city is decimated and you ought to be spouting ways to help and give and support these victims. You ought to be donating your money and your time to the Red Cross and other organizations because you know what, Pat... that is what makes a Christian. Offer prayers of support, offer outlets to grieve, offer something other than hatred and vitriol and then... maybe then... you will deserve the title of Christian and the following that you've gathered.
With forgiveness for your stupidity,
Lynn
PS: In case Pat Robertson isn't the only one reading... if you want to help the people of Haiti (a people who've endured more pain and suffering than any community ever should) please text the word Haiti to 90999 and a $10 donation will be made to the American Red Cross. The money will be added to your cell phone bill, and let's just say... if we can afford cell phones and computers, can't we afford to help someone else? I can. And I did.
PPS: or PSS: I don't know which: In case anyone in Haiti or anyone related to people there happen upon my little post, please know that you have my utmost love and support and prayers. Please, God, be there for these people who desperately need it most. (And, if you wanna smite Pat for talking out of school, I won't judge.) Amen.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sanity Check
OK, so I think I might be depressed. I am not really sure how you know you are depressed, so I am relying on a TV commercial for a depression medication and it said that I am. So, I think I must be. It said that if I were depressed, I would want to lay in bed all day. CHECK. If I were depressed, I would either never eat or eat all the time. CHECK on the latter option. If I were depressed, I would avoid social situations. CHECK again. Uh oh.
I really do want to lay in bed all day. I tried to on Friday, and I would have succeeded too, if it weren't for those pesky kids. I stayed in bed a good chunk of Saturday morning, and I totally stayed in bed til like 11a on Sunday. And today, I was up with Jack at 6:44a, but I went back to bed at 8:00a and stayed until Mark made it really clear that he WAS going to work and therefore I HAD to actually get back out of bed and raise our kids. Stupid Mark and his stupid work ethic. And now that Jack is napping and Will is playing trains, I am thinking about sneaking back up to the feathery goodness that is my bed. So, am I depressed? Or, am I just recovering from a virus and tired from our all nighter thanks to Jack's stomach pyrotechnics. The commercial didn't answer me when I asked about extenuating circumstances.
I eat. A lot. Evidence? See blog number two, the diet blog, that was abandoned after a two week stint of healthy eating. They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels? I say, have you ever had my mom's lamb chops? It tastes pretty darn good. But, I tend to eat the same amount whether or not I am happy, sad, tired, angry or mad. Like the postman, I am nothing if not dependable. So, are my food issues depression? Or, are they hunger coupled with poor portion control? I kinda wish it was depression.... then there would be light at the end of my fat tunnel.
And, I do avoid social situations. Although, only with people I don't want to be social with. So, what does that tell me? I don't enjoy making new friends, so if a social occasion requires that I talk to people I don't already know and like, then I am not interested. There, I said it. I have a core group of good friends that I really like spending time with. Anyone else... not so much. I don't do small talk. I don't fake nice for long before I just give up and show my real personality which tends to send people running for the hills. And, I don't want to be around people where I have to feel impressive. I am not a performing monkey... I don't want to be funny on command and I don't want to explain why I may or may not be wearing my florescent red streaked hair in pigtails today. I am. Why? Because I wanted to and guess what, my friends already know I am weird, so I don't care if this solidifies it for them.
Beside the commercial's diagnosis, I have wondered off and on if I have something wrong with my noggin (and yes, more than just the pigtails). Life with a certain 10 year old is weighing heavily on me right now, and I often wonder if it would be easier if I were medicated. But, is it depression that is making it rough, or is it the obstinate 10 year old who can't get it together? If there was a medication for her, believe me, she'd be on it already. I don't sit around my house crying, but there are times, like last night when I climbed the stairs for bed that I truly thought my life was pathetic. Every day is exactly the same and I accomplish nothing. (I know... insert "you're doing the hardest, bestest job on earth" crap here). I love my kids, and I mean LOVE. I love, love, love them and I cannot imagine my life without them. I am still in the phase that when I am gone for awhile, like for an evening to see dinner and a movie, I actively miss them. I was so used to Will sleeping with us for part of the night that I actively miss him there sometimes (although when he joined us last night for half the night, I actively wished he would go back to his own stinking bed, and/or quit putting his foot, butt or head on my face). So, I wonder... is this normal to sit here and wonder if this is really as good as it gets... or is the commercial right and I need some help?
And really... if the TV is talking to me, isn't that the answer right there????
I really do want to lay in bed all day. I tried to on Friday, and I would have succeeded too, if it weren't for those pesky kids. I stayed in bed a good chunk of Saturday morning, and I totally stayed in bed til like 11a on Sunday. And today, I was up with Jack at 6:44a, but I went back to bed at 8:00a and stayed until Mark made it really clear that he WAS going to work and therefore I HAD to actually get back out of bed and raise our kids. Stupid Mark and his stupid work ethic. And now that Jack is napping and Will is playing trains, I am thinking about sneaking back up to the feathery goodness that is my bed. So, am I depressed? Or, am I just recovering from a virus and tired from our all nighter thanks to Jack's stomach pyrotechnics. The commercial didn't answer me when I asked about extenuating circumstances.
I eat. A lot. Evidence? See blog number two, the diet blog, that was abandoned after a two week stint of healthy eating. They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels? I say, have you ever had my mom's lamb chops? It tastes pretty darn good. But, I tend to eat the same amount whether or not I am happy, sad, tired, angry or mad. Like the postman, I am nothing if not dependable. So, are my food issues depression? Or, are they hunger coupled with poor portion control? I kinda wish it was depression.... then there would be light at the end of my fat tunnel.
And, I do avoid social situations. Although, only with people I don't want to be social with. So, what does that tell me? I don't enjoy making new friends, so if a social occasion requires that I talk to people I don't already know and like, then I am not interested. There, I said it. I have a core group of good friends that I really like spending time with. Anyone else... not so much. I don't do small talk. I don't fake nice for long before I just give up and show my real personality which tends to send people running for the hills. And, I don't want to be around people where I have to feel impressive. I am not a performing monkey... I don't want to be funny on command and I don't want to explain why I may or may not be wearing my florescent red streaked hair in pigtails today. I am. Why? Because I wanted to and guess what, my friends already know I am weird, so I don't care if this solidifies it for them.
Beside the commercial's diagnosis, I have wondered off and on if I have something wrong with my noggin (and yes, more than just the pigtails). Life with a certain 10 year old is weighing heavily on me right now, and I often wonder if it would be easier if I were medicated. But, is it depression that is making it rough, or is it the obstinate 10 year old who can't get it together? If there was a medication for her, believe me, she'd be on it already. I don't sit around my house crying, but there are times, like last night when I climbed the stairs for bed that I truly thought my life was pathetic. Every day is exactly the same and I accomplish nothing. (I know... insert "you're doing the hardest, bestest job on earth" crap here). I love my kids, and I mean LOVE. I love, love, love them and I cannot imagine my life without them. I am still in the phase that when I am gone for awhile, like for an evening to see dinner and a movie, I actively miss them. I was so used to Will sleeping with us for part of the night that I actively miss him there sometimes (although when he joined us last night for half the night, I actively wished he would go back to his own stinking bed, and/or quit putting his foot, butt or head on my face). So, I wonder... is this normal to sit here and wonder if this is really as good as it gets... or is the commercial right and I need some help?
And really... if the TV is talking to me, isn't that the answer right there????
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The pee isn't on my leg after all...
So, let me tell you the kind of person I've become. I am now the kind of person that has dried urine on the floor of the bathroom AND I am the kind of person who doesn't clean it up. Oh yes... My name is Lynn and I keep pee stains for fun.
Before I was pregnant, I think around the time that Mark and I were engaged, I went to lunch with some friends and saw two moms that I swore I would never be. They were toting their babies into the mexican restaurant in their sweats and dirty t shirts, and they plopped their kids in their high chairs while they ordered themselves the largest margaritas on the menu. I laughed at those slovenly women and mocked their sweats and stains thinking that I would never be that kind of mother. Well, scoot over gals, because I belong in your club today.... except I don't even have the margarita.
I went into the downstairs bathroom this morning to use the potty when I saw a dried stain at the base of the commode that could only be one thing. Wee. Will's wee wee that didn't hit the potty. Well, I suppose it could be Mark's but in order to protect my marriage and not go running for the nearest divorce attorney, I will just assume it's Will's. I was repulsed, but peed anyway vowing to get the cleaner and do the floor as soon as I zipped my pants. Well, I zipped. Then I realized it was almost time to leave and it's super snowy so I really had to skedaddle and I moved on to the preschool commute instead of pee patrol. Hours later I return to the same bathroom to do the same activity and again... there's the pee puddle. Dried puddle. Puddle remains, perhaps. I say to myself "Self, I can't believe you forgot to clean that, you nasty gross person" and again I vow to 409 my floor the second I walk out my bathroom door. But, then Will is screaming for lunch and I suggest tuna and I forgot about the bio hazard living peacefully on the bathroom floor. Again. Two hours later, I go into the bathroom to help Will with his pants and again there is that yellowy crusty reminder that I am disgusting. I am now that mom that is so frazzled by her children and her life that I cannot focus on cleaning the stain that I keep seeing. I have finally hit that stage of being gross that not only do I have urine on my floor, but I am so gross that it was there for the better part of the day and I just left it there.
Yes, my name is Lynn and I am that mom.
Before I was pregnant, I think around the time that Mark and I were engaged, I went to lunch with some friends and saw two moms that I swore I would never be. They were toting their babies into the mexican restaurant in their sweats and dirty t shirts, and they plopped their kids in their high chairs while they ordered themselves the largest margaritas on the menu. I laughed at those slovenly women and mocked their sweats and stains thinking that I would never be that kind of mother. Well, scoot over gals, because I belong in your club today.... except I don't even have the margarita.
I went into the downstairs bathroom this morning to use the potty when I saw a dried stain at the base of the commode that could only be one thing. Wee. Will's wee wee that didn't hit the potty. Well, I suppose it could be Mark's but in order to protect my marriage and not go running for the nearest divorce attorney, I will just assume it's Will's. I was repulsed, but peed anyway vowing to get the cleaner and do the floor as soon as I zipped my pants. Well, I zipped. Then I realized it was almost time to leave and it's super snowy so I really had to skedaddle and I moved on to the preschool commute instead of pee patrol. Hours later I return to the same bathroom to do the same activity and again... there's the pee puddle. Dried puddle. Puddle remains, perhaps. I say to myself "Self, I can't believe you forgot to clean that, you nasty gross person" and again I vow to 409 my floor the second I walk out my bathroom door. But, then Will is screaming for lunch and I suggest tuna and I forgot about the bio hazard living peacefully on the bathroom floor. Again. Two hours later, I go into the bathroom to help Will with his pants and again there is that yellowy crusty reminder that I am disgusting. I am now that mom that is so frazzled by her children and her life that I cannot focus on cleaning the stain that I keep seeing. I have finally hit that stage of being gross that not only do I have urine on my floor, but I am so gross that it was there for the better part of the day and I just left it there.
Yes, my name is Lynn and I am that mom.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The Obligatory New Year's Resolution Post
So, today is New Year's Eve which means everyone across the world needs to start making promises to themselves that they already know they are not going to keep. In honor of that outstanding tradition of starting the new year off with failure and disappointment... here is my list.
1. I resolve to no longer make myself feel better at the expense of others. For example, I will not look at the moms at preschool who are dropping their kids off while they are still in their pajama bottoms and shake my head in disgust. Instead, I will simply admit that while they look utterly ridiculous in their tartan plaids (or worse, in their cartoon festooned bagginess), I will appreciate their need for comfort and pray for all of the world's scientists to finally invent a stain remover that can take out the grape juice stain that's been on their t-shirts since September.
2. I will no longer make snap judgements about people. For example, I will not immediately think "psycho, idiot, loser who should be forcibly sterilized" when I hear about a mother of six intentionally having eight more kids. And, I will not decide that people are trashy and gross based on their hair colors, teeth or lack thereof, wife beater tanks or affinity for NASCAR racing.
3. I will no longer watch worthless television. I will give up my addiction to reality tv and all of the idiocy that comes with it. I will save myself the torment of listening to the Kardashians in all of their "OMG, I am so hot" glory (and I will not scream at the tv that OMG isn't actually a word, so quit saying it like it is!!!! ) and I will no longer sit transfixed in front of the boob tube when drunken college students live in a house with seven strangers and declare their love for their boyfriends/girlfriends at home while simultaneously sleeping with every person in the house (usually both genders).
4. I will actually post blog entries more often than once a month. Let's face it... I am really just sitting on the couch watching DVRed reality tv from the night before, so now that I am giving that up, I will have more time to spill my inner most thoughts across the globe... or to the three of you that read it.
5. I will have more tolerance for stupid people. It's not their fault that they are idiots. I blame myself for being able to count to 12 before getting in the express check out lane, or for realizing that if you're in the left turn lane, you ought to turn left instead of sitting there through the entire light hoping to merge into the right lane when in reality no one is going to let you. My bad. Instead of mocking these unfortunate souls, I will work with state and federal governments to pick a state (probably Montana... it's big and pretty empty) and banish all the morons there and throw away the key. Actually, we probably wouldn't have to lock the fences because they won't be smart enough to try the door anyway. Or wait... Gitmo is empty now, right? Apparently you can house people there for years with no concern for civil rights.
6. I will no longer laugh and/or run for a camera and take a picture when my kids are either hurt or doing something potentially dangerous. I will strive to be the kind of parent people don't want to call CPS on.
7. I will quit making promises that I know I am not going to keep. So, no... I will not attend your Pampered Chef party... so don't ask and I won't have to tell you that I'll try to make it when I have no intention of coming. And no, I will not keep any of these resolutions, but at least I had the good intentions of writing them out. That ought to count for something, right?
1. I resolve to no longer make myself feel better at the expense of others. For example, I will not look at the moms at preschool who are dropping their kids off while they are still in their pajama bottoms and shake my head in disgust. Instead, I will simply admit that while they look utterly ridiculous in their tartan plaids (or worse, in their cartoon festooned bagginess), I will appreciate their need for comfort and pray for all of the world's scientists to finally invent a stain remover that can take out the grape juice stain that's been on their t-shirts since September.
2. I will no longer make snap judgements about people. For example, I will not immediately think "psycho, idiot, loser who should be forcibly sterilized" when I hear about a mother of six intentionally having eight more kids. And, I will not decide that people are trashy and gross based on their hair colors, teeth or lack thereof, wife beater tanks or affinity for NASCAR racing.
3. I will no longer watch worthless television. I will give up my addiction to reality tv and all of the idiocy that comes with it. I will save myself the torment of listening to the Kardashians in all of their "OMG, I am so hot" glory (and I will not scream at the tv that OMG isn't actually a word, so quit saying it like it is!!!! ) and I will no longer sit transfixed in front of the boob tube when drunken college students live in a house with seven strangers and declare their love for their boyfriends/girlfriends at home while simultaneously sleeping with every person in the house (usually both genders).
4. I will actually post blog entries more often than once a month. Let's face it... I am really just sitting on the couch watching DVRed reality tv from the night before, so now that I am giving that up, I will have more time to spill my inner most thoughts across the globe... or to the three of you that read it.
5. I will have more tolerance for stupid people. It's not their fault that they are idiots. I blame myself for being able to count to 12 before getting in the express check out lane, or for realizing that if you're in the left turn lane, you ought to turn left instead of sitting there through the entire light hoping to merge into the right lane when in reality no one is going to let you. My bad. Instead of mocking these unfortunate souls, I will work with state and federal governments to pick a state (probably Montana... it's big and pretty empty) and banish all the morons there and throw away the key. Actually, we probably wouldn't have to lock the fences because they won't be smart enough to try the door anyway. Or wait... Gitmo is empty now, right? Apparently you can house people there for years with no concern for civil rights.
6. I will no longer laugh and/or run for a camera and take a picture when my kids are either hurt or doing something potentially dangerous. I will strive to be the kind of parent people don't want to call CPS on.
7. I will quit making promises that I know I am not going to keep. So, no... I will not attend your Pampered Chef party... so don't ask and I won't have to tell you that I'll try to make it when I have no intention of coming. And no, I will not keep any of these resolutions, but at least I had the good intentions of writing them out. That ought to count for something, right?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
It Takes a Little Push....
I am admitting it here and now... I did it. I was frustrated. I was annoyed. And I did it. I punished my son in the most evil of ways. Forgive me, blogisphere, for I have sinned. First, I ripped him out of a peaceful and serene slumber. Then I shoved him into constrictive clothing from head to toe. Clothing designed to squeeze every last drop of moisture out of your skin by wrapping you in 14 tons of cottony insulation. Then, I put him in subarctic temperatures and pushed him down a steep incline. Actually, I wasn't the pusher. That individual sin is not mine. I was the orderer.... Mark was the executioner. I said push and Mark... he pushed. Yes, friends who now despise me for my evil ways, I admit it. I made my son go sledding.
For whatever reason, Will decided that sledding was a fate worse than death. He was napping when all of his cousins were going and I thought, why make him miss out on this fun activity with the kids? I got him up and shoved him into snow pants, boots, a puffer coat and gloves until he resembled poor Randy Parker who couldn't put his arms down. And, just in case you thought this was a peaceful torture, let me just tell you this. He did not go quietly. He screamed. He cried. He fought those boots like there were hot coals stuffed inside. But, Mommy knows best. I felt certain that once he got out there, he would love it. So, I mummified my little boy and sent him into the darkness for a round of night sledding.
He cried.
Mark sent him down the hill anyway.
He smiled and said "that was fun."
Mark took him to the top and said let's go again.
Will cried and begged for mercy. Luckily, mercy was granted. Back into the warm car and back to Great Grandma's house he went. One trip down the hill and then back home where he was able to shed his layers and finally stop the madness. One trip down the hill for all of our blood, sweat and tears that went into the sledding adventure. One trip. That's it.
Even though it didn't go well, I am not sorry for the torture I've inflicted. I'm sure I will be when I have to pay the future therapy bills that this debacle will undoubtedly require, but for now I am not ashamed. Hear that, Dr. Phil? I am not ashamed. How will little kids ever decide what they like and what they don't if you don't... well.... give them a little push? Earlier that day Will went nuts about going swimming, but the second his little tootsies hit the water, he was off and swimming like a guppy. Well, like a guppy who has to wear an inflatable ring. If I would have given in to that bout of fear, he would have missed out on a super fun afternoon. Sledding could have been the same way. He could have sailed down that hill in his Rubbermaid tub (yes, we are that ghetto) and gone 100 more times. Or, he could go down once and beg for his life and promise to sacrifice his first born child to get out of going again. Either way, I am not ashamed of a little forced experimentation. That's how brave boys are made. Or, if nothing else that's what I will say when CPS shows up to take him away from me.
For whatever reason, Will decided that sledding was a fate worse than death. He was napping when all of his cousins were going and I thought, why make him miss out on this fun activity with the kids? I got him up and shoved him into snow pants, boots, a puffer coat and gloves until he resembled poor Randy Parker who couldn't put his arms down. And, just in case you thought this was a peaceful torture, let me just tell you this. He did not go quietly. He screamed. He cried. He fought those boots like there were hot coals stuffed inside. But, Mommy knows best. I felt certain that once he got out there, he would love it. So, I mummified my little boy and sent him into the darkness for a round of night sledding.
He cried.
Mark sent him down the hill anyway.
He smiled and said "that was fun."
Mark took him to the top and said let's go again.
Will cried and begged for mercy. Luckily, mercy was granted. Back into the warm car and back to Great Grandma's house he went. One trip down the hill and then back home where he was able to shed his layers and finally stop the madness. One trip down the hill for all of our blood, sweat and tears that went into the sledding adventure. One trip. That's it.
Even though it didn't go well, I am not sorry for the torture I've inflicted. I'm sure I will be when I have to pay the future therapy bills that this debacle will undoubtedly require, but for now I am not ashamed. Hear that, Dr. Phil? I am not ashamed. How will little kids ever decide what they like and what they don't if you don't... well.... give them a little push? Earlier that day Will went nuts about going swimming, but the second his little tootsies hit the water, he was off and swimming like a guppy. Well, like a guppy who has to wear an inflatable ring. If I would have given in to that bout of fear, he would have missed out on a super fun afternoon. Sledding could have been the same way. He could have sailed down that hill in his Rubbermaid tub (yes, we are that ghetto) and gone 100 more times. Or, he could go down once and beg for his life and promise to sacrifice his first born child to get out of going again. Either way, I am not ashamed of a little forced experimentation. That's how brave boys are made. Or, if nothing else that's what I will say when CPS shows up to take him away from me.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Merry Freakin' Christmas
Christmas is in a day and a half and let me paint a picture for you... A little foray into my world and how that world operates.
I have purchased what feels like 1,000 Christmas gifts. My bank account has hemorrhaged and is circling the drain, but my kids will have a great Christmas. Will has Rocky the Robot truck waiting from Santa, Jack could care less but will love his Nintendog and Tabbi got the Barbie Nail Printer thingy that she was "OMG! DYING!!! FOR!!!" Merry Christmas to all, and my God can I go to bed now?!?!?! I even bought the stocking stuffers and Xmas jammies and visions of sugar plums are even starting to dance around my head (is that the Christmas spirit or my Christmas martinis talking???). I walk into my house today after getting the boys their Christmas haircuts and life is good. Nap time equals finish my book time because I am a woman that is completely in control and caught up.
Then I walk into the closet and wonder why in the hell the freaking closet shelf had to freaking fall down and scatter every freaking Christmas present between here and freaking kingdom come, meaning that I can't freaking read my book because I have to freaking find a new home for every freaking present I've purchased. Uh huh... bah humbug doesn't even begin to describe it.
I have purchased what feels like 1,000 Christmas gifts. My bank account has hemorrhaged and is circling the drain, but my kids will have a great Christmas. Will has Rocky the Robot truck waiting from Santa, Jack could care less but will love his Nintendog and Tabbi got the Barbie Nail Printer thingy that she was "OMG! DYING!!! FOR!!!" Merry Christmas to all, and my God can I go to bed now?!?!?! I even bought the stocking stuffers and Xmas jammies and visions of sugar plums are even starting to dance around my head (is that the Christmas spirit or my Christmas martinis talking???). I walk into my house today after getting the boys their Christmas haircuts and life is good. Nap time equals finish my book time because I am a woman that is completely in control and caught up.
Then I walk to my room.
Then I wonder why Chuck My Talking Truck is in the middle of the floor.
Then I wonder why Jack's Carpenter table is in the closet doorway.
Then I walk into the closet and wonder why in the hell the freaking closet shelf had to freaking fall down and scatter every freaking Christmas present between here and freaking kingdom come, meaning that I can't freaking read my book because I have to freaking find a new home for every freaking present I've purchased. Uh huh... bah humbug doesn't even begin to describe it.
Merry FREAKING Christmas, everybody... and Happy FREAKING New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
