... when I want to clean the gray grime out of the bottom of the dishwasher and choose to use a green pot scrubber, water, and a little teeny tiny bit of dish soap, I should not run a full wash cycle after.
... bubbles on the kitchen floor seep under the dishwasher and down the hole in the floor and into the laundry room.
... bubbles do not just disappear; they pop and become slippery, soapy water.
... when I want to clean said slippery, soapy water, I should make sure I am wearing slip-resistant shoes... or take off my socks and say, "to heck with it," and surf.
... children love to play in water that has appeared in places it would not otherwise be -- like a kitchen floor.
... Kyle screams very loud when he plays in bubbles.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Adoption
How does one explain adoption to a child?
Shaun and I read Robert Munch's book David's Father tonight. David is adopted and Shaun asked me what that meant. My explanation brought him to tears! I totally didn't mean to upset him. I don't know how I could have worded it differently to make it better.
I told him that sometimes when a lady gets pregnant she decides the baby will be happier/healthier with different people so she chooses to have the baby adopted. The baby then goes on to live with his Mommy and Daddy even though he didn't grow in his Mommy's belly. Shaun started sobbing and asked me if he was adopted and if he grew in someone else's belly. I think that just the thought of him having a different Mommy who isn't me was terrifying!
The only thing that may have made it a little better was when I told him that his best school friend is adopted. I don't know for sure, but this little guy has Asian eyes and 100% caucasian parents. He's an only child and his parents are a little older than the others in the class. Shaun's heading to their house on Saturday to play and I'm going with him so hopefully I'll get the full story then. Regardless, they're a wonderful family from what I've seen and Shaun and the boy get along wonderfully.
Shaun and I read Robert Munch's book David's Father tonight. David is adopted and Shaun asked me what that meant. My explanation brought him to tears! I totally didn't mean to upset him. I don't know how I could have worded it differently to make it better.
I told him that sometimes when a lady gets pregnant she decides the baby will be happier/healthier with different people so she chooses to have the baby adopted. The baby then goes on to live with his Mommy and Daddy even though he didn't grow in his Mommy's belly. Shaun started sobbing and asked me if he was adopted and if he grew in someone else's belly. I think that just the thought of him having a different Mommy who isn't me was terrifying!
The only thing that may have made it a little better was when I told him that his best school friend is adopted. I don't know for sure, but this little guy has Asian eyes and 100% caucasian parents. He's an only child and his parents are a little older than the others in the class. Shaun's heading to their house on Saturday to play and I'm going with him so hopefully I'll get the full story then. Regardless, they're a wonderful family from what I've seen and Shaun and the boy get along wonderfully.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Mmmmmmmm
Shaun's reading has just taken off recently. I keep saying to Craig that Shaun's seems to have just picked up reading because every night, it seems, he's able to read more difficult words. The strategies he's learning in school are really working.
Shaun was telling me tonight after dinner that the letter they were working on in class last week was the letter M; and the Jolly Phonics action to go with it is rubbing your hand on your tummy and saying, "mmmmmm," like you're eating something yummy. His teacher asks the children to give her a word that starts with the letter M. Shaun is telling me that most of his classmates are saying words like Mackenzie (a girl in his class) or Mom. He puts up his hand and when Mrs. McNaughton calls his name, he says MUCUS. MUCUS! Of all the things that start with the letter M, he had to say MUCUS?? I howled with laughter when he told me that because it's just so typical of Shaun; smart-ass. He tells me that he had to think of something to liven everybody up because the Jolly Phonics is pretty boring since he already knows all his letters. Somehow I don't think MUCUS is a word that his classmates are familiar with; especially if they're still learning the sound that M makes.
Shaun was telling me tonight after dinner that the letter they were working on in class last week was the letter M; and the Jolly Phonics action to go with it is rubbing your hand on your tummy and saying, "mmmmmm," like you're eating something yummy. His teacher asks the children to give her a word that starts with the letter M. Shaun is telling me that most of his classmates are saying words like Mackenzie (a girl in his class) or Mom. He puts up his hand and when Mrs. McNaughton calls his name, he says MUCUS. MUCUS! Of all the things that start with the letter M, he had to say MUCUS?? I howled with laughter when he told me that because it's just so typical of Shaun; smart-ass. He tells me that he had to think of something to liven everybody up because the Jolly Phonics is pretty boring since he already knows all his letters. Somehow I don't think MUCUS is a word that his classmates are familiar with; especially if they're still learning the sound that M makes.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Cheese
Two Months Ago
Me: "Kyle, this is cheese. Say, cheese. You're having cheese for snack today. Yummy! Cheese. Ch-eese. Ch, Ch, Ch. Like choo-choo!"
Kyle: "Mah! Mamamamama. Mah!"
One Month Ago
Me: "Kyle, you're eating some cheese. Say, cheese."
Kyle: "Mah! Dah Bah. Mah!"
One Week Ago
Me: "Kyle, do you want some cheese?"
Kyle: nods
Me: "Say, cheese please."
Kyle: nods
Today
Me: "Kyle, do you want some snack?"
Kyle: "Cheese."
Me: "Do you want some cheese for snack?"
Kyle: nods, "Cheese."
I'll be the first to admit that life is so much easier with a child who can communicate what they need and want. IT basically eliminates the need for tears of frustration. But I'm crying tears of sorrow. Kyle's growing up way too quick for me.
Me: "Kyle, this is cheese. Say, cheese. You're having cheese for snack today. Yummy! Cheese. Ch-eese. Ch, Ch, Ch. Like choo-choo!"
Kyle: "Mah! Mamamamama. Mah!"
One Month Ago
Me: "Kyle, you're eating some cheese. Say, cheese."
Kyle: "Mah! Dah Bah. Mah!"
One Week Ago
Me: "Kyle, do you want some cheese?"
Kyle: nods
Me: "Say, cheese please."
Kyle: nods
Today
Me: "Kyle, do you want some snack?"
Kyle: "Cheese."
Me: "Do you want some cheese for snack?"
Kyle: nods, "Cheese."
I'll be the first to admit that life is so much easier with a child who can communicate what they need and want. IT basically eliminates the need for tears of frustration. But I'm crying tears of sorrow. Kyle's growing up way too quick for me.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Little Number Three is One
Kyle. Chubbers. One year ago I met you for the first time. I had spent the previous 40 weeks plus 6 days agonizing over your arrival. I was trying my best to remember every last kick and nuzzle from you before I had to share you with everyone else.
I diligently folded and re-folded your newborn clothes and reviewed the home birth list once a day, double and triple and quadruple checking to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Your brothers talked to you whenever I was sitting quietly. They'd chatter about things they wanted to do with you, talk about the cats and your grandparents, and ask you if you were ready to come out yet.
When that day came, and we all met you for the first time, it was as if you'd always been here. I felt an overwhelming surge of love. You sure were in a hurry once we had all decided labor was stalled. Pooja had broken my water at home hours earlier and I was feeling like labor would never get going. Tub, shower, sitting backwards on the toilet, squatting, walking, stairs, bouncing on the trampoline (really!); nothing seemed to be working. I made the decision around 5pm that we were heading to the hospital. I was tired of waiting and was desperate to meet you.
Melissa drove me and you through the busy rush-hour streets while Craig followed behind in the van and Gramma and Grampa stayed with your brothers. She casually chatted about her first apartment and the park where she found a stray kitten while I desperately wished I had stayed at home for only a few minutes longer; the contractions were coming fast and furiously. I was in agony and wasn't sure we were going to make it.
Finally at the hospital, I paused and braced myself on the guardrail outside the main entrance for another strong contraction. With each contraction I could feel you creeping deeper into my pelvis. I knew you'd be here soon. I held it together in the elevator and groaned as another began when the doors opened. Pooja was already in a room, ready and waiting for me to walk in. It was only minutes after I arrived that I couldn't remain standing for my contractions anymore. Pooja kept wanting to get my blood pressure but I kept getting contractions: one after another. I lay on my left side focusing on relaxing during the intense pulling and tightening, and then would take a moment in between to have Melissa post on Facebook that you were coming or to send someone to find Craig (who hadn't arrived yet!).
My body was starting to take over. I needed to relax. I knew the only way you'd come quicker was if I breathed deeply and slowly and relaxed every part of my body. Eyes, mouth, jaw... Craig flew into the room in a flurry of excitement and apologies of how full the parking garage was and all of a sudden, there you were. Your head was born into my mesh underwear. I was still telling myself to relax as my body was introducing you to your new world. Pooja scrambled and frantically ripped the underwear off me as I yelled that you were coming. Moments later I was able to reach under your arms and pull you onto my chest and whisper in your ear, "Nice to meet you, Kyle." I'll never, ever forget that first moment. You barely cried while I sobbed. A perfect, incredible boy. Little number three.
Those first few days are still quite a blur. We went home hours after your birth and introduced you to anxious grandparents and your big brothers. You slept that first night nuzzled next to me and my breast. You figured out how to nurse right away and ate great. My milk came in quickly and you continued to present wet and dirty diapers. Your eating and dirtying wasn't enough, though, and at 5 days old you were admitted to the hospital for jaundice. I stayed with you in the same room and sang you songs and touched your bare skin when you'd start to cry in the incubator. We bonded and I fell in love hard. I ached to be home with your brothers; it was so hard to know the hospital was the best place for you and to feel, in the same moment, that I wanted to be anywhere but there. While we were in the hospital, time stopped. I couldn't see the ground from our room so I had no idea if there was still snow or if flowers were blooming. I lost track of time and what day it was because of the constant blue glow from your incubator. I was allowed to take you out only to feed you and change your diaper. I did what I could to snuggle and would remove my shirt and nurse you in only your diaper, skin to skin. I'd caress your skin and talk softly. I like to think that my voice calmed you because when your sunglasses would go back on I only needed to coo, "you're okay, Momma's right here," and you'd settle right in for another long nap.
Once we got back home, life was back to normal and a newborn had been thrown into the mix. Shaun still had school, Craig still had work, Ian was still, well, Ian, and I started to feel less and less like myself. I was going through the motions and doing what I thought I should be doing but felt like I just wanted to find a hole and disappear into it. The spiral began. I sought out a counsellor who had experience with post partum depression, started to open up some of how I was feeling to Craig and on here, and slowly found my way back to being okay. Things are much better now but some days I still feel that darkness lurking on the other side of a bad day. Having three children who need me has helped me to push all that away.
And you, Kyle, you have made having three boys so much better than I could have ever imagined. You are patient, sooo patient. Waiting for everything and never complaining. It helps that your brothers try their best to entertain you while you're waiting for me, but even if they're not around you find ways to entertain yourself. You love to play with balls and will throw and chase the green Waste Management one until it gets stuck under something and then come and find me and hollar, "bah, bah," until I figure out where it's hiding. You still have a suckie. A green one and a blue one made by Born Free. And they have to be the ones without handles. I've spent hoards of money on all kinds of other suckies but these are the only two you will accept. If we ever lose them, we're done for. You have a favourite blankie, who as of yet does not have an official name. It's the white one from Shaun's school friend, Vanessa, that has a fuzzy, soft side and an animal print on the other side. You like to rub the soft side in your fingers as you're falling asleep.
Sleep, yes, you're a sleeper. At one year old you still have three naps a day. An hour and a half in the morning beginning around 9, two hours in the afternoon beginning around 12:30, and then another half hour at dinner time. Sometimes I even have to wake you up from your third nap because you'd sleep the night away and completely skip dinner. You've never had an issue going to sleep and are willing to sleep pretty much anywhere... except the car. For whatever reason, you fight sleep in the car until your eyes are red and rolling and your head is bobbing. Then when sleep finally wins the battle, you'll only stay sleeping for half and hour before you're awake and ready to rock n roll.
We've decided your nickname is Chubbers, although Ian calls you Kyle-Boo. He figured out that nickname all on his own and calls you that more than anything. You really are chubby. Moreso than either of the other boys. At one year old you're over 24 pounds and starting to grow out of some of your 18 month clothes.
For the past 2 months you've been crawling. It's like you would practice in your sleep because one evening you just... crawled. No little strides here or there, you just went. Within half an hour you were going from bedroom to bedroom and now you're so fast you can chase Shaun and Ian around the house.
You talk, too. I'd guess you probably have 10 words but it seems like there's new sounds coming out of your mouth every day so it could be more and I just don't realize it. Your favourite things to say are definitely Bye-Bye and BooBoo. Bye-Bye is accompanied by an adorable wave, complete from wrist to fingertips. BooBoo is our dumb fat cat who seems to love you just as much as you love her. Probably because you feed her. Oh yes, I see you feed her even though I'm sure you'd swear up and down that you do nothing of the sort. She lurks under your highchair and you'll casually drop things off your tray and then glance in my direction to see if I noticed. Sometimes if you don't drop things quickly enough, BooBoo will climb onto my chair at the table and nonchalantly put her nose on the edge of your tray as a reminder. Daddy and I scratch our heads over how she never loses any weight even though we continue to feed her less and less; I know why but can't bring myself to make you stop. It's too damn cute!
Kyle, you have brought something to our family that we didn't even realize was missing until you were here. You're completely perfect, completely adorable and completely ours. We love you!
I diligently folded and re-folded your newborn clothes and reviewed the home birth list once a day, double and triple and quadruple checking to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Your brothers talked to you whenever I was sitting quietly. They'd chatter about things they wanted to do with you, talk about the cats and your grandparents, and ask you if you were ready to come out yet.
When that day came, and we all met you for the first time, it was as if you'd always been here. I felt an overwhelming surge of love. You sure were in a hurry once we had all decided labor was stalled. Pooja had broken my water at home hours earlier and I was feeling like labor would never get going. Tub, shower, sitting backwards on the toilet, squatting, walking, stairs, bouncing on the trampoline (really!); nothing seemed to be working. I made the decision around 5pm that we were heading to the hospital. I was tired of waiting and was desperate to meet you.
Melissa drove me and you through the busy rush-hour streets while Craig followed behind in the van and Gramma and Grampa stayed with your brothers. She casually chatted about her first apartment and the park where she found a stray kitten while I desperately wished I had stayed at home for only a few minutes longer; the contractions were coming fast and furiously. I was in agony and wasn't sure we were going to make it.
Finally at the hospital, I paused and braced myself on the guardrail outside the main entrance for another strong contraction. With each contraction I could feel you creeping deeper into my pelvis. I knew you'd be here soon. I held it together in the elevator and groaned as another began when the doors opened. Pooja was already in a room, ready and waiting for me to walk in. It was only minutes after I arrived that I couldn't remain standing for my contractions anymore. Pooja kept wanting to get my blood pressure but I kept getting contractions: one after another. I lay on my left side focusing on relaxing during the intense pulling and tightening, and then would take a moment in between to have Melissa post on Facebook that you were coming or to send someone to find Craig (who hadn't arrived yet!).
My body was starting to take over. I needed to relax. I knew the only way you'd come quicker was if I breathed deeply and slowly and relaxed every part of my body. Eyes, mouth, jaw... Craig flew into the room in a flurry of excitement and apologies of how full the parking garage was and all of a sudden, there you were. Your head was born into my mesh underwear. I was still telling myself to relax as my body was introducing you to your new world. Pooja scrambled and frantically ripped the underwear off me as I yelled that you were coming. Moments later I was able to reach under your arms and pull you onto my chest and whisper in your ear, "Nice to meet you, Kyle." I'll never, ever forget that first moment. You barely cried while I sobbed. A perfect, incredible boy. Little number three.
Those first few days are still quite a blur. We went home hours after your birth and introduced you to anxious grandparents and your big brothers. You slept that first night nuzzled next to me and my breast. You figured out how to nurse right away and ate great. My milk came in quickly and you continued to present wet and dirty diapers. Your eating and dirtying wasn't enough, though, and at 5 days old you were admitted to the hospital for jaundice. I stayed with you in the same room and sang you songs and touched your bare skin when you'd start to cry in the incubator. We bonded and I fell in love hard. I ached to be home with your brothers; it was so hard to know the hospital was the best place for you and to feel, in the same moment, that I wanted to be anywhere but there. While we were in the hospital, time stopped. I couldn't see the ground from our room so I had no idea if there was still snow or if flowers were blooming. I lost track of time and what day it was because of the constant blue glow from your incubator. I was allowed to take you out only to feed you and change your diaper. I did what I could to snuggle and would remove my shirt and nurse you in only your diaper, skin to skin. I'd caress your skin and talk softly. I like to think that my voice calmed you because when your sunglasses would go back on I only needed to coo, "you're okay, Momma's right here," and you'd settle right in for another long nap.
Once we got back home, life was back to normal and a newborn had been thrown into the mix. Shaun still had school, Craig still had work, Ian was still, well, Ian, and I started to feel less and less like myself. I was going through the motions and doing what I thought I should be doing but felt like I just wanted to find a hole and disappear into it. The spiral began. I sought out a counsellor who had experience with post partum depression, started to open up some of how I was feeling to Craig and on here, and slowly found my way back to being okay. Things are much better now but some days I still feel that darkness lurking on the other side of a bad day. Having three children who need me has helped me to push all that away.
And you, Kyle, you have made having three boys so much better than I could have ever imagined. You are patient, sooo patient. Waiting for everything and never complaining. It helps that your brothers try their best to entertain you while you're waiting for me, but even if they're not around you find ways to entertain yourself. You love to play with balls and will throw and chase the green Waste Management one until it gets stuck under something and then come and find me and hollar, "bah, bah," until I figure out where it's hiding. You still have a suckie. A green one and a blue one made by Born Free. And they have to be the ones without handles. I've spent hoards of money on all kinds of other suckies but these are the only two you will accept. If we ever lose them, we're done for. You have a favourite blankie, who as of yet does not have an official name. It's the white one from Shaun's school friend, Vanessa, that has a fuzzy, soft side and an animal print on the other side. You like to rub the soft side in your fingers as you're falling asleep.
Sleep, yes, you're a sleeper. At one year old you still have three naps a day. An hour and a half in the morning beginning around 9, two hours in the afternoon beginning around 12:30, and then another half hour at dinner time. Sometimes I even have to wake you up from your third nap because you'd sleep the night away and completely skip dinner. You've never had an issue going to sleep and are willing to sleep pretty much anywhere... except the car. For whatever reason, you fight sleep in the car until your eyes are red and rolling and your head is bobbing. Then when sleep finally wins the battle, you'll only stay sleeping for half and hour before you're awake and ready to rock n roll.
We've decided your nickname is Chubbers, although Ian calls you Kyle-Boo. He figured out that nickname all on his own and calls you that more than anything. You really are chubby. Moreso than either of the other boys. At one year old you're over 24 pounds and starting to grow out of some of your 18 month clothes.
For the past 2 months you've been crawling. It's like you would practice in your sleep because one evening you just... crawled. No little strides here or there, you just went. Within half an hour you were going from bedroom to bedroom and now you're so fast you can chase Shaun and Ian around the house.
You talk, too. I'd guess you probably have 10 words but it seems like there's new sounds coming out of your mouth every day so it could be more and I just don't realize it. Your favourite things to say are definitely Bye-Bye and BooBoo. Bye-Bye is accompanied by an adorable wave, complete from wrist to fingertips. BooBoo is our dumb fat cat who seems to love you just as much as you love her. Probably because you feed her. Oh yes, I see you feed her even though I'm sure you'd swear up and down that you do nothing of the sort. She lurks under your highchair and you'll casually drop things off your tray and then glance in my direction to see if I noticed. Sometimes if you don't drop things quickly enough, BooBoo will climb onto my chair at the table and nonchalantly put her nose on the edge of your tray as a reminder. Daddy and I scratch our heads over how she never loses any weight even though we continue to feed her less and less; I know why but can't bring myself to make you stop. It's too damn cute!
Kyle, you have brought something to our family that we didn't even realize was missing until you were here. You're completely perfect, completely adorable and completely ours. We love you!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Toddler Impulse
Ian is a toddler and I know that toddlers sometimes have impulses they cannot control, but I think I'm going to have some uncontrollable impulses if his destructive behavior continues!
Without a doubt, Ian is THE most challenging child I have ever come across. He is BUSY, to put it nicely. This afternoon in a matter of minutes he was able to colour on Kyle's highchair with a red crayon, destroy my chapstick, and dump salt all over the salad I had prepared for dinner.
He had a crayon because he had promised me he would only colour on his paper. A little background: colouring on things other than paper has been a major issue for Ian. He's managed to colour on walls, tables, his body, the highchair, my shoes, and multiple books. We've always dealt with his destructive colouring in the past by taking away the crayons for a period of time. Then when crayons are reintroduced we'll review the rules (which he clearly knows and will tell us without us having to say them first). Ultimately he ends up colouring on something within minutes of having his sneaky little hands back on the crayons - or whatever it is he's using. We've tried Aquadoodle even and all he does is open the pen, pour out all the water and then play in it. Even pencil crayons are used to colour books and walls. I'm at my wit's end. I think he's grounded from anything-plus-paper for a very, very long time. Like, until he's 30 I'm thinking.
The chapstick was inside my purse, in an interior zipper pocket which was zipped closed; my purse was zipped closed and sitting on the hall table. It's always been the same rule: don't touch anything on the hall table. Usually there's keys there, my purse and sometimes something that needs to be returned or exchanged plus its receipt. The hall table is off limits. Ian was reading books - or so I thought. When I returned from putting away laundry he was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his finger knuckle-deep into my chapstick tube and his face was covered with shiny, strawberry scented grease. Along with his whole hand, most of his chin and neck, and all over his new shirt.
The salt was partly my fault but again, I think his impulses just take over and he can't stop himself. Ian was sitting on the counter helping me make dinner - my first mistake. I was cutting vegetables and preparing items for our salad and Ian was placing them in the pot or the bowl - wherever they belonged - my second mistake. I use a dish - my third mistake - of Kosher salt and use my fingers to sprinkle it on our food instead of regular iodized salt in a shaker (the reason is for a whole other post) and Ian took the dish of salt and, in a split second, dumped the whole container of salt on the salad. I shouted and asked him what he was doing. He answered that he was putting some salt on the salad. Like, duh, I guess.
So that's my day in a nutshell. Same as all the other days. I spend it tidying and cleaning up and Ian follows behind me dumping and drawing and, well, being a toddler I suppose. It's going to take years off my life, I just know it!
Without a doubt, Ian is THE most challenging child I have ever come across. He is BUSY, to put it nicely. This afternoon in a matter of minutes he was able to colour on Kyle's highchair with a red crayon, destroy my chapstick, and dump salt all over the salad I had prepared for dinner.
He had a crayon because he had promised me he would only colour on his paper. A little background: colouring on things other than paper has been a major issue for Ian. He's managed to colour on walls, tables, his body, the highchair, my shoes, and multiple books. We've always dealt with his destructive colouring in the past by taking away the crayons for a period of time. Then when crayons are reintroduced we'll review the rules (which he clearly knows and will tell us without us having to say them first). Ultimately he ends up colouring on something within minutes of having his sneaky little hands back on the crayons - or whatever it is he's using. We've tried Aquadoodle even and all he does is open the pen, pour out all the water and then play in it. Even pencil crayons are used to colour books and walls. I'm at my wit's end. I think he's grounded from anything-plus-paper for a very, very long time. Like, until he's 30 I'm thinking.
The chapstick was inside my purse, in an interior zipper pocket which was zipped closed; my purse was zipped closed and sitting on the hall table. It's always been the same rule: don't touch anything on the hall table. Usually there's keys there, my purse and sometimes something that needs to be returned or exchanged plus its receipt. The hall table is off limits. Ian was reading books - or so I thought. When I returned from putting away laundry he was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his finger knuckle-deep into my chapstick tube and his face was covered with shiny, strawberry scented grease. Along with his whole hand, most of his chin and neck, and all over his new shirt.
The salt was partly my fault but again, I think his impulses just take over and he can't stop himself. Ian was sitting on the counter helping me make dinner - my first mistake. I was cutting vegetables and preparing items for our salad and Ian was placing them in the pot or the bowl - wherever they belonged - my second mistake. I use a dish - my third mistake - of Kosher salt and use my fingers to sprinkle it on our food instead of regular iodized salt in a shaker (the reason is for a whole other post) and Ian took the dish of salt and, in a split second, dumped the whole container of salt on the salad. I shouted and asked him what he was doing. He answered that he was putting some salt on the salad. Like, duh, I guess.
So that's my day in a nutshell. Same as all the other days. I spend it tidying and cleaning up and Ian follows behind me dumping and drawing and, well, being a toddler I suppose. It's going to take years off my life, I just know it!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Old Mother Hubbard
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she got there
Her cupboard was bare
And so her poor dog had none.
Gee, that seems to reign true in my life today. To rewind, I was due to do groceries on Monday or Tuesday last week. After looking through the freezer on Sunday last week I decided we had more than enough to get us through until Thursday or even Friday and only bought some essentials, like, milk, bread, cheese, and some fresh veggies. Thursday came and I wasn't feeling too well; a cold was coming on and my throat was terribly sore. Friday was deemed grocery day because I was sure I'd be feeling better by then; besides Craig's home on Fridays so I wouldn't have to drag the circus with me.
Friday arrived and I was feeling like a used bag of pucks. My throat was red and inflamed and I was starting to feel like I was getting the flu. You know the kind where your skin hurts, your hair hurts and any amount of standing or walking puts you into fits of dizziness. We also had tickets to go out Friday night (New Year Eve ya know). I made an appointment to see the on-call doctor and get my throat taken care of (thank-you penicillin) and spent the rest of the day in bed. My grocery list lay on the table at the front door.
Saturday came, I was feeling better and grocery stores were closed.
Now it's Sunday. I'm not even kidding you when I say there's no food in the house. If I had my way I would have run out first thing this morning and picked up at least some coffee and milk to get us through breakfast. I managed to dig a juice box out of the camping stuff so at least the kids had juice with their toast; and I had a bag of prunes in the fridge so they had an element of fruitishness. I'm afraid to see the final bill this morning at the grocery store!
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she got there
Her cupboard was bare
And so her poor dog had none.
Gee, that seems to reign true in my life today. To rewind, I was due to do groceries on Monday or Tuesday last week. After looking through the freezer on Sunday last week I decided we had more than enough to get us through until Thursday or even Friday and only bought some essentials, like, milk, bread, cheese, and some fresh veggies. Thursday came and I wasn't feeling too well; a cold was coming on and my throat was terribly sore. Friday was deemed grocery day because I was sure I'd be feeling better by then; besides Craig's home on Fridays so I wouldn't have to drag the circus with me.
Friday arrived and I was feeling like a used bag of pucks. My throat was red and inflamed and I was starting to feel like I was getting the flu. You know the kind where your skin hurts, your hair hurts and any amount of standing or walking puts you into fits of dizziness. We also had tickets to go out Friday night (New Year Eve ya know). I made an appointment to see the on-call doctor and get my throat taken care of (thank-you penicillin) and spent the rest of the day in bed. My grocery list lay on the table at the front door.
Saturday came, I was feeling better and grocery stores were closed.
Now it's Sunday. I'm not even kidding you when I say there's no food in the house. If I had my way I would have run out first thing this morning and picked up at least some coffee and milk to get us through breakfast. I managed to dig a juice box out of the camping stuff so at least the kids had juice with their toast; and I had a bag of prunes in the fridge so they had an element of fruitishness. I'm afraid to see the final bill this morning at the grocery store!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
*Hic*
Shaun's breathing funny. I know why.
Me: Shaun, do you have the hiccups? You're breathing weird and holding your breath.
Shaun: No.
Me: Then why are you breathing like that? You only breathe like that when you have the hiccups.
Shaun: No, Mom. I don't *hic* have the hiccups.
Me: See? I knew it! I know you so well, I knew you had the hiccups before you even knew yourself.
Shaun: That's not true, Mom! I knew *hic* I had the hiccups. I just forgot.
Me: Shaun, do you have the hiccups? You're breathing weird and holding your breath.
Shaun: No.
Me: Then why are you breathing like that? You only breathe like that when you have the hiccups.
Shaun: No, Mom. I don't *hic* have the hiccups.
Me: See? I knew it! I know you so well, I knew you had the hiccups before you even knew yourself.
Shaun: That's not true, Mom! I knew *hic* I had the hiccups. I just forgot.
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