Tuesday, September 20, 2011


I'll start this blog by stating that Abraham Lincoln had more fun at the theater than I am right now. My weekend was great. We won a playhouse. We had friends visit. Then everything started to spiral down. As Paul and assorted recruited friends installed the playground in our backyard, some neighbor we have never met comes over to play tattle tale. Apparently, according to him, we are committing a heinous crime by giving our kids a playhouse. We nod, smile and pleasantly ignore him. Monday doesn't fair any better. Christian, with his impeccable male timing, needs a diaper change right as we are leaving for school. (I swear I'll potty train him .... Someday). School drop off complete, I race home to clean, do dishes, laundry, etc. Until I get a call from the school nurse because my delicate little flower of a daughter has a headache. Sorry, not bailing you out of school at 10 a.m. Feeling only slightly guilty, I go about my day. Christian decides to take a pathetic nap that was way too short. Of course, he wakes up crabby which makes me crabby. Sara comes home feeling tired with a nose bleed and a sinus headache. Ok, now we are only 4 hours from bedtime. I can make it. Homework done, dinner eaten, baths begun. Phone rings. We ignore it and finish putting kids to bed and house back in order. Finally listen to voice mail marked "urgent". Note to all, unless you are telling me someone died or I won the lottery, do not EVER mark a voicemail urgent. It will annoy me which no one wants to do. It's the president of the neighborhood association demanding that we immediately remove our cool new playhouse. So, the nerdy neighbor down the road complained. Really, buddy? My kids playing in a new playhouse so annoys you that you have to go and complain to the powers that be? I have rarely met someone is such dire need of a hobby. And, FYI, if you think we are going down without a fight, you are sorely mistaken. I will move my entire family into it and call it our new home before I let you win. Still seething, I try to sleep. No luck. I spend all night plotting ways to overthrow the communist association and annoy the neighbor.

A new day has dawned. Here is how it goes: Send Sara to school with little hassle (a miracle). Feed Christian a waffle. Clean syrup off floor, table, and child. Refuse 11 requests to watch cartoons. Smell something nasty. It's my son's diaper. And pajamas. Race upstairs to clean him. No such luck. Plop him into shower and begin the hosing off process. Note - it took 20 minutes of scrubbing. Then I bleached the tub and emptied the trash. Dry and dress him. Shower myself vigorously to remove even the memory of the nasty experience. Realize I have 13 minutes to make it to school to have lunch with Sara. Throw some snacks in my purse to keep boy calm and fed during the 25 minute lunch period. I really hope nothing else happens because I am at the end of my very short, rapidly fraying rope.

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