Short Circuit

So far this year has started off with some nice little adventures.

Yesterday my car battery died. And it was just when I was already a few minutes late to pick up my oldest at school. Ordinarily this would have sent me into a mad panic, calling numbers at the school and putting out an APB for help. But having been through this 2 other times already, in the exact same scenario, I just sort of laughed.

And my younger daughter just said "The car's not working again? So I can keep watching my show?" And back she went to the TV. And luckily I hadn't woken up my son yet from his nap. It's generally the last thing I do after everything and everyone is in the car ready to go.

A quick phone call to my carpooling friend, some bartering of pick up days, and the problem was solved. Then I sent a text to my husband telling him to FINALLY get a new battery for the car. He's been fighting me on this one but I just put my foot down this time and said I'd be taking the car in the next day if he didn't do it himself (which I knew he'd insist on, so I had him in a corner).

A short while later my husband arrives home with a battery that "could power the Titanic" he says. So now I think we have at least one problem solved.

The other problem has a bit more trickery involved. It seems that about a week ago, a wee little field mouse found his way into the wall of our kitchen and passed on to greener meadows. And while this happens all over the world every day, especially around our house which is surrounded by (and built on) marshland so nature's furry and feathered wonders are everywhere, for it to happen in this exact spot is a bit of a bummer.

How do we know he's passed on, you ask? Well there's a bit of a smell. A foul order that I mistakenly thought was just the garbage after we had shrimp for dinner one night last week. But after days of the smell lingering, and me cleaning every nook and cranny of our kitchen, we knew something was amiss. When my husband made the suggestion of perhaps there being a dead rodent nearby, I knew he was on to something.

So now we had to really start looking around. Or should I say, he had to start really looking around. I made myself scarce lest I throw up a little in my mouth at the thought of it all.

The result came in as it being inside the wall, or else under the cabinets, as there is no behind the cabinets.

Quick haste I made a call to our friendly neighborhood exterminator who we keep on retainer.

That statement is quite sad, really.

But the Orkin guy came out and in a very polite way he told us we were screwed. Just gotta live with it. Keep spraying the Lysol he says. Spray it into the wall if there are holes. Which there were, but they aren't in the area where the specimen might lie.

So my husband decides to cut out a little hole in the wall around the existing one, which is there for a plumbing pipe. And while cutting out that little hole, he also cuts said pipe.

Ooops.

Now we have to shut off the water and we can't use the sink. Or the dishwasher. It's the drain pipe, so luckily there was no leaking or flooding when this happened.

But it made the thought of making dinner a bit difficult. And unappetizing considering the smell we were trying to mask with our candles and Lysol.

"Let's go out to eat" I say. So we all pack up and head out to the car to get dinner out.

Oops.

The battery is still dead and the super duper turbo one is sitting on the ground awaiting it's new home. "I can do this in 5 minutes" my husband exclaims, and he starts digging around his tool box.

In the mean time I decide to put the extra carseats in his car and then call him off the project. Just in time as he's starting to get a bit (more than) frustrated at this point, as evidenced by flying objects in the garage.

But this works out well because then he can swing by Home Depot to pick up something to repair the pipe.

After a fine meal at Chipotle and a quick errand done, we decide to splurge on Jamba Juice for dessert. We arrive to see that it seems like they are trying to close early. We soon find out that their cash register is broken down, so they decide to just start doing everything the old fashioned way, adding it up with a calculator and counting back the change. They are very appreciative of our patience during this process.

Hey, we know what it feels like to have things not really go the way you thought, so we are plenty patient at this point.

After that we head home and my husband is ready to begin his evening of being a grease monkey.

I put all the kids to bed and by that time he declares that the good news is he fixed the pipe and all is well again in the kitchen. Except the stink of course.

But the bad news is he has the wrong kind of battery for the car.

So we keep the old battery in there and my husband charges it up and drives it around for a bit, running a quick errand to the grocery store to get more air freshener.

This morning I'm driving the car and I can't even remember what the numbers are to all the radio stations that I like (since the radio has been reset when taking out the battery). Talk about short circuiting.

Happy 2010.

May we always have a back up plan. And plenty of air freshener.

It Wasn't Me

As most of you know, one of my son's favorite words to date is "poop". It was poop this and poop that. It started out getting such a laugh from his sisters that ever since he's never let it go.

He's even saying it in his sleep lately. Well, let me explain. He'll fall asleep in his car seat just before arriving home, and even though his eyes are closed and the drool is already forming a puddle on his shirt, he'll occasionally open his eyes and attempt to wake up. And when he does, he says "POOOOP!" really loud and with a smirk on his face. Then he'll not his head off in the other direction and go back to sleep. Sometimes he'll even do one or two encores of this before finally settling down into slumber.

Well it seems now we may have a new winner. Although I'm doing my darnedest (notice the use of my child safe language) not to let it happen.

The new word that I'm hearing too often is "dammit." I recently told the story of the first time I heard this while we were on vacation. I heard it a few other times that week, and then it was pretty quiet after that.

Then the other day I was carrying him downstairs and he was mumbling "dammit....dammit....dammit."

Then the rest went something like this.

Me: What did you say?

Him: Dammit.

Me: No, that's not nice. We don't say that.

LONG PAUSE (filled with lots of two year old wheels turning).

Him: Daddy say it.

After stifling my laughter I simply replied "that's not nice...no saying that."

So there you go. Proof that it wasn't me. Sorry hubby, your son ratted you out and now I'm telling the world.

Me Need Sleep

Last night was the third night in a row that our younger daughter has chosen to have an issue at two in the morning.

The first night she came into our room in a fury stating that her sister had taken her blanket from her while she was sleeping.

If I'm not mistaken this was also the night that her older sister had already woken us up at midnight, crying while in the bathroom. Lately she has had these "episodes" that come out of nowhere after she gets up to go to the bathroom. It's like she's not even really awake, but she'll be crying and then she'll argue with you if you try to help her or see if she's okay. And there's not a whole lot of room for rationalizing. You have to just get her back to her bed and rub her back, and she'll drop off back to sleep almost instantly. Strange.

So now here we were at two in the morning dealing with another issue. And if I fast forward this story it would include being awoken a third time about an hour later by my mom's dog, whom we were dogsitting. Twas a lovely night.

So my husband checked out the blanket situation and settled things. Of course that was just before I came into her room saying "Just give the blanket back to her!" which really wasn't necessary at that point, but somehow I was in a sleep-deprived fit myself and I needed to chime in.

There are many reasons why I love my husband, but this one ranks right up there toward the top. He's completely taken on the role of middle-of-the-night-issue-handler. He will get up and deal with the kids, in a calm manner no less, and let me stay in bed. I think mostly he does this because he knows what a bee-ach I can be if I don't get my beauty rest. And many times when I have to get up and deal with a completely inane reason for being awake, I get a wee bit ticked off and come back into the room fuming and unable to fall back asleep. Over the years he's figured out that he's better off handling the situation himself instead of being cursed at upon my return to bed. He's a smart one, that husband.

Plus he can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Almost every time he gets up, he deals with whatever is going on, then gets back into bed and falls asleep within seconds. Usually before I've even gone back to sleep, even when I wasn't the one getting up to deal with the issue.

So the next night that our little girlie woke up, she came into our room saying that it was too dark. Never mind the fact that it was the same as it has been every single night for the last, say, two years. This time my husband went and turned on the bathroom light, even though the night light was already on, and then put her back to bed.

Then last night she came into our room and said she needed her back rubbed.

Now, come on.

Really? A back rub? Gee, I'd love one too. BUT NOT AT TWO IN THE MORNING!

I have a feeling she has now reset the little clock in her adorable little head and it is going off at the same time every night. And the result is an inability to get back to sleep, so she comes to us looking for a little help.

I know the feeling.

Now it's clock resetting time. I'm not sure what bribery I'll come up with this time, but whatever it is it better damn well work.

Me need sleep.

He Just Wants To Be Loved, Is That So Wrong?

About 99.9% of the mornings in our house my husband gets up first with the kids. He's definitely a hands-on dad, getting the coffee made and breakfast ready for each of the kids. This is just one of the many reasons that I love him so. But I digress.

Usually our son begins the morning parade between 6:30 and 7am, shortly followed by our younger daughter.

It's a small blessing that these days our oldest is discovering the joys of sleeping in. Albeit only 30 minutes or so on most days, but she'll dive in deeper if she needs it; up to an hour and a half on a weekend morning sometimes. Which is a major treat if you are used to the young ones getting up when the rooster crows.

It's always a little painful if I have to wake her up at 7:30am on a weekday, but that's going to be happening closer to 7am now that we are headed toward back-to-school time.

I joyfully remember those lazy Saturday mornings when I'd sleep until 10 or 11am as a teenager.

Ah, those days seem so far away now. Waking up to the hazy almost afternoon, knowing that there was nothing to do but hang out with my sister and try to convince my mom to drive us to our friends house or the mall. I'm going to drift off and remember that carefree time in my life when my biggest worry was what I was going to wear to school on Monday.

Mmmmmmmm.

Okay, I'm back now. Ouch. That was a bit of a crash landing.

Come to think of it, crash landing is a good way to describe this morning, when my husband got up at 7am as our son demanded to be released from his cell. Not so early, I know. We are lucky. But still, I just couldn't drag myself out of bed yet.

I guess it doesn't help that he wakes up and cries as loud as he can. I don't remember my other two doing this little routine. I have clear memories of my oldest just talking in bed, having a grand ol' time until we would finally come in and get her. And I'm pretty sure my middle child did this too, although admittedly, the memories start to get a little fuzzier with her. But I know she didn't holler at the top of her lungs.

So there he is crying in his crib and along comes my husband to calm him. And it works. It's the same at naptime. You pick him up and he snuggles in for a good hug and enjoys the ride downstairs to the kitchen.

But then the minute you try to put him down or in his high chair, he screams again. He wants his milk cup, and occasionally he wants food, but most of the time he just wants to be held.

This is where the problems come in. My husband wants to make coffee and get his own morning started, and not just minister to the boy. And I'm the same way in the morning. Especially since I'm not that social when the day starts, which is where this pattern of my husband handling the wake up calls began.

We've got work to do. There are lunches to be made, two other kids to tend to for breakfast, and we mustn't forget the coffee forever getting cold as it sits unsipped on the counter. Plus we always have a dishwasher full of clean dishes that aren't just going to put themselves away now, are they? And lest we forget that we big people also need to consume some type of nourishment as well.

And there's our son, demanding to be picked up. He'll have none of it. He just gets louder with his crying and screaming until you surrender to his demands. Some mornings are better than others, but this is usually the pattern that we have around here.

And this morning was especially loud.

So my husband became a member of the Twisted Sister Fan Club and decided he wasn't gonna take it. He put him down on the floor and let him cry. Then he sat in a chair and tried to get a grip back on his happy place while reading the paper and drinking his coffee. With our son trying to claw his way back onto his lap, piercing the invisible walls that my husband was trying his darnedest to keep up.

This final round of primal screams is what eventually got me out of my sleepy-head state and back into reality. I got my butt down there in a hast and took over the hard core TLC program that my son enrolled in upon birth.

They really ought to put some kind of parent authorization on the enrollment form for that program.

The funny thing is, I just said to my sister last week that I need to start getting up at 6:30am every day so that I can get things done before any kids get up. Like drink my coffee while it's hot, for starters. Then I'd be in a better place when cry-baby our son gets up, soon followed by the other two and all the chaos that ensues.

Somehow I just can't let go of that notion of sleeping in. I want to go back in time to when my mornings were just mine, and my subconscious knows that the best way to do it is in dreamland. So I hear the baby cry and I think "not now mom, I don't want to go to school" and I shove a pillow over my head and go back to sleep. And so far my husband has indulged this teenager like behavior.

But I think it's time to pay the piper.

I gotta get the worm. Rise and shine.

And all that other early morning crap.

These three little people that run around our house really are my kids, proving that I must be one of the adults around here.

And I have to start acting like it.

Yuck.

Can I Get a Happy Place With That?

I really do want to live in the moment with my kids. I do, I do. But sometimes it just isn't in the cards. Those rose-colored glasses get all smudged with sticky little fingerprints and I just can't see anymore. I can't find my patience or my positive attitude. They are filed away in my mental mommy system of emotions and outlooks, and I just can't find them. All I keep finding under "P" is pissed off.

So I say screw it. And I wallow a little. Who doesn't, right?

Today was one of those days. I just couldn't find my happy place. It was lost somewhere underneath the banana-smeared shirt with the tear-soaked shoulders. I think maybe when I put it away last time it got misfiled under "N" for Not Gonna Happen.

So instead I tried to grin and bear it until my husband got home. And that's when all the tantrums and fevers and sweat (did I mention we are in the midst of a heat wave?) came bubbling back up to the surface and unloaded themselves onto my poor, unsuspecting, was-in-a-good-mood-before-he-got-home husband.

Then he lost his happy place too. And they never see it coming, do they? I feel bad. At least I did feel bad for a few minutes. And then I told him to "buck up".

Sometimes I really wish my day could start at the drive through. I could just pull on up to the window and place my order.

"I'll take the 3 year old that follows directions, but hold the whining. And I also need a 6 year old that puts her shoes away and doesn't complain about dinner. And I need a 1 year old that is healthy for at least 30 days straight - can I get a receipt for that one in case it doesn't last for the full warranty period?

Oh, and this time, don't forget my Happy Place."