A hunting we will go

I have been working on a very time consuming project for a few months. It's no where near done, but I have a delightful sense of accomplishment for what is finished so far.
When I first started the project it took all my time and left me feeling exhausted. Thankfully I had some salvation! Now that the deployment is over the father-son combo in my house have been trying to make up for lost time, and they share a passion for cooking(!). So for a few weeks they took over kitchen duties. It was PURE BLISS!

Now the tables have changed. Sweet husband decided to end a 15 year relationship with his glasses. And rather quickly the staff at the Warrior Refractive Surgery Center had scheduled a hot date between him and the laser. He has orders to sleep as much as possible for the first 3 days, and to not raise his heart rate for the first week. So basically I have a husband who has to do a lot of resting, and a 5 year old who cannot understand why his Papa is at home at NOT playing with him.

After we returned home from the surgery, Alex helped me put his Papa to bed and then we headed to the kitchen to make grape jelly. That kept us occupied for most of the day.
The next day we had a post op appointment. So Alex spent the morning with a friend and then we had a friend come over for a few hours in the afternoon.
Today I've got nothing.
We could go to the pool... Or bathe the dog... I could take a nap....

Cookies

Do you want to know a secret?

I love baking.

I mean, seriously truely love baking. It's like a spiritual therapy that I get to enjoy twice. Once while baking, once while eating.

I made oatmeal raisin cookies last week. They were soft and delicious. Biting into one of them made me feel like I was suspended on a peaceful quiet cloud. Mmmmm.... Bliss.

In a pure June Cleaver moment, I piled a small plate with the freshly baked cookies, poured a cold glass of almond milk and presented my efforts to the small dictator. After the fourth cookie, the small dictator announced that he was HORRIFIED the cookies did not contain chocolate chips. *GASP* And that the best oatmeal raisin cookies contain no more than one raisin per cookie.

That's what I get for sharing.

Hello. My name is Needs Inspiration

I have a confession.

The domestic goddess in me is on hiatus. She took my motivation with her.

I should fire her since I didn't receive any notice.

There is build up on my faucets. Candle wax on the floor.
There is army equipement taking up more room in my living room, than my actual furniture is. I know where my mop bucket is, I just don't want to acknowledge it.

Over reacting? Never

For some reason dealing with a sleepy, cranky child who just won't go to sleep isn't not high on my list of "relaxing atmospheres".

Bubble baths with candles. Check.

Curled up in the papasan chair with a good book and a quiet house. Check.

Standing in the middle of my street at 2 am waiting for the dog to pee. No, but preferably to trying to calm squalling loaner toddler for three hours until she finally fell asleep.

Just as I began to rethink my plans to ever have sex again, my husband called. Even from the Middle East that man has the talent to talk me down from the edge.

I won't lie. My super power is being able to bottle stressful feelings inside, and then use them to majorly freak out about anything I cannot control. Big, small, it doesn't matter.
Today's freak-out featured topics such as "We're never going to finish paying off our car!", "I'm never going to finish my degree because I can't talk to a real person at UTSA" and "I know you want to homeschool, but all he talks about is his fictational teacher. And I can't compete with her!!!"
Somewhere in the midst of the education related "coversations" I realized that I wasn't frazzled anymore. In fact I would almost call the feeling abducting my body "calm".

Two hours later I went to the airport and picked up some Spring Breakers! So my house is now the refuge for not one. Not two. Yes THREE! Three young people who are of age to need a babysitter.

I love children (obviously), but I can't help wonder if I'm the only one person who manages to add people to her household while sucessfully practicing absintence.

carnations and castles

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch.
Who watches over you?

Not to put too fine a point on it
SAY I'M THE ONLY BEE IN YOUR BONNET
-They Might Be Giants "Birdhouse in your soul" aka "Today's soundtrack"

Somedays I make plans that deep down in my soul, I just know they're destined for failure. Yet for some unexplainable reason, I have to test it.
Today was one of those days.

Surprisingly the part I thought was destined to result in my being banned from a certain part of town, went off smoothly. Of course the "safe playdate" was disasterous.

I took two small children with me to meet with a florist/event designer this morning. I've been helping a friend plan her wedding, and our assignment this week was to pick out a florist and someone to handle chair covers/bows for the reception. Since I am not the bride, bringing children along for professional meetings is a gray area. I can get way with bringing one, but two is questionable.
The children were fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic. It was actually quite surreal. I left the meeting floating on a cloud of maternal pride.

10 minutes after we got home, we had visitors. For anyone keeping count, we are now at 2 adults. A 4-year old (mine) a 13-month old (loaner) a 3-year old (visitor) and a 2-year old (visitor). Almost immediately, everyone not old enough to cross the road by themselves tried to end civilization as we know it. Castles were destroyed. Balloons were stolen. Vehicles were crashed. There was much crying.

But wait. That's not the end.

Instead of cleaning up the spilled milk and crushed cereal after everyone had gone home, Alex and I packed a picnic lunch, harnassed the dog and headed to the park for a picnic dinner. As I watched the sun highlight Alex's big brown eyes, I realized just how lucky I am to have friends that don't mind me bring my child plus an extra to business meetings. Or to have friends that can come visit us, but most importantly, to have the world's greatest 4 year old, and live 2 blocks from a park!

Oh an Ode to Maytag

The Trojans had a horse.

Achilles had a heel.

Superman had kyptonite.

I have laundry.

As I tried to stare down the pile of laundry homesteading on my laundry-closet floor, I had to ask myself how it could be possible for two people to generate so much laundry. I could swear that when we left the house today I only had one load of laundry sitting in the que, yet, when we returned I had three. The only logical explanation is that my laundry has been cross-bred with rabbits.

I started running the washer and dryer with a vengence. Load after load of clean laundry popped out of the washing machine, into the dryer and then onto my bed, where it waited patiently for me to fold it.

I moved it into baskets so I could sleep.

The next day I adjusted the papsan chair and converted it into my new clean-laundry-needing-to-be-folded holding center.

Instead of feeling accomplished, I felt guilty. What kind of June-Cleaver-Wannabe shuffles laundry from one place to another place, perpetually procrastinating on folding and putting it away? A tired one.

I need a laundry gnome.

Daily workouts relieve stress?

My husband and I have a contest going on, to see which one of us will have the better set of abs, by the time he returns from deployment. As I was getting dressed this morning I found myself studying my abs. I actually have nice abs. Unfortunately they are scared of cold temperatures, and are bundled underneath a nice warm layer of, what I like to think of as "The ab quilt".

So while I stare in dumbstruck wonder as my freshly cleaned living room is demolished, within mere minutes of letting the small ones loose, a little demented voice in the back of my mind chants "Tighten your abs Tighten your abs. Tighten your abs.". And, like any self-respecting mother on the verge of sobbing, I do exactly what the little voice tells me.
I tighten my abs as I remove the glass hurricane lamp from the grasp of the visiting 13-month old (while wondering how she manage to get it off the shelf 4 feet above her head).

I tighten my abs as I wrestle wooden blocks and duplos from the dog's grasp and replace it with the nylabone, that clearly isn't as much fun as legos.

I tighten my abs as I scrub peanut butter off of the walls, and search through a sea of k'nex for the right piece to the 4 year old's pirate ship.

I tighten my abs while I prepare 18 snacks for two children.

I forget to tighten my abs when the 13-month old starts eating the dog food, and table dancing.

I forget where my abs are when the 4 year old has a nervous breakdown because his stuffed dog wandered off.

I cannot comprehend the meaning of the word "tighten" unless it is in reference to the grip one child has on another child's hair.

By the end of the day, as I'm sitting down, with my feet propped up, indulging in something containing dark chocolate, I decide before we take off our shirts to compare abs, my dear husband has to drink a 6-pack.

Helpful Household Hint #1

White grape juice is not a suitable alternative for floor polish.

Dear Heloise,

I can't begin to explain how much I appreciate your column in the local newspaper. As a matter of fact I subscribe to the paper just for the pleasure of reading your column and the comics. I have to be careful with how much "news" I actually read, as I have an overactive imagination, and a deployed husband. I'm sure you can understand my reasoning.

I'm getting off topic though. I'm not entirely sure if it's because of the uncanny resemblance you have to my previous preacher's wife, or just because you seem to be reaching out toward slightly-inept homemakers like myself, but I feel a certain camaraderie with you. Well you and Christopher Lowell. Maybe it's because the two of you seem to have the perfect philosophies for Flylady dropouts, again, like myself. One huge cleaning and purging extravaganza a la Christopher, and expertly paired with your household hints. It's wonderful.

Unfortunately I just can't seem to get the knack of being on top of everything. At the same time. As soon as I clean one room, two more need to be condemned. The laundry never stops, and let's not even get started on the pet hair. Forget horror films like "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", a true terrorifying movie would focus on science experiments in the refrigerator, pet hair in places you never imagined it could be, and workout clothes that were forgotten in a gym bag for much too long.

I think my one redeeming quality is that my house does NOT smell like pets.
The truth is, I'm just a May Paring aspiring to be a June Cleaver.