Okay, I'm going nuts, are you??? I've been putting off this blogging thing far too long. There are several reasons, none of them very good, I'm afraid. First of all, I've got my team (Team Jenna, that is) working on a new template for me and--due to some Internet problems in West Texas--we've had a hard time communicating, thus delaying the appearance of the new look. I've been waiting to blog until the new template was up because this one is just so Christmassy. It's grand, true, but it just can't work anymore. (There are, by the way, some new Christmas pictures just below this post, so be sure to scroll down.) That's lame excuse #1 for my having not blogged.
Lame excuse #2: I didn't wanna.
Only good and reasonable excuse: I've been a very good and diligent wife and have been working far too hard to sit around doing frivolous things such as blog. No, really! It's true! January is always the big CLEAN IT ALL time for me. When the Christmas stuff comes down, I go nuts cleaning every inch of everything before the regular stuff goes back up. You may think I'm exaggerating, but truthfully it goes like this: you start at the ceiling fan (which only gets cleaned once or twice a year around here), then you sweep the cobwebs off the ceiling, then the walls, then you clean, scrub or dust in, on, around, and under everything in the whole room, every tiny little knick-knack and beyond. I wash all of the doilies and greenery and such. I even managed to pull the piano away from the wall this time to clean behind and under it! It's usually the one thing that stands its ground. (I've tried several times, but have been unable to budge it. This time I just kept on grunting and groaning and pushing and prying and trying different bodily contortions until I was finally able to wedge it out of there. Wa-Hoo! Yea, me!!!) All of the wood has been treated, the furniture well vacuumed and emptied of all loose change and small toys. Every inch of the living room is spotless, from the ceiling fan right down to the baseboards, and everything in between. *long, satisfied sigh* Ah yes, 'tis a glorious feeling. Of course, that was last week. Living in west Texas, the whole room is quite dusty again now. Somehow, just knowing how hard I worked on it makes it still feel clean, so I'll settle for that.
After the living room, I moved the big cleaning project to the den. Then to the kitchen. Then I took a day or two and did the big sorting and purging of the kids' toys. After Christmas there was just no room to put anything away anymore. (Some grandparents really should be banned from participating in Christmas. They go totally haywire and lose all good sense, piling up more loot than a kid could ever hope to use before they outgrow it.) Then it was on to my office. I just finished this room up this evening. It looks terrific! All except the ceiling fan. Forgot to do that one. But it's too late now! If I were to try to clean it now all of the dust and grime would fall down all over the rest of my freshly cleaned room. So I guess the fan will just have to wait until the next cleaning spree. It's really the only reasonable way to do things. *wink*
Are you bored yet? I am. There's just nothing all that thrilling about cleaning. In fact, the only entertaining thing to go on around here has been the comic relief I receive from my kids throughout the day...
The other day we were all sitting at the table and Joe was absentmindedly nibbling on his toast. He glanced down at it and was shocked at what he saw. "Hey, Mom! My toast looks like Virginia!!!" Strange thing for a 4 year old to say. Stranger yet: he was right--his toast was in the perfect shape of Virginia. Strangest of all: he knew it. Katie wasn't to be outdone, so she began nibbling away at her own toast. "Look, Mom! I made Tennessee!" Did a pretty good job of it, too. Forming states out of their food has been a regular mealtime activity since that day. It got me to wondering if other children out there spend the lunch hour whittling away with their teeth in an attempt to create the shape of Texas out of their sandwiches. Gives a whole new meaning to the term "Texas toast," hu?! (Ba-dum-bum-ching! Sorry, couldn't pass that one up!)
The kids helped me make cinnamon rolls a few days ago. Whoever said that letting your kids help with such things will save you time in the long run (because they'll learn helpful skills earlier on, blah, blah, blah) was out of their gourd. I do my best to include the kids in things like this, but I must confess that it's often because I know I should include them, not because I want to. While I was rolling out the dough Katie started saying, "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!" and running in circles to an unknown destination. She finally found what she was looking for: the napkins. She had to sneeze and knew that if she sneezed into her hands I would make her go wash them... for the 8th time. So she picked up the entire stack of napkins and sneezed into them, rather than just the top one. I was trying to not overreact to that when I turned around to see Joe running the rolling pin up and down his forehead. "JOE!!!! What are you doing?!?!?! Give me that rolling pin! I'll take care of that, you go wash up again..." That's when I noticed Sam, who had both fists full of my freshly rolled out dough. I was about to tell him to unhand the dough before I broke his precious little fingers when I saw Joe (on his way to wash up) step on one of the plastic placemats that had been dropped on the floor and *whoosh* his boot went straight up in the air in front of him and he landed flat on his back with a mighty thud. Mind you, all of this happened in the span of about 30 seconds. What had begun building as frustration in me suddenly came out in the form of teary laughter and I suddenly realized that, yes, indeed, it is absolutely more fun to make cinnamon rolls with the kids than without them. It is NOT easier. But it is certainly more fun. And that makes it worth it all. And somehow, the cinnamon rolls turned out perfect!
Katie has had a particularly clumsy week, even for her. There was one day that seemed to be especially bad. She tripped over the same 4" step from the den into the living room numerous times, each incident ending with a long and lanky girl lying spread eagle in one room or the other. (We've lived here for 3 and a half years; you'd think at some point she'd learn to look out for her usual danger zones.) Same thing happened on the kitchen floor once that day, too--and there's no step there. She hurt her knee doing something or another and who knows what else. Then she and Joe were playing in the utility room (don't ask--I don't know why) and I heard a bad scream. Katie screams frequently and I've learned to judge the differences in tone and pitch pretty well. There's the "Hey, you took my toy" scream. Then there's the, "Ouch, I just did something painful" scream. There's the "I'm just crabby and need a good spankin' and maybe a nap, too" scream. And so on. The scream I heard in this particular incident was an "I'm REALLY hurting this time" scream. I could tell it was the real deal and was going to check on her when she suddenly came flying through the room--I mean right through, and kept on going--wailing all the way. She made another appearance and departure before I could even get my first words out. She continued her running and jumping and screaming and pretty soon I had joined in on the screaming part: "KATIE!!! Come in here and tell me--or at least show me!--what is wrong!!!!" "I ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-an't!" said the blur as it passed once more. I kept yelling at her to come to me and she just kept sailing through the room at warp speed saying "I can't!!!! It hu-u-u-u-u-u-u-urts!!!!!," her voice trailing behind her speeding body. I began to wonder if something might be broken or perhaps even severed--though obviously not a leg. It seemed like a long time (although it retrospect it was probably 20 seconds or less) until she was finally able to come to me and show me the fingers that had been smashed in the hinge side of a closing door. (No serious injuries, in case you're wondering.) The whole ordeal was frustrating, a little frightening to begin with, and all-in-all quite fascinating. I just kept wondering... What must it be like to have absolutely no control whatsoever over one's own body? I don't think I've ever experienced that before. Is it something that training can cure?! If so, how do you set up that training session??? I would really like to be able to help this child out, but there are so many times when I find myself shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders. I don't have a clue what to do with her! Help???
Then there's Sam. I was making lunch the other day and turned around to find him down on his hands and knees, licking the kitchen floor. "Sam!!!" I said, "What are you doing?!?!?" His expression showed a little confusion and a twinge of annoyance as he replied, "I spilled my juice." He was looking at me like I was some kind of a freak for asking such a dumb question--wasn't it obvious?!
*sigh* So the big question of the day is... WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!?!? I'm raising a bunch of little hoodlums who seem to think I'm weird for not understanding when they lose any and all self-control of their own person--or lick their juice up off the floor. ?! I'm doing the work--really! I'm not a slacker!!! I'm really, really, really trying to make decent human beings out of these kids, but I think they're about to whip me. They probably have secret meetings during nap time, planning their next strategic maneuver. "Okay, Joe--it's your turn. Maybe you should tie your bedsheet to the ceiling fan and..." All in an attempt to make Mama snap and end up in the loony bin so they can have free reign of the house.
It's late and I'm bushed. All the more after recounting the events of the past few days. I think I'm going to bed. Right after I go check on those little angels of mine... and make sure they're securely hand-cuffed to their beds until morning! HA!
G'night!!!
~Bec~
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