Bathroom Cleaning Day

Ugh.....bathroom cleaning day.

Yes, I designate a day to clean the bathroom. Why? Because I hate it so much, I have to psych myself up to do it.

"OK, Shawn. Tomorrow is bathroom cleaning day. You've put it off way too long, so tomorrow's the day. It can't wait any longer. Things are starting to take on a life of their own behind the toilet. It's scary. No more excuses. Tomorrow you clean the bathroom."


Want to know why I hate cleaning the bathroom so much? It's the toilet. With so many males living here, the toilet......gross. I can't even think about it without nausea setting in. I swear they do it on purpose.

"OK, son. It's up to you and me now. With your brother away at college, we need to step up our game plan. Your mom, she's starting to feel a little less needed around here. By making sure the bathroom is a disaster, she will feel better. "


"But Dad...."


"No buts. We're doing this for your mother, son. Never forget that."


"OK Dad, but...."


"Son, just shut your mouth and do what you're told. We'll split the duties. I'll take the toilet. I'm taller and can create more of a splash. You take wet towel and dirty laundry duty. Make sure to leave your wet towels balled up in the corner and stuff some dirty underwear behind the toilet so when I take my morning pee, they will be sure to be part of it."


"Alright, Dad, but I don't think....."


"I'm not asking you to think. Always remember, this is for your mother. Now, go get 'em!"

My Other Blog

I bet you guys didn't know that I author another blog called "Live, Laugh, Blog."

That's right. More sarcastic humor for your entertainment. Aren't you so happy?

Hop on over there and check it out. Leave me a comment or two, if it trips your trigger, and I'll be sure to respond.

That is all.

It's My Birthday Today

Woke up this morning to find this

Handmade birthday card from my daughter

waiting for me on my desk. 

The husband remembered, too, and told me 'Happy Birthday' before leaving for work. AND, my mom and dad called to sing 'Happy Birthday' to me before they left for work. 

All before 7am!

It's the little things like this that make it all worth while.

Smells Like Pickles

The other night, after brushing my teeth, I crawled into bed and snuggled up next to the husband.

"What have you been eating?" he asked with a look of disgust on his face.

"Nothing! I just brushed my teeth. Why?" I responded, a little hurt by his question.

"Your breath smells like pickles," he said, still with that look.

"Fine," I thought. "No sex for you tonight."


I rolled over to my side of the bed and went to sleep. I vaguely remember him asking me what he had done to make me mad as I drifted off to sleep.

A couple of days later, the daughter rudely burst into the bathroom as she's known to do when I'm in there. I was brushing my teeth, and she began to ask me something about this, that, or the other, when all of a sudden she stops and says, "It smells like pickles in here."

Whaaaa??

I spit and rinsed, than asked her to repeat herself.

"It smells like pickles in here. What did you cook downstairs?" she asked hoping it was something she liked.

"I didn't cook anything," I said, narrowing my eyes into slits while clenching my teeth.

She continued on with whatever it was she had come in the bathroom to discuss and left.

I took the tube of toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet to make sure I wasn't brushing with something other than the "Close-Up" toothpaste I had bought. You know the brand. It's the only one that has a cinnamon-y flavor and a silhouette of a couple kissing on the package. I'm the only one in the family that likes this toothpaste, so I'm quite happy to have the tube all to myself, free of the dried toothpaste goobers and lost caps that plague the other tubes in the downstairs bathroom where everyone else brushes.

Didn't Close-Up used to have something about being "kissably fresh"? How the hell is someone supposed to be kissably fresh when they smell like pickles?

Here's an old Close-Up commercial. Seriously. These people must all love pickles.

Missed My Calling

I think I missed my calling. Having kids means a mother has to be a lot of things, but I'm beginning to think that above all else, I should have studied to be a doctor. Or, at the very least, a nurse.

In the last month, we have been to the doctor, for one child or another, more times than in the last two years combined. How easy it would be if I could just say, "Oh, you've got a stomach flu and you'll stop puking your guts out after it runs its course." Or, "That rash is just an allergic reaction to the nickel in your belt buckle. Put this cream on it and take these pills and you'll be fine and dandy in no time."

This knowledge would have saved me $250 in the last two weeks alone!

And don't get me started on the fact that the child with the rash refused to listen to me months ago when the rash first began when I told her to stop wearing the stupid belt. Who knew that continuing to wear it would cause a full-blown, body-wide rash that would itch non-stop, cause a break-through seizure (she has epilepsy), and require a trip to two different doctors and several medications and lotions?

All in the name of keeping her pants up. Sheesh......

The child with the stomach thing will be going to the doctor today. He's missed three days of school so far this week, pukes randomly throughout the day, and complains of heartburn almost daily after eating. Could be something more than a stomach flu, but without that doctor's training, who am I to say?

Never Wet

Look what I found yesterday!

This product will revolutionize motherhood! Imagine, no more stained, dirty laundry. Kids will actually outgrow their shoes before they become so dirty and torn they are unidentifiable as shoes. It will be a dream come true for fellow mothers like me who despise doing laundry.

Check it out.

Isn't that awesome? Dirt and water just run away from anything that is sprayed with this stuff. You can read the article here if you need more convincing that this stuff is the next best thing to sliced bread. Myself, I'm going to buy this stuff by the 5 gallon bucket and dunk everything in it.

I wonder if you can just spray it on the child, from head to toe? Sure would make shower time a lot more bearable.

Fail

Here in Wisconsin, there's a tradition called "St. Nick." Every December 5th, St. Nick comes while the kiddos sleep and fills their stockings.

I know. I know. I don't get it either, but that's the way they do things here. As a child, I always got my stocking stuffers on Christmas morning when we opened gifts from Santa. Santa filled our stockings on Christmas Eve. Once I moved here and had children of my own, I felt compelled to follow the tradition here because I didn't want my kids going to school empty handed when all the other kids were showing off their new treasures.

So.....

Last night at 10:30pm, as I'm climbing into bed, the husband says, "Did you fill the kids' stockings?"

Craaaaaapppp........

"No, I don't even know where the stockings are."

"Well, it's not like you didn't have time to look for them," he says.

Oh no you didn't just say that to me. I know you meant something else less demeaning than that, right?

I drag myself out of bed, shooting a if-looks-could-kill look in the husband's direction as he laid comfortably in bed, without a care in the world. I go downstairs to the basement and begin rummaging through the Christmas boxes.

Nothing.

The stockings were no where to be found. By now, it's almost 11pm, and I'm starting to seethe. I realize I'm mumbling under my breath about how the husband gets to be in bed, warm and comfy, while I'm in a damp, cold basement looking for stupid stockings, as if it's all his fault.

In actuality, it's probably my own fault for not putting them where they belonged last year. I'm good at doing that. I once put a brand new electric fish cleaning knife away at Christmas time (the husband got it as a gift, but it wasn't fishing season so I 'put it away'), and we (meaning I) didn't couldn't find it for years. I believe it was 3 years later when we were packing to move that I finally found it. People get worried when they ask where something is, and I say, "I put it away." Chances are, they will never see it again.

Anywho, St. Nick left the stuffers unstuffed on the kitchen counter just above where the empty stocking hooks glared bare.

This was one of those moments where I wonder if I have any business being a mother. If this were one of the only instances of failure as a mother for me, these thoughts wouldn't enter my head. Unfortunately, I could write a book about my failures.

Hmmm.....I wonder if other mothers feel the same. I have a feeling it could be a best seller.

It's a Conspiracy

I am also convinced that the husband has a plan to drive me crazy, too. It is 6am on a Sunday morning, the only morning I can sleep in, and I am already awake.

Why, you ask?

It's the same every Sunday morning. My body is used to waking up early because during the week, we have to get up early. Sundays are the only day of the week that we don't have anything to do, and sleeping in is the only plan. Unfortunately for me, my internal clock wakes me up at the normal time. This wouldn't be so bad, except the husband apparently has other plans for me.

Once awake, I am greeted with the sounds of a chain saw in my bedroom. Sometimes it's a freight train coming down the tracks, and sometimes the sound is so loud and unintelligible, I can liken it to nothing. Nothing but noise that won't let me go back to sleep.

The husband snores so loudly that once downstairs, I can still hear him! The same thing happens in the middle of the night if I should wake up for some reason. I stand a better chance at winning the lottery than getting back to sleep.

So, here I sit in the 6am hour, bitter that he is sleeping like a baby, albeit a big, loud baby, while I nurse a cup of coffee and try not to think mean thoughts. It's a conspiracy, I tell you. They are all in cahoots to make me crazy!

Ensuing Insanity

I am convinced that a mother's ultimate goal in life is to make it through the chaos without going completely insane. While it's all well and good to say, "My goal is to be the best mother I can be," the truth of the matter is that in the pursuit of that goal a mother is confronted (almost on a daily basis) with obstacles that threaten to squash that dream and drive her mad. If a mother can make it through the child-bearing and child-rearing part of her life and come out on the other end holding on to a thread of sanity and something that resembles her former self, she has accomplished her goal.

Having been a mother myself for nearly 20 years, I find it amazing that I'm still able to comprehend things and keep the drool from running down the front of my shirt. They say children are a gift from God, a blessing. I sometimes think God has a sense of humor and likes to give gag gifts. A blessing, yes. I would never, ever wish that I had never had kids. I do want to be the best mom that I can be for them. But, I really think their goal in life (at least until they grow up and move out of the house) is to drive their parents insane.

Take as an example the time my 13 year old daughter pierced her own nose, after I explicitly told her no when she asked, with a needle.....and no ice! Or the time my oldest son, who at the age of 4, yelled across a crowded bowling alley to his grandma that his wiener was going to get bigger because he ate all of his vegetables at supper. Talk about mortified.....

Yes, these are but a couple of things my children have done to test my patience and endurance. I'm not convinced, however, that they do these things to purposely drive me insane. I think it just come natural. But, combine children with running a household, being a wife, and having a job, and you're just asking for a one-way trip to the loony bin.