Wow. Today was one of those days when I just wanted to pull my hair out...and I actually think I tried to at one point. It started out okay. I woke up on time, was able to get ready without any major catastrophes, and even got the boys ready on time. Things were going my way. Until I pulled out of my garage. I had to drive Carl's truck today because he took my car in to get an estimate with a body shop (I got rear-ended a few weeks ago) I hate driving his truck. It's fairly big, which makes things like parking...which I am already hideous at...even harder. Plus, it's really hard to get the boys in and out of the truck. Plus, I kinda feel out of character in it. Like a tough, deer huntin' and muddin' kind of girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's far from me. Plus, you have to turn the key in the ignition about three times before it actually starts. Which is quite embarrassing because of the awful squealing sound it makes when it won't start. But, he was doing me a favor by taking it in for me, so I didn't complain. Except here on the blog. Anyways, I turned the truck on, threw it in reverse, and gunned it. I admit I do kind of like hearing the loud pipes roar. Kind of makes me feel powerful. Or redneck. Well, the sound of the pipes were followed by a crash. I had failed to remember that when I'm pulling out in Carl's truck, I have to pay close attention to the side mirror. This resulted in one less side mirror on Carl's truck. Sad thing is, the is not the first side mirror which I have decapitated.
It was shattered and left dangling by a small wire. I sat there with the truck running, contemplating telling Carl now or later. I decided there's no time like the present. So, I called him and told him to come outside and that he was going to kill me. When he came outside, he had a disgusted look. But, it seemed he was looking past me. In the side mirror drama, I had failed to notice that ten panels of our fence were now scattered across our yard, instead of standing nicely in a row like fences do. As if that wasn't bad enough, our basketball goal was snapped in half at the base. (we had a windy, stormy night last night) What a moment for me to show Carl the mirror. He didn't really have much to say except that we had about a thousand dollars worth of damage on our hands. Sweet.
So, I got to school in a fairly grumpy mood. Things just got worse from there...most of which I am not going to explain because requisitions and purchase orders would probably bore you to death. By lunchtime I was feeling a little better. I had an email from a teacher that was wanting some specific books checked out. My day suddenly brightened. "This I can do!", I thought. So, I gathered the books and even put them in this cute little cart that I haven't had a chance to use yet. I happily headed down the hallway to deliver her books at the other end of the building. Most of our hallway is hard floor except when you get to the first grade area. Well, now I know my cute little cart cannot make the switch from hard floor to carpet successfully. No, the little piece that seperates the two different floor surfaces was too much for the little cart to handle. It suddenly toppled forward, taking me with it. I landed on my belly, on top of the cart. The twenty-five books were sprawled out all over the floor. I jumped up immediately and looked around. The hallway was clear, so that was a relief. There had been no witnesses to my clumsy fall. I guess that was one positive thing from the day.
Oh, and I failed to mention that last night was the precursor to today's events. Yesterday evening as Cale was playing with the dollar store helium balloon I bought for him, I suddenly heard a loud sound. The balloon had become tangled in the fan and somehow caused the bowl that was covering the lights to shatter. So that great dollar store purchase has now cost us about forty dollars. Sweet.
Oh well, there were some good points in the day. Like when Cale climbed in our bed this morning to watch cartoons because the storm had woken us all up earlier than usual. Or when our babysitter opened the door this afternoon and I got to hear Cale happily screaming, "Mommy! My mommy!" as he hugged my legs. Or the moment when I scooped Keaton up in my arms to take him home from Nonna's after being away from him all day. Or the moment when Cale came running back in Keaton's room because he forgot to kiss his "brudder" goodnight and tell him a very sincere and sweet, "I love you". I guess those were all pretty good moments. They kind of out weigh the bad.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
My blogging has been hit or miss these days. More miss, lately. I feel like I've left out many good things from the summer, but I guess that's the way it goes. I'm back at work now...my official first day was last Monday. I'm in the library this year, which is why I started a little early. I'm absolutely loving it so far, although I am a bit overwhelmed with the newness of everything. I hate not knowing how to do things. But, I'm learning and I think that is what I'll be doing all year.
Over the summer I had forgotten about how hard it is having everything "together" once school starts. Not that I ever have it all together, but more so in the summer and on weekends. Getting home at 4:30, wanting to just play and love on the boys (which I do) but also needing to start dinner and put away the laundry or empty the dishwasher that I left on earlier in the morning. And speaking of mornings...they are brutal. The alarm clock rings at 5:15, shortly followed by the sound of a crying six-month old; rushing out of a pitiful excuse for a shower to go get the crying baby; making a bottle and moving the bouncy chair into the bathroom in hopes that the 'now-somewhat-able-to-feed-himself' baby Keaton will be content while I get ready for work; Chasing a 2 1/2 year-old around with shorts and a shirt because he NEVER wants to get out of his pajamas or leave the house in the morning. This usually results in kicking and tears on Cale's part, once I catch him, and disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes on my part. Sometimes I want to kick and cry too, but I refrain. I must admit, some days it's almost a relief to get in the car and drive to work. But, twenty minutes after being there, I'm already missing them. Strange how that works.
Keaton is almost seven months old now. He actually started crawling a few days ago. He's been rolling and making his way around a room for awhile now. But, now he's actually crawling. Even if it's crawl, crawl, splat. Crawl, crawl, splat. Overall, he's such an easier baby than Cale. He's pretty chill and is content to be laying on the floor chewing on toys or anything else he can get his hands on...flip flops have been a big hit this summer, when he can get one without my knowing. Poor little guy has even had a double ear infection, probably for a few weeks. But,the sweet little thing never really fussed. He just stopped eating his bottles and this was a pretty good sign that something was wrong. The kid eats who knows how many 7-8oz. bottles a day. Along with three jars of baby food.
It's funny, with Cale I knew on average the exact number of bottles he usually ate in a day. I had certain times I tried to do things such as nap/feeding. I attempted a schedule, even though I'm pretty sure I needed a Zanax throughout the process. With Keaton, I'm going with the flow. I have no idea how many bottles he eats in a day and I'm not really sure how many naps he has a day. Pretty much naps every 2-3 hours...so I guess I could do the math. Throwing the attempted schedules out the window has made me a much happier mama this time around.
We're so happy that Keaton has been the easier baby. I don't know what we'd do if this wasn't the case.
Cale. Our dear, sweet, in-a-constant-state-of-agitation, two-year old boy. How he can be a such an adorable, charming creature one second, and a completely unrecognizeable, horrifying creature the next? His tantrums really are reminiscent of the Hulk. It's like, I can see the transformation taking place. He starts to scream and then begins to change form. It's all there but the turning green part. He turns more of a shade of bright red. I often wonder what it must be like to feel so irritated all of the time. What goes on in the mind of a toddler?
We've really been having a difficult time getting Cale to bed these days. I mean it's like an hour long process. We do the bath, read a book (cale tries to persuade us into reading multiple books to avoid sleeping), talk, say our prayers...and then say our goodnights. Cale is already set in his rituals and we have to say the same thing every night. And if one little thing is left off, that's an excuse for him to get out of bed and come to us. And because I don't want to forget this years from now, it goes like this, "Night, night Mama. Love you. Sleep tight. Talk about your adventure." Absolutely no idea where that last one came from, but it must be said. And I respond, "Night night, Cale. Love you. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite." And then I leave. Usually .05 seconds after I'm gone, the wailing begins. And usually .20 seconds later the door busts open. We go through this about four times a night.
I've really been trying to crack down on this. I've even been standing outside of Cale's room, waiting to snatch him up when he comes barreling out. The other night I did just that. I scooped him up before he even had a chance to argue. I put him in the bed without saying a word and headed quickly outside. I stood outside his door, expecting him to come out once again. He's pretty persistent. Instead he sat in his bed, crying and talking to himself. I heard him say, "(sniff, sniff) Pooooor Cale. His mama is a meanie. She's a meanie weenie." This is the first time I've ever heard him call me a name. I couldn't believe it! I opened the door and said, Cale, what did you just call me?" He nonchalantly replied, "A meanie weenie". I actually thought it was quite funny but kept a straight face as I asked him why he called me that. He said that he was just coming out of his room because he had to poo poo, but I grabbed him and put him back in bed and he was mad at me." I felt kinda bad at this point because he actually did need to poo poo. But, I guess it's kind of like the boy who cried wolf. He leaves his bed so many times with some crazy excuse and the time he really needs to leave his bed, we don't believe him.
A side note about Cale. He really doesn't like strangers talking to him right now. Or looking at him for that matter. He often hides behind my legs and gives the evil eye to anyone who acknowledges him. Tonight at the park, there was a young couple there hanging out. They were smiling and watching Cale play. (Only about 5 feet away from couple) Cale meanly says, "I don't want those people looking at me!" It was quite embarrassing. We usually just use the "He's in the terrible twos" excuse for everything. What happened to my, talk-to-anybody-and-everybody little guy? Instead he saves it all for us. And when I say all, I mean ALL, as in all-the-time. He never hushes. Never. And to think, Carl and I have the nerve to try to have a conversation with each other in the car. Nope, not happening if Cale's around. I'm pretty sure he's just like his daddy. Even though he's a handful right now and probably will always be, I wouldn't change him.
Over the summer I had forgotten about how hard it is having everything "together" once school starts. Not that I ever have it all together, but more so in the summer and on weekends. Getting home at 4:30, wanting to just play and love on the boys (which I do) but also needing to start dinner and put away the laundry or empty the dishwasher that I left on earlier in the morning. And speaking of mornings...they are brutal. The alarm clock rings at 5:15, shortly followed by the sound of a crying six-month old; rushing out of a pitiful excuse for a shower to go get the crying baby; making a bottle and moving the bouncy chair into the bathroom in hopes that the 'now-somewhat-able-to-feed-himself' baby Keaton will be content while I get ready for work; Chasing a 2 1/2 year-old around with shorts and a shirt because he NEVER wants to get out of his pajamas or leave the house in the morning. This usually results in kicking and tears on Cale's part, once I catch him, and disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes on my part. Sometimes I want to kick and cry too, but I refrain. I must admit, some days it's almost a relief to get in the car and drive to work. But, twenty minutes after being there, I'm already missing them. Strange how that works.
Keaton is almost seven months old now. He actually started crawling a few days ago. He's been rolling and making his way around a room for awhile now. But, now he's actually crawling. Even if it's crawl, crawl, splat. Crawl, crawl, splat. Overall, he's such an easier baby than Cale. He's pretty chill and is content to be laying on the floor chewing on toys or anything else he can get his hands on...flip flops have been a big hit this summer, when he can get one without my knowing. Poor little guy has even had a double ear infection, probably for a few weeks. But,the sweet little thing never really fussed. He just stopped eating his bottles and this was a pretty good sign that something was wrong. The kid eats who knows how many 7-8oz. bottles a day. Along with three jars of baby food.
It's funny, with Cale I knew on average the exact number of bottles he usually ate in a day. I had certain times I tried to do things such as nap/feeding. I attempted a schedule, even though I'm pretty sure I needed a Zanax throughout the process. With Keaton, I'm going with the flow. I have no idea how many bottles he eats in a day and I'm not really sure how many naps he has a day. Pretty much naps every 2-3 hours...so I guess I could do the math. Throwing the attempted schedules out the window has made me a much happier mama this time around.
We're so happy that Keaton has been the easier baby. I don't know what we'd do if this wasn't the case.
Cale. Our dear, sweet, in-a-constant-state-of-agitation, two-year old boy. How he can be a such an adorable, charming creature one second, and a completely unrecognizeable, horrifying creature the next? His tantrums really are reminiscent of the Hulk. It's like, I can see the transformation taking place. He starts to scream and then begins to change form. It's all there but the turning green part. He turns more of a shade of bright red. I often wonder what it must be like to feel so irritated all of the time. What goes on in the mind of a toddler?
We've really been having a difficult time getting Cale to bed these days. I mean it's like an hour long process. We do the bath, read a book (cale tries to persuade us into reading multiple books to avoid sleeping), talk, say our prayers...and then say our goodnights. Cale is already set in his rituals and we have to say the same thing every night. And if one little thing is left off, that's an excuse for him to get out of bed and come to us. And because I don't want to forget this years from now, it goes like this, "Night, night Mama. Love you. Sleep tight. Talk about your adventure." Absolutely no idea where that last one came from, but it must be said. And I respond, "Night night, Cale. Love you. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite." And then I leave. Usually .05 seconds after I'm gone, the wailing begins. And usually .20 seconds later the door busts open. We go through this about four times a night.
I've really been trying to crack down on this. I've even been standing outside of Cale's room, waiting to snatch him up when he comes barreling out. The other night I did just that. I scooped him up before he even had a chance to argue. I put him in the bed without saying a word and headed quickly outside. I stood outside his door, expecting him to come out once again. He's pretty persistent. Instead he sat in his bed, crying and talking to himself. I heard him say, "(sniff, sniff) Pooooor Cale. His mama is a meanie. She's a meanie weenie." This is the first time I've ever heard him call me a name. I couldn't believe it! I opened the door and said, Cale, what did you just call me?" He nonchalantly replied, "A meanie weenie". I actually thought it was quite funny but kept a straight face as I asked him why he called me that. He said that he was just coming out of his room because he had to poo poo, but I grabbed him and put him back in bed and he was mad at me." I felt kinda bad at this point because he actually did need to poo poo. But, I guess it's kind of like the boy who cried wolf. He leaves his bed so many times with some crazy excuse and the time he really needs to leave his bed, we don't believe him.
A side note about Cale. He really doesn't like strangers talking to him right now. Or looking at him for that matter. He often hides behind my legs and gives the evil eye to anyone who acknowledges him. Tonight at the park, there was a young couple there hanging out. They were smiling and watching Cale play. (Only about 5 feet away from couple) Cale meanly says, "I don't want those people looking at me!" It was quite embarrassing. We usually just use the "He's in the terrible twos" excuse for everything. What happened to my, talk-to-anybody-and-everybody little guy? Instead he saves it all for us. And when I say all, I mean ALL, as in all-the-time. He never hushes. Never. And to think, Carl and I have the nerve to try to have a conversation with each other in the car. Nope, not happening if Cale's around. I'm pretty sure he's just like his daddy. Even though he's a handful right now and probably will always be, I wouldn't change him.
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