More about Dirty Windows with and UPDATE

UPDATE:  I had a short conversation today that leads me to believe I was not very clear with my thoughts on thought thinking and window cleaning. Some may argue that when you read the post below you may infer that My Mudda does not have thoughts and therefore cleans a mean window. Others, however, may read the below post and infer that My Mudda would think her thoughts WHILE cleaning her windows because she is very organized and should probably have her own blog about time management.

Since many of you do not know My Mudda, I will have to tell you emphatically, it is the latter.  She's an excellent multi-tasker. (My earliest recollection of her trying to instill this skill was shortly after she taught me to shave my legs. "Now Nikki, First you get the shampoo in your hair, then you shave one leg. After one leg, you rinse your hair and put conditioner in. While the conditioner sets in, shave the other leg."  I guess I was taking a long time in there doing first the steps for my hair, then my legs.)  And everyone knows that an excellent multi-tasker would think her thoughts WHILE she washed her windows.

Anyway.  I haven't washed those dang windows yet. I did however buy the fixin's for my pie today.  So there's that.

THE ORIGINAL POST IS BELOW:

The part of me that is my mother, the mother who believes that the saying "cleanliness is next to godliness" is actually written in the bible, wants to clean those darn windows today.

I will not be posting "after" pictures. Because, let's face facts, the part of me that let those windows get that dirty because I, unlike my mother, was thinking thoughts instead of cleaning, when I should have been thinking those thoughts while I was cleaning, will probably be thinking about the Apple Bacon Brie pie that I plan on making later this week while trying to clean those darn windows. And everyone knows that to get really dirty windows to gleam, you have to have either A) determination or B) a little bit of the anger.

Currently, I have neither. 

I used up just the tiniest bit of road rage from this morning to get the toilets done.

I will however post pictures of the Apple Bacon Brie pie that I've been dreaming about later this week...if I get around to it.

Window to the Soul

She couldn't be bothered with washing windows.

She had thoughts to think.

Mostly about the wind in her hair.

But definitely not about domestic chores.

Who needs preschool when you're this smart

For the last three days, I have been emptying out Rylee's beautifully overstuffed Disney Princess backpack to make room for her very thin, school required folder. And every night she re-packs it full of her most treasured belongings. Yesterday, I overheard her say "It's still not heavy enough."  I didn't know what that was about, but I assumed she overheard Troy and I talking about our luggage weight when we recently flew home from vacation.

Today as I picked her up from school, I had to help her put her backpack on. "Fhew" she said. "It's really heavy." I replied "We should take some of your things out and put them in your room, so you have space for school projects."  To which she replied "No. Because then it won't be too heavy for Maggie to lift."

First Day of School

You know how you see movie previews and trailers for months before a show comes to the theaters; and then all of your friends see it before you do because you're lame? Then the movie gets all this hype about being super funny, so you decide not be so lame and find a sitter so you can get out this quarter. Then you go see the movie and you wonder what the big deal was because, sure you chuckled, but you've laughed harder reading birthday cards at the grocery store? That's kinda how I felt about dropping Rylee off for her first day of "school." 

I've been reading for the last several years about how parents felt taking their kids to school on the first day. How emotional it is to hit this milestone. I was ready for today; I brought tissues. I think My Chef was kind of feeling it too because he called 10 minutes before we left the house to wish her a happy first day.  But, on the way there the only emotion I was feeling was...elation?

There I was, in my "station wagon", taking my first born to school. She was asking me when soccer practice was starting. I scrolled through my mental calendar of play dates and doctor appointments to come up with an answer for her.  That's when it hit me. I have arrived. I'm a Stay At Home Soccer Mom and I like it. It feels good.  This is what it must feel like to those climbing the corporate ladder to finally move from a cubicle to an actual office with a door. I felt like I got a promotion to a job I didn't apply for and certainly didn't know I wanted.

As we walked into the classroom, other parents were standing around the perimeter of the room assessing their child's adjustment. I knew if I stood around too, she would act the part and try to be needy. So, Maggie and I took a quick picture, kissed our girl goodbye, and scooted out the door with a promise to return as soon as Maggie was done napping. With a quick glimpse back, I could see she would be just fine. She was beaming from ear to ear, toting a brand new back pack (albeit, sans rubber chicken) and wearing her favorite dress (with purple tennis shoes, much to my chagrin). 

No Hallmark moment, no teary eyes, just a blurry picture to commemorate our milestone. Happy first day of school big girl.



Things that make you go hmmmm?

A lot of strange things happened yesterday, the least of which was the fact that I turned down a request by my daughter to buy a rubber chicken. Who am I?

Sometime mid-morning, Bear Cub poured out an entire box of Cheerios. This isn't new. She dumps stuff on the floor all of the time. The strange part was that she dumped it in the exact same spot that she dumped a 1/2 gallon of milk the day before. I knew that someday I would probably have to play along with an imaginary friend, but I am a bit concerned that I will have to start picking up imaginary flatware now too.

As I was sweeping up 12 cups of scattered Cheerios, My Chef walked in. Looking like this:

The cowboy in him dipped me back and planted a wet one right on my kisser. This is not the strange part. Nor is the fact that my heart fluttered a little. The part I'll be hashing out with a therapist is the fact that he was wearing my jeans (and looked better in them than I do).

And the final strange thing from yesterday was the conversation ol' Gene Autry up there and I had before bed.  I was tired, so this is more of a paraphrase than a recited conversation. But here's how it went:

Gene Autry (aka My Chef): I totally impressed this guy in the kitchen today.
Me: Yeah?
Gene: Yeah, he was playing a rap station and The Humpty Dance came on. I started singing and didn't miss one word.
Me: Really?
Gene: I think it really impressed him when this rural boy told him "yeah, The Digital Underground was known for the Humpty Dance, but the rest of the cassette was way better." And he agreed with me. Then I pulled out some trivia on him and asked him if he knew the Chevy Chase movie that band was in.

Then Gene proceeded to sing a few verses of the aforementioned song. The strangest part of this whole thing? I did not dream that I was married to Eminem.

And that was my day. The End.

Post Party 'Em Blues

Most of the people in our house have the Post Party 'Em Blues.

The Taz went to bed at 7:30pm last night, and with the exception of a 6:00am bed hop,

didn't get up until 9:30am.

I had to have a check-yourself-before-you-wreck-yourself conversation after stepping off the scale.

My Chef has been grumbling something about a stiff neck from behind a pile of paperwork on his desk.

As for Bear Cub...well, she hasn't figured out that the party is over.

Ready

Yesterday, as we were packing up after a two week long hiatus in Northern Minnesota,

Rylee kept chiming in with protests.

"I'm staying here forever."

"We can't go home. We don't have any food there."

"Who's going to water Ginger's flowers?"

We managed to limp out of our vacation with only

184 mosquito bites

16 bruises (2 of which required ice packs)

a mysterious lump that was eliminated with some Benedryl

an ear infection

and one eye twitch.

All in all, a successful outing.

And now it's back to our normal routine;

but not before we get out every toy like it's Christmas morning,

watch the 13 hours of cartoons that we missed,

and pour milk all over the carpet.

Oh wait, that last one is our normal routine.

Ahhh

There are places in this world where it is just easier to breath. For me, these places are: my mother's living room and Nisswa, Minnesota. We're in the latter...but my mother is in the living room here, so it's just about perfect.

My wee friends don't fight as much.

I have pulled out less of my own hair.

We've stopped to smell the flowers.

Taken in the air.

Popped our collars.

Gotten a little fancy.

Appreciated some nature.

Yes.

I love vacation.

35 and Over

Today as I was driving home, a car sped past me and I mentally berated the driver. "Hey Pal. It says speed LIMIT not speed suggestion or speed minimum."

And then I thought "Man, when did I turn 80?"

Is this coming from the fact that I MUST drive super cautious because I am a momma?
Or because I do not possess a valid Florida Driver's License and cannot afford to speed?
Or because I am a Wreckaphobic?
Or because I was not alone blaring Black Betty with windows down and my hair flapping around wildly?

So, in a sorry attempt at an apology, I gently waved to the passerby as if she were the reckless abandon of my youth.

Torn

I'm torn between being excited to go on vacation in TWO DAYS, and being cranky about writing the mechanic a second check in two weeks for repairs.

I'm torn between being super duper excited to go on vacation in TWO DAYS, and being crabby about laundry, cleaning and more cleaning. (I wouldn't clean, but I need to, to find the children)

I'm torn between feeling overly ecstatic about getting on an airplane in TWO DAYS, and feeling complete dread over seeing The Mole-less Enrique Iglesias, DDS this afternoon. It's just a regular check up...but they always bring something up, like, "Nikki, did you know that this filling is 18 years old and is wearing down and will need to be replaced before you go to bed tonight so you can sleep without dreaming of choking on it?"

I'm torn between being super duper, overly ecstatic, out of my gourd happy about starting vacation in TWO DAYS, and feeling completely broken spirited about breaking up one more stinkin' fight between Number One and Number Two.  Since her party on Saturday I have heard the following more than one hundred times "Maggie, it's not a toy. It's my present and I don't want you playing with it." Followed by smacking, screaming and crying.

Mostly though, I am torn about being happy and sad that we each had a piece of this cake, and then threw the rest in the trash so we wouldn't eat it. My lips are sad. My thighs are happy.