Waiting...

I know that there is a special place in Hell reserved in my honor. Today I just don't care though. I'm in Whole Foods buying freaking holistic canine/feline food. The little dude at the register (and I mean the cashier) makes a mistake. At Whole Foods, every void must have a manager turn a key to approve. I've got H screaming in the basket of the cart. TLL is screaming from the front perch. The little dude is frantically paging managers. The bag girl goes off in search of one. The people behind me in line are pissed. TLL screams to the point that she has tears and snot and what not streaming down her face. My diaper bag is buried under my groceries. I excavate and am able to fix her a bottle. H screams because he is starving, I give him his pizza. He eats the whole frigging thing before we can find a holder of keys. TLL cries because H is crying, her face is now too snotty to be able to drink from her bottle. I can't wipe her face because I've put the groceries back in the cart. Finally, a manager appears from Bumblef*%k.

Me: Do you have any idea how long I've been standing here?
Manager: No, they just told me that I was needed. I was getting change.
Me: Well, I hope you're happy, because we've been waiting 15 minutes for a manager. *look briefly at TLL to make sure her face is still snotty* I certainly hope that everyone in this store hasn't now contracted Swine Flu because EVERY MANAGER here was in the cash office at the same time.

Yep. I'm a bitch.

Rough, but poor Mom isn't tough

My two year old is driving me crazy. Really crazy. Last night we were sitting outside. I was watching him ride his bike and then he walked up to me and hit me in the ribs with his cast as hard as he could. Before I could even catch my breath, he sunk his teeth into my side. Turned out he wanted me to move.

This morning he kicked the dog and me in bed, like we were soccer balls. He refuses to relent from his single minded quest for soda. He has bitten me twice and scratched me once. What in the hell is the matter with him? I am so over it.

We need to go to the store so that I can get dog food and litter boxes. I'm hoping that if I start getting ready now, I'll be ready to hit the road before TLL wakes back up. I am also hoping that the change of scenery might shock H into acting like a normal kid, and if that fails, maybe just a normal evil toddler.

Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed...although having your windpipe crushed David Beckham style isn't exactly a charming alternative. *sigh*

If you don't get a little note of thanks, let me tell you why.

I have a new motto for hand me downs, "share the wealth, not the trash." I spent the day going through 10 trash bags filled with clothes that people have given to me in recent weeks. I am saddened to say that I had nine and half bags for the curb when I was done. I love the theory behind hand me downs. The idea is for someone else to be able to reuse something that you yourself no longer have a use for. In theory it is simple, generous, and helpful.

Today I realized that there is nothing simple, generous, or helpful about the way many people pass on their used goods. My laundry room has been stuffed to bursting with bags of clothes that people have given me in recent weeks (okay, fine...months) and I finally found the courage to go through them all.

Out of 10 bags of clothes, I ended up throwing away nine full bags. It isn't that I am a total clothes snob, I'm really not. I just have no use for other people's trash or their storage dilemmas. For example, a bag full of baby clothes with trucks and planes? Yes, I do have a baby...but she isn't a boy. I wouldn't dress her in a miniature suit to save a few bucks. The clothes were cute, but, I have no use for them. Could someone have used them? Yes. I could have washed them and donated them. I do however have enough of my own laundry that I can't seem to keep up with...so into the trash they went.

Another bag contained girl's clothing in sizes 4-6x. TLL could have used them maybe...in 4-6 years. While I again appreciate the gesture, I don't have the luxury to store things in my bursting at the seams home for that long. Again, I could have washed and donated...but, again...so could have the person who gave those things to me.

The rest of the bags contained a variety of shirts that were so faded that the original prints weren't even discernible. A plethora of jeans with ripped out knees and holes. Several pairs of pajamas that had been hemmed so that they were easily a foot too short for anything but boy capris. About 2,000 socks that weren't paired and underwear.

I think that a lot of people have trouble taking the time to launder clothes that have gotten a little musty so that they could be given to charity. I am now sure that many folks are so loathe to throw away things they have spent money on that they would rather pass them on. What makes me incredulous is that people think it is 'okay' to give me their trash...or their used underwear. How does a person make it make sense to give me clothes to help me out, when they are actually giving me hours worth of work?

I don't want to seem ungrateful. I have appreciated many things that many people have given to us over the years. I don't however have it in me to appreciate bags of stained clothes that I could spend hours scrubbing on the chance that I can get an unidentified spot out. I actually get a little uptight about the guilt I have from throwing away clothes that maybe could help someone, but that I don't choose to wash, fold, and haul to a donation center.

There is generosity which is appreciated beyond measure, and then there is generosity which assuages the conscience of the giver, but does little for the recipient. Anyone else out there with thoughts on this subject?

A conversation with a stranger

Setting: The longest line I've ever seen at a TJ Maxx. Four of my five children have tears and snot running down their faces. The screams emanating from my shopping cart are ear piercing, drowning out the desperate intercom pleas for back up cashiers.

Stranger: When are you due?
Me: June 7th.
Stranger: Are they all yours? *she inclined her head toward the masses spreading swine flu before her eyes*
Me: Yes.
Stranger: Well....ummmmmmm... *really long pause* Good luck.
Me: Thanks.

Madam, if you ever come across this post, please don't worry. I was personally so horrified by my children's behaviour at that point, that I myself felt horribly embarrassed to be so glaringly pregnant. I was devastated that total strangers like yourself were cognizant that I was adding more of my devil spawn to the gene pool. If you should ever run into us again, please know that my children are almost never that badly behaved and are usually the most polite little hellions you could hope to meet. Really.

Procrastination vs. action

Things I've done so far today:

• Washed and sterilized 13 bottles.
• Scrubbed stains out of 15 of my boys' polo shirts.
• Fixed breakfast and lunch.
• Fed dogs and cats.
• Put TLL down for her nap.
• Begged, pleaded, and cajoled H to take a nap...to no avail.
• Cleaned up doggie puddle in the front hall.
• Cleaned up doggie sick from my sofa. (no idea what she got into)
• Cleaned up a flood from living room tile.
• Cleaned out the fridge because I couldn't find the strawberries.
• Talked to my mother on the phone. (not my favorite activity)
• Gotten the big kids dressed, hair brushed, and off to the bus stop.

Things I should have done so far today, but, sadly haven't done:

• Brushed mine and H's teeth.
• Showered.
• Given H a sponge bath. (I so hate that cast)
• Eaten anything.
• Had something to drink.
• Gotten dressed.
• Gotten H dressed.
• Paid Hubby's rent.

Why am I always behind?

Hey, gift horse...I'm talking to you!

Today I got my nose all out of joint. At least that is how my mother would phrase it. A couple of weeks ago, my son was talking about a suit for his graduation. I fervently hoped that it wouldn't actually come to pass that he needed one, and he doesn't. About that time, my father mentioned to my grandmother that my son wanted a suit. She (a former teacher) shot the idea down. However, she sent me an email asking if there was anything she could do. I sent back a thank you, but, no thank you response.

Today I get an email from my grandmother, telling me that she and my aunt (with whom my son spent the weekend) bought him the clothes for his graduation. I didn't know about the clothes, because my aunt asked my kids to keep it a secret when the children all told her that it might make me mad. *Hello? Hint anyone?* It isn't that I don't appreciate them wanting to help, it is more that I want my son to present himself in a certain way...which I want a little control over. Of course, it helps that Hubby and I picked out clothes for everybody to wear to the graduation this weekend. It also bears to mention that my aunt's fashion sense isn't at all similar to my own. From what I understand, it is a white short sleeve dress shirt (with a print) and a striped tie. Print plus print = not on my kid.

The email also made reference to my children going to the beach with my parents, who would be taking them to the graduation on that Monday morning. Umm...excuse me? Not only is this the first I've heard of it, but...NO! That explained why I wasn't given the clothes for his graduation though. *sigh* My family makes me CRAZY. I called my parents, who basically denied all knowledge of anything to do with anything. *Though my mother called back to say it was all my father's idea, before hanging up on me because my father was back home.*

I'm just irritated all around. The last thing that I want to do is hurt my aunt's feelings, but, I'm not going have him wear what she purchased in order to prevent this. I'm also not pleased that she thinks that it is okay to tell my kids to keep secrets from me. Sorry, but that is a big time no-no in my book. I am a touch aggravated that my grandmother wouldn't let, "no thank you" suffice. I am totally angry with my parents. I appreciate that they are coming. I am happy that they will be here (at least sorta) but I am furious that it would even enter their minds that I would let my children spend a school night at their hotel, much less, that I would be okay with not even seeing my kids (and checking out how they look) until I get to graduation.

I'm just wondering how all of this was supposed to play out...my parents would have picked the kids up to go to their hotel at the beach on Saturday (maybe) and told me that they would be home Sunday morning...but what then? Call and ask if they could stay another night? Doubtful, they would know the answer was no. Maybe, just call and say they weren't bringing the kids home? What? Why?

Why ruin the day for me because my son is mad that he couldn't have another night with the Grandparents? Why ruin the day for my son by making him upset? Why?

Am I being totally ridiculous? Maybe I'm just paranoid since they tried to procure a passport for my son without my knowledge. Maybe it just sucks to have (grand)parents that think they have the right to make decisions for me still. Maybe I am entitled to feel pissed? Yeah, I like the last one.

Here kitty

My animals make lines. As in, they stand in line. When I sit down (each and every time I sit down) there is a mad rush to be first in line for my rapidly disappearing lap. The creak of the computer chair, the squeak of my box springs, the rustle of my sofa cushions, and animals come flying from all directions.

I could literally spend all day in a chair rotating through the furry masses, because you see, as soon as one animal is lured away by treat or whatever, the next one jumps up, and as soon as the treat, potty break, etc is over that animal gets right back in line.

Wherever I go, whatever I do, my animals follow me. There are always four of them at my feet. Heaven forbid I close even the bathroom door on them. When I get back from the store (or indeed anywhere) I have to bring them treats. Usually, by the time I haul in all the groceries, each animal has picked out what they want from the bags...and the object of their affection is sitting at their feet when I lock the door.

My Persian insists to be loved on like a baby each time I hold TLL in my lap. He jumps up on my chest puts his paws (and claws) on my free shoulder, settles his furry face in between them, and digs in each time I attempt to stand without supporting his furry tush with the crook of my arm. Please note that we were given this cat with a warning about how independent and not lap cat-esque he was.

The cats hate me to be at the computer desk. They make this very clear by first attempting to sit on the ledge in front of the monitor, and then if I should persist...they sit on the keyboard.

You might think by their antics that I don't give my animals enough attention. You may think the poor things are starved for attention. In reality, I am often accused of loving their furry little beings more than my husband and children. Of course that is nonsense. I love them as much maybe, but, not more. Granted, this theory has never been tested...and hopefully it never will be. I shudder to think about what I would do if I had to save them all from a burning building.

I am writing all of this tonight, to remind myself how much I adore them. Hubby is still here (until the wee hours) and it is nearing eighty in the house under his thermostat law. Eighty without any animals helping to warm me up. I don't like to be hot and sweaty when I'm trying to relax and hopefully sleep...but the fur sticking to me on top of it? Yeah...yuck.