Midnight confessions and escapades #1

I cannot sleep. This is a fairly common occurance, so there is no need to be alarmed. I blame it on the coffee. Or perhaps that sleep is simply BORING, and who wants to sleep anyway when there is a Cheers marathon on the Hallmark channel? Not me! (Side note: I am a total Terrible TV junkie. I would be watching a Kendra marathon right now if it was on.)

Anyway, I have been wandering the house searching for something to do and found myself in the bathroom. After poking at my gray hairs for a while, I spied the bucket I had used earlier to clean the kitchen floor. It was sitting in the corner where I had placed it earlier to save it from being knocked over in a raucous game of indoor tag. It was lonely and forgotten....and still full of Lysol-y water. Ewwwww..... I know this is what you are thinking- mostly because that was what I was thinking. (Have I mentioned my borderline developmentally delayed housekeeping skills? No? I will share sometime...)

I decided to do what I should have done hours ago and empty the bucket. (Have you never heard of a Swiffer? you are thinking.) Now, here is where the brilliance happens. Are you ready? I dumped the contents of the bucket into the toilet- so it could do the faux flushing thing. (Never done it? Gather the family and try it out.) As I watched blue Mountain Breeze water- and maybe a bloated Froot Loop or two- empty into the bowl, I saw a flash of pink. Damn.

Remember my dilemma with the old toothbrush as a scrubbing tool? (I would put a link here to that post, but who am I kidding? I am so new to this blogging thing its right here on the same page as this one. Just scroll down a bit. Oh, and I don't know how to do the link thing.) I totally chose to use my pink Oral-B in my fight against stovetop grime. And apparently, somehow, said toothbrush had made its way into this Lysol bath.

And has now made its way into the U-bend of my downstairs toilet. I did not know you could flush a toothbrush, faux-style or otherwise.

P.S. It is 3 a.m. I will blame that on the possibility of TMI in this post. And the fact that this entire incident made me laugh. A lot.

One of those days

It is one of those days. The gray (is that word supposed to be g-r-e-y or g-r-a-y?) and rainy kind. The kind of day where you wake up and put your hair in a ponytail only to fight the urge to cut it off with the biggest scissors you can find. I feel old and tired. My gray (grey) hairs are showing. The laundry is overtaking the upstairs hallway, having long ago conquered the hamper. I caught the dishes in the kitchen sink looking for a nice piece of vacation property in the bathtub. The children are behaving like procreations of Satan. Sigh. Its time to change my attitude....

I will be a Fun Mom! We will do a craft. I have visions of little hands busy cutting and gluing construction paper into charming creations with elaborate stories behind them. Ten minutes and a wad of glue in my hair later, the vision fades.

I will be Productive! I will do some of the laundry spilling from the hamper. I daydream of machines quietly humming and stacks of neatly folded shirts in a rainbow array across my bed. Ten minutes and a dryer hose that has popped off the back of the machine (which I do not know how to fix) later, the daydream ends.

I will be Social! I will call some friends and chat. In my mind I am sitting quietly at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee and laughing with some unamed person on the phone. Maybe there is a scone involved. Ten minutes and the realization that all of my friends have day jobs (and that I do not like scones) later, the picture in my mind disappears.

I will be Cute! I will find a favorite sweater that makes me feel amazing and makes me look skinny......awww screw it....

Its a granny panties day.

When The Mood Strikes

I am in a cleaning frenzy. The truth is that these moods don't come along very often and I need to take full advantage of them when they appear. My house is a fantastic mess. I lose interest in projects long before they are completed- even "projects" as simple as scrubbing the bathtub. Dishes stay in the sink, mostly because I loathe unloading the diswasher (loading- fine, unloading- not so much) and my family will forage through baskets of clean laundry for days before I get the urge to fold anything.

So today I find myself in posession of the rare desire to scrub somethinbg until it sparkles. I know! The stove! I will need a sponge. And a cleaning agent of some kind. And to disassemble the burners. This is going to be a tough job, but I am ready! I should really finish thinking this through before I begin- to ensure that maybe I will actually finish. What else could I need? And then I remember that an old toothbrush could be an effective scrubbing tool. Perfect! I will go and search for one!

Alas, my house seems to be old-toothbrush-free. Which brings me to this moment in time- standing in my bathroom staring at my pink Oral-B and wondering:

      Just how much Comet would be "unsafe" to brush my teeth with this evening?

The Bag

So this morning everything seemed to be going well. I woke up (always a good thing as I am really not what you would call a "morning person"). I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen and made coffee (this is an important step- coffee has actually been used to lure me out of bed in the morning). I made the oldest Monkey his lunch for school and finished getting him ready to go. I sent him off to the bus stop with actual minutes to spare this morning (a rare feat). It is warm outside so I stood on the step and watched him at the bus stop for a minute (in secret, as this is an activity I have been banned from doing by the fiercely independent seven-year-old). Suddenly, I heard cries of "MOM!" and saw his little mohawked head bobbing towards me as he ran frantically in the direction of home. "MY BAG!!!" he was yelling.

Crap. In his class each child gets to be a Teaching Assistant for a day and help the teacher with everything- passing out papers and writing things on the board and making the math problem of the day....everything. Part of this is to bring something from home in a special TA bag to share with the class. In other words, this is a Big Deal. And he had forgotten the bag in his room.

I flew to his room and grabbed the bag and ran. Down the steps and out the door. Down the sidewalk and through the rain. Barefoot. In jammies. Bedhead and all. Ignoring the rocks and sticks jamming their way into the arches of my feet. The pretty (?) plaid of my jammie pants becomming splattered with mud.

 As I made the handoff of bag to Monkey I realized something. I. Am. Out. Of . Shape. Like seriously out of shape. Like if there was a murderer chasing me there would come a point where I would have to stop, turn to the guy and do the hands-on-the-knees-gasping-for-breath thing and say "Dude. Time out, k?"

I soooo hope my murderer knows the rules of Time Out.