Apparently, it's good news all around......

Guess what, Internet? I got a full-time job! No joking. After four blissful years of stay-at-home-parenting (read: working your ass into the ground 24/7 and not getting paid for it) I am returning to the world of full time work. Which certainly doesn't mean that I'll get a reprieve from working my ass into the ground... it just means that I'll actually see some revenue for it. Hooray!!!!!!

This is not to say that I haven't enjoyed my stint at a stay-at-home mommy. I have. It has truly been an experience like no other, and for the most part, it's been wonderful. Four years ago, when Landis was born and Mike and I made the decision to stay on this track, we knew that it would be a big financial sacrifice. And it has been. (Folks, there have been months that have been, ummmmm, welllllllll.......let's just say "tight" and leave it at that.) But we also knew that we were lucky to be able to make this decision, since so many families don't have a choice. So we scrimped and we pinched and we budgeted ourselves down to the very last penny. We made enormous sacrifices, but we were glad to do it because we knew that the boys would appreciate the trade off.

So when I learned that I was getting this job, I sat Gibson down to talk about the changes that could happen in our household. I explained that I was going to go back to work. I explained that this meant that I wouldn't be home for them all the time. And I explained that, depending on how it all worked out, they might need to start attending an afterschool program or that we might have to have a babysitter in the afternoons. I was a little worried that a monumental change like this might rock his world -- That he might be a little apprehensive because mommy wasn't going to be there for him every day when he got off the bus. I was prepared to ease his fears, calm him if he was distressed, and I braced myself so I could readily address his concerns.................

I shouldn't have bothered. Because after I spilled the news, his big blue eyes lit up like Christmas candles. He danced all around the kitchen in sheer delight and said: "That's AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Can we have Garrie?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"



(Sigh......................)

Bathtime fun

Last night at bathtime, I left the boys alone to soap up and shampoo while I went upstairs to grab PJ's. It's no big deal, as they are really self-sufficient and can execute a body scrubbing and hair washing without any problem. (You'll note that I said "can". By that I mean they are perfectly able. And let's be clear here: I am by no means implying that they ever actually DO it on any sort of regular basis. However they are indeed perfectly able.)

Before bathtime, I'd looked both of them in the eye and stressed that we were in a bit of a hurry. I told them I'd need them to get down to business. No playing around, no toys. Just a quick scrub-down and shampooing. And believe it or not, they were actually doing it -- with no reminders from me. They got in, they scrubbed, and they didn't mess around at all! I was so proud of them for how well they were listening. The entire process of bathtime went so much faster than I thought it would -- and with considerably less water on the floor -- that I had to dash for the PJ's because I was the one who wasn't ready.

Wanna guess what they did while I was gone?

Go on........

Guess.

No guesses? OK. I'll tell you.

Apparently, while I was gone, they were taking the opportunity to have a brotherly stand off. A water-fight of sorts. Folks, they were WHIZZING ON EACH OTHER!!!!!! That's right. You heard me. They were whizzing on each other in the bathtub. Mike walked in and found them standing face-to-face, with weapons drawn, in full assault.

The issue of actually peeing on each other aside, this leaves me with 3 questions:

1. How do they even have that much urine in their bodies when I made them both pee before they ever got in the tub?
2. Why are boys like this?
3. Why did they wait to do it until AFTER they were clean?

I will be eternally grateful to anyone who can give me answers to these questions. In fact, I will put you in my will of you can give me the answer to question number 2.

One Big Happy Family of Monkeys

So everyone keeps asking me how my Thanksgiving was. They all knew I was hosting twenty of my in-laws at our house over the extended weekend, and my standard reply has been "It was great! A little like unleashing wild monkeys in my house, but yeah.... it was Great." And after a while, I realized I'd made that reference so often that I thought I should look on-line to see if there was any information out there about what it's actually like to unleash wild monkeys in your house. Not only did the Internet turn up a plethora of info on this exact subject, but it turns out that it IS in fact similar to just what we experienced at Thanksgiving -- and well, if I'm honest, what we experience at any holiday in which we all get together under one roof.

Take for example the snippet that says "Monkeys are messy. They can't really be effectively toilet trained and sometimes engage in distasteful activities involving their feces and urine." For the record, my washer and dryer just simultaneously shouted "Ya THINK?!?!?!" And then I think I heard one of them give a disgusted snort. Though to be fair, they are still grumpy from being abused non-stop over the 4 day weekend. Don't get me wrong, they're used to getting a regular work-out, but it's nothing like the punishment we bestowed upon them over the holiday -- And distasteful disposal of urine and feces were just the start of it. Those poor appliances are still trying to catch their breath, but at least they aren't panting anymore.

Oh -- and how about this little addendum: "Aside from the toileting messes, monkeys can be extremely mischievous and destructive, especially if bored." Ummmmmm, yeah...... Mischievous. Did I mention how many kids were in and out of the house all day long? And how our front yard was littered with so many random objects that it looked like the Clampitt's had moved to town? Or how there were articles of clothing hanging from the trees? And the random climbing rope hanging between two trees that may or may not have been used as a home-made zip-line?

The article goes on to point out that monkeys are unpredictable and may turn aggressively on anyone, including the person to whom they are the closest. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA........!!!! Does anyone else think this is hilarious when applied to holiday get-togethers? Oh my... Oh my... Hang on.... I have to compose myself...........

"A wide range of diseases can be passed from monkeys to humans." Or, as we discovered, from children to children and/or children to adults! Hooray!

"Monkeys are expensive to house and feed, and some require specialized diets that can be time consuming to prepare." Not unlike preparing a Thanksgiving feast for twenty that includes a 20 pound turkey, various options for the vegetarians, and options for those with a gluten/wheat allergy.

"A significant commitment of time is needed just for routine care and cleaning up after a monkey" As proven by the solid week it took me to get my house back in order. Oh who am I kidding? It's still a wreck.........

"But more importantly a monkey needs a large amount of social interaction and attention from the owner." Amen, Brothers and Sisters. Isn't that what makes it all worth it in the end? Isn't that exactly why why we do it all in the first place?

So, it appears that my comparison was right. Our Thanksgiving was great. It was chaotic and lively and boisterous and lawless and EXACTLY like setting wild monkeys loose in our house. And I'm excited to do it all again in two weeks -- at my sister-in-law's.

The Sunday Night Chronicles

• 9:00pm -- I stretch, yawn and push myself up off the couch, announcing that I'm going to bed because I'm incredibly tired and would really like to get a good night's sleep.



• 9:30pm -- I brush and floss, put on my PJ's and pad out to the family room to tell Mike goodnight.



• 9:40pm -- I burrow under the covers and curl up with my book. I read two pages and start to doze........



• 11:30pm -- I snap awake worried that I've overslept my alarm. I sit up and look at the clock. (Sigh....) I put my book on the nightstand, turn off the lamp and go back to sleep.



• 12:15am -- Landis shows up bedside, announces that he's getting in and directs me to scoot over. I peel one eye open and tell him to go around. He argues, and insists that I scoot over. Being in no mood for a debate, I inform him in no uncertain terms that I am not moving. I give him two choices: Go around and get in on other side, or go up to his own bed. He cries and says he does not want to sleep next to Gibby. I peel other eye open and tell him that Gibby is not in this bed, that Gibby is, in fact, in his own bed, and that if he does not stop crying he can march his little bootie back up to HIS OWN BED too.



• 12:17am -- Landis finally quits crying long enough to realize that he has the entire other side of bed to himself, quits arguing, goes around and climbs in.



• 1:34am -- I snap awake, convinced I've overslept alarm. I look at the clock, (Sigh.....) and go back to sleep.



• 2:36am -- Landis rolls over and decides that the most comfortable sleeping position for him would be DIRECTLY ON TOP OF ME. He sighs deeply in his sleep and says "Mom, you play the tuba." "OK" I reply, glancing at the clock and wondering exactly how many minutes of sleep I've managed to get thus far. "I'll play the clarinet........." he says. "OK." I reply. ".......AND the accordion." he sighs. "Whatever floats your boat..." I tell him, and I gingerly work my way out from under him, scoot him back over to the other side of the bed and go back to sleep.



• 3:11am - I have a dream that it's 5:19am and that I've overslept my alarm by almost an hour and a half. I dream that I'm running, running, running..... Trying to call someone -- ANYONE -- to help me fix it. I bolt upright, lunge at the alarm clock and realize I'm dreaming. I roll over and wonder if waking up every hour to an accelerated heart rate actually qualifies as a decent night's sleep before dozing off again.



• 4:00am -- The alarm goes off. I hit snooze.



• 4:04am -- The snooze alarm goes off. I lay there contemplating how dangerous it would be for me to just.....close....my....eyes.............for...............one..............more...............................minute................



• 4:09am -- I jerk my eyeballs open, throw the covers back, and climb out of bed.

Sick

Gibson ran a fever for a few days -- a mystery fever than came with no other symptoms. No chills, no sore throat, no upset tummy, no achiness. It was just a fever -- but it was high enough for us to decide to keep him out of school.

All day long, for 2 days straight, we had the same conversations:
"Can I play with Alex?"
"No. You have a fever. You need to rest."
"Can I go outside?"
"No you have a fever. Why don't you lay on the couch and rest?"
"Can I ride my bike? I feel OK."
"No. You have a fever. Why don't you watch cartoons and rest? Your body needs to rest."

Finally, nearing the end of the second day, I said "Gibson, why don't you go upstairs and clean up your toys? You've been playing like crazy and you've made a huge mess up there."

To which Gibson flopped down on the couch with his arm draped over his eyes Scarlett-O'Hara-Style and replied, "Mom! I can't! I have a fever and I need to lay down on this couch and rest."

Have kids? Get a life insurance policy.....

My son is trying to kill me. I'm convinced of it. There can be no other explanation for the recent events that have taken place in the wee-hours of the morning in our otherwise peaceful household. I'll present my case and you can draw your own conclusions.

Let's start with Wednesday morning. Some of you know that I open the Y a few days a week. That being the case, I roll out of bed at 4:00am. (Well, OK......I hit snooze at 4:00am. I roll out of bed at 4:10.... but it's all the same at that hour, isn't it?) I get myself dressed, take steps to address my bedhead, and brush my teeth before I tip-toe out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. The house is still and silent, and my movements are calculated in order to make sure I don't inadvertently wake anyone up. The refrigerator door is opened slowly and silently, my breakfast is put quietly into my bag, and I wrap my keys in my fist so that they don't jingle against one another on my way out the door. On Wednesday, I stopped at the hall-tree to grab my winter jacket, because it was literally freezing outside. Twenty-three degrees to be exact. I unhooked my coat and slid my arms into it, and then bent to pick up the bag I had silently placed on the floor. As I did, a sharp and punctuated sound came out of the dark stillness above my head. It came from the upstairs balcony and it rang out like a shot. It said "MOM??!!" and I am here to tell you, I almost had a heart attack and died right there on the door mat. So after I'd gotten up off the floor, regained my composure, stopped convulsing, and checked my pants, Gibson and I had a conversation about what I was doing, where I was going, and whether or not daddy was still here. (On a side note, the way that kid worries about us leaving him forever, I'm pretty sure he was abandoned in a past life......) Eventually he determined that all was OK, and went back to bed. But me? I was WIDE awake. Who needs coffee in the morning when you can have a near-death experience instead?

Now, let's cut to last night. Gibson kind of had a rough one. I think he sometimes has nightmares -- and he sleeps like a rock, so it's hard to get him to snap out of it. I'd gone up to his room a couple of times to try to soothe him, as he was half crying and kicking around in bed. It took a few tries, but I'd finally managed to get him settled down and had gone back to bed for the 3rd time that night -- completely exhausted and just hoping I could get some uninterrupted sleep until morning reared it's ugly head. But at some point in the wee hours of the night, Gibson had woken up and wandered downstairs to our bedroom. Mike heard him coming -- which is a freakin' miracle in itself -- and was in the process of getting out of bed to see what he needed. This means that when Gibson tottered into our room, instead of quietly walking over to the bed and waking us up like he usually does, he came face-to-face with a six-foot-nine-inch figure looming over him in the dark. So he did what any normal six year old would do........ He screamed. And I don't know how you react when you go from a dead-sleep to a blood-curdling scream in your face at 3:00am, but I can tell you what I did. I shot straight up out of bed, and clung to the ceiling with my nails while I convulsed and had a mini-stroke. Oh yeah -- and I screamed too. Which, if I remember correctly, made Gibson scream again. And poor Mike, huffy because of the reaction his "help" had garnered, was all "Jesus Christ!! Would you two just SETTLE DOWN!?!" And then he steered Gibson out of the room.

So I think it's pretty clear that the kid has it out for me. He's discovered my weakness and is determined to exploit it by showing up at random moments in the dark of night and literally scaring me to death. And I don't know what he hopes to gain by knocking me off, because he's going to be sorely disappointed in the life-insurance policy.

Doing Homework; A Lesson in Responsible Parenting

Look who hasn't been doing her "homework" lately! But, hey, I warned you that might happen, right? I explained that I wasn't very good at that whole "turning assignments in on time" thing, didn't I? I would like to point out that I did, however, excel at posting for eight days straight. That might be a new world record for me -- both for posting AND for turning in homework assignments.

And when it comes to homework, do you know what else I'm not very good at? Remembering to make Gibson do his. Yes, yes.... He's only in Kindergarten, but they do have homework every night. It's easy stuff -- and really not very time consuming -- but the general idea is just to get the youngsters used to actually doing it. And please don't tell anybody, but I think it's safe to admit to you that I'm falling down in that department. Apparently, even as a grown up and mother, I still have issues with completing it in a timely manner.

Here's how it usually works: Gibson gets off the bus and I tell him that the very first thing he needs to do is his homework. But then he's hungry and needs a snack. And then after he's eaten he gets distracted -- usually in the form of Landis, and sometimes in the form of the neighbor kids. And then I get distracted -- usually in the form of laundry and/or dinner prep. I mean, let's face it.........two people who may or may not have ADD issues are not very good at keeping one another on task.

So after about 4 days of me forgetting to actually see to it that he even starts his assignments -- let alone complete them -- I catch a glimpse of the homework calender taped to the fridge. (Especially eye-catching is the signature line at the bottom -- where you, as the capable and dutiful parent, put pen to paper and sign it when you pack all of it into your son's backpack to be turned in at the end of the month.) It's at that precise moment, when I realize that the scam I've been running (you know, the one about me being a responsible parent) is about to be exposed.
GAAAAAAAAACK!!! Gibson!! You have homework to do! FOUR DAYS WORTH!!!!!! Get your notebook!! Sit down! Here! Take this pencil!! Write your numbers 1-20! Write the alphabet in uppercase letters! Practice your phone number!!! Draw four pigs! Count their ears!!!!!
And Gibson, who is only supposed to have about 10 minutes of homework a night, flounders around in about 30 minutes worth. To his credit though he gets it all done, and with little complaining.

Apparently, the lesson I am teaching my son is this: Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow. And then freak out when the dead-line is approaching. Which is certainly an improvement from my own school days where my motto was: Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow. Dead-line, Schmead-line.