By the light of the Moon...

By the light of the moon, I see a darken hole. I know there are freshly washed clothes in that darken hole, but there isn't enough moonlight to identify what I am reaching for deep down into that hole. Does it really matter that I can't see? Well not really. It would be nice to be able to see what clothes I need to hang dry though. Simple luxuries I've forgone with. Oh woa is me. It's a hard life. I know I shouldn't complain, but it makes for a fun story.

Okay so in our laundry room (which is in the basement) we have these ugly fluorescent long tube lights. One by one they have burnt out. Since I notified the handy electrician in the house (two weeks ago) that the last tube is on its last flickering leg, I thought by the first week there would be some replacement tubes. Nope. Nothing. Nada. The handy electrician has decided I need to go to the store to buy two new pull chain sockets to replace the broken light socket in the work room in the basement (It's only been two years since that socket broke) and to replace the tube production light in the laundry room. No problem. I can do that.

Sockets are in the house. Another week goes by, they are still neatly enclosed in the boxes they came in. Granted, we had a busy weekend with a soccer tournament for two kids this past weekend and mothers day at my mom's house, but the handy electrician had time to fix someone else's electrical on Saturday night. Hmmm. Now that same handy electrician is out working hard in another state for the rest of the week. Hmmm. That reminds me. The garage light is burnt out and the porch light is burnt out too. By the time he comes back, we might be living in the dark. I guess I'm going to have to get a tool belt and a ladder for myself. Look out.

Fix-It

There's always one of those small things that you say you are going to fix and never do. Well, this time it was a small little stapler that Child #1 had brought home. After a few uses it became jammed. Child #1 and Child #2 had asked me to fix it several times, but I always brushed them off ( they have access to my normal sized stapler if needed).

Today, Child #2 asks me again to fix it so I agree to it. In order to get the jammed staple out, I needed a knife. Child #2 hurries to get me a butter knife from the kitchen.

All is good, I easily push the staple out and readjust the other staples so it is as good as new. Possibly too good. Child #2 runs off to finish her project she was working on.

Not even one minute later, Child #2 runs back down the hall in that panicky voice every mother never wants to hear, "I just stapled my thumb. Mom, I just stapled my thumb."

Okay at this moment, I'm going to stay calm. It's probably just a little piece of the staple stuck in her skin. No big deal. Right?

No. It's a pretty big deal. I've never seen a staple stuck that far into the skin before. Granted, I wanted to freak out, but I stayed calm and collective trying to sooth her while I figured out what to do. The staple was all the way through her thumb. The end was probably touching the back of her nail. In a strange way, I was a little fascinated. I pull her into the bathroom, not sure how much blood would spurt out when the staple was removed.

Surprisingly, the staple came out pretty easily. Nothing more than a pin prick of blood. I quickly wash it, dump hydrogen peroxide over it, and put a band aid on it. I wash my hands and my emergency room is closed for the evening.

The stapler went straight into the garbage and Child# 2 was banned from using anymore staplers.

Scary Sneaky

On the side of the field, I'm juggling a 12 girl line up with only five girls on the soccer field at a time (its hell to try to get all equal playing time). Child #2 comes bouncing off the field and asks me can we get ice cream after the game now that I scored my goal. Apparently, Child #2 has a delusion that she deserves ice cream every time she scores a goal. I'm not exactly even sure where she came up with this idea, but she continues to hound me about it. In the midst of switching kids off the field, I just tell her to go ask her dad. At this point, we're into the second half and she comes skipping back from the other side of the field with a huge grin on her face to inform me that dad told her he would take her to get ice cream. Again I'm in the middle of finagling children on and off the field when I realize my enchanting daughter has just recruited six other girls to go get ice cream with her after the game. 

The game ends (we won 7 to 1), I clean up the side line and go find the push over to figure out what exactly are his plans. So I ask the push over, "You said you would take her to get ice cream after the game?"

Defensively he says, "I did no such thing. I told her it was no deal on the ice cream."

Now the truth comes out about my lying, scheming middle child. We are going to be in so much trouble.

Feeling Good

The big day came and went. I completed my first(possibly my last) half marathon 13.1 miles of pounding bones and joints against the pavement. It was a great experience. The shot gun start was a little frustrating, not like the triathlons where you get assigned heats for your start. I felt really strong for the first eight miles. The next two miles I still felt good, but after the tenth mile it was torturous. Then came the eleventh mile (only two miles to go), I had nothing left. I was basically a robot going through the motions to finish. My feet hurt, my knees hurt, my hip hurt. I pushed on to the last mile. Man, that mile felt like two. I swear it went on forever. Crossing the finish line, the clock read 1:57:30. The shock filled my system and my body didn't hurt so much anymore. I couldn't believe it I made it under 2 hours. Of course, then I start to think I could have ran a little faster at the end, but like I said I had nothing left at the time. It was a great accomplishment for my own little personal goal and I won't have to run another half marathon again.

The next day I was pretty sore, but it was a good sore. It was hard to jump out of the starting gate from a sitting position, but as the next day came it got easier.

Now three days later, I find myself feeling really good. The only analogy I can come up with is giving birth. While going through labor, you feel pain (that's until they give you my all time favorite drug the epidural) and think how the hell will you ever get through pushing a child the size of a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. After the baby is born and everyone is healthy and filled with the bountiful love and joy of a new born baby, you tell yourself it wasn't so bad, I could do it again. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but in the future I can definitely do it again.

So maybe I will do another half marathon next year.

Oscar the Couch

I am the first one to admit that my house keeping skills aren't top notch anymore. I used to be the every Saturday morning for four hours cleaner, right down to wiping down the base boards and trim work on my hands and knees (Yes I would knock out the whole house every Saturday morning and I was fast and efficient). Obviously this was eight years ago before I had a human being that relied on me 24/7.  The problem is that the need to have a clean house all the time never really came back.


Now my goals have become simpler. If I keep up with the dishes and laundry everyday, I feel like I'm treading water. I'm lucky to wipe down a counter one day and scrub a toilet another day.  I've probably become more efficient, but I don't get that big satisfaction out of the whole house being clean at once.

At this point, you're probably thinking I have a really messy and dirty house (on occasion if you stop by on an off day this might be true...). Actually the major deep cleaning occurs when the season changes for me now. It kicks off when I have to switch out the girls clothes (get rid of the too small clothes, bring up the stored clothes from the basement, you know the routine). This is also about the same time when I freak out and clear out the clutter in the bedrooms. Two of my children have a tendency to hoard or store things in improper places (FOOD DOES NOT BELONG IN THE BEDROOM AND THERE IS NO TRASH CAN UNDER THE BED!)

I digress, my point today was supposed to be about the living room. Spring is here. On my agenda today was to move the furniture and vacuum. The couch is pretty heavy so I don't move it too much. For the last eight years, it has survived daily jumping, beating and stabbings (Lazy Boy is well constructed). I believe not too many couches would've made it. I even fear to get a new couch at this time considering my children are still young and rambunctious. Now this doesn't mean the couch doesn't have it's down falls. After using my whole body weight to shove the couch away from the wall, I discovered our object eating couch consumed quite a bit this season.

Not one, but two Nintendo DS stylists
Loads of popcorn (I'm glad we don't have mice in our house)
Tons of hair clips, pony tail holders, head bands.
Missing pens, tons of pencils
A missing mini flashlight the girls have been fighting over who lost
A library book (great now we don't owe any money)
$1.62 in change (More than I get out of the wash)
Small little missing pieces to toys
1 puzzle piece

What's under your couch?