How to make Charles grumpy....

I know that lately, all of my blogs start out like this:  “Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while but….[insert feeble excuse here]”  Well, this one is no different.  I’ve found consistency to be very relaxing. 

Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while but I’ve been pretty stressed out.  Daughter number one is changing jobs and has requested my mad resume skillz, clothes and shoes.  Daughter number two is graduating high school and apparently needs all of my attention, money and shoes. Daughter number three (who is too small yet to borrow clothes or shoes) … I think is secretly plotting to kill the first two girls so she can have all my attention.  And don’t go thinking I’m all cool and stuff.  No.  They want my attention because they don’t want me to have any peace WHATSOEVER!  

Then there’s the hub.  He’s always pestering me with annoying questions like “Did you pay the gas bill” or “have you balanced the checkbook” or “why do you sit in the corner and cry all the time”.  Ugh! So demanding! 

So this morning the following events may or may not have occurred. 

The hubs and I have decided to ride together so that when daughter number two comes into town, we only have one car to deal with.  The hubs isn’t fond of being my chauffer.   Something about me being a diva or hating being called Charles… whatever.  Anyway, he finished getting dressed and was waiting very patiently for me to finish.

Hubs: You about ready?

Me: Yea.  Just a few minutes.

Ten minutes later

Hubs:  How much longer?

Me: Um… almost done

Five minutes later

Hubs: Really?  How much longer?

Me: Dude… it takes time to make all this awesome happen (gesturing from my head to my toes – which still did not have shoes on them).

Hubs: You know I hate to be late.

Me: I’m almost done.  Chill!!

Much huffing and puffing on the Hubs part, and we are out the door.  I only ran back in twice for things I forgot.  Apparently being chauffeured around brings on forgetfulness… who knew?

So we get in the car and as we back out of the driveway, I look at the clock on the dashboard.

Me: Oh, we should hurry… I’m running late.

That’s when that vein in his neck started throbbing.  So out of respect for him I did not call him Charles.  Much.

yea. I got nuthin'.....

It was late at night. The thunderstorm was in full swing. Lightning and thunder alternated creating a chaotic symphony of light and sound. The rain pelted the windows as the wind whipped east then west then east again. The lightning illuminated the room becoming almost blinding each time it hit.

She sat on her bed. Ipad poised. Keypad and blue tooth synchronized - blue light verified that both were working. A blank page was open and her hand hovered over the key board. Her glasses poised on her nose, diet coke beside the table.

Smartphone beside her, open to Evernotes with numerous ideas, both complete and partial listed on her "writing" notes section. Words misspelled, evidence of a hastily written thoughts; most likely quickly typed during the morning drive to work.

She was ready - in every sense to begin writing. Yet. Every idea was a dead end. Nothing seemed to work. She started several sentences only to delete them shortly thereafter. Her thoughts jumbled and oddly blank.

All she could think of was the movie Mean Girls. Why were buses running over people? Was there no speed limit? Doesn't the driver understand the school zone? And why doesn't the driver see this girl? Seriously... what is wrong with me????

Little known facts about Easter preparations at the padded room....

Here are some little known facts about Easter preparations at the padded room... enjoy:

Pre-made sugar cookies with the cute little imprints of colorful bunnies and chicks do NOT taste as good as the package promises. I suspect a bait and switch, but cannot confirm this as of yet. There's a conspiracy here. I'm quite certain.

Regardless of having a list, I will most certainly forget at least two items necessary to make food for Easter lunch. Guaranteed.

Despite my uncontrollable pregnancy cravings some 18 years ago, I still love me some chocolate covered marshmellow bunnies. And i still eat the heads off first.

The glitter egg dye that daughter number 3 insisted I purchase promises to make a monstrous mess in my kitchen. Further I predict I will most likely still be finding said glitter by the time Halloween pumpkin carving rolls around. This years pumpkins will be FANCY!

Daughter number 2, the one who keeps leaving her shoes ALL OVER THE HOUSE - where some people continually trip over them, cannot be trusted to fill plastic Easter eggs when Kit Kats are involved.

Walmart at 5:00 on the Saturday before Easter Sunday is apparently the meeting location for every insane and last minute person in my town, the candy isle is more chaotic than Black Friday, and the frantic crowd makes some cashiers entirely too friendly wherein they insist on calling you honey and sweetheart. Conclusion: Only an insane person would go there at that time. At least that's what I hear. AND having a hot flash in the three person deep line was the icing on the cake. Also, the pouring rain than threatens to drown me in the parking lot was really a cherry topper on that cake.

No matter how old my girls get, I LOVE that they still color Easter eggs, get excited about their Easter gifts, still get dressed up for Easter Sunday and sit with us at church. My girls are awesome.

Happy Easter everyone!

More parenting advice....

On a long car ride this weekend, daughter number 3 (she's 10) is chatting about a confrontation between her and another little girl at school. From what I gather ("gather" not because I wasn't listening to her and playing with my ipod or anything) there was an incident during a kickball game wherein the little girl hit daughter number 3 not once but twice in the face (note: good moms don't laugh)... so when I quit laughing, we determine it may or may not have been on purpose. Here's where the tale picks up:

Daughter 3 - So then she hit me again in the same spot! (Sounding dramatic and over-reactive.... and I have NO idea where she gets that....Shut up!)

Daughter 2 (She's 18, and spreading hate and discontent) - So did you hit her back?

Daughter 3 - No, I just turned and walked away.

Daughter 2 - Why you gotta be the bigger person?

And that, my friends, is how to raise loving and caring children. There goes my mom of the year award.