I can’t figure it out.
Either, there is something wrong with the way I parent these kids of mine, or there is something wrong with the children.
All I know is, both of them are constantly in competition with each other about who got more than the other. More: attention from someone, any type of food, amount of drink in a cup, ice cream scoops, chocolate chips in their cookie, sprinkles, pancakes, Pokemon cards, Minecraft time, visits at grandparents’ house, playdates, you name it, they will argue about it.
So tiresome. Continue reading
Ha. As if…
Sometimes, I fantasize about what I feel life around here should be like. I have this image in my head where everything has a place, everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing, everyone is mutually respectful of one another…
I am rarely, if ever, absent from home or from the kids. I plan my stuff around when the kids are in school, and I have to admit that my life has become easier with both kids in school full time. I do get a few hours of family-free time and some days I cocoon myself in my four walls and shut off everything so I can hear myself think. In return I am better able to handle their incessant noise when they do come home, and even enjoy it. They are active, healthy and mostly happy kids…and I don’t want to miss out on their quirkiness. It’s been a long road, but I think we’re there…sort of. Like I said, I have time to hear myself think most days…
What a concept. Continue reading
I feel like a 1950s housewife. One who is donning aprons and baking up a storm (did that yesterday) (I actually do NOT like baking) and cleaning closets (been doing that for 12 years and counting) and leaving dishes to rot in the sink (so not really like the 1950s housewife) and walking the kids to school with unruly hair and flats instead of polka-dot dresses and high-heeled shoes. Continue reading
Good afternoon. I have an announcement to make:
I have crumbs.
That’s it. That’s my announcement.
If you are a first-time pregnant lady reading this post, please get up and walk around your house right now. Keep your head down and your eyes open. Look at your floor. Specifically, look at your carpeting. Area rugs, mats, wall-to-wall….look at ALL of it. Continue reading
A few weeks ago I was depressed. I couldn’t see beyond the stuff, the mess, the clutter, and school hadn’t even started yet.
My basement has potential but the problem is always time. There is never time….so I bring the bin with the summer clothing downstairs and since I would have to move shit from this place to that place to get to the spot where I want to store the bin, I just leave the bin there, for later.
Until it’s too late and then hell breaks loose. Continue reading
There is something mildly irritating about having steps in one’s house. We don’t have them going up, but we have them going down. Hence, when I place certain items (from large impossible to ignore laundry baskets to tiny toys like lego) directly in front of the steps, one would think the next person who descends into the family rec room would pick up some item, particularly if one has to either move, or step over it, and carry it down into the abyss.
But alas, this is not the case.
Ok, so the 4yo doesn’t technically have to remember (yet), but I’m trying to train her that if the toy resembles something belonging to her (Strawberry Shortcake comes to mind) perhaps she could, on her way down there, take it with her and place it in the drawer?
The almost 7yo…he is of the male persuasion so perhaps it’s a thing that renders him to not see things he steps over. He will do it if reminded but that requires me to hover near the steps, so I may as well just take the item down myself than to enter arguments and negotiations.
But the other adult…well he does remember most of the time. AND he does ALL the laundry on the weekend so technically if he’s busy carrying baskets up and down the steps he is allowed to step over or move other items I stack there. Still, it sometimes does boggle my mind when I see from the corner of the kitchen a physical hip-movement to make a passable path past the stacked boxes or bins without an attempt to pick one up. Maybe it’s my fault, because ultimately there is no designated place to put it down there unless it’s a specific item such as a toy or a book. If it’s a bin or a box, even I don’t always know where to deposit it when I get there.
Let’s chalk it up to a quirk and move on.
I read this in the newspaper today:
It seems the only job tougher than the pioneer’s was that of the pioneer’s wife, keeping house and slaving over a hot log fire. Most of the time the woman is pregnant.
And here I was bitching and moaning (to no one in particular) about the state of my floors this morning. All I need to do is pick up my wet Swiffer and press the button.