moments

Admit it...we've all done it...

gone into our sleeping child's room the day after Halloween looking for the stash and a midnight Tootsie Pop?? Don't start going all innocent on me...you've for sure done it while they are away at school. That's a given.

I went in to Brendan's room tonight to find his candy stash, but it wasn't in the big plastic pumpkin. It wasn't anywhere to be seen. 

(this is when I had to turn the light on)

It was in one of those drawstring bags that everbody sells (but nobody really uses) TIED to his upper bunk. Once I looked inside I saw that he had all of his candy divided up into ziploc baggie according to name brand or genre. It was hard to properly assess as I didn't want to keep the light on for very long. There was however, one baggie designated for me. It was like he was expecting my visit.

I didn't think he knew ANY of this. I sort of thought he was still waiting for the Great Pumpkin or something innocent like that. Not setting traps for his own mother.

(not that she needs to be trapped for anything)

He just thinks he can tell me what candy I am "allowed" to eat...yeah right.

Mom...is today a different kind of day?

I guess by Brendan asking if this was a "differnent" day I should get some brownie points for the fact that there have, indeed, been normal days this summer. This was definetely not one of them.

We woke up late and were immediately on our way to get Brendan to a swim date with a new boy that is coming to our school this fall (aka. they don't know me yet...I hate to make a bad impression). I dropped him off at the most lovely house (think English manor house) and was then headed back home to switch around some laundry (I have been doing laundry for 2 days straight since we got home from vacation). Then we are off to pick up one of MK's friends and deliver them both to a swim party. This will be perfect because I can run to the store and then pick Brendan back up. The other mother was going to bring the girls home. The only problem with that ended up being that when I dropped the girls off at the party the pool had just closed because someone pooped in it. It will be closed for 2 days (someone truly did their BIG job). The mom that was organizing the party said that she would take them all to get ice cream but they would need to be picked up in about 45 minutes. I have to drive something to Brian in Plano so decide that there is no reason for the other mother to drive all of the way there when I am still in the vicinity. I take Brian what he needs and then go get the girls. Of course they weren't ready in 45 minutes and of course I don't have the number for the house that Brendan has been at and we really didn't nail down a pick up plan. The family has an unlisted number as he is a brain surgeon and they live in the manor house. Meanwhile, As I am driving the girls home we decide that it would be fun for them to be dropped off at the Y to swim for a couple of hours and then I will pick them up later and deliver them again to the friend's house for a sleepover. I talk to Alex's mom and assure her that I am more than willing to pick the girls up from the Y and take them to her house. This is her only day off this week and again I am so happy to do it (don't know her very well either).
I have been getting my house in order and I am trying to deal with everything that I come in contact with. No more pushing it to the side. No more things piling up. Deal with it. As I am making my way around the room I find a plastic bin full of papers that need to be shredded. Knowing that our shredder can only shred like 8 sheets a day without going postal I decide that I will burn all of the papers in the fireplace that is in Brendan's room.
I *open* the damper and begin the towering inferno of things that could have probably been thrown into the regular trash. Of course the damper wasn't closed last winter so....the flue is now closed and smoke is FILLING the room and the entire house. Brendan runs out of the house because he hates the sound of the smoke detector (and he has asthma). I called 911 and asked if I could talk to someone about what to do when you make a mistake like this and you aren't totally sure what to do next. Turns out 911 isn't the same as googling for an answer and I hear the fire trucks on their way. 2 of them. Sirens and lights. They come in and commence to work with gas masks and the works. They asked me to open all of my doors and windows at which point I had to tell them that my windows were all painted shut. The captain raised his eyebrows at me and I saw myself as a 3rd grader learning about fire safety in Miss Harding's class. I know there should always be a way out of a room. I told him he could take his axe and break my windows if he wanted to but then he looked over in the corner of Brendan's room and saw a closed door and asked where it lead to. Outside. Forgot about that. Again in the spirit of a fire safe house it was dead bolted with no key nearby. Another firefighter was asking me if I had an adapter for a plug it seems my 3 prong fan can't be plugged in anywhere because the plugs nearby were all still old fashioned 2 prong plugs. I really didn't want the captain to hear about that one so I begin racing around the house and the garage looking for keys, adapters, and another guy asked for a flashlight (why do they drive these huge trucks if they need me to supply all of the supplies??). As I am coming around the corner of the dining room I stepped on a piece of glass that was on the floor, screamed, and dropped the flashlight and broke it right in front of them all, including the chief. I had glass on the floor that I hadn't cleaned up yet.

Meanwhile MK calls and asks me why I hadn't picked her up from the pool yet. Well because I started a fire at our house and there are 2 trucks here. Your brother is sitting alone in the playhouse. Can you just call Alex's mom and ask her to pick you all up? Oh and don't come by here to pick up stuff for your sleepover. I will bring it to you later. Talk about embarrassing.

They got everything under control. By now I am crying, my foot is bleeding, but I think I have found a way to the chief's heart. He declares the whole thing my husbands fault because he left the damper open all summer and wants to work on the glass in my foot. He starts working with fingers that look like kielbasa sausages and ushes the glass up into my foot further.

When I went out to the playhouse to see Brendan he is playing his DS and asked if there would be a time limit on how long he could play. Not today and do you care if I don't take you to karate? Then he asks mom...is this a different kind of day?

Oh...and the neighbors are gathering outside (I don't know any of them very well).

Don't Let This Happen to You

I am writing my life story and it will be titled Don't Let This Happen to You. There will be chapters on "how to potty train your child in one year" as well as wisdom like "listen to the man at the paint store and don't paint your whole house latex over oil". These kinds of things. I think it will be a best seller. Today I need to work up the chapter on "not wearing maternity clothes when you aren't pregnant". Yes, I found a darling shirt (I thought it was darling...now I hate it) at Target for $6.00. It fit perfectly (which would be another chapter) and who can argue with the price? It was hanging in the sale section with the REGULAR clothes (I think the people that put things away at Target are doing meth in the back) and as I was CHECKING OUT I noticed that it was a maternity shirt. No worries...it looks great...I buy it. BIG MISTAKE. I wore it today and really barely slipped by a few people asking me what my due date was. I seriously saw it in their eyes. There is a reason why maternity clothes are maternity clothes. I am not a seamstress, so I can't elaborate on the difference in the cut, but baby there is a difference. A "look at me, I am 40 years old wearing a $6. Target maternity shirt and I am not even pregnant" difference. No deal is worth that and no...I'm not posting any pictures!

My name is Laura and I throw away popsicles

There’s nothing that says summer quite like a box of popsicles.
Purple, red, and orange popsicles.
Not fudgsicles...not drumsticks...not ice cream sandwiches.
(although I do like a good rocket pop from an ice cream truck)
The only problem with the 3 flavors is...why do there have to be 3 flavors?
Grape is clearly the best flavor with red (what flavor is it actually?) coming in a close 2nd.
But orange? Bleh. They shouldn’t even be in the box. They taste like a chemical waste dump to me...talk about pesticides.

Turning 40 has made me realize that I have fretted about a few things in life for a very long time.
I have worried about what to do with this orange popsicle problem for about 30 years.
As a child no more popsicles would be purchased until the current box was completely empty.
Completely empty.
These were also the days when each wrapper contained 2 popsicles stuck together.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
My usual plan of attack was to eat all of the good ones first and then torture myself through the grueling task of eating the oranges.
My mother (who also liked purple and red) would try to pace herself and move around.
That just ended up giving me more time to do my damage.

I had a brief reprieve from the torture of eating orange popsicles when John was a young sapling.
In fact I groomed him to be an orange popsicle kind of guy.
I encouraged his love of the citrus flavor that is thrown into everything good package of candy or faux fruit product.
I mean someone has to eat the yellow and green lifesavers.
And the orange popsicles.
I actually would kind of swell with pride when, as a teenager, I watched him pick out all of the yucky flavors of Skittles first.
He likes it...Hey Mikey!

John isn’t around anymore and my own kids have picked up on the fact that I would never touch those blasted orange things and they dont like them either.
So...I made the executive decision to no longer worry about it for another 30 years.
I toss them. Happily. No guilt.
They all just melt in the trash can into sticky water and I am released from their bondage.
40 years old and free at last.

Do you ever...

while washing your hair, find yourself going through the shampoo, rinse, repeat sequence and you lose track of whether it is your first or fourth time??

Me neither.

This is my question...

How in the world does anybody sleep good (or well...never understood that one)? Or maybe I should say how do people that are slightly approaching a mid point in their lives sleep comfortably? I don't think I have had a really great night of sleep (that wasn't chemically supported) for over a year. Here are the problems:

My arms. They fall asleep. I am traditionally a stomach sleeper and I like to have an arm or two up under my pillow for support. However, when I do this, I wake up with no feeling in my limbs and then when I sit up to shake them out (which makes me fully awake), I have the pins and needles feeling that is almost excruciating.

I told my doctor about this and he laughed and said, "You know there comes a point that you can't go higher than the equator". Thanks...I'll keep that in mind.

My neck doesn't turn half as good as it used to. Feel like it needs some WD-40. I mean, now I know why all of those old people are getting chair massages at the bookstore.

I am here to tell you...changing sleeping positions isn't just something you can do, ahem, overnight. It takes time. Not to mention the support of various pillows and other paraphernalia. We have a sleep number bed and as a stomach sleeper I like to set it at about 75. However, as a side and/or back sleeper, I like to set it at about 35 for the full craddle feeling. I also like the Temperpedic pillow for side and back sleeping...it is lousy for stomach sleeping. The chiropractor just told me to put another pillow between my legs for side sleeping and under my knees for back sleeping.

So who has time to sleep when you are moving pillows around and letting out or adding air to your mattress all night long? Not to even mention the frustration of waking up to go to the bathroom a few times a night.

I assume most people just sleep in the same position all night. I think I would never fall asleep on my back. For like 5 nights. Oh...and I also snore which doesn't bother me (unless I have to sit up and worry that I have sleep apnea), but puts a kink in Brian's night of refreshing sleep, which I am not sure I can take responsibility for at this point.

Last night MK came and got in bed with us and then Brendan came in later and tried to sneak in the middle. I busted him and told him to go back to his bed. He said it was so cool that ALL of us were in bed together and it wouldn't be as great if he left...so I left and slept in MK's bed. All alone. Without all of my pillows and my inflatable mattress.

I am tired.

Restarting

I have decided that I am going to restart my blog. I doubt that anybody will even notice. I mean who has 'test' on their blog for like 10 months and then decides to start again? Nobody believes that person and I respect that. People have asked me why I still pay the fee to typepad every month if I am not even going to blog. The first reason is for moments like this where I decide to start again...I don't have to completely start over when I start again. The second reason is that it is like my own piece of real estate on the world wide web. How sad would it be if another Laura Mountjoy came along and took this site (I have gotten her pictures before at Sam's so it could happen) ?? The last reason is that I am all about the possibilities. I love the idea more than the execution or the completion. Having my blog with a positive test signal for 10 months leaves all kinds of doors and opportunities open.

Don't tell anyone I am doing this until I have done it at least 5 times. Thanks.