Thursday, September 24, 2009

Passive/Aggressiveness; a game two can play.

am not pleasant when I don't get enough sleep. Yes, I know, I chose to have kids, and didn't stumble in thinking "MY kids will sleep through the night" I could have, since my mother gleefully reminds me that HER children slept through the night (definition- sleeping 10 hours or more at a stretch by two weeks old). She explains this phenomena by saying that God knew how she was when she didn't get her eight uninterrupted hours a night and blessed her with children that understood this and needed as much sleep as she did.


So I did my part. I brought my super-sleeping genes to the pool and tossed them in. I brought my need to sleep eight hours and donated my half of the DNA. All I can say is that the need for sleep must be a recessive gene, and that the kids weren't my problem last night.

My problem was the other half of my kids' gene pool.

I crawled into bed and was asleep at 9p.m. Sad, I know, but I was T-I-R-E-D. Sgt. G comes to bed at 11 and wakes me up. He is mad because when he went to go to bed he realized that Motormouth had his bedroom light on and was playing with Lego's. He proceeds to tell me how he handled the situation and then rolls over and goes to sleep.

Leaving me to wonder why I needed to be awake.

Maybe he didn't mean to wake me. I am told (and my sister can testify to this) that I can carry on entire lucid conversations while I sleep. Maybe he just wanted to grump a little, and thought I would sleep through it.

I did not.

I laid there and stared at the ceiling, then the wall, then the underside of my pillow, and then the back of G's head. That got me thinking, which is a dark road to go down when you are ticked off and sleep deprived. 2 a.m is when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to sleep until I got some things off my chest. "YOU KNOW WHAT?" I announce loudly. Nothing. I poke G in the shoulder and try again. This time I am successful at waking him and rant for about 5 minutes and then roll over in a huff. I'll admit that I was hoping to get a little revenge. I'll admit I possess the immaturity to gain some satisfaction at the idea of him laying awake while I sleep. I was feeling vindicated. I'm just about to doze off when I hear him snoring faintly. He continues to snore through me hitting the snooze button 4 times before getting up. He was still snoring when I left for work.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Advice that would have been useful 7 HOURS AGO!!

My usual work shift is from 4-8a.m. Yesterday I picked up an off-truck day and worked 5-8a.m. I usually just set my phone alarm on those days so I don't have to mess with my alarm clock, but decided that I like the alarm clock better because it is quieter and I can hit the snooze a couple times. My phone alarm is loud and I didn't want to annoy G with it. (This is what I get for being nice) I had to work my usual truck day shift of 4-8 this morning and my alarm started going off at....3:45. Whoops.
Me: (whispering) Oh NO!!

G: Wha....?

Me: I'm late!!

G: (still asleep and mumbling) don't forget to reset your alarm clock

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

'Tis the season to be selling fa la la la la, la la llllaaa LLLAAAA

School started for the boys a week ago, which means we have now officially entered "fundraising season". I dread this season. Not only does it give me flashbacks of the endless fundraising I had to do as a child for school/band/girl scouts/church but it comes with so many more rules now. Every fundraiser form we get states that you can't let your kids sell door to door, that they should only sell to family and close friends. That's great, but family means cousins, and cousins are also selling the same exact junk to the same exact family members, and how many gift cards/cheese logs/ceramic mugs/cookie dough/cook books/rolls of wrapping paper does Grandma really need? Round one started today when Motormouth brought home his little magazine 'o treats and order form. Attached to the front was a perky little letter detailing the deliciousness of the different cookie doughs, cakes, and subs and their prices from (I am assuming) the head of the PTC. She signs off her letter by saying that each child's goal is to sell 20 subs and 20 blocks of dough. That's roughly $270 in sales. She has got to be delusional, er, kidding.

During dinner Motormouth announces that there is a meeting at school tonight for moms and that I need to go. Yes indeedy, it is the first PTC meeting of the year. I had toyed with the idea of going, but ultimately decided that since the kids are still in separate schools, that this would NOT be the year I start attending PTC (yeah, yeah all you other moms out there, I'm making you look bad, so grab your stones, I'll meet you in the street).
Motormouth: You HAVE to go. It's important.
Me: yeah? what are they going to talk about that is so important?
Motormouth: I dunno.

Yep. Not going. For the following 3 reasons.
1. I can't keep my thoughts to myself.
2. Not everyone finds my wit and sarcasm endearing.
3. It's better to avoid situations where 1 and 2 might happen.

I can assure you, the post office did not.

My mom found an amazing sale on Playmobil stuff in Florida, so instead of mailing Monkey some birthday money, she bought birthday and Christmas gifts and mailed them to me. She ended up stuffing the birthday gifts into the Christmas gift box to save on shipping. She called and gave me detailed instructions that I couldn't open the box in front of the boys because she couldn't wrap the Christmas gift because the birthday gifts were inside. I promised to remember. My mother knows me well and assumed that I would indeed NOT remember this important detail. She wrote further instructions on the box. The mailman delivers the 2'x3' box wrapped in plain brown paper and brings it to the door. "The box says to open this when you are alone" he smirks at me, waggling his eyebrows.


I call my mom to let her know I did indeed get the package and the mailman was kind enough to read me her "open alone" instructions. "oh, good. I was worried after I wrote that on there that the post office would think that I was a terrorist."

Friday, September 11, 2009

In other words- you worry too much.

We are all sitting around in the living room when Monkey comes in and climbs inbetween Sgt. G and I. He opens his mouth and points to his top front tooth which is clearly about to fall out. After reassuring Monkey that this is okay and that it will be okay when it falls out he wanders off. I turn to Sgt. G, "Didn't he already lose that tooth?"

The next morning Monkey comes to the table for breakfast and shows G the hole where his tooth had been. It's gone. G manages to find the missing tooth on Monkey's tooth colored carpet and sets it aside for the tooth fairy.

When Monkey gets home from school he shows me his missing tooth and starts counting "one two THREE!!" pointing to the gaping hole in his smile. I do some thinking back and realize that Monkey is correct, this is the third tooth he has lost.

Later on the phone with my mother, I am recounting my shortcomings. I don't know which teeth the kid has lost, I can't tell the baby ones from the permanent ones, or even how many he has lost, and you better believe it isn't in a baby book somewhere. This kid is going to grow up thinking we don't care. My mom interrupts me "Babe, in the grand scheme of things.....igh."

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Motormouth's words of wisdom, pt. 1

"When you go out on a date with a girl, you take her to a scary movie. When she gets scared she will put her arms around you and hug you, then she will kiss you."

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Breathe easy ladies, that Mother of the Year award is still up for grabs.

As a mom, I worry about not doing a good enough job. This week as I started school and picked up a couple of extra shifts at work, I have worried that things are going to start falling through the cracks, that I have taken on too much and I am not up for the challenge. It only took one phone call with my mother-in-law to realize that my fears have come true.

MIL- I just wanted to go over the menu for this weekend. I was going to buy a cupcake mix for the boys. Is that okay?

Me- um. sure. that would be great.

MIL- Well....I know you aren't going to be there Monday, so should the boys eat them Sunday?

Me- (why would I care........???) I guess it doesn't really matter, whenever you want.

MIL- So.......(probably wondering why her daughter in law is insane) I guess we should celebrate Monkey's birthday on Sunday so you can be there.

Me-................................oh my God.