Welcome to My Neighborhood

I've always thought that living out in the country affords you a little more privacy than in town, in suburbia... where there are people and life and not just weeds and rocks and no one.... Anywho. Back to my original statement. Privacy. Ya, thats what I think I have. Privacy to open my windows, yell at my children, have the music waaaaaaaaaaaaay up.. So thats what I do. Because I live in the country.

We've lived in our humble little home for just over a year. Our closest neighbor is about 3 acres away (no clue what that is in kilometers or anything, but thats my estimate). After we moved in we did the meet and greet, the smile, the how old is your kid.. blah blah blah thing with said neighbors. Knew em well enough to say thats my neighbor, but not well enough to remember their names. But that vague 'knowingness' (my blog, my word) changed real soon.

Was one of those mornings where you wish you had let the kid have her own way and kept her home from school because she just didnt feel like going. But I being the amazing mother I am, got outta bed, showered, robed and dealt with whiny kindergartner who couldnt find her backpack. I knew where it was. Where everything is. In the van. So with towel on head, robe on, I head out to get 'er. Just getting outta the van with backpack in one hand. Here comes nameless neighbors husband driving down the road, he honks and waves. I turn and wave. Windy day. Robe flies open. There I am, nude.Waving.

His name is Jerry and her name is Brigit. Once someone sees you naked, you feel compelled to learn their names.

Which brings me to tonight....

This evening while cooking dinner (no french bread) I take advantage of my afforded living in the country rights. Music blaring, blinds open. A hand can opener makes a really good microphone when you're jamming to Bon Jovi. And let me tell you, when no one's around, my dance moves are su-weeet. Flailing arms, air guitar, and can opener mike... "shot throught the heart, and you're to blame.. " And about mid-solo I see something outta the corner of my eye. Not something, someone. Looking in my window. New neighbor. Met her the other day when we had our "hi, how are ya.. blah blah blah session." Couldnt remember her name, but I can tell ya now. Sasha. Sasha had knocked but no answer due to my blaring CD so she peeked in the window and there I was in all my BonJovi cover band glory.

At least I was clothed.

Broiler A.D.D.

.. yep, that's what I have. This happens 8/10 that I decide to broil anything. French bread being the most frequent victim. In my mind I think that it's just a couple of minutes and I can remember it, as most normal people would believe. Then BAM.. something or someone distracts what little attention span I have and next thing you know the dinner bell, I mean the smoke detector, is screaming.

It's embarrassing enough that this happens frequently, but the icing on the cake is that my girls have the routine down..

• Smoke detector squeals.
• They immediately stop whatever they were doing.
• Ryleigh opens up the front door and windows.
• Avery gets the back door and a chair out so I can push the reset button.

Just like we practice.

Regularly.

I Make My Own Hurdles

We all have hurdles in life. What would we do with out them? I know what I do. I make my own...

Here's my day. One of those great days when there have really been no obstacles that you feel defeated by. They're so far and few between. I got to sleep in, shopped all day, my kids are spending the night at grandmas, the husband is hunting. That's right, the house to myself baby! Good day..

So onto my hurdle story. Playing on the computer, and I hear the sound.. my favorite sound. A text. I jump up and run (ya, run) into the living room. In the middle of the floor is one of my kids little lawn chairs (ya, that's where they go, in the middle of the living room). Remember, I'm in run mode, so instead of going around it, in a split second I decide to hurdle it. Uh huh, 8th grade track.. Right lead leg..

But I missed. And I fell. On my face. Hard.

No worries, I landed safe and secure on what little ego I have. I just laid on the floor for a minute thinking how thrilled I am that no one was home and how I was gonna explain the carpet burn on my chin.

Stupid text anyway.

I just started working at an assisted living center about 4 weeks ago. And honestly, it's more than just 'assisting.' Some of the residents (as they're called) need a lot of care. I've done this kind of work previously, it's not glamorous, but it's rather enjoyable when you see the 'residents' as people. Amazing, funny people who have lived long lives and have great stories to tell.

One man fought in WWII. I know nothing about it. I had better things to do than pay attention in 10th grade history. His name is Charlie (no names have been changed) and before asking your name, he likes to know 'what you are', as in French, Scottish.. blah blah blah. So now as I enter his room in the mornings I say(loudly, as he is mostly deaf) "Good morning Charlie." He replies "Oh, it's Amber the Scottish/Irish married to a German."

On my first day there I sat next to an elderly lady while I was waiting for my orientation. I look over at her and say "Hi, I'm Amber, what's your name?" She looks at me and not in confusion or anything, shakes her and just says, "No." End of story. Just no.

And another lady, she's 100. I don't think I've ever met anyone that has lived an entire decade. I'm in awe sometimes.

Working in these kind of facilities you realize how overlooked our older generations are and things that we'll never really understand. Sometimes I chuckle to myself when they get upset about throwing out part of their lunches, or tell you not to wash their shirt today, it can wait for another 'wash day'.

Like I said, not glamorous work, but we'll all be there someday.

Hand Puppet Genius

Sometimes, the things that come out of my daughters mouth, just kill me. I love her to death. The things that 6 year olds come up with are so genuine and unfortunately sometimes so true. Like tonight at dinner....

Her: Mom, do you know why I have hiccups..



Me: Well, theres some
muscles in your abdomen that start to spasm....



Her:
(interrupting)You don't know, Elmo knows. He's smarter than you. He knows about
hiccups, you dont. He has friends that are animals, kids and grown ups, you
dont. He knows all his numbers, all his letters and his address, you dont. Elmo
has a fish and sometimes he laughs at things. He's red. You're not.

All valid points.



I never want to break that witty, fun spirit she has, but sometimes, I'd like to break her neck!

Ahem, Hate When That Happens

For the first time in the last 5 years I've started working outside of my house. Eww, I know. More of that to come (hopefully). Anyway with said job starting at 6am, I've been up at the bright hour of 4:30am lately. Eww again. With those lovely hours creeping up as my norm, I've found myself cat napping lately.. 5-15 minutes here and there. No big deal. Well tonight was different. I made my kids a healthy dinner of cinnamon/sugar toast and milk and laid down on the couch for a little nap at 5pm. Just woke up at a qtr to 7. The reason I woke up. I couldn't get my hair outta my mouth. Ya, I had drooled soooooo much that it dribbled down my cheek and into my hair. Then my hair matted to my face and in my mouth. Eww.

TMI? Probably.

Hard Days Work

Knock at the door. Not sure who the suits were that I was spying through the peephole, but had a good feeling it was our bi-monthly visit from the Kingdom Hallers. Nope, not today. Today was Kirby. Just as I'm giving my 'not interested' speel, suit #1 pulls out a piece of paper that has my husbands name, address and phone number on it. Ya, he signed us up for a drawing for a free trip to Mexico... in exchange for a demonstration. Ugh. Feeling obligated due to husbands lack of reading the fine print skills, I let them in.

So suit #1 and suit #2 come in with their boxes of goods. Goods being vacuum cleaners that cost more than my first born. Suit #1 has another appointment elsewhere, so he leaves suit #2 to me. This being his second demonstration suit #2 has done.

Poor suit #2. He could hardly get the thing out of the box, had to look at his cheat sheet about 14 times, knocked my blinds down as he was cleaning them, sucked up doll shoes off the floor and had to call his boss 3 times to figure out how the shampooer worked. From my cell phone.

If that was his second demo, I would have hated to be his first.

*Stuff*

.. that's sooo not the 's' word I want to be using right now. Ya, you know the one. We have too much of it. Especially these children (they are often referred to as 'these children' when I'm less than thrilled). Right now we're in the midst of trying to find a certain pair of brown shoes. You think this would be easy enough, go into your bedroom and get it out of the assigned shoe basket. If only. They're basket runneth over.

I've realized that it's not that my kids are too irresponsible to keep track of their 'stuff', its that I have let the amount get to be too great.I hate when I'm a grown up and have to take responsibility! There is far too much for them to be accountable for. And not just shoes. I'm not a keeper or a hoarder of things. I sort through and give away 'stuff' all the time. However, I have a horrible habit of replacing it. So now as the shoe hunt continues and I sit here thinking about why things like this drive me insane, it's time for a change. Children do not need this many pairs of shoes. And honestly, I don't think they even want that many.

So let the deep cleaning commence... Grant me the serenity to sort through all this 'stuff', the courage to toss the things I do not need and the wisdom to not buy more!

Time for the Big Girl Panties.

Purple Panic

This is Purple. Purple has transformed my four year old daughter into a full fledged mother. She breastfeeds (ya, I know..), she changes her diaper, spent her birthday money to buy real diapers for her, changes her clothes, feeds her, rocks her, calms her cries (yep, she's one of those crying babies) and takes her everywhere. Literally. Everywhere.

Tonight, we had a Purple mis-hap. These are far and few between, but when they happen, oh man, sound the alarm. It's bedtime and Purple had vanished. She wasn't in the usual hiding spots (as Avery believes she hides when we can't find her). Purple tends to 'hide' under the bunk beds, under the computer desk or has an extended nap in her crib and is covered with so many blankets that she's not visible.

Finally, we find her. On the trampoline... She hid really well tonight.

I know how I've felt when I've turned around in the grocery store or in the park and can't immediately spot my kids. That deep and instant panic where you feel like you're not breathing. And I see that in my daughters face when we can't find Purple. As sad as it makes me to see her upset, I love seeing the Mommy she has become.

When it Rains, It Pours..

.. and for the last few days, that 'rain' has been milk. Not sure what the deal is, but every time I set a cup of milk in front my kids for the last 2 days, they some how manage to knock it over. Now, I'm not usually one to cry over spilled milk, but heck, it's over $3 a gallon right now! Now my kids aren't small toddlers that are just learning to drink out of a cup. They're capable (well, I thought they were) 6 and 4 year children. C'mon! The saga started Friday night at dinner. They were waiting for their dinner to be served, ever so patiently (this is me rolling my eyes). And no sooner I had set down their cups and the arm wrestling began. As we all know, arm wrestling is an ancient, acceptable form of dinner table entertainment.. Ryleigh (she's 6) grabs her sisters arm (which just came out of a cast) and slams it to the table along with her Hello Kitty cup of milk. I go through the usual steps...

1. Sigh.

2. Deep breath

3.Internal count to 10

4.Prayer(Please Lord help me remember I don't want to kill them~ you know, the usual one)

..and it's cleaned up. Refilled. Dinner is served. We eat, we clear dishes and whatdya know, Avery spills the rest of her milk on the way to the sink. Repeat steps 1-4.

Saturday morning.. (remember Diary of a Bad Mom is the name so there will be no judging) we have the usual sugar filled cereal. And you guessed it, while trying to slurp out the last 3 drops of the now pink/orange colored, suped up, sugar milk, they both spill! Ugh.

Here we are on Sunday night. Dinner. We made it all through the meal. Yep, from set up to take down, it was spill free. I'm ushering them into the bathroom, to get ready for their bath and she just had to do it. Like something greater than she was, was compelling her. Ryleigh stops and grabs the half filled cup off the counter, of you guessed it, milk. Drops it as soon it touched her grimy little palm. Steps 1-4....

They're in the bath now. They may never get out. And I'm okay with that.

My Back to School Blues

Blogging. Its so new age, and I'm so not. But after reading some of the best things on here, I thought maybe, just maybe I could have something to contribute. We'll see... So here goes nothing.

Diary of a bad mom. That's the story of my life, well at least the last 6 and half years of it. I have these moments where I wonder how some government official has not shown up on my doorstep to to remove these children from my care. Lately, there's a lot of these moments. My oldest daughter just started first grade yesterday. This being big news around our home~ whole days and one extra recess. This morning the alarm goes off and I hit snooze, and then snooze again and I went for a third but I bucked up and planted my feet on the floor. Walked into their bedroom and said "Ryleigh, time to get up for school". To which she says 'can I stay home today?' I paused. Now in my mind, a good mom would never have even considered this. Me. I thought, well, I wouldn't have to do the battle of that doesn't match, those don't fit, eat your breakfast faster, let me comb your hair, rush out of the house, avoid the speed trap by the school and duel the SUV/minivan brigade that awaits at the elementary drop off.

Needless to say, the thought came and passed. We battled, she ate, we left. We'll see how tomorrow goes.