Not So Good With The Chores...

Quake, my 4 year old, put on a pair of boxer shorts to wear as underwear yesterday. He usually wears them as pjs (just add a t-shirt too small to wear in public and you too can have cheap kid's pjs!), but it's not completely bizarre to see him dig out a pair for day-wear. So today I finally started the laundry from our trip to San Diego. Because we've been back for a week now. And I suppose that's long enough.

My child had no. clean. underwear. Bad Mommy! Bad!

Bad news: I'm a bad mommy and my son doesn't want to tell me I'm slackin'.
Good news: My 4 year old is a creative problem solver!

Do you think when he's older I can convince him that I taught by example and not by desperate need?

Clean Closet

Spring has arrived in the desert. Gorgeous flowers are blooming everywhere, and air conditioners can be heard rumbling to life all over town. Allergy sufferers are adding their own music to the sounds of the season. Here at my house, I've been cleaning out my closet.

Of course it took me the better part of a week. I had to do it in 5 to 10 minute intervals. This picture was taken just over a year ago; the top of my dresser is one of my favorite places in the house. Is that strange?

I stuffed three thrash bags with clothes and jewelry to go to Goodwill and probably threw away an entire other bag. Monkey Man told me I needed to go shopping because the closet looked so empty!

Things that didn't get to stay: my high school letter jacket (cut out the letter and saved), a fleece robe I forgot I owned (because those are so useful here), a pair of pants that I wore all winter and then suddenly decided I hated, three pair of tights I haven't worn since I got pregnant with my four-year old, all the maternity clothes.

Things that got to stay: a shirt that belonged to my first husband (I'll be ready to let go of it soon, I think), a pair of black lace panties I've worn exactly once, all my dance shoes and clothes (I'm sure none of this will ever fit again), a velvet robe with ostrich feather cuffs, a pair of socks with taxis and a road that I got as a gift in junior high (yes, I still remember who gave them to me).

As someone who tends toward hoarding, I can't believe how liberating it feels to get rid of things. Things, stuff, crap. My life is overflowing with too much of it all. Is it really a surprise that I can't get anything done when I waste so much time digging through so much clutter? I've already started clearing out my craft area. Then I have my desk, bookcases, and underneath my bed to tackle. Gotta have something to do during the coming long, hot afternoons.

A Monday

Wake at 5am to the feel of warm pee. Change baby's diaper and clothes. Talk to baby for 30 minutes. Nurse baby to sleep. Doze. Get up at 6:30. Dress baby. Rinse hair and dry. Get dressed, make oatmeal for everyone. Feed baby. Eat. Pack preschooler's lunch. Put on makeup. Load car with library books, lunch, and diaper bag. Load kids in car. Drive to preschool.

Push preschooler on swings before bell rings. Help preschooler change shoes. Load baby back in car. Drive to chiropractor. Ahhhhh. Buy Easter candy, printer ink, and shampoo at Target. Eat Cadbury Egg in car. Ahhhhhh. Stop at lingerie shop; ask if they carry nursing bras. Get fitted for bra that is too big, but may return for it anyway. Drop off books at library. Avoid petitioners outside library. Feed baby in car. Write up this week's to-do list, include things I've already done. Contemplate stopping at bookstore. Go to Petsmart instead. Buy cat food.

Arrive at preschool early. Call hospital to make appointment for baby's hearing test, first available time is in one month. Get transferred so I can preregister. Wrong number, get transferred again. Wrong number. Preregister anyway because woman feels sorry for me getting transferred. Eat another Cadbury Egg. Read a few pages of a novel. Greet preschooler. Give him his lunch, and drive home.

Feed baby. Eat leftover pizza while rocking baby to sleep. Apologize to preschooler for eating "his" pizza, and offer him what I haven't eaten yet. Put baby in bed. Log on to library website. Reserve St Patrick's Day books (only a few left) and Easter books (beat the rush on that one) while promising preschooler to come play a game in a minute. Pick up crying baby. Sit at counter to play game with baby on lap. Realize damp spot on baby's side is most likely poop. Change baby's diaper and clothes while singing Stinky McStinky Pants. Gag (garlic and babies don't mix). Remind preschooler we were going to rearrange his toy room today. Abandon game.

Rock baby back to sleep. Pull in wagon load of toys from garage where they have been since being taken away weeks ago for poor preschooler behavior. Start going through toys. Secretly stash toys to throw away into an empty bag. Decide we need more storage space. Go back to garage. Find new homes for a few boxes. Bring in a small shelving unit. Continue to pick through toys. Got get screaming baby. Realize it's 4pm. Start dinner.

Start browning sausage and onion. Direct prescooler to put away the game. Dole out snacks. Talk to mom on phone while putting together lasagne. Allow prescooler to watch Power Rangers while I finish with toy room. Feed baby. Feed preschooler yogurt and granola bar for dinner. Start bath. Put last of baby wash in water. Talk to preschooler and play with baby until lasagne is done. Take lasagne out of oven. Remember to turn off oven. Put baby in bath. Get all mushy inside when preschooler holds baby in the bath. Get baby out of bath. Greet husband. Dry off and lotion up baby. Diaper and dress baby. Hand off baby to husband. Help preschooler out of bath. Get preschooler dressed for bed.

Show preschooler new books from library. Agree to read all 5 before bed. In middle of 3rd book, husband turns on TV. Give him dirty look. He turns off TV. Start 4th book. Trade places with husband to feed baby. Promise preschooler to come to his room as soon as baby is done eating. Give baby to husband. Sit next to preschooler's bed and sing a lullaby. Sit quietly by preschooler's bed wondering if it's possible that he's already asleep. Risk trying to leave room. Success!

Dish out some almost cold lasagne. Drink glass of wine with dinner. Have adult conversation with husband. Start watching a recorded show, realize it's a rerun. Read a few pages. Feed baby. Give sleeping baby to husband. Take back crying baby from husband. Contemplate going to bed at 8:30. Give sleeping baby back to husband. Ignore crying and get ready for bed. Take baby back from husband. Go to bed at 9pm.

My Week So Far

This morning I am abdicating my parenting responsibilities to Noggin.

I've survived 5 days alone with the boys, and I think it's gone rather well. Only two more days to go! Here's what I managed to get done this week -

• got everyone (me included) dressed, fed, and out the door in time to be early for school;
• have kept dishes washed;
• put out the trash and brought the bins back in before the next day;
• gave the dog a desperately needed bath;
• went without TV for three days;
• got my car serviced;
• got groceries bought - Safeway and Trader Joe's;
• got everyone, including me, bathed every day;
• cut back on coffee (ummm, until this morning);
• attacked my much backlogged email;
• kept the house relatively picked up (that's a damn miracle itself);
• started a new bedtime routine that got Quake asleep without me in bed with him.

And just for a counterpoint, here's what I haven't gotten done this week -

• watching the Oscars (damn it!);
• cooking anything beyond eggs and grilled cheese (oh, we did make a chocolate cake);
• exercise.

I Wish I Had That Kind of Time

I hate to keep harping on my sisters-in-law. They are both really nice people, and I feel quite lucky to have married into a family I enjoy spending time with. I suppose that I'm just so different from them that it often leads to funny stories. Some of you may be thinking that that's pretty much true for everyone in my life...

The point being, I'm going to continue to tell these stories, but I will feel a tiny twinge of guilt about it. Just so you know.

I have a cleaning lady. She comes every 2 weeks. We really can't afford it, but I'm a terrible housekeeper, and it keeps Monkey Man and me from killing each other over that fact. It's probably cheaper than couple's therapy. While we were visiting at Christmas, sister-in-law#2 was complaining about her cleaning lady. The cleaning lady always moves things around so sil#2 spends all this time moving things back where she wants them. Wtf?

Seriously, I told her that she obviously has too much time on her hands and needs to get a hobby. Personally I'm so happy to have someone else scrub my toilets and vacuum my floors that I wouldn't care if she stacked all the furniture in the corners before she left. Or put it all outside. Getting upset about the cleaning lady moving tchotchkes and crap around? Life is too fucking short.

Of course I am talking about a woman who has napkins on her dining room table that can't be used (she yelled at Monkey Man when he grabbed one). Yeah. I suppose that's why her house looks like a cross between a Pier One store and a Pottery Barn catalog, and my house looks like...well, neither of those things. More time to do the things I love to do or cleaning up after the cleaning lady leaves? I know what trade I'm willing to make.

Paint Chip Pathos

So I've developed a bit of an obsession. It all started when I won this book by the wonderful women over at this blog. The first chapter in the book is all about finding colors that you feel express certain people or qualities. I starting digging through my already sizeable collection of paint chips but quickly became overwhelmed by the sheer volume of options and the utter lack of organization. I mean, raspberry pudding looks like the perfect dark pink, but how do I know if I can't compare it to fuschia kiss?

So I decided to create my own color guides. Because the blisters I gave myself punching holes in all my paint chips (and the blade I destroyed on my paper cutter) are nothing compared to the $375 it costs to buy the Pantone set. Paint chips are free! Even if I did have to make multiple trips to Home Depot because I was too embarrassed to walk out with 10 pounds of paint chips tucked in my purse.

It started out as this quirky little project, but now I've become a bit of a color freak. I guess we all need a hobby. Check out the obsessions of some other people at the Overlooked blog's Subject Two.

Now I've created a tag with the colors in each of our rooms to carry with me when I go shopping. No more buying the perfect pillows only to get them home and realize they're the perfectly wrong color! And whenever I come across a color combo I like, in a magazine spread say, I create another tag (on a different ring) that I keep for inspiration in decorating, scrapbooking, etc. It keeps me busy.

Nursery Urges

I'm feeling torn today because I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a completely materialistic longing. I want a nursery for the new baby.

I've been sneering at the idea ever since I got pregnant and everyone began asking where we're going to put the nursery. You see, our extra room is currently being used as a guest room. And we tend to have lots of guests since we have family so close. And I plan on co-sleeping like we did with Q so it seems silly to have a seperate nursery. I just figured we'd put the baby in with Q once he/she was sleeping in a crib more regularly.

It seems obvious that we should be able to create a nursery that just happens to have a guest bed in it. It's not like we have guests all the time. Our rooms have windows and doors in awkward places so I've been playing with room arrangements electronically for the last few hours. Yes, I said hours. Yes, I know I need a life.

Of course once I got started on the two small bedrooms I started to see all sorts of other possibilities in our arrangements. We definitely don't use all our spaces for their original purposes so I've been getting creative. Currently we have a foosball table in our dining area, and an extra dining table is being used as a craft table in our master bedroom.

So why can't I bring my craft table into the dining nook (it has fabulous light) and consign that foosball table to the toy room? Preferably up against the wall with the sticks removed so it might actually get some use as the base for a fort. Or maybe the toy room (this is a "den" space with only 3 walls at the front of the house; our computer is in the hallway. of course.) should be a kid and grown-up toy room with my craft stuff sharing space with trucks and race cars.

Hmmmm, I'm starting to think that the "nesting" phase has started a few months early. At least at this point I can still move furniture around...