Yelling at other people's kids III

My neighbors. They've got issues. I tried to find the links in the archives to previous posts about them, but I was unsuccessful. Just know this--they've got issues. One of the neighbor kids came over to play the other day, and I heard the two boys playing happily for some time. Then, suddenly, I heard it. The ominous silence that sends alarm bells off in every mother's head. I went downstairs to check on them, and the door to the back was wide open. I had taken the childlock off the door while we have been showing the house, and the two little monkeys had escaped. I put my shoes on and headed outside, looking for them. It took me a surprisingly long time to find them. They were not in their usual outside spots, and I even started to get a little nervous when I didn't find them in the first 2 minutes of my search. I started shouting their names, and I finally heard a little high pitched answer, which was a relief. I found them playing near an area of the neighborhood where Jacob is expressively forbidden to play. It's an area around a rotting fence and a small stream that has a lot of mud and guck and stuff, and if a child slipped under or around the fence, an adult would be hard pressed to follow. Beyond the fence lies open woods, complete with ponds deep enough for a small child to drown in. Not a place you would want to lose your kid. So Jacob, knowing that he is caught, came running up to me saying, "I'm sorry mom, but he went in the river!" Again, a forbidden spot because that stream runs past the rusty fence into one of those ponds. Jacob's friend emerged from the bushes wet and muddy. Clearly, he had been in the water. "What were you guys doing back there?" "Nothing", his friend answered. "Well, Jacob says you were in the river, and your shoes and pants and wet and muddy. Did you go in the river?" Now, I didn't know if that area is forbidden to this kid or not. (I found out later that it is indeed off limits to him, too.) I actually wasn't probing to attack, I just wanted to know what happened, why they were playing where Jacob knew they shouldn't be. Was there a frog, a rusty truck, an abandoned skateboard, a deer skeleton (yes, those have been found from time to time--boys really dig 'em!), what? I just wanted to know what happened. This kid yells at me, "NO!" and takes off running in the opposite direction, which is, I might point out, also the opposite direction of the house and towards the open woods. And I was responsible for him. "Hey, c'mon back", I called, but he kept running. I called again, he screamed "No!" again, and continued his sprint. Luckily, I can run faster than a 4 year old, and I caught up with him quickly. I stopped him by his shoulders, and crouched down next to him. "Don't run away from me like that", I said, and I tried to use a voice as gentle as possible. If it had been Jacob, however, I would have been much more stern. "I just want to know what happened over there." Predictably, he wriggled and squirmed (what kid likes to be caught?), and refused to look at me or talk to me. Eventually he even tried to hit me, and I finally let him go once he said, "I'm going home!" He took off again, this time towards his house, and I checked in to make sure he got there. He was upset, but came over later. In the evening, however, his mother caught him at the river again (I was no longer in charge then), and you can bet he wished it had been me! But my question is, when you are in charge of somebody else's child, and they deliberately disobey, disrespect, destroy, whatever, how far can you go in disciplining them? I'm not talking about serious discipline or anything, but I felt constrained in dealing with this child's disobedient and potentially dangerous behavior because he wasn't mine. I would have handled Jacob much differently, but you can't treat other people's kids the way you treat your own, can you? At the same time, though, this child needed to understand that when he is in my care, running away is not an option, especially not towards an area he is not allowed to go. But I just wasn't sure how to convey this message in a way that would not be totally offensive to the other mom, had she heard it, or damaging to the relationship between him and my son. Then again, in light of all of that, maybe some damage to the relationship might not be so bad after all! Any thoughts?
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I can't prove it, but I swear...

*Dishes in the sink have sex while I'm not looking, and have mad powers of procreation. Same goes for dirty laundry. And why is it that I'm constantly doing laundry, and yet have NOTHING TO WEAR? *Dryers eat men's socks. I can always find the match to my cute girlie socks, but can never match my husband's black ones, or my son's white ones. And I've only bought about a zillion pairs of each. *Grime fairies come in the night and slime the bathroom I cleaned yesterday. Same goes for dirt trolls and the freshly vacuumed carpet. *My bed has super suction powers and will suck up anything that is left 2 inches next to it and hoarde it underneath. *Cold sores will lay dormant until they know (oh yes, they know, they know!) you have a really important work interview, a picture that needs to be taken, or a hot date. Same goes for zits. The ugly white ones. *Children who sleep through the night every other night will suddenly become massive insomniacs the one night Mom really needs some sleep. And Dad is out of town. *There is always traffic on the way to the DC temple. Even at 5am. All those drivers in your way? Minions of Satan. They especially like it if you roll down your window and scream that at them as you drive by. That really helps you get the Spirit. *Children understand that the quiet time while taking the Sacrament is the perfect time to yell, "I'm BORED!" *A mother who is taking care of a newborn enters a completely different time zone called "Baby Time". Singing 12 songs, reading 14 books, providing massive neurological stimulation with black and white pictures and serious play time that teaches "object permanence" fill about 2 and a half minutes. Only 1437 and half more minutes to go! *It always rains on the White House Easter Egg Roll.
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STOP THE PRESSES!

Maybe is here! Hooray, hooray, hooray! Update:The link should take you to Mo Mommy's blog, where there are a few more details. Congrats to Tracy!
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Only is lonely?

I'm reading Somerset Maugham's _Of Human Bondage_ for my book group this month. It's a very well written book, and my first introduction to an author I was supposed to meet during AP English in high school. I didn't. I was too lazy. Same goes for Toni Morrison and James Joyce. I passed the test by talking at great lengths about Shakespeare's "Comedy of Errors", which I had just performed in for our spring play. Anyway.... It's an interesting book, with some powerful language and intense emotional images. It chronicles the life of a young boy who is orphaned at the age of 9. Maugham makes several references to this child's loneliness, which comes not only of having lost both parents, but from being an only child. He goes so far as to suggest that this child is extremely socially ill-prepared for school when he arrives shortly after his mother's death, largely because he has held company with only himself for so long. As you can imagine, his social skills do not improve immediately upon meeting other boys. C'mon, does any great novel have a protagonist who is the quarterback of the football team and popular with all the girls? You can imagine what this boy's life was like at an English all boy's school. Misery makes great writing. But fictious characterization and miserable heroes aside, I get nervous when I read stuff like that about only children. There's a good chance my son will be an only child. We'll do what we can to change that, but a sibling in his life is far from guaranteed. Is he going to suffer in similar ways? Interestingly enough, Jacob's best friends both happen to be only children, and their mothers have made it very clear they are done. These children are happy, excited, basically well adjusted kids. But I wonder--are they lonely? I grew up with a houseful of people and close relationships with extended family. One of my best friends is my first cousin once removed, and our children play magnificently together. I mean, how many people can say that they know their 1st cousin once removed? I am close with not one, not two, but THREE of those kind of relations. Yeah, I know, pretty crazy. Jacob is not going to grow up with the same experience. And I think as far as social skills and all of that goes, he will be just fine. But how do you beat the solitude of being an only child? I don't know many Mormon families who face this. Actually, I can only think of one, and the mom said it was surprisingly difficult to raise an only child in the Mormon community. So I'm wondering, how do you do it? Are there ways to make sure an only child isn't lonely? Any onlies out there who can shed light on this? I guess there are lots of advantages to being an only child. You never have to wear hand me downs, and your older sister will never beat you up for stealing her bra. Not that I ever did that. I'm just, um, you know, speaking hypothetically.
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Where God is...

We have been having lots of discussions about bad words at our house. As Jacob's vocabularly increases, and his interaction with other kids increases, he naturally comes across some words we don't like to say in our house. So every now and then, he checks with me about a word. This morning, while I was still in bed, Jacob climbs in and sits on my stomach. J: Mom, is awesome a bad word? Me: (oof!) No, awesome is a great word. You can use it as much as you want. J: Oh! I didn't know that. But did you know that when you use bad words, that's not a good way to love God. Me: How did you know that? J: I just did. You always tell me that God loves everybody, that God loves me. But God is really in your heart. (He then points to his heart with both hands) Me: (close to tears at the beauty of a 4 year old's theology) Where did you learn that? J: I just knowed it. (Hands move to the stomach) And Jesus is in your body, right here. Jesus makes us healthy. Jesus is good for our bodies. Me: Um, really? J: Yes! (bouncing slightly up and down) Mom, am I hurting your tummy? Do you need to toot? Me: Yes, you are. You are making me toot! (Sorry, maybe TMI, but it was in the morning, and Jacob was sort of bouncing on my bowels.) J: Eww, yuck! (covers his nose with his hands. Then he stops, starts sniffing) Mom, I can't smell your toots. Can I sniff where you tooted? So there you go. From awesome to God's love to flatulence. The progression of thought in a 4 year old boy. Some days I just love being a mom.
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Drenched--AGAIN

It's that time of year again. The Monday after Easter. Time for the annual White House Easter Egg Roll. You might recall last year's adventure. In a word, it sucked. So this year, we had high hopes. Really high. I mean, the weather here has been gorgeous for days at a time. Ok, so the Cherry Blossom festival was done in a downpour, but c'mon, this year Easter is in April. It has to be a beautiful day. And the White House south lawn will be gorgeous on a beautiful day, right? Yeah right. It rained. Again. And again, we are not talking about just some drizzle, although it did start out that way. It wasn't the hurricane last year was, but by the time we actually got to the White House, we were already pretty wet. We got in this time though, which was a plus. We sort of herded Jacob from venue to venue, and in about 15 minutes he started saying things like, "I'm cold. Let's go home." Or "I'm really cold, and my legs don't work. Let's go home." We even made it down to a little area that had a very cool looking slide, and I said, "Hey, do you want to go on the slide?" at which point Jacob started to cry and said, "Can't we just go home?" You know when the 4 year old doesn't want to slide, things are pretty bad. So we trekked on out of there, back to the Metro. Again, the streets, etc were closed off, so we had to hoof it. But, as already mentioned, Jacob's legs didn't work, and after about a block, he melted into a little puddle and just sat there, crying. Have you ever walked 5 blocks with a wet, 40 pound toddler on your back in the pouring rain while trying to hold onto an umbrella and a goody bag? I don't recommend it. If Tracy M. were doing it, she surely would have given birth on the spot! (Want to come to D.C., Tracy :)?) I have to say, though, I did feel some grim satisfaction at finally having procured a goody bag from the Easter Egg Roll, having persued the elusive bag the year before with little success. We even have some photos commerating the event, although none from my camera, because it slipped from my hands and practically shattered on the wet concrete about 35 seconds before we entered the White House gates. I swear, that Easter Egg Roll is cursed. So, afterwards we did what we did last year--warmed up with some hot chocolate and some treats. While we were in the coffee shop with our drinks, Jacob opened that precious goody bag and squealed with delight at the contents: A book, a coloring book, some crayons, and a wooden egg. Yep, just some paper and crayons, and of course that little wooden egg. I know, I wanted to scream "That's IT?!? This is it after all we've been through? I'm expecting a friggin' golden egg here!" Well, no such luck. Jacob spent the next 15 minutes happily coloring away while my parents and I thawed out. I think he liked the crayons more than the actual event. Go figure. As we trudged home to my parent's house, my mom blew into her hands to keep the circulation going, and she said, "Y'know, just once, I'd like to go to that thing when it's not cold. Every year it's just cold!" The weather here now? Calm, breezy, clear skies with good visibility. Temperatures this afternoon reached mid 70's. Sure to be a beautiful week, followed by a gorgeous weekend. Of course. It rained exactly during the hours of the Easter Egg Roll. Naturally. I'm just wondering which president ticked off the weather Gods so much that they have cursed the Easter Egg roll. My money's on Clinton.
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Nothing hard about it

I stumbled across Trivial Mom's blog, "Nothing Hard About It", the other night (don't know why it took me so long to find it!), and the post about the sonogram made me laugh out loud. Happy reading.
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Burnt Toast Martyr

If any of you are a member of FlyLady, then you got this testimonial. Normally I don't read the testimonials, but for some reason, I read this one. It's pretty powerful, so I'm posting it here. It is reprinted with permission by FlyLady.net, member (FlyBaby). I don't know who the woman is who wrote it, but I would like to thank her. She makes an excellent point about what we do for others but refuse to do for ourselves. Enjoy! Dear FlyLady, This goes right along with saving the best things for company and not using them for ourselves. As I read the testimonial from the lady whose mother passed on un-used wedding gifts, I started thinking about burnt toast. When I was growing up, my mom always insisted on eating the burned toast. It didn't matter how many pieces she fixed, she always had to have the worst ones (slightly burned, mangled, toasted heel when we were out of bread, etc). And not only did she insist on eating the burnt toast, she always did so with a self-satisfied smug look on her face... kind of a "look at me, I'm so saintly for martyring myself this way" look. She always said it was the mom's job and not to feel sorry for her. I was eating breakfast with my dad and DH the other week and we (my dad and I) were both remembering her burnt toast attitude and how it made us both feel. Let me tell you those were not the best memories of my mom for either of us. I ended up feeling guilty for not wanting to eat the burned toast (or sometimes envious... I wanted to be a saintly martyr too!) I'm proud to tell you Marla, in my house burned toast is FOR THE BIRDS. Literally! If I burn it, I crumble it and and put it on the back porch for the birds and make more toast. I love myself too much to eat that burnt toast, and I love my DH and two DS too much to pass on those confusing feelings or make them look at my martyr face in the morning. I shared my attitude with my Dad, and he said he was surprised that the birds would eat burnt toast and worried for a moment about if it there was a point beyond which toast should be fed to birds (charred?). We both ended up laughing at the idea that my dear mother would eat food that she probably wouldn't have considered good enough to feed to the wild birds in her yard. LOL! I started to wonder just how many other instances of "burnt toast" there were in my mothers life, much less my own. How many times do I give the best to my family and settle for far less for myself just because that's what my mom did? Ouch! In five minutes, I realized ** I take my children to the doctor when they are ill and keep their immunizations up to date. But I won't even take a day off when I am sick because my mom taught me that is what moms do... we don't have time to be sick. (don't even ask if I'm up to date on immunizations, I know I am not) ** I insist that my husband get his cholesterol checked twice a year and adjust our diet to help him keep healthy and off of cholesterol meds. But I won't do the same for me because that is what moms do... it would be selfish to focus on my own needs. ** I buy my husband his favorite pens to use for writing at the house. But I "make do" with whatever I find in the junk drawer because that is what moms do... we don't need anything special. ** I plan our menus to accommodate my DH's favorite foods and DS's picky toddler preferences. But I don't buy any of my healthy favorites because (say it with me) that is what moms do... we don't need special treats. ** I make sure DH and DS get to the barber regularly to make sure they look clean cut. But I go 6 months between haircuts for myself because... that is what moms do.... we can't be self centered and pamper ourselves. ** I buy my DH new athletic socks at his request. But I keep them for myself (even though they are too big) since they have fewer holes than the ones in my drawer because... that's is what moms do... Ouch. I never realized just how much mom was teaching me in the mornings as she scraped her burned toast. I think I love myself enough to quit doing that. I want my own children to learn a different lesson. I want my DS's to grow up and expect their wives to love themselves... because THAT is what moms should do! Copyright 2006 FlyLady and Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved, No reprint to other email lists or websites without FlyLady's permission. You have permission to forward to a friend. Check out our website: http://www.flylady.net/index.asp
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Wallpaper Woes

We found a house (and there was much rejoicing!). It's not perfect, but I think it will work very well for us. It's on a cul-de-sac, it has a fenced yard, and a golden retriever lives next door. What more could you want? There are some problems, however, which can basically be summed up in one word: wallpaper. This is the master bathroom. Seriously, who thought that wallpaper was a good idea? We also have some stripes in the kitchen, which are pretty bad. This the other bathroom. I know, it almost hurts to look at it. So, what I really need to know is, does anybody have some good ideas how to get this crap off of my walls? I don't have the first clue how to do it, short of sticking a steamer on it, and peeling it off when it's wet. I used to help my friend earn money from his parents by doing that. His parents would mark off certain sections of the room, and put a price on it. Smaller sections were worth a quarter, bigger ones a dollar, the really heinous ones were worth $5.00or more (I didn't say his parents were generous!). Anyway, any tricks?
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If this doesn't make you want to learn to knit....

This is by far the coolest service project that I've ever seen come out of a Relief Society. Forget food for the hungry, let's knit some sweaters for marine life! (Ok, I know, the marine biology obsession IS getting s little disturbing. No more trips to the aquarium for me, right?)
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Kathy's Dolphin Ride

I guess I just have dolphins on the mind, but when Exponent II highlighted this post at Queen Kathy's blog, I couldn't resist reading the whole thing. Ok, it's not actually about dolphins, but it is a good post. Happy reading, and a shout out to Exponent's Deborah for helping us find Queen Kathy. Always happy to add another good blog to the side bar. (*NOTE: After posting this,I went back to her blog, and spent way too much time reading it. She's an enormously compelling writer, and I recommend reading her stuff. Only if you have a ton of time, though, because her stuff just sucks you right in! I mean that in a good way, of course. ) Tigersue, she's not on your LDS women blog--any way you can add her? I also can't comment on your blog--some funky comment feature has been enabled, and things have to be approved by you. What's up?
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Pushing the Reset Button

I took my son and my nephew to the Baltimore Aquarium this weekend. Despite a long trip up there where we got lost in some, um, yeah, scary neighborhoods, it was a fun day. I think the boys had a good time--at the very least, I wore them out, which is always a plus. The National Aquarium is very cool, as far as aquariums go. It's big, but not too overwhelming, and there is lots to see. They even have a cool dolphin show, you know, the kind where the dolphins do tricks and stuff. They even had the trainer dive into the tank with the dolphins, and she got to ride on them, get flipped around by them, even give them loving pats on their snouts. Seriously, it looked like a lot of fun. I sat there thinking, "Hey, how do I get THAT job?" There was also a couple of scuba-divers in the main tank, feeding the fish and swimming with the sting rays. Again, I thought, "Hey, how do I get THAT job?" The boys apparantly thought the same thing, because they both told me that when they grow up, they want to be scuba divers. 5 days later, Jacob is still telling me that, so it definitely made an impression. But, sadly, I was looking at the dolphin trainers, and they all looked 20 something. Maybe 30, but that would be pushing it. I sat there thinking, "Hmm. Missed my chance. Too late. Can't set the reset button now. No way can I be a dolphin trainer." So I started to think about this idea, of pusing the reset button. When is it really too late to redo things in your life? I asked this of my cousin, and he looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Um, after your first kid? Way too late." Of course, this comes from a man who has had more careers than I have shoes, so maybe he doesn't really mean that. Also, in graduate school I knew some women who were totally revamping their lives after having full careers doing something else. One woman had even practiced law, decided that she hated it, and had completely changed course. So, maybe it's possible. None of the women I know who changed direction, however, had little kids. They either had no kids or had children who were older, teenagers and school aged kids. Does that mean that our own life is in a holding pattern for a while as we see our kids through toddlerhood, pottytraining, and that first day of school? Is that when we can push the reset button on our own life goals, when our own children are marginally self sufficient? Don't get me wrong, I love being a mom, I do. I'm not talking about getting my life back, in the sense that I'm lost being a mother. It's just that there are so many things that could be done in this life, so many opportunities, and I'm just wondering when and if mothers are able to take advantage of these opportunities, or if the truth of the matter is that motherhood by it's very nature closes doors. And, if it does close doors (which I think everybody would agree it has to), at what point do those doors open again, if ever? Do we ever get the chance to push the reset button? Maybe what I'm really trying to say here is, "Hey, can I be a 40 year old dolphin trainer?"
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Go, Mommy Go!

We would like to extend a big Mormon Mommy Wars congratulations to Andrea Wright, who just gave birth to a fantastic little boy. Baby and mom are doing well, and we are thrilled for their family. Congrats, Andrea!
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Tar and feathering, MMW style

I can't take credit for this story. Besides, if this had really happened to me, I'm sure I wouldn't have gone to "get the camera". No way would I have handled it so well. Anyway, this story is about a former American Mother of the Year. I know, the very title makes you want to hit her, but stay with me, here. She was initally nominated by her chapter in Maine to be Mother of the Year because she had founded the chapter originally. Of course, she started it because she was freaking out with her 6 kids, they didn't have Mommy blogs back then, and she was in serious need of mommy bonding. Anyway, she won Maine's Mother of the Year award because, well, hers was the only chapter! That meant she got to go on to Atlanta for the national competition, and well, between having 6 kids, being a SAHM, and serving as a Relief Society President, she basically blew the competition away, just by virture of being a Mormon mommy. I guess when you think about it, we are all pretty awesome. Anyway, she becomes one of the finalists, which involves giving a 10 minute presentation about her life as a mom. She decides to focus on some humor in her life, and tells some good stories. With 6 kids, she's got plenty of them. This one, the one that was told to me, was what they called "Mormon Tar and Feathering." Ok, so this mom was on the phone, and she hears some giggling from the basement. She goes down to investigate, and she finds that her 6 year old and 4 year old have gotten into the Costco-sized food-storage mongo jar of peanut butter(again, something else that probably blew her competition away. Seriously, who else besides Mormons have peanut butter in their basement?), and have completely covered themselves with it. Head to toe, they are like Jolly Green Giants, except in this case I would have to call them Jolly Jiffy Juniors. She decides to laugh, and says, "I'm going to get the camera. Stay there." While she's getting her camera, her two little grease monkeys find another common Mormon food storage item--wheat. And we know how much little kids like to throw things at each other. It doesn't take much to imagine what this mother found when she returned with her camera, does it. No wonder she won America's Mother of the Year. Anybody who has to clean up wheat encrusted peanut butter bodies deserves a freakin' medal. Seriously. And again, who else besides a Mormon mommy has wheat in her basement? Hmmm...PBJ anyone? One more story about this woman. Her 5 year old had a meltdown in the mall, so she picked the child up, secured her football style, and was marching out of the mall when the sweet child began screaming, "HELP! HELP! She's not my mother, HELP!" In this case, there was a mall security guard who heard the screaming and approached the mother. "Excuse me, ma'am, what's going on here? Is this your child?" She looked at the guard and said, "Yes, she is, but you know what? Here, you can have her." And she handed the 5 year old to the security guard and walked out the door. Ah, yes. Mother of the year, indeed. Here at MMW, we salute you.
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Bobo's new adventure

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "No way. Heather can not possibly have yet ANOTHER pet story to tell. Between the tragic drowning of Lola, the vicious maiming of a 6 year old at the playground, and the poop, what else is there?" Well, remember when I said snakes make good pets? That's still true. But I've just learned something new about them. They also make great escape artists. I know, I know, what the heck is WRONG with us, people? My sister and her family are visiting, and they are sleeping in the room with the snake. They said goodnight to Bobo in the evening, and went to bed. In the morning, no Bobo. A small opening in the lid of the cage said it all. My sister was less than thrilled. And hearing the story about our cousin's missing ball python showing up weeks later curled up next to their son in his bed didn't help much either. We turned the house upside down looking for the sneaky reptile, and for most of the day, no luck. My sister insisted that there was no way she was sleeping in a room where there existed the possibility of a midnight snuggle with a python. Somehow the thought wasn't at all cozy to her. And she also I think partially refused to believe that a 4 foot mouse eating ball python could not possibly eat her 8 year old son. Mothers. Sheesh. The story does have a happy ending, by the way, for those of you who are horrified by the image of a nocturnal nuzzle with a cold, slithery beast. This evening, DH and my BIL truly put their brain power together to think like a snake. If we were a snake, they asked themselves, where would we hide? My BIL discovered that the bookcases in Bobo's room were actually hollow in the bottom with an opening in the back. DH and BIL lifted up the bookcases, and there lay Bobo curled up, cold and almost certainly glad to see his owner. Well, we tell ourselves that anyway, even though in all likelihood the snake was probably quite perturbed we found him in his cozy hiding spot, and really couldn't care less about the human who discovered him. He is now secure in his cage, probably ticked as heck to be caught. My sister feels better though. Maybe we should get a um...an...uh...shoot, I can't think of a pet we haven't already tried. We are truly headed for the pet owners circle of hell. At least Bobo didn't bite anybody. Or drown. I suppose in some ways, that's progress.
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The Pit of Despair

Westley: Where am I? Albino: [whispering harshly] THE PIT OF DESPAIR! DON'T EVEN THINK— [He coughs up a hairball and proceeds calmly.] Albino: Don't even think of trying to escape. If anybody can think of the rest of the quote, let me know. I seem to remember something about the walls being much too thick, and the monk and Humperdink having the only key. I could be wrong, though. But I make this reference because I have ESCAPED from the Pit of Despair, or at the very least survived, and I would like to share with you the harrowing journey. For harrowing it was indeed, and not for the faint of heart. I am referring, of course, to my house. Yes, I know, not many people refer to their place of residence as the Pit of Despair, but after getting this place ready to sell, it's the only name that fits. I even had to get moral support from The Wiz to talk me through it instead of running screaming into the night. Of course, eventually I would have had to face the Fire Swamp (a.k.a, The Playroom), so I resigned myself to my fate of battling through cleaning this place. And I'm going to share with you, dear readers, what I found along the way. Keep in mind I am not exaggerating. Oh, how I wish I were. I found, first of all, an old wedding card. Not so unusual, right? After all, people keep cards all the time. Cards are usually a lovely momento of a beautiful occasion, selected carefully and inscribed with some happy thought about marital bliss. This card was no different, except that it was inscribed "Dear Marcy and Jason...." Um, I don't know if y'all have picked up on this, but my name is Heather and my husband's name is Nate. You know what this means, don't you? It means that THIS CARD WAS GIVEN TO US BY MISTAKE AND I HAVE DRAGGED IT ACROSS THE COUNTRY FOR ALMOST 7 YEARS! We have moved 8 TIMES in our marriage, and apparantly, this card has come with us every time. What in the holy name of FlyLady is UP WITH THAT??!! I found 4 Hot Wheels cars under the bed, as well as 2 water bottles, a sippy cup, and about 50 pieces of legos. No, sadly, I'm not taking about Jacob's bed, I'm taking about MY bed. I guess when I was trying to figure out where all our legos went I didn't bother to look there. Oh, and the dust animals I found under there...well, let's just say the ROUS's have nothin' on them. (Ok, that was in fact an exagerration, but not by much. I wasn't actually physically attacked by any of the dust, although I was glad I found a small package of Kleenex under there, too. It definitely came in handy.) I have found seed packets that apparantly never made it into our garden last year. Hmm, those radishes might have been good. Do seeds ever go bad? I have found scraps of fabric from projects I completed years ago. Who am I kidding? Like I'm ever going to make scrunchies that match the table runner I made in my beginners sewing class 3 years ago, which, by the way, is so lopsided and ugly that I never use it anyway. As I went through my house, I continually asked myself this question: WHY AM I KEEPING ALL THIS CRAP? Anyway, I've escaped (pretty much. I really do have to tackle the playroom. I might have to call in professional reinforcements for the carpet down there, though. How can one kid make things so unbelievably gross? What do y'all do who have more than one kid? Use a shovel?). We are really almost there, ready to have complete strangers poke around our house and decided if they could stand to live here. Anybody want to buy a house? Oh, and Marcy and Jason, if you are reading, I, um, have a card for you from some friends of yours. Sorry it's a little late. FYI. For more information about what else you can find under the bed, Exponent II is discussing this very topic. No poaching, pure coincidence, I swear. I know, it's acutally a rather freaky coincidence that we are talking about the indifferentiated crap that fills our lives, but, there you go.
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