Yesterday, I was gone quite a bit of the day.
Presumably Jack's father was watching him.
And while Scott might say that, in fact, he WAS watching his son----let's just say that there was a definite lack of consistency in the babysitting. :(
Last night when I went to my suitcase to get my pajamas out, I noticed white string on one of my pants. I started pulling at the white string and as I pulled and KEPT pulling and KEPT pulling....I realized that Jack had taken EVERY SINGLE INCH of dental floss IN THE HOUSE and had spread it all over my suit case....wrapping it around each piece of clothing and then wrapping it around the outside of my suit case.
Awesome.
Now my clothes can have that fresh minty smell. :/
But THAT'S not all the creative microterrorist did while his father was neglecting...I mean NOT watching him ;-)
This morning at an unnatural hour the alarm went off in the bedroom that Scott and I are sleeping in. We did NOT set the alarm. But you can guess who did.
He also set the alarm in MY PARENT'S ROOM and my DAUGHTERS' room.
They all went off at times when no human being should be awake. EVER.
Then he took the phone off the hook in a random/rarely occupied room of the house.....excellent.
Good thing none of us needed to call an ambulance for a sudden heart attack AFTER being rudely awoken by a random alarm set at an unGodly hour.
I'm sure that Jack had a lot of fun doing all of these activities.
I could have shot my husband for not watching his son more carefully----but then that would leave me to raise these 3 children on my own.
And I'm not willing to do that. Yet.
:-)
God bless,
Eliza
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
A Tale of a Father and a Daughter and the Eye Doctor
Unfortunately, I do not live in the same town as my parental units.
I truly wish I did b/c I'm their only child and I would like to live closer so that I could help them when they need help.
Anyway, since I am in town with them right now I was asked to take my dad to his annual eye appointment at the opthomologist.
Now keep in mind that when my dad has appointment for ANY-THING we have to be there early. Earlier than most people would consider a "normal early".
His appointment was at 11am today (tuesday).
So as far back as last Saturday he's been reminding me over and over that we need to leave the house at 10:40am.
10:40.
TEN-FORTY AM.
"Okay Dad....that's no problem."
This morning at some unnatural hour he has my daughter come up and check on me to make sure that I know that we need to leave at TEN-FORTY IN THE MORNING.
Okay.
Now I am a working mother of 3 children and I can get showered, dressed, eat, make coffee, let the dog out, feed my 3 children, put shoes on and get out the door in less than 10 minutes.
I am a woman.
I can do all of this without even flinching.
I am a mother.
I can do this and yell at my children all at the same time if I need to.
Women/Mothers can multi-task.
SO, I get up, way earlier than I had planned this morning to make SURE that I am ready and available to leave at, (wait for it) 10:40am.
Finally the "golden time" arrives and my dad and I head out in my matronly mobile (aka my minivan)...
I'm driving b/c my dad is getting his eyes blown up (I mean, dilated)....and he won't be able to see after his appointment for approximately 72 hours (according to him).
I've never been to his eye doctor so he patiently directs me.
Realizing that the earth WILL END if we don't get to the appointment on time I drive somewhat unsafely and break a few laws....b/c I would rather have a police man yell at me than my dad....Blessedly, no one caught me/us running lights (yellowish,reddish,greenish is a traffic light color, right?) or sorta skipping and dancing through a few stop signs.
I get my father TO his appointment EARLY'ish which for him equates "on time".
As we're walking into the doctor's office I realize that I am the youngest person anywhere near this building (which is in downtown Erie--near the major hospital and other doctor's offices) within a 20 mile radius.
This fact would have made me proud except for the fact that as we were walking into my dad's appointment I saw that the doors for the EYE doctor were made of solid glass. Now, have I mentioned that this is an appointment for an E-Y-E doctor...which means, presumably, that the people who go to this doctor are people who are visual needs. This isn't for the hearing impaired or the psychiatrist, this is an EYEBALL DOCTOR.
And the dude has FOR HIS OFFICE solid glass doors.
WHAT????????????????????????????
I would have walked RIGHT into the door (no joke-and I have good'ish vision) were it not for my dad (who doesn't have good'ish vision).
LUCKILY, my dad knew/saw where the door handle was....in THE SOLID GLASS DOORS.....
I was mortified.
If I were an eye doctor I would have huge signs and lights and possibly even a disco ball floating above all doors that would be in my office area.
NOT SOLID GLASS.
NOT SOLID GLASS with some writing on it and pretty designs that sort of hide the handle for the DOOR!!!!!
I could have broken my nose if I hadn't been with someone older and more mature than me!!! ;-)
Anyway, 2 hours later, my dad's eyes were dilated and he came out with a very sexy pair of sunglasses.
You all know what I'm talking about....those sunglasses that are the size of South America, the cover every pore of your face so that if you accidentally look at the sun after having your eyes dilated you don't blow your eyes out of your face.
They are very unattractive.
And while I can't imagine ANYONE who has had their eyes dilated WANTING to stare at the sun....I guess doctors worry about the sanity of their patients and thus, they all must wear those super unattractive glasses.
OR the doctors just make their patients wear them b/c they know, like we all know, that they make people look funny ;-)
I got my dad safely back home and his eyes are good. They're healthy. They're continuing to serve him well. And once the 72 hours is over, he'll be able to go out into the sunshine again.
WITHOUT the sexy black sunglasses ;-)
God bless,
Elizabeth
I truly wish I did b/c I'm their only child and I would like to live closer so that I could help them when they need help.
Anyway, since I am in town with them right now I was asked to take my dad to his annual eye appointment at the opthomologist.
Now keep in mind that when my dad has appointment for ANY-THING we have to be there early. Earlier than most people would consider a "normal early".
His appointment was at 11am today (tuesday).
So as far back as last Saturday he's been reminding me over and over that we need to leave the house at 10:40am.
10:40.
TEN-FORTY AM.
"Okay Dad....that's no problem."
This morning at some unnatural hour he has my daughter come up and check on me to make sure that I know that we need to leave at TEN-FORTY IN THE MORNING.
Okay.
Now I am a working mother of 3 children and I can get showered, dressed, eat, make coffee, let the dog out, feed my 3 children, put shoes on and get out the door in less than 10 minutes.
I am a woman.
I can do all of this without even flinching.
I am a mother.
I can do this and yell at my children all at the same time if I need to.
Women/Mothers can multi-task.
SO, I get up, way earlier than I had planned this morning to make SURE that I am ready and available to leave at, (wait for it) 10:40am.
Finally the "golden time" arrives and my dad and I head out in my matronly mobile (aka my minivan)...
I'm driving b/c my dad is getting his eyes blown up (I mean, dilated)....and he won't be able to see after his appointment for approximately 72 hours (according to him).
I've never been to his eye doctor so he patiently directs me.
Realizing that the earth WILL END if we don't get to the appointment on time I drive somewhat unsafely and break a few laws....b/c I would rather have a police man yell at me than my dad....Blessedly, no one caught me/us running lights (yellowish,reddish,greenish is a traffic light color, right?) or sorta skipping and dancing through a few stop signs.
I get my father TO his appointment EARLY'ish which for him equates "on time".
As we're walking into the doctor's office I realize that I am the youngest person anywhere near this building (which is in downtown Erie--near the major hospital and other doctor's offices) within a 20 mile radius.
This fact would have made me proud except for the fact that as we were walking into my dad's appointment I saw that the doors for the EYE doctor were made of solid glass. Now, have I mentioned that this is an appointment for an E-Y-E doctor...which means, presumably, that the people who go to this doctor are people who are visual needs. This isn't for the hearing impaired or the psychiatrist, this is an EYEBALL DOCTOR.
And the dude has FOR HIS OFFICE solid glass doors.
WHAT????????????????????????????
I would have walked RIGHT into the door (no joke-and I have good'ish vision) were it not for my dad (who doesn't have good'ish vision).
LUCKILY, my dad knew/saw where the door handle was....in THE SOLID GLASS DOORS.....
I was mortified.
If I were an eye doctor I would have huge signs and lights and possibly even a disco ball floating above all doors that would be in my office area.
NOT SOLID GLASS.
NOT SOLID GLASS with some writing on it and pretty designs that sort of hide the handle for the DOOR!!!!!
I could have broken my nose if I hadn't been with someone older and more mature than me!!! ;-)
Anyway, 2 hours later, my dad's eyes were dilated and he came out with a very sexy pair of sunglasses.
You all know what I'm talking about....those sunglasses that are the size of South America, the cover every pore of your face so that if you accidentally look at the sun after having your eyes dilated you don't blow your eyes out of your face.
They are very unattractive.
And while I can't imagine ANYONE who has had their eyes dilated WANTING to stare at the sun....I guess doctors worry about the sanity of their patients and thus, they all must wear those super unattractive glasses.
OR the doctors just make their patients wear them b/c they know, like we all know, that they make people look funny ;-)
I got my dad safely back home and his eyes are good. They're healthy. They're continuing to serve him well. And once the 72 hours is over, he'll be able to go out into the sunshine again.
WITHOUT the sexy black sunglasses ;-)
God bless,
Elizabeth
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The tale of the white shoe, my mother and the recent firing of the family dog
Backstory.
When Scott and I were dating, back in the late 1800's, once things started to look serious my parents had a sit down discussion with him. You might think that this talk had to do with finances or faith or how to build a campfire...but NOOOOOOOOOO, these are MY parents.....and in the Mumford household where I grew up......we had many things that we valued but there were few things more important in the house of a Mumford than the pets that we owned.
So when Scott had the first "major" discussion with my parents about our future together it was to get his thoughts on owning animals.
Now keep in mind that my husband is from Iowa. They have animals in Iowa. Most of them are farm animals. Scott had a dog growing up...it was a Chihuahua named Tiny. The dog lived to be about 2 before it was accidentally eaten by other dogs in the neighborhood---probably to stop it from yapping. Scott's parents owned a horse at one point. In their backyard. Needless to say the horse would frequently escape. So they had to get rid of the horse. Scott's dad specializes in homing pigeons. They live in a cage outside. They're cool except for the part where they go to the bathroom a lot and carry disease and get eaten by hawks b/c they're too out of shape to fly from their pen back to their pen.
In other words, Scott grew up with some random pets---all of which were fairly disposable. NONE of which did he have a great affection for.
Now, for those of you who know me I LOVE ANIMALS. I passionately love animals. And with the exception of schooling outside my parents home, I have always owned animals.
This had to be discussed with Scott prior to my commitment for marriage to him. Scott said it would be okay to own two cats. TWO. CATS.
Okay I thought to myself. Thinking in the back of my mind, as all women do before they get married, "I'll be able to change his mind once we're married for awhile...."
Yeah. Because that works. Not.
Anyway, we now own two cats, one fish, two guinea pigs and one Whoodle. What is a Whoodle? A whoodle is a combination between a Wheaton Terrier and a Standard Poodle. We got Barnabas this summer...he is 6 months old and for the most part a fabulous puppy. BUT he is a puppy.
Needless to say, that while I have gone over the original set limit of "two cats".....with Scott's sorta blessing....Scott isn't impressed......and the conditions with which we got these animals was always under the guise of: "Okay..BUT YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM/IT...." said to me in a tone that made me realize that there would be no negotiations in the future on this subject.
Flash Forward:
Barnabas is very much a part of our family and he has "mental health challenges" being separated from us for any real length of time...(He can handle a few hours but more than a day and he gets sick). Sooooo, in preparing to come to Erie to visit my parents we realized that we would have to bring the "black bus" (as we call him sometimes) to my parents.
My parents live in a lovely home that they have redone over the course of many years. And they have white carpeting and white couches in their TV room.
White and children and white and a puppy are about the worst combination ON. THE. PLANET.
But, again, as is the Mumford way, there is more tolerance for puppy errors than there are for human errors.....so the puppy is more easily forgiven by his grandparents (aka my parents) than the human people who run under foot.
Did I mention that Barn is a 6 month old puppy?? P-U-P-P-Y.
The word Puppy in the original Aramaic means CHEW.
It also means BARK.
And it also means SMALL'ISH BLADDER.
(I actually don't speak Aramaic---but I'm thinking none of my readers do either---so let's just pretend ;-)
Last night my mom and I are playing games. I see Barn out of the corner of my eye chewing on something white. I think it's a bone. Mom and I keep playing games.
As we finish I actually look towards Barn and see that the white bone he's chewing on is actually one of my mom's shoes.
This isn't good.
NOT. AT. ALL.
b/c as much as the Mumford women love animals we ALSO LOVE SHOES.
As soon as we realize what Barn is chewing in my moms swoops down and picks up her shoe...squawking at Barnabas and telling him NO.
(He's only 6 months so his english is limited).
After pulling the shoe out of Barn's mouth, my mother realizes, TO HER tremendous relief, that the shoe is FINE.
Totally fine.
Slobbery, but fine.
BUT WAIT,
Shoes come in pairs.
She asks Barnabas: "WHERE IS THE OTHER SHOE????????"
Barnabas looks at her with his big brown eyes, winks and lays down.
My mother goes to the place where this pair of shoes originally started out.
By the door to the garage...in preparation for church this morning.
I stay behind....attempting to clean up from our game time.
Approximately 14.3 seconds after my mom left the game room and went to the spot where the shoes WERE I hear a very loud and somewhat screachy YELP.
I close my eyes....say a quick silent prayer and then ask:"Mom that didn't sound good, are you okay?"
3.7 seconds after the screach....my mom comes back into the game room. One white shoe in her hand and the other hand behind her back.
She proceeds to show me the white shoe that we had "saved" from Barn's mouth....again, it was in good shape....
"I ask, besides dog slobber, what's wrong?"
My mom then pulls her arm from behind her back and there, in her hand, is a white shoe that no longer resembles the other white shoe.
She then takes me by the hand and walks me into the dining room.
And there, all over her dining room rug are the remnants of her white shoe.
White sequins, white petals from the pretty flower that had been the centerpiece of the shoe....very delicately chewed...each petal....and placed lovingly all over the oriental rug that adorns the floor.
In those 5 seconds of looking at the damage and realizing that it was MY puppy that had done this....I actually thought my life was in danger. Then I thought, "No, my mom can't take MY life b/c she needs me to help pick out a nursing home someday.....BUT she CAN TAKE MY DOG'S LIFE...."
BUT I live with a very gracious mother and after the initial horror of the violated shoe passed....we both started laughing. Then we started laughing to the point where there was potentially some snorting and definitely some tears from laughing so hard.
Some things in life are just like that.......you either laugh or you cry.......and if you have the choice....the better part of valor is always to laugh ;-)
Especially when you can laugh at yourself.
God bless,
Elizabeth
When Scott and I were dating, back in the late 1800's, once things started to look serious my parents had a sit down discussion with him. You might think that this talk had to do with finances or faith or how to build a campfire...but NOOOOOOOOOO, these are MY parents.....and in the Mumford household where I grew up......we had many things that we valued but there were few things more important in the house of a Mumford than the pets that we owned.
So when Scott had the first "major" discussion with my parents about our future together it was to get his thoughts on owning animals.
Now keep in mind that my husband is from Iowa. They have animals in Iowa. Most of them are farm animals. Scott had a dog growing up...it was a Chihuahua named Tiny. The dog lived to be about 2 before it was accidentally eaten by other dogs in the neighborhood---probably to stop it from yapping. Scott's parents owned a horse at one point. In their backyard. Needless to say the horse would frequently escape. So they had to get rid of the horse. Scott's dad specializes in homing pigeons. They live in a cage outside. They're cool except for the part where they go to the bathroom a lot and carry disease and get eaten by hawks b/c they're too out of shape to fly from their pen back to their pen.
In other words, Scott grew up with some random pets---all of which were fairly disposable. NONE of which did he have a great affection for.
Now, for those of you who know me I LOVE ANIMALS. I passionately love animals. And with the exception of schooling outside my parents home, I have always owned animals.
This had to be discussed with Scott prior to my commitment for marriage to him. Scott said it would be okay to own two cats. TWO. CATS.
Okay I thought to myself. Thinking in the back of my mind, as all women do before they get married, "I'll be able to change his mind once we're married for awhile...."
Yeah. Because that works. Not.
Anyway, we now own two cats, one fish, two guinea pigs and one Whoodle. What is a Whoodle? A whoodle is a combination between a Wheaton Terrier and a Standard Poodle. We got Barnabas this summer...he is 6 months old and for the most part a fabulous puppy. BUT he is a puppy.
Needless to say, that while I have gone over the original set limit of "two cats".....with Scott's sorta blessing....Scott isn't impressed......and the conditions with which we got these animals was always under the guise of: "Okay..BUT YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM/IT...." said to me in a tone that made me realize that there would be no negotiations in the future on this subject.
Flash Forward:
Barnabas is very much a part of our family and he has "mental health challenges" being separated from us for any real length of time...(He can handle a few hours but more than a day and he gets sick). Sooooo, in preparing to come to Erie to visit my parents we realized that we would have to bring the "black bus" (as we call him sometimes) to my parents.
My parents live in a lovely home that they have redone over the course of many years. And they have white carpeting and white couches in their TV room.
White and children and white and a puppy are about the worst combination ON. THE. PLANET.
But, again, as is the Mumford way, there is more tolerance for puppy errors than there are for human errors.....so the puppy is more easily forgiven by his grandparents (aka my parents) than the human people who run under foot.
Did I mention that Barn is a 6 month old puppy?? P-U-P-P-Y.
The word Puppy in the original Aramaic means CHEW.
It also means BARK.
And it also means SMALL'ISH BLADDER.
(I actually don't speak Aramaic---but I'm thinking none of my readers do either---so let's just pretend ;-)
Last night my mom and I are playing games. I see Barn out of the corner of my eye chewing on something white. I think it's a bone. Mom and I keep playing games.
As we finish I actually look towards Barn and see that the white bone he's chewing on is actually one of my mom's shoes.
This isn't good.
NOT. AT. ALL.
b/c as much as the Mumford women love animals we ALSO LOVE SHOES.
As soon as we realize what Barn is chewing in my moms swoops down and picks up her shoe...squawking at Barnabas and telling him NO.
(He's only 6 months so his english is limited).
After pulling the shoe out of Barn's mouth, my mother realizes, TO HER tremendous relief, that the shoe is FINE.
Totally fine.
Slobbery, but fine.
BUT WAIT,
Shoes come in pairs.
She asks Barnabas: "WHERE IS THE OTHER SHOE????????"
Barnabas looks at her with his big brown eyes, winks and lays down.
My mother goes to the place where this pair of shoes originally started out.
By the door to the garage...in preparation for church this morning.
I stay behind....attempting to clean up from our game time.
Approximately 14.3 seconds after my mom left the game room and went to the spot where the shoes WERE I hear a very loud and somewhat screachy YELP.
I close my eyes....say a quick silent prayer and then ask:"Mom that didn't sound good, are you okay?"
3.7 seconds after the screach....my mom comes back into the game room. One white shoe in her hand and the other hand behind her back.
She proceeds to show me the white shoe that we had "saved" from Barn's mouth....again, it was in good shape....
"I ask, besides dog slobber, what's wrong?"
My mom then pulls her arm from behind her back and there, in her hand, is a white shoe that no longer resembles the other white shoe.
She then takes me by the hand and walks me into the dining room.
And there, all over her dining room rug are the remnants of her white shoe.
White sequins, white petals from the pretty flower that had been the centerpiece of the shoe....very delicately chewed...each petal....and placed lovingly all over the oriental rug that adorns the floor.
In those 5 seconds of looking at the damage and realizing that it was MY puppy that had done this....I actually thought my life was in danger. Then I thought, "No, my mom can't take MY life b/c she needs me to help pick out a nursing home someday.....BUT she CAN TAKE MY DOG'S LIFE...."
BUT I live with a very gracious mother and after the initial horror of the violated shoe passed....we both started laughing. Then we started laughing to the point where there was potentially some snorting and definitely some tears from laughing so hard.
Some things in life are just like that.......you either laugh or you cry.......and if you have the choice....the better part of valor is always to laugh ;-)
Especially when you can laugh at yourself.
God bless,
Elizabeth
Friday, August 12, 2011
random thoughts on grandparents and the microterrorist
God bless my parents.
I don't know very many grandparents who would willingly open up their lovely, white carpeted home to 3 children and a 6 month old puppy.
But my parents have done this. And they have done it for quite an extended period of time.....by the time all is said and done, the kids and I and Whoodle (our puppy Barnabas) will have been at my parental units for almost 3 weeks.
That's a long long time to have young people around.
It's a long long time to have a microterrorist around.
And a puppy.
And me.
But my parents are doing their best to put up a valiant front.
Sometimes/frequently glasses aren't put into the sink....frequently/sometimes wet towels are left on wood....frequently shoes are left all over the entire house and then when needed---no one can find them....except Barnabas who can find ANY shoe at any time.....and prefers the expensive ones to chew on.
Today we went to the beach. My parents live in Erie, PA which is (and this information will stun you) on Lake Erie. ;-)
The girls had a fabulous time swimming in the water and valiantly playing in the waves.....the microterrorist does not like water. He does not like ANYTHING that touches or could potentially touch his hair. He has major issues in this area and it is for this reason and the temper tantrums he has that he only gets bathed about twice a year....for MAJOR MAJOR holidays.....and sometimes not even then.
I am an OUT.STAND.ING. parent.
Tonight while we were eating our picnic dinner at the beach, Jack decided that he wasn't hungry anymore. Apparently half of a half of a half of a hamburger bun was MORE than enough to fill his stomach....so he wanted to leave....approximately 53 seconds after we had prayed and were starting to eat.
This would have been fine if the nanny had been with us to watch over "the boy" while he played on the playground...but tragically the nanny seems to have THIS lifetime off so the rest of us---who actually WANTED some food for dinner---were stuck dealing with a little boy who has a LOUD mouth and at times, an even louder temper.
I valiantly (that seems to be my word tonight) tried to keep Scott's son contained at the picnic table for as long as humanly possible. It's amazing how "slinky" a 2 year old who is somewhat bigg'ish can make himself squeeze through my large'ish arms and thighs.....so after he "slunk" once too many times, I gave up. Let nature watch him. He's my 3rd child...I still have the two "good" ones left......if something happens to Scott's son then I'll just say that it was "his time to go...." Yes, I am THAT kind of mother ;-) (joking, sort of).
Through the machinations and loud/strong/semi-abusive comments of his two grandparents and his mother (I was pretending to care where he went b/c I wanted to put up a good front for my parents)....we convinced Jack that he was NOT allowed to go to the playground until his sisters were done eating (I am ALL ABOUT delegation)....so Jack was stuck. He could either obey (and our standards were pretty low at this point b/c there was food involved on our part and we were all wanting to eat rather than parent/grandparent)...OR he could choose to disobey which would cause more yellling from the parental units even though our mouths would be full ;-)
Jack chose to do a 3rd option. The option that only Jack would come up with. The option that would still put his life in danger (which he enjoys to do) and yet it would still be sort of obeying the adult units that were busy stuffing their faces.....Jack chose to chase geese.
The picnic area where we were eating was surrounded by Canadian geese. I'm sure they were busy organizing for a church service but they seemed like they wanted our food.....so they were "hangin' around"....well Jack thought they were just funny looking birds...."biyd" as he would say pointing and giggling. (He could giggle b/c his mouth wasn't full). So Jack chased one bird. Now keep in mind the dumb birds are about the same size that he is. But he doesn't care. Again, there is the potential for danger and he likes that....so he started with one bird and it ran off. Jack thought that was absolutely hilarious. So he chased two birds....and they ran off.....then three....they ran.....then he started to look for "gang members"...larger flocks of birds that were hanging together....he ran after them.....and they ran. He did this for probably 15 minutes or more....every Canadian goose in the area I'm sure is in therapy right now. But I have to say that it was absolutely hysterical watching this little "no shirt/bathing suit sorta drooping/long haired boy" chasing after these geese!
My daughters and parents and I were laughing.
Well, laughing as much as we could through our full mouths ;-)
A day in the life with the microterrorist ;-)
It's good to know that he doesn't only terrorize people ;-)
God bless,
Elizabeth
I don't know very many grandparents who would willingly open up their lovely, white carpeted home to 3 children and a 6 month old puppy.
But my parents have done this. And they have done it for quite an extended period of time.....by the time all is said and done, the kids and I and Whoodle (our puppy Barnabas) will have been at my parental units for almost 3 weeks.
That's a long long time to have young people around.
It's a long long time to have a microterrorist around.
And a puppy.
And me.
But my parents are doing their best to put up a valiant front.
Sometimes/frequently glasses aren't put into the sink....frequently/sometimes wet towels are left on wood....frequently shoes are left all over the entire house and then when needed---no one can find them....except Barnabas who can find ANY shoe at any time.....and prefers the expensive ones to chew on.
Today we went to the beach. My parents live in Erie, PA which is (and this information will stun you) on Lake Erie. ;-)
The girls had a fabulous time swimming in the water and valiantly playing in the waves.....the microterrorist does not like water. He does not like ANYTHING that touches or could potentially touch his hair. He has major issues in this area and it is for this reason and the temper tantrums he has that he only gets bathed about twice a year....for MAJOR MAJOR holidays.....and sometimes not even then.
I am an OUT.STAND.ING. parent.
Tonight while we were eating our picnic dinner at the beach, Jack decided that he wasn't hungry anymore. Apparently half of a half of a half of a hamburger bun was MORE than enough to fill his stomach....so he wanted to leave....approximately 53 seconds after we had prayed and were starting to eat.
This would have been fine if the nanny had been with us to watch over "the boy" while he played on the playground...but tragically the nanny seems to have THIS lifetime off so the rest of us---who actually WANTED some food for dinner---were stuck dealing with a little boy who has a LOUD mouth and at times, an even louder temper.
I valiantly (that seems to be my word tonight) tried to keep Scott's son contained at the picnic table for as long as humanly possible. It's amazing how "slinky" a 2 year old who is somewhat bigg'ish can make himself squeeze through my large'ish arms and thighs.....so after he "slunk" once too many times, I gave up. Let nature watch him. He's my 3rd child...I still have the two "good" ones left......if something happens to Scott's son then I'll just say that it was "his time to go...." Yes, I am THAT kind of mother ;-) (joking, sort of).
Through the machinations and loud/strong/semi-abusive comments of his two grandparents and his mother (I was pretending to care where he went b/c I wanted to put up a good front for my parents)....we convinced Jack that he was NOT allowed to go to the playground until his sisters were done eating (I am ALL ABOUT delegation)....so Jack was stuck. He could either obey (and our standards were pretty low at this point b/c there was food involved on our part and we were all wanting to eat rather than parent/grandparent)...OR he could choose to disobey which would cause more yellling from the parental units even though our mouths would be full ;-)
Jack chose to do a 3rd option. The option that only Jack would come up with. The option that would still put his life in danger (which he enjoys to do) and yet it would still be sort of obeying the adult units that were busy stuffing their faces.....Jack chose to chase geese.
The picnic area where we were eating was surrounded by Canadian geese. I'm sure they were busy organizing for a church service but they seemed like they wanted our food.....so they were "hangin' around"....well Jack thought they were just funny looking birds...."biyd" as he would say pointing and giggling. (He could giggle b/c his mouth wasn't full). So Jack chased one bird. Now keep in mind the dumb birds are about the same size that he is. But he doesn't care. Again, there is the potential for danger and he likes that....so he started with one bird and it ran off. Jack thought that was absolutely hilarious. So he chased two birds....and they ran off.....then three....they ran.....then he started to look for "gang members"...larger flocks of birds that were hanging together....he ran after them.....and they ran. He did this for probably 15 minutes or more....every Canadian goose in the area I'm sure is in therapy right now. But I have to say that it was absolutely hysterical watching this little "no shirt/bathing suit sorta drooping/long haired boy" chasing after these geese!
My daughters and parents and I were laughing.
Well, laughing as much as we could through our full mouths ;-)
A day in the life with the microterrorist ;-)
It's good to know that he doesn't only terrorize people ;-)
God bless,
Elizabeth
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I have no idea what I'm doing
I am funny.
There are even times when I am very funny.
For years people have told me that I need to start a blog.
But as with most things in my life, I have no idea what I'm doing.
I may very well type a bunch of stuff right now and no one will ever read it except maybe my mother---but that will only happen after I've shown her how to get TO my blog.....and that probably would require me to remember stuff and my mind is notsogood anymore...anyway, if she's the only one who reads this---then that's fine....I'm okay with it though ultimately I would love to have millions of followers...so IF you read this and you AREN'T my mother please pass the word on ;-)
I own two normal children (girls---11 and 8) and one microterrorist (2, male, named Jack but aka Scott's son)
Scott is my husband.
It is because of him and his DNA that we have 2 girls and one boy/microterrorist.
For approximely 6 1/2 years I lived in a bubble of semi-parental perfection b/c my girls are good. They are very good. I was so blessed. So spoiled. So clueless.
THEN I had Scott's son.
I was 40 when I had Jack and the pregnancy and delivery aged me approximately 407 years.......so even though I'm 43 now my female regions are now older than most of the countries in Europe.
I will write more later as I have to go and play Wii now with my parents.
We're doing Trivial Pursuit and my "goal" is to beat them.....so that I can go to bed feeling good about myself....b/c most of my esteem is garnered around awards and winning and trophies, etc. Not.
Love,
Eliza ;-)
There are even times when I am very funny.
For years people have told me that I need to start a blog.
But as with most things in my life, I have no idea what I'm doing.
I may very well type a bunch of stuff right now and no one will ever read it except maybe my mother---but that will only happen after I've shown her how to get TO my blog.....and that probably would require me to remember stuff and my mind is notsogood anymore...anyway, if she's the only one who reads this---then that's fine....I'm okay with it though ultimately I would love to have millions of followers...so IF you read this and you AREN'T my mother please pass the word on ;-)
I own two normal children (girls---11 and 8) and one microterrorist (2, male, named Jack but aka Scott's son)
Scott is my husband.
It is because of him and his DNA that we have 2 girls and one boy/microterrorist.
For approximely 6 1/2 years I lived in a bubble of semi-parental perfection b/c my girls are good. They are very good. I was so blessed. So spoiled. So clueless.
THEN I had Scott's son.
I was 40 when I had Jack and the pregnancy and delivery aged me approximately 407 years.......so even though I'm 43 now my female regions are now older than most of the countries in Europe.
I will write more later as I have to go and play Wii now with my parents.
We're doing Trivial Pursuit and my "goal" is to beat them.....so that I can go to bed feeling good about myself....b/c most of my esteem is garnered around awards and winning and trophies, etc. Not.
Love,
Eliza ;-)
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