The Pool and Where Barbie Belongs

So, I go to the pool almost every day with the kids, and I find it is the best place in the world to people watch. There are these perfect little mothers, who walk very gently, sit very gently, and speak very gently. They drive me crazy, sitting there telling their naughty children, “Oh, honey, you might not want to hit your friend with a boat.” Of course the kid wants to hit his friend with a boat. Why else would the kid be doing it? These women need a little coaching. Get up and tell your kid to stop. Firmly. Don’t sit there and meekly suggest that your child might want to consider not beating other kids to pulps at the pool. Good grief. So, I retaliate by changing my son’s diaper right there at the baby pool. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of crazy woman. I’m not the one trying to reason with a child who hasn’t reached the age of reason. When my kids do something wrong, I bench them. I tell them not to do it again. I don’t suggest that they might want to think about possibly being nice and not beating other kids. Stupid women.

There are three mothers there whom I actually respect. One, as far as I can tell, has at least four boys and a girl, so she wins the contest. What’s so awesome about her is that her kids behave and she’s happy. The second takes no grief from anyone, and when her child is naughty, she takes him home. The third is so down-to-earth; she’s very cool. She asked me a funny question the other day. She said some of her girlfriends had given her old toys, but the odd thing was all of the toys still had all of their parts—puzzles had all of their pieces, games had all tokens, etc. She wanted to know if this was normal because within five minutes in her son’s possession, there was not one complete toy, game, or puzzle left. I told her those women must be anal-retentive. I was like that with my first child. Every night before I went to bed, I had to make sure that every piece of that stupid Fisher Price barn was accounted for and in position, that the cow, sheep, pig, chicken, horse, farmer, weather vane, windmill, and scarecrow were all in their proper places. That was insanity. Now that I have a second child, I have realized that it is perfectly ok to mix the barnyard with the zoo. Our dog ate the pig, so now he’s a cripple. Sometimes, I even let the household members visit. Once in a while, the school bus takes a fieldtrip, and, are you sitting down? I have actually let Barbie mingle. Now, we all know she’s made by Mattel and should not even be in the same room as the Fisher Price paraphernalia, but hey, I’m quite a bit more relaxed now than I was six years ago.

Dinner

Well, my six year old just informed me that she can't eat faster because she doesn't have the muscles to chew. We're eating spaghetti, for crying out loud, and it's fully cooked. WTF?

The House

My most impressive accomplishment this summer has been getting all of the paperwork together for the house/mortgage/eternal debt.

A little back story:
We signed the contract on this house and provided a hefty deposit in May of 2004. I must say the builder has an excellent reputation, but construction was delayed for three years. We’ve waited patiently, and now thanks to the swift progress of immigrant skilled-laborers, we almost have a house.

I received a call two weeks ago from the builder asking who our attorney is. Attorney? Do I need one now? The rep also informed me that our settlement is scheduled for August 20th. I almost asked her which year, but I didn’t want to be rude.

I figured that if I need an attorney, I also need a mortgage, so I got working on that, too. One of the first things the mortgage company wanted was a copy of our sales agreement. You have got to be kidding me. We signed that three years ago. Am I supposed to have that just lying around? Since we signed it, we have moved to temporary housing (Mom and Dad), shoved most of our belongings in storage, thrown away about six tons of stuff (my husband just tossed it without looking at it), changed the model house we wanted built, changed our options four times, changed our mortgage company once, changed jobs, oh, and had another child. Through all of that, I’m supposed to keep track of the sales agreement?

I called the builder and got a copy. Then, I found taxes, pay stubs, W2’s, bank statements, photocopies of the checks we paid to the builder, blood types, and anything else the mortgage company might need.

Anybody else notice that the word mort is in mortgage? Same mort that’s in mortal, mortality, mortician, meaning death.

Anyway, this was all well and good, but the bank wanted proof that the money that funded the checks came from my account. Ok, so now let’s be logical. I wrote the checks from my checking account. If I fraudulently wrote nine checks adding up to $42,000, wouldn’t that have been exposed, and I wouldn’t be buying the house? Anyway, out to storage I went, dug through boxes, bags, furniture, dishes, Christmas decorations, maternity clothes, toys (ages 6 mos. to 4 years), and I found my bank statements from three years ago. A light from the heavens shone down upon me. I could not believe it. I AM AMAZING!

So, to all of those who give me grief for keeping EVERYTHING, HA! It was obviously worth it! My proudest accomplishment so far this summer: being a pack rat.

Things I've Said

I know this sounds very cliché, but I have heard myself saying all kinds of crazy things since having children. I’ve started to compile a list.

1. Don’t chew on your Butt Paste.
2. Somebody better put the baby Jesus away.
3. No trucks in the coffee!
4. Don’t lick the floor!
5. Don’t throw the hammer at your sister.
6. Don’t run into your sister with the backhoe.
7. I have no sympathy. I told you not to dive off the couch.
8. Don’t put Baby Jesus in the dog bowl.
9. Stop throwing cars at the window.
10. No more chippy-chapping!
11. Don’t put old crumbs in my soda!
12. No, lightning bugs will not eat you.
13. Don’t stand in front of the window naked!
14. Can't I PLEASE go to the bathroom by myself?


These are the highlights. I am sure there will be more as the summer continues and we move into our house.

Notes from Mom

Well, yesterday was our 10 year anniversary. We toyed with the idea of going out to celebrate, but without someone to watch the kids, that fizzled. We thought to take the kids, but I am also watching my niece and nephew, so that wouldn't work, either.

Thank goodness we didn't make plans. The princess, my daughter, refused to eat breakfast. Then, she refused to eat lunch. Then, on the way to the pool, she threw up in the car. Of course, I yelled at her because it was obviously due to the fact that she hadn't eaten. In the middle of the night, she vomited again. All over herself and her bedding. Her cousin knocked on my door so gingerly I scarce was sure I heard her. When I came to my senses, I jumped out of bed and crashed into the wall because both of my legs were asleep. You don't know fun until, fully sober, you’ve slammed your face on the wall at 2:30 in the morning just before you help a vomit-clad child into the shower to bathe. You may have had this kind of fun in a drunken stupor, but it really isn’t enjoyable when you’re just tired.

Then, I just felt horrible because I had yelled at her for being sick. Darn. I won't win mother of the year again.

So, ten years ago, while my newly-pronounced husband and I were enjoying our wedding night bliss, we never imagined this is how it would be down the road. Regurgitation, new bedding, laundry, and a shower. How romantic.

Don’t get me wrong; parenting has all kinds of wonderful aspects. Children can make life so fulfilling. Little people want to give me hugs and kiss my cheek. That’s so sweet! Countless are the moments when I feel so proud of them.

Tune in for the rest of the story.

Oh, did anyone find the Poe reference?