Day to Day

Daily Dose of Kids – Those Left Behind

TW blogged about her nice workday with RJ and I’m glad the normally bouncy, talkative, busy RJ was quiet and sweet but I spent most of the day wondering why it was I had insisted it be RJ who went and the other two who should be left behind.

It started innocently enough, the Starbucks and the Krispy Kreme but I should have known it wouldn’t last when the two staying with me started to cheer because RJ was going to have to do WORK at the office and they were going to have a wonderful, relaxing and FUN day at home with Denise. I hate that sort of thing so decided on the spot that we’d clean the garage – or at least play at cleaning the garage. That stopped the cheering and jeering at RJ’s expense but left me with a 15 minute drive home that I did not enjoy.

E quickly warmed to the idea of cleaning the garage and talked nonstop about just what we would throw away (RJ’s stuff and Chris’s stuff) and what we were definitely keeping (her stuff). J did what J does best and tried to muddle the process by distracting me with some talk about video games that I did not understand. (J and I both need to listen to more Patrick Scoble podcasts because J would definitely be considered a lame 12 year old. We’re trying to make him into a real boy but it’s hard, he has some really weird parents…)

By the time we got home, I was feeling about the way I did when I blogged my symptoms a few days ago and I was regretting the first wonderful Caramel Macchiato I’ve had in days. So, I did what all moms in my position would do – I turned on the TV.

The quiet lasted for about an hour and then the typical, “Get out of my seat!” “Quit touching me!” “I am not stupid!” “I was watching that!” started. Then there was mayhem because J has lost his gameboy charger. It was plugged into the wall in the living room for the entire month he was in Vancouver. I saw it on Monday when J arrived and immediately picked up the gameboy. Where it went after that is anybody’s guess. I helped search the living room for a bit and offered ideas about how to go about cleaning the bedroom that he insists he just cleaned in order to find it but we had no luck.

From there it just went downhill. E decided she needed to talk to me, nonstop, preferably while holding onto my mousing arm at the elbow. When I tired of this, she brought her pillow and neopets plushies down and crawled under my desk with the old, tired, smelly dog and talked to me from down there. J sat in Michelle’s computer chair, the one formerly known as mommy’s, and made his groaning noises for about an hour.

Lunch was only a success because I served Krispy Kremes alongside what turned out not to be E’s favorite soup oh and somewhere along the way, the evil black dog drank J’s hot chocolate from Starbucks and J refused to clean up the cup paper that was all over the living room. Apparently the dog assumed responsibility for cleaning up the cup since he had it last? The Schwan’s guy showed up unexpectedly, (unexpectedly only because I forgot he told me last time he was switching to Thursdays), and saved me briefly with banana popsicles that E has been asking for all week. (The kid is weird, she hates bananas but loves these popsicles and the yellow smiely lollipops skeeter sent us from Hawaii ages ago.)

We never did make it to the garage. We did, however, survive the day with only one 5 minute bout of crying from E when J put his feet in her hair and pulled for a really longgggggg time (according to E). We also never found the charger for the gameboy so his highness thinks that tomorrow we should just go buy another one. Ha! It wasn’t as crazy as Life Aboard the Ark but the next time a kid goes to work, it’s not going to be RJ!

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Daily Dose of Family Life – Where do you start?

You gotta start somewhere… or so my pal Leona says in her first blog post. The problem here is that the place she’s choosing to start is probably not the place her nice husband is choosing to start. And, according to TW, she’s not going about it in the proper fashion anyway. Let’s take a moment to remember that TW is female and Leona’s husband is ummm obviously male, duh. So what TW thinks about Leona’s inability to help her husband get a clue may be slightly skewed. I doubt it though, because TW is the female version of Leona’s husband – luckily the female version is an improved version and I don’t have much to complain about…

I don’t generally ask anyone to load the dishwasher because people in my household (except the 1/2 kid) generally avoid that appliance like the plague. They are all sure that I have some dishwasher fetish and if they even touch it I will be offended in some manner. I understand where they’ve gotten this idea, (and blame my mother). They’re wrong, but it’s partially my fault that they feel this way – so I generally deal with it. Until TW talks about how good she is about cleaning up her cooking messes. THAT, I take offense to, because she doesn’t clean up in the kitchen more than 2% of the time. That’s ok, I can live with that, but don’t talk about how much kitchen clean up you do. That’s just wrong.

Now the garbage issue that Leona talks about, I’ve got similar experiences. My first issue is that when TW does empty the bathroom or bedroom garbage, she generally makes a bigger mess than if she’d just left it to overflow. So I really don’t complain much when I find myself wandering around and emptying the small trash cans on Monday evening. Better a bit of overflow than the entire can dumped onto the middle of the floor and then a haphazard cleanup. 😉

And then, there’s the kitchen garbage and recycle issue. That’s the one that bugs me the most. If the trash can is full, take it out. Duh. TW doesn’t even attempt to push the garbage down to get more in, she just sets it on top and if it falls out she doesn’t even notice because she’s quickly closed the door and wandered away. If she empties a paper coke carton, she will toss it into the recycle bin next to the trash because “it won’t fit in the trash can”. Which means it gets covered in coke goo that I get to deal with because nobody else takes out the recycle bin either.

And then of course, there’s the constant argument about what is actually recyclable. (And I use argument in the loosest sense of the word – we don’t argue about it. I rant, she responds, and I rant some more – all the while laughing at the entire situation. When I stop laughing, then we’re in trouble). She insists that when she lived at “the blue house” coke cartons and cereal boxes and kids school papers were recyclable. Now that may well be but I didn’t live in this town then and I can tell you that according to the note the recycle dude left in our un-emptied bin 2 years ago, those things are not recyclable. And, according to the Big Blue website, the recycle dude is right. That doesn’t stop TW, and thus the small children, from tossing white printer paper and those coke boxes into the recycle bin. Which means I get to sort through it all on Tuesday morning and separate the goo covered non-recyclables from the recyclables. This is not a chore I enjoy. I have no attachment to it. I would like that particular job to end. Preferably, today.

Anyway, back to the real problem –

TW says that if you want something done, then you ought to do it yourself. And if your hubby wants something done, then he ought to do it himself. Now Leona and I know that this just does not work, because she and I want all sorts of things done and we’ve already spent a zillion years of our lives doing them. At some point, your spouse or your s/o should do things that YOU want done, simply because YOU want them done. TW knows this too, she’s just trying to keep us from emasculating her. She gets in these moods every now and then. You just have to roll your eyes and laugh.

TW also says that if I want her to do something, then I have to point it out and ask her to do it. (Which, Leona did, and her dishes sat there and sat there and sat there.) I’ve done it before and found myself more frustrated at having to ask and then having the task go undone than if I’d just said nothing and done it myself. Apparently a specific time table is also required but I have serious problems telling adults that they need to do this job by this time. It should be obvious that the dishes should get done sooner rather than later. And, laundry really should be folded as soon as it is dry or at least as soon as it is pulled from the dryer. Why do I have to spell that sort of thing out to a grown woman? Whatever…

I have really just learned to face facts and so should you, Leona. If your husband doesn’t want to do something, he’s not going to do it. You ought to just accept that and figure out what it is that you don’t want to do – and stop doing it. Let him deal with waiting 24 hours for dinner if you don’t feel like cooking. It works well for me, it might work well for you too – and you create children who learn to find their own food very quickly, without any real problem, while you sit back and watch the adult male flounder around in confusion at not having food appear in front of him.

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