Dear Rest of the World,
I regret to inform you that the Phillips family will not be observing Daylight Savings Time this year. Before you write me off as crazy, let me explain. I was looking at the calendar tonight to see what the rest of October has in store for us. We're pretty busy right up to the end. So I peeked around the corner to November and, oh, there it was: Daylight Savings Time Begins. A wave of panic came over me instantly. Because as every mother knows, it doesn't matter if we're "springing forward" or "falling back" or taking a flight to Tokyo - it all means the same thing to me - lost sleep.
You see, my 2 year old and 4 month old sons can't tell time yet. And we run on their schedule. They already wake up when they are cold or hot or wet or hungry or thirsty or itchy or when they hear a housefly fart. And then they wake me up. It's been a long two years of this Mommy business. There have been days when I was so tired I felt like my eyelids were lined with sandpaper. I've shampooed my hair with shaving cream and fallen asleep on the toilet.
But it was starting to get better...in the last month, we've had some nights when I was only jolted out of bed by someone who needs me three times! I'm feeling refreshed in the mornings - or at least less like a torture victim.
And now here comes Daylight Savings Time trying to mess it all up. Well, this year, I'm putting my foot down. We're not doing it. I guess this means that until Spring we will be an hour late (or is it early?) to church and for doctor's appointments and everywhere else we go. OH, STINKIN' WELL.
At least when we get there, I won't have red puffy eyes and shaving cream on my head. I sure hope you all understand and we'll catch up with you again in April.
Sincerely, Laura
p.s. Thanks for hearing me out. NOW you can write me off as crazy.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
the Bahamas does sound nice, doesn't it?
Years ago, I was back "at home" in Illinois and I ran into an old friend from high school. She already had two little girls at the time but I was still very much single and childless. The friend seemed slightly frazzled and proceeded to tell me about how that particular day had been for her. I don't remember all of the details but the part that stuck in my mind was this: one of her daughters had been playing in the toilet and had gotten a spanking. At the time, I remember thinking, "Why would you spank her? That sounds kinda cute!" I guess ignorance really is bliss when it comes to parenting.
Yesterday was one of those days for me - the kind of day when I've had to spank Wesley's bottom before the smoke from cooking breakfast has even had time to clear, the kind of day when you start getting the kids ready for bed - at 2:00 PM, the kind of day when I wonder who tricked me into becoming a mom, anyway.
I was up pretty early and Wesley was contentedly watching cartoons. Wyatt was still sawing tiny logs. I recognized this as my chance to get a shower - possibly my only chance for days...so I quietly turned on the shower and got my towels ready. As I attempted to step into the shower, Wyatt began to cry and Wesley came running. As if the very idea that Mommy might be trying to do something alone had set off a silent alarm alerting them both to come immediately.
Typically, I shower as fast as humanly possible with both boys in the bathroom, peeking out every minute or so to make sure no one is on fire. Well, yesterday I pulled back the curtain just before turning off the water to see Wesley dip the toilet brush into the toilet and then wipe it all over the wall. He looked up from his work and told me proudly, "I paintin', Mama."
The day dragged on with him climbing into the fireplace, spitting a mouthful of juice onto the carpet, and having a breakdown every few minutes for miscellaneous reasons that only he could understand. Right before bedtime, I noticed his fingernails needed to be cut so I pulled him on my lap and did this while he screamed as if I were removing his appendix without anesthesia.
Thankfully, at this point it was close enough to bedtime to call it a day. I held him on my lap for a few minutes in the rocking chair to calm him down. Then Bryan and I both took him to his bedroom. We prayed with him and then Bryan left but I stayed for an extra minute to give my monster another kiss. As I stood up to leave the room, he whispered, "You look pretty, Mama."
And that was just enough to make me put off buying a one-way ticket to the Bahamas for another day.
Yesterday was one of those days for me - the kind of day when I've had to spank Wesley's bottom before the smoke from cooking breakfast has even had time to clear, the kind of day when you start getting the kids ready for bed - at 2:00 PM, the kind of day when I wonder who tricked me into becoming a mom, anyway.
I was up pretty early and Wesley was contentedly watching cartoons. Wyatt was still sawing tiny logs. I recognized this as my chance to get a shower - possibly my only chance for days...so I quietly turned on the shower and got my towels ready. As I attempted to step into the shower, Wyatt began to cry and Wesley came running. As if the very idea that Mommy might be trying to do something alone had set off a silent alarm alerting them both to come immediately.
Typically, I shower as fast as humanly possible with both boys in the bathroom, peeking out every minute or so to make sure no one is on fire. Well, yesterday I pulled back the curtain just before turning off the water to see Wesley dip the toilet brush into the toilet and then wipe it all over the wall. He looked up from his work and told me proudly, "I paintin', Mama."
The day dragged on with him climbing into the fireplace, spitting a mouthful of juice onto the carpet, and having a breakdown every few minutes for miscellaneous reasons that only he could understand. Right before bedtime, I noticed his fingernails needed to be cut so I pulled him on my lap and did this while he screamed as if I were removing his appendix without anesthesia.
Thankfully, at this point it was close enough to bedtime to call it a day. I held him on my lap for a few minutes in the rocking chair to calm him down. Then Bryan and I both took him to his bedroom. We prayed with him and then Bryan left but I stayed for an extra minute to give my monster another kiss. As I stood up to leave the room, he whispered, "You look pretty, Mama."
And that was just enough to make me put off buying a one-way ticket to the Bahamas for another day.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Just think of all the money we'll save on shampoo!
This evening, I was multi-tasking: making dinner and searching for my lost pedometer. As I headed down the hallway to check the computer desk drawers for about the twentieth time, I got the shock of my life - Bryan was sitting on the bathroom floor holding Wyatt and SHAVING HIS HEAD! I could not believe what I was seeing was really happening. First I screamed and then I had to lay down.
It's true - Wyatt has been developing a bit of a mullet (business in the front, party in the back) as babies sometimes do. And, I had mentioned possibly cutting the back a little. But I couldn't believe Bryan had taken him into the bathroom and shaved it! Bryan said, "I was going to surprise you." Oh, I was surprised all right.
I know it should not have been such a big deal to me. It is just hair. But I am a sentimental person and I would have taken pictures of the process. And I would have CUT it, not shaved it.
People, I love my husband dearly and I like surprises but there are good surprises and bad surprises. Good ones are ,"I gave the dog a bath so you wouldn't have to," or ,"I ordered pizza so you don't have to cook tonight." Bad surprises are, "I invited my mom to come and live with us!" or ," I shaved our baby's head for the first time without telling you."
Thankfully, he only shaved the long bottom part, not the whole head. And, he did pick up some of the hair so I can put it in Wyatt's scrapbook. Also, I just took pictures of Wyatt's little mullet yesterday so at least I have that.
I guess Bryan must like surprises. And being a good wife, I have to think of a surprise for him - a really, really good one. I'm thinking something involving laxatives. LOTS AND LOTS of laxatives.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
and THAT is how I got the keyboard-shaped bruise on my forehead
About a year and a half ago, I noticed that everyone else on the planet had an ipod. Except, of course, me. I wasn't sure what they did besides play songs, but I wanted one. So I began thinking of a way I could justfify spending $130 on something I didn't need and had no clue how to use. Having no job, I immediately started looking for something to sell.
Flashback to my early 20's:
If you live in Boulder, Colorado and you want to fit in, there are a few things you need; a pair of flip flops, a backpack full of granola, and a good sleeping bag. If you are a chick, it also doesn't hurt to have really hairy armpits, but I'm talking about the sleeping bag here. As a youngster, my family camped a lot but it was the kind of camping done from a really nice trailer. The rough part of "roughing it" was that the TV in the trailer was black and white. Now a 20-something, living in Boulder, I had some friends who convinced me that I would enjoy a slightly more rugged version of camping. But first, I would need some equipment - including a $225 sleeping bag that was rated to zero degrees. That means that if I were stupid enough to go camping on a night when the temp would get down to zero, theoretically, I would not freeze to death. The problem was that I don't think I ever camped on a night that got below a blustery 80 degrees. So the few times that I camped, I spent the night on top of my sleeping bag. In a pool of my own sweat.
Flash forward to a year and a half ago: I find myself scanning our home for something to sell and I'm drawn to the beloved sleeping bag which incidentally still has the tags on it. Yes, I used it THAT much. I decided to list it on Ebay (don't worry - I was honest and said it was used but in excellent condition. I didn't mention the pool of sweat part.) A few days later it sold for $137! I now had the money it would take to be cool.
Bryan used the money to buy my shiny new ipod for me. We spent an entire weekend going through all my CD's and Bryan put all the songs I wanted on it for me since I'm technology impaired.
I was finally as cool as everyone else - I, too, could drive around town rocking out to "Brass Monkey" with my tinted windows down. I was no longer bound by the cassette player in my trusty old Buick. It changed my life.
Now fast forward to a month ago. I plugged my ipod in to the car's outlet and...nothing happened. Blank screen. To my absolute horror all my songs had been somehow erased. You know how horses can smell fear? It was just like that - my ipod smelled my technology impairment and delete my songs just to be a bastard!
So this week I begged Bryan to show me how to put the songs back on. I took him one CD so he could show me, knowing that it was going to take me a while to get all the CD's put back on.
But every time he tried to show me, something went wrong. Bryan, being a little more tech-savvy than I, had to troubleshoot over and over again. Meanwhile, everyone in our house under the age of three was having meltdown - Wesley was jumping on the bed and taking papers out of the file cabinet and Wyatt was crying and wanted to be held and constantly jiggled. By someone in a chicken suit. It was as if every element in the process was against us. And I'm not sure if Bryan is a bad teacher (probably not since he has a teaching degree), I am a slow learner, or my ipod and computer are seriously messed up, but adding five songs should NOT be that hard. I wanted to Slam. My. Head. On. The. Computer. Keyboard.
After about an hour, Bryan announced, "There. That's how you add the songs." Wow, after only an hour and 17,000 steps, there were five whole songs on my ipod!
And so the next time I have about a year of free time and a deep desire to torture myself, I'll add more songs to my ipod. But until then, I might be stuck with the old Peter, Paul, and Mary cassette tape.
Flashback to my early 20's:
If you live in Boulder, Colorado and you want to fit in, there are a few things you need; a pair of flip flops, a backpack full of granola, and a good sleeping bag. If you are a chick, it also doesn't hurt to have really hairy armpits, but I'm talking about the sleeping bag here. As a youngster, my family camped a lot but it was the kind of camping done from a really nice trailer. The rough part of "roughing it" was that the TV in the trailer was black and white. Now a 20-something, living in Boulder, I had some friends who convinced me that I would enjoy a slightly more rugged version of camping. But first, I would need some equipment - including a $225 sleeping bag that was rated to zero degrees. That means that if I were stupid enough to go camping on a night when the temp would get down to zero, theoretically, I would not freeze to death. The problem was that I don't think I ever camped on a night that got below a blustery 80 degrees. So the few times that I camped, I spent the night on top of my sleeping bag. In a pool of my own sweat.
Flash forward to a year and a half ago: I find myself scanning our home for something to sell and I'm drawn to the beloved sleeping bag which incidentally still has the tags on it. Yes, I used it THAT much. I decided to list it on Ebay (don't worry - I was honest and said it was used but in excellent condition. I didn't mention the pool of sweat part.) A few days later it sold for $137! I now had the money it would take to be cool.
Bryan used the money to buy my shiny new ipod for me. We spent an entire weekend going through all my CD's and Bryan put all the songs I wanted on it for me since I'm technology impaired.
I was finally as cool as everyone else - I, too, could drive around town rocking out to "Brass Monkey" with my tinted windows down. I was no longer bound by the cassette player in my trusty old Buick. It changed my life.
Now fast forward to a month ago. I plugged my ipod in to the car's outlet and...nothing happened. Blank screen. To my absolute horror all my songs had been somehow erased. You know how horses can smell fear? It was just like that - my ipod smelled my technology impairment and delete my songs just to be a bastard!
So this week I begged Bryan to show me how to put the songs back on. I took him one CD so he could show me, knowing that it was going to take me a while to get all the CD's put back on.
But every time he tried to show me, something went wrong. Bryan, being a little more tech-savvy than I, had to troubleshoot over and over again. Meanwhile, everyone in our house under the age of three was having meltdown - Wesley was jumping on the bed and taking papers out of the file cabinet and Wyatt was crying and wanted to be held and constantly jiggled. By someone in a chicken suit. It was as if every element in the process was against us. And I'm not sure if Bryan is a bad teacher (probably not since he has a teaching degree), I am a slow learner, or my ipod and computer are seriously messed up, but adding five songs should NOT be that hard. I wanted to Slam. My. Head. On. The. Computer. Keyboard.
After about an hour, Bryan announced, "There. That's how you add the songs." Wow, after only an hour and 17,000 steps, there were five whole songs on my ipod!
And so the next time I have about a year of free time and a deep desire to torture myself, I'll add more songs to my ipod. But until then, I might be stuck with the old Peter, Paul, and Mary cassette tape.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
hello - is anyone there?
It's like my mom always said - "Your friends are the ones who will be there for you when you need them."
Two days ago, I sent out a plea, asking that you all help me think of something to do every day for a year. And do you know how many responses I got? Are you ready? Two. Yes, that was the number that comes right after one and before three, TWO! I guess it's time to thank God that I didn't really need help - that I hadn't fallen into a well or wasn't choking on my own tongue - because with only TWO people to help me, I'm pretty sure I'd be stuck in that well or tongueless. And it wasn't because the prize offer was vague. In fact, one friend actually said he would take the Poop-Eating Dog. That's a true friend.
So, despite my feeling that you all apparently wouldn't post a comment if your life (or mine probably) depended on it, I'm going to share the ideas I've gotten so far.
Every day for a year, I could:
Hug a stranger
call my mother in law (talk to her every day already, though)
blog 10 words
post a blog
do a good deed
write a letter to someone
These are all good ideas, but I haven't gotten the one that really makes my heart beat faster yet. And don't worry - I haven't lost faith in you guys. Because my mom also used to say, "Cupcakes are not breakfast food," and she was WAY wrong on that one.
Send me ideas!
Two days ago, I sent out a plea, asking that you all help me think of something to do every day for a year. And do you know how many responses I got? Are you ready? Two. Yes, that was the number that comes right after one and before three, TWO! I guess it's time to thank God that I didn't really need help - that I hadn't fallen into a well or wasn't choking on my own tongue - because with only TWO people to help me, I'm pretty sure I'd be stuck in that well or tongueless. And it wasn't because the prize offer was vague. In fact, one friend actually said he would take the Poop-Eating Dog. That's a true friend.
So, despite my feeling that you all apparently wouldn't post a comment if your life (or mine probably) depended on it, I'm going to share the ideas I've gotten so far.
Every day for a year, I could:
Hug a stranger
call my mother in law (talk to her every day already, though)
blog 10 words
post a blog
do a good deed
write a letter to someone
These are all good ideas, but I haven't gotten the one that really makes my heart beat faster yet. And don't worry - I haven't lost faith in you guys. Because my mom also used to say, "Cupcakes are not breakfast food," and she was WAY wrong on that one.
Send me ideas!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
a plea for help
I need some help. From you.
Here's the scoop: yesterday, my friend, Steph, sent me a link to a website of a lady who made a New Year's Resolution to use her crock pot every day for a year. She writes about it every day, shares her recipes, and as an added bonus, she will crack your butt up. And then in People magazine last month, there was an article about a couple who made a resolution to have sex every day for a year. (Honestly, my reproductive organs hurt just thinking about that kind of workout...) Now, I've made a lot of New Year's Resolutions in my life, but none ever involving a crock pot or daily sex. How could I have missed out on those two?!?
So here's the part I need your help with. This idea of Do Something Every Day For a Year is sort of "in" right now. During my 31 years of life, I've missed out on the "in" thing too many times - I never had a Big Wheel, never had an Easy Bake oven, never wore parachute pants, never had a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (and isn't that a right of every kid born in America?) I'm not missing out on this one.
I think the next step is to figure out what I could do and write about every day for a year. My self discipline muscle is sore just thinking about doing a year's worth of anything but I am up for this challenge.
I'm even going to come up with a prize for the person who comes up with the winning suggestion - a good prize, not just something I have laying around the house like a poop-eating dog or a baby.
Just send me suggestions. Keep in mind this needs to be something most people wouldn't do every day, but also something that won't land me in prison. Jail is fine, but not prison.
Game on!
Here's the scoop: yesterday, my friend, Steph, sent me a link to a website of a lady who made a New Year's Resolution to use her crock pot every day for a year. She writes about it every day, shares her recipes, and as an added bonus, she will crack your butt up. And then in People magazine last month, there was an article about a couple who made a resolution to have sex every day for a year. (Honestly, my reproductive organs hurt just thinking about that kind of workout...) Now, I've made a lot of New Year's Resolutions in my life, but none ever involving a crock pot or daily sex. How could I have missed out on those two?!?
So here's the part I need your help with. This idea of Do Something Every Day For a Year is sort of "in" right now. During my 31 years of life, I've missed out on the "in" thing too many times - I never had a Big Wheel, never had an Easy Bake oven, never wore parachute pants, never had a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (and isn't that a right of every kid born in America?) I'm not missing out on this one.
I think the next step is to figure out what I could do and write about every day for a year. My self discipline muscle is sore just thinking about doing a year's worth of anything but I am up for this challenge.
I'm even going to come up with a prize for the person who comes up with the winning suggestion - a good prize, not just something I have laying around the house like a poop-eating dog or a baby.
Just send me suggestions. Keep in mind this needs to be something most people wouldn't do every day, but also something that won't land me in prison. Jail is fine, but not prison.
Game on!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I hadn't even thought of that
As some of you might remember, a couple months ago a devastating tornado went through our neighborhood, splintering entire houses into toothpicks and nearly killing our family. If you know me at all, you know that I never exaggerate. But really, the storm DID blow Wesley's sandbox away, blow down our neighbor's fence, and tear up the trees in our yard. And, more importantly, it scared the bajeebies out of me because it made me realize that we didn't have anywhere to hide except our bathroom. And while our bathroom is a lovely venue for eliminating body waste, it wasn't really made to be a tornado shelter. I guess a safe place to go in case of a tornado is one of those things you don't really need until you need it. Like flea powder for your dog or a Vanilla Ice cassette tape.
Well, after that traumatic incident, we (read: I) decided to get a storm cellar. My MIL found a local company that installs storm cellars so I called and made an appointment to have them come and put one in. My understanding was that they come to your house, dig a giant hole in the yard with a tractor, drop in the pre-made cellar, put dirt around it, and leave. Then, I go down in the cellar and add the finishing touches - hang some pictures, put out some potpourri, perhaps a little rug and maybe even draw a cozy fireplace on the wall to make it seem homey.
I did think to ask the saleswoman on the phone if there was a sample cellar that I could go and see. She told me where it was - a kind of remote area out in the country - and I set out to see it.
To say that it was in the middle of nowhere would be perfectly accurate. Had she not given me the directions down to the tenth of a mile, I would never have found it. The CIA couldn't have found it without directions.
I got out of the car (which I kept running in case I needed to get out of there fast) and walked through knee-high weeds to the cellar. I pulled open the door to get a good look. Oh, how I wish I had just ordered a cellar and called it a day. Inside the cellar was the thing I fear most in this world - a mouse. A MOUSE! The fact that it was dead and decaying was not help to me because - let's be real - it didn't just fall in there dead. No, it scurried in there alive.
Something very bad must have happened to me as a young child involving a mouse. I know that if I could just think rationally, a mouse really isn't going to hurt me. But when I see a mouse, I don't think rationally, I go into cardiac arrest. And so seeing this mouse crushed my dreams of our family seeking shelter during a bad storm, laughing and playing card games by flashlight. No, this had just turned into my own personal episode of Fear Factor. People, if a tornado was headed straight for me and I opened the cellar door to find a mouse in there, it would be a toss up - get killed by a tornado/die of heart attack from mouse...I might have to flip a coin on this one.
I tried to put it all in the back of my mind. The day finally arrived when a giant truck came hauling a cellar and a tractor. The guy in charge came to the door to ask me where to put it. I gathered my courage and asked him, "How do you keep mice from getting down there? I hate mice."
He grinned at me with his four pearly ecrus showing and said, "Boy, I don't know. My wife isn't afraid of the mice - it's the snakes that get in our cellar that bother her."
Someone hold me. Because this is going to take a lot more than potpourri.
Well, after that traumatic incident, we (read: I) decided to get a storm cellar. My MIL found a local company that installs storm cellars so I called and made an appointment to have them come and put one in. My understanding was that they come to your house, dig a giant hole in the yard with a tractor, drop in the pre-made cellar, put dirt around it, and leave. Then, I go down in the cellar and add the finishing touches - hang some pictures, put out some potpourri, perhaps a little rug and maybe even draw a cozy fireplace on the wall to make it seem homey.
I did think to ask the saleswoman on the phone if there was a sample cellar that I could go and see. She told me where it was - a kind of remote area out in the country - and I set out to see it.
To say that it was in the middle of nowhere would be perfectly accurate. Had she not given me the directions down to the tenth of a mile, I would never have found it. The CIA couldn't have found it without directions.
I got out of the car (which I kept running in case I needed to get out of there fast) and walked through knee-high weeds to the cellar. I pulled open the door to get a good look. Oh, how I wish I had just ordered a cellar and called it a day. Inside the cellar was the thing I fear most in this world - a mouse. A MOUSE! The fact that it was dead and decaying was not help to me because - let's be real - it didn't just fall in there dead. No, it scurried in there alive.
Something very bad must have happened to me as a young child involving a mouse. I know that if I could just think rationally, a mouse really isn't going to hurt me. But when I see a mouse, I don't think rationally, I go into cardiac arrest. And so seeing this mouse crushed my dreams of our family seeking shelter during a bad storm, laughing and playing card games by flashlight. No, this had just turned into my own personal episode of Fear Factor. People, if a tornado was headed straight for me and I opened the cellar door to find a mouse in there, it would be a toss up - get killed by a tornado/die of heart attack from mouse...I might have to flip a coin on this one.
I tried to put it all in the back of my mind. The day finally arrived when a giant truck came hauling a cellar and a tractor. The guy in charge came to the door to ask me where to put it. I gathered my courage and asked him, "How do you keep mice from getting down there? I hate mice."
He grinned at me with his four pearly ecrus showing and said, "Boy, I don't know. My wife isn't afraid of the mice - it's the snakes that get in our cellar that bother her."
Someone hold me. Because this is going to take a lot more than potpourri.
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