When you own a home daycare, there is a lot of shopping that goes along with it – and not the fun kind of shopping. In a typical week, I go through three gallons of milk, probably the same amount of juice, three bunches of bananas, a bag of grapes, a carton of strawberries, two containers of baby wipes, two dozen eggs, and many, many other things. I am the reason Sam’s Club and Costco were invented. But since we have neither a Sam’s Club nor a Costco or even a SuperWalmart within an hour’s driving distance, I am stuck making weekly trips to the only alternative – plain old Walmart.
I consider going to Wal-mart a form of torture. Like one step above water boarding although I’ve never been water boarded so maybe Wal-mart is worse – I don’t know. It used to not be so bad until I needed so many things every time I go there. I remember the days when Bryan and I would walk around Wal-mart leisurely, looking at all the things we didn’t really need but suddenly wanted anyway, occasionally tossing a completely useless item into the cart because it was shiny and cool and we “needed” it.
Those days are over. Now I have entered another phase of my life: the phase of needing two carts. It is completely embarrassing. I’m not even kidding. When I make my weekly trip to Wal-mart (once is all I can stomach) I need two carts to fit all the stuff I have to buy. TWO CARTS! I feel like a complete idiot pushing one cart and pulling another. I’ve tried to just do one cart but by the time I get to the checkout, things are spilling over the sides, my arms are full of other things, and I’m kicking a few items that fell out along the way.
This weekend our family went to the zoo in OKC with a couple who don’t have kids yet. They were talking about the distribution of household workload (in their house it is split evenly and they do many chores together – isn’t that precious?) and I asked about who does the grocery shopping. They do the grocery shopping together. And right then, I had a realization – I had a flashback to our wedding day. Not the one at the courthouse, the one with the big white dress.
Pastor Bob: Do you, Bryan, take Laura to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and that she will never have to go to Wal-mart alone again, for as long as you both shall live?
Bryan: I do.
And there you have it – I shouldn’t have to suffer the torture alone. So yesterday I made Bryan and the kids go with me to Wal-mart. The least they could do is push the second cart.
It was a bad idea. Wesley is just starting to “get” potty-training and in the middle of the trip screamed, “I need to go pee on the potty!” Wyatt was fussy for some unknown reason. Wal-mart was crowded and had run out of many of the things we needed. I sensed that Bryan was about to crack and then he gave me the look that means “This is never going to happen again.”
Whatever, you wedding vow breaker, you!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
if you can't take the heat...
Yesterday Bryan got home from school and announced that he was tired and going to bed. He’s been fighting a cold for a week or so. The problem here is that I had planned a dinner which, once prepared by me, needed to be grilled by him. I had already thawed the meat and was marinating it or I would have just declared it a PB & J night. But I’m always up for a challenge (cough, cough, unconvincing smile).
I really don’t use the grill much. It’s not that I couldn’t, I guess. Once when I lived in Colorado and I was still single, my roommate and I bought a little tiny grill (it was the kind college boys use and it was called a Smokey Joe I think) and used it to cook salmon. Or I should say that I used it to cook salmon while she laid on the couch. And the salmon turned out okay but it took a long time for all the hair on my arms to grow back.
Bryan turned the grill on for me before he went to bed, as I don’t even know how to do that. This should have been a flashing red light for all involved. Meanwhile, I finished constructing chicken-pineapple-pepper kabobs. I took them out on the back porch and opened the grill. This may seem dumb, but I had underestimated how HOT it would be. I singed my eyeballs just standing there. And I wasn’t really sure what to do with the skewer part – we have the kind that you wash and reuse. I read the little sticker on it and it said “To prevent damage to skewer, do not place over open flame.” Easy enough. So I put the kabobs on the grill and went back inside to start some rice.
A few minutes later I returned to find that the skewer ends had melted all over the grill. Open flame my foot. They weren’t on open flames! So I needed something to remove the melty things from the grill but all I could find were my kitchen tongs. And those things were short. Picture the tweezers used in the game Operation. My tongs are about half that size. It was good that no one else was around to hear what happened next.
It ended well – food was cooked, was edible, and I retained the hair on my arms. Who knew that keeping my arm hair would some day be a victory?!?
I really don’t use the grill much. It’s not that I couldn’t, I guess. Once when I lived in Colorado and I was still single, my roommate and I bought a little tiny grill (it was the kind college boys use and it was called a Smokey Joe I think) and used it to cook salmon. Or I should say that I used it to cook salmon while she laid on the couch. And the salmon turned out okay but it took a long time for all the hair on my arms to grow back.
Bryan turned the grill on for me before he went to bed, as I don’t even know how to do that. This should have been a flashing red light for all involved. Meanwhile, I finished constructing chicken-pineapple-pepper kabobs. I took them out on the back porch and opened the grill. This may seem dumb, but I had underestimated how HOT it would be. I singed my eyeballs just standing there. And I wasn’t really sure what to do with the skewer part – we have the kind that you wash and reuse. I read the little sticker on it and it said “To prevent damage to skewer, do not place over open flame.” Easy enough. So I put the kabobs on the grill and went back inside to start some rice.
A few minutes later I returned to find that the skewer ends had melted all over the grill. Open flame my foot. They weren’t on open flames! So I needed something to remove the melty things from the grill but all I could find were my kitchen tongs. And those things were short. Picture the tweezers used in the game Operation. My tongs are about half that size. It was good that no one else was around to hear what happened next.
It ended well – food was cooked, was edible, and I retained the hair on my arms. Who knew that keeping my arm hair would some day be a victory?!?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
it could have been me
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,519737,00.html
This is a really tragic story. But it’s also the reason that last week when Bryan was using the chainsaw to cut down a tree in our front yard at 9:00 at night, I was inside taking care of our boys instead of being outside watching. I’m sure the neighbor lady who watches from her kitchen window was thinking that I am lazy, but it isn’t that – it all ties back to my intense fear of freak accidents.
This is also the reason I refuse to get near a running combine or industrial sized-potato masher.
This is a really tragic story. But it’s also the reason that last week when Bryan was using the chainsaw to cut down a tree in our front yard at 9:00 at night, I was inside taking care of our boys instead of being outside watching. I’m sure the neighbor lady who watches from her kitchen window was thinking that I am lazy, but it isn’t that – it all ties back to my intense fear of freak accidents.
This is also the reason I refuse to get near a running combine or industrial sized-potato masher.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
an apology letter
Dear UPS man,
I just wanted to let you know that this morning was a rough one. I woke up to a cranky baby (possibly an ear infection??) and had been up during the night with Wesley, changing his clothes and bedding because his diaper leaked and with Wyatt because he was hungry. So I didn’t exactly wake up feeling “refreshed.” The sink was already full of dishes that I didn’t get to last night so I had to wash them before I could even start breakfast for five of my closest friends. Then, without mentioning any names so as not to embarrass the culprits, I changed four poopy diapers before Sesame Street was over, one of which was so bad that I literally gagged. As I was finishing cleaning up breakfast (someone had thrown strawberries all over the floor and apparently the dog doesn’t eat strawberries) while holding my fussy 10-month old, he coughed once and then puked all over me and the kitchen floor. I’m still not caught up on laundry from the washer/dryer breaking down last week so my shirt selection was already limited. And that is why when you rang the doorbell this morning, I answered covered in puke, with one sock on, the smell of poo effervescing out of the living room, messy hair, no makeup, and one eye twitching.
Sorry about that. I’ll try not to let it happen again.
Sincerely, the crazy lady in the tan house
P.S. – thanks for the package of pictures.
I just wanted to let you know that this morning was a rough one. I woke up to a cranky baby (possibly an ear infection??) and had been up during the night with Wesley, changing his clothes and bedding because his diaper leaked and with Wyatt because he was hungry. So I didn’t exactly wake up feeling “refreshed.” The sink was already full of dishes that I didn’t get to last night so I had to wash them before I could even start breakfast for five of my closest friends. Then, without mentioning any names so as not to embarrass the culprits, I changed four poopy diapers before Sesame Street was over, one of which was so bad that I literally gagged. As I was finishing cleaning up breakfast (someone had thrown strawberries all over the floor and apparently the dog doesn’t eat strawberries) while holding my fussy 10-month old, he coughed once and then puked all over me and the kitchen floor. I’m still not caught up on laundry from the washer/dryer breaking down last week so my shirt selection was already limited. And that is why when you rang the doorbell this morning, I answered covered in puke, with one sock on, the smell of poo effervescing out of the living room, messy hair, no makeup, and one eye twitching.
Sorry about that. I’ll try not to let it happen again.
Sincerely, the crazy lady in the tan house
P.S. – thanks for the package of pictures.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
it's JUST like us!
I was visiting with Bryan's family today and I overheard someone speaking of how their teenage daughter and her boyfriend interact. Apparently, the boy is head-over-heels for her. The phrase that I heard was, "When she says, 'Jump!' he says, 'How high?' " And it struck me how much that couple is just like Bryan and me.
Like when I say, "Jump!" Bryan always says, "Did you say something? And why are you out of the kitchen anyway?"
Uncanny, isn't it?
Like when I say, "Jump!" Bryan always says, "Did you say something? And why are you out of the kitchen anyway?"
Uncanny, isn't it?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
thank heaven...for rubber gloves
I’m sorry I haven’t been posting anything. The truth is that my life hasn’t felt very funny lately. My job requires me to be home from 7:30 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. There are some days when I only leave the house to watch kids play in the backyard (does that even count as leaving the house?) And I fell into a little slump thinking that you have to leave the house to experience “funny.” But then I got a little surprise that I think was sent to help me out of my slump.
I’ve talked before about how I like surprises – most surprises. And working with kids, I get a lot of surprises. Like finding a handful of corn in my tennis shoe. Or finding out that the new coloring book came with a bonus page of stickers – which are now all stuck to the TV screen. Surprise!
Most of the daycare kids that come to our house bring a little backpack with them each day with extra clothes. Lately they have all realized that an easy way to get each other’s goat is to take the backpack of another child and say, “This is mine!” And that produces immediate screaming and usually is followed by some loud chasing and eventually ends in someone losing an eye or at least spending two minutes in the time out chair. Being the problem solver that I am, I thought really hard about how I could stop this daily insanity. And it came to me – why not just move the backpacks to a place where the kids can’t get to them? I know, why didn’t I think of that like six months ago, right?
So now the backpacks are all stashed safely in the laundry room on top of the washing machine during the day. The only problem being that if I need to do laundry, I have to move them all. But trust me, I’d rather move a million backpacks than listen to, “That’s mine!” “No, it’s mine! Give it back to me!” “Aaaaah!” all day long.
Well, this week I was experiencing a semi-calm moment with the kids and took the opportunity to try and get a load of towels into the washer. I raced into the laundry room and picked up the backpacks and there it was – sitting right on top of my white washing machine lid – a turd.
I didn’t have to smell it to be sure – in my line of work, I see a lot of turds (heck, I’m practically a turd expert) so I knew what it was right away. I have no idea if it came from one of the backpacks or really where it came from at all. I was just a little surprised to see it looking up at me, all brown and smelly. How did it get there? Who did it come from? Why was it on my washing machine? What did it want from me?
I stood there for a minute, just looking at it, my face expressionless. Then I got out my state-mandated rubber gloves and without saying anything to any of the kids, I laid the little turd to rest in the garbage can on the back porch. I didn’t even say a moment of silence.
But honestly, I owe that little turd a big thank you. It breathed new life into my day. So to that turd I say, “Two thumbs up, little friend.”
I’ve talked before about how I like surprises – most surprises. And working with kids, I get a lot of surprises. Like finding a handful of corn in my tennis shoe. Or finding out that the new coloring book came with a bonus page of stickers – which are now all stuck to the TV screen. Surprise!
Most of the daycare kids that come to our house bring a little backpack with them each day with extra clothes. Lately they have all realized that an easy way to get each other’s goat is to take the backpack of another child and say, “This is mine!” And that produces immediate screaming and usually is followed by some loud chasing and eventually ends in someone losing an eye or at least spending two minutes in the time out chair. Being the problem solver that I am, I thought really hard about how I could stop this daily insanity. And it came to me – why not just move the backpacks to a place where the kids can’t get to them? I know, why didn’t I think of that like six months ago, right?
So now the backpacks are all stashed safely in the laundry room on top of the washing machine during the day. The only problem being that if I need to do laundry, I have to move them all. But trust me, I’d rather move a million backpacks than listen to, “That’s mine!” “No, it’s mine! Give it back to me!” “Aaaaah!” all day long.
Well, this week I was experiencing a semi-calm moment with the kids and took the opportunity to try and get a load of towels into the washer. I raced into the laundry room and picked up the backpacks and there it was – sitting right on top of my white washing machine lid – a turd.
I didn’t have to smell it to be sure – in my line of work, I see a lot of turds (heck, I’m practically a turd expert) so I knew what it was right away. I have no idea if it came from one of the backpacks or really where it came from at all. I was just a little surprised to see it looking up at me, all brown and smelly. How did it get there? Who did it come from? Why was it on my washing machine? What did it want from me?
I stood there for a minute, just looking at it, my face expressionless. Then I got out my state-mandated rubber gloves and without saying anything to any of the kids, I laid the little turd to rest in the garbage can on the back porch. I didn’t even say a moment of silence.
But honestly, I owe that little turd a big thank you. It breathed new life into my day. So to that turd I say, “Two thumbs up, little friend.”
Thursday, April 9, 2009
i wear a lifejacket in the bathtub
When I was just a young pup, probably in middle school, I was reading my mother’s Reader’s Digest. I don’t even remember what the point of the article was but it told about a woman who was in a freak accident: she was driving in her car and a semi full of logs was driving on an overpass above her. One of the logs came loose and fell from the overpass onto the car she was in, smashing her to tiny bits. It was a terrible story. I had trouble sleeping for weeks. And this is going to sound morbid, but at that moment, I developed a fear that someday I would be in a freak accident.
That fear is still secretly in me today. Only it has gotten worse over time, probably due to the fact that I have read so many more stories about freak things that happened to other people. And each time, I file them in my mind as something that could happen to me. I’m almost certain that someday I will be on an escalator that collapses or get my front teeth knocked out by a frisbee or be hit by a falling meteor.
A few weeks ago, I was watching a show on TV about a medical examiner. She was investigating a woman who had apparently died of a blood clot. And the next day when my leg started to hurt, I was sure that I had one, too. I started to think of my poor boys, and how they would be raised by someone other than their mommy. Would their new mommy know that Wesley is afraid of the automatic car wash and that Wyatt doesn’t like apricots?
Today I was hiding Easter eggs for the kids to hunt in our backyard. I was putting some in the playhouse and trying to hurry as fast as I could so the kids could come outside. I stood up really fast, forgetting that I was in a child’s playhouse and that I am taller than a Smurf. I hit my head hard. This is the part that scared me, though – it didn’t hurt but I was immediately dizzy. And my head felt like things were a little wobbly in there.
Normal people would think, “Wow! That might leave a mark but I’m sure I’ll be okay.” I am not normal. I think of a celebrity who recently died of a head injury that seemed insignificant at first…
Next time I hide eggs, I guess I’ll just have to wear my bicycle helmet.
That fear is still secretly in me today. Only it has gotten worse over time, probably due to the fact that I have read so many more stories about freak things that happened to other people. And each time, I file them in my mind as something that could happen to me. I’m almost certain that someday I will be on an escalator that collapses or get my front teeth knocked out by a frisbee or be hit by a falling meteor.
A few weeks ago, I was watching a show on TV about a medical examiner. She was investigating a woman who had apparently died of a blood clot. And the next day when my leg started to hurt, I was sure that I had one, too. I started to think of my poor boys, and how they would be raised by someone other than their mommy. Would their new mommy know that Wesley is afraid of the automatic car wash and that Wyatt doesn’t like apricots?
Today I was hiding Easter eggs for the kids to hunt in our backyard. I was putting some in the playhouse and trying to hurry as fast as I could so the kids could come outside. I stood up really fast, forgetting that I was in a child’s playhouse and that I am taller than a Smurf. I hit my head hard. This is the part that scared me, though – it didn’t hurt but I was immediately dizzy. And my head felt like things were a little wobbly in there.
Normal people would think, “Wow! That might leave a mark but I’m sure I’ll be okay.” I am not normal. I think of a celebrity who recently died of a head injury that seemed insignificant at first…
Next time I hide eggs, I guess I’ll just have to wear my bicycle helmet.
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