annieology

I wish I had a grand adventure to tell you of, but no.

In no particular order, here are the excuses for my lameness today.

The twins are home.  Needy little children is what they are.  Feed me.  Water me. Clothe me.   “What are you, three?  No, you’re four, I can’t do everything for you for the rest of your life.  Today is a good day to start being a little more independent.”

The middle boys came home looking for a fight.  The Awesome household has approximately 47 computers.  Only one of which is kid approved.  Neither of them have been on it in six months.  Today, they were both near death and needed to get on it or they would die.  Fun times.

I wore a boob shirt today.  Every time I caught a glimpse of the girls I’d get distracted and well…

I wore a boob shirt today.  Every time Hubby caught a glimpse of the girls he’d attack me and well…

Difficult to come up with something awe inspiring when little ones are yelling “fart, fart, fart”.

Answered an email from our caseworker wondering what was up with our case.  Uh huh I did.  Who is running this show here?  Because I’ll be happy to take it over, you won’t like it, but I’ll certainly do it.

Answered the first of what historically is many phone calls from Big Boys teachers.  Things that struck me as interesting about the phone call.  The teacher said he’s been “letting things slide” and now it’s “gone too far”.  Yes, that is typically what happens when you let things slide.  Strike first, strike hard, no mercy.  First time they do something wrong you got to kick ‘em in the arse. Metaphorically speaking.  Yeah, who wants to send their kids to my academy?  The teacher also said that it is a group of four kids that sit near the back.  “Um, maybe move them to the front, or into opposing corners, divide and conquer.”  Not that Big Boy is a model student.  He is 1/5 of the reason that I don’t home school.  My bio children have inherited my stubbornness.  The BOTH children have learned it, but have the added bonus of excess energy.  It’s best they be the salt of the world right now.  All that to say that we have one more child with nothing fun to do until he gets his act together.

Truly, I did a better job on child number three than I have on the rest of them.

I would suggest you all become licensed therapists.

Looking forward to TV tonight.  Looking forward to eating tonight.  Looking forward to drinking tonight.

Hubby has been gone for thirty minutes, and the dog just figured it out.  I think I will run to the grocery store at 6 o’clock to escape this misery.

I’ll be back with something more brilliant soon.

I am not a morning person.  I can get up and function and even work a high powered corporate job, or a meaningless minimum waged job.  I cannot, however, be spoken to.  Don’t even try speaking to me if the sun is not up until I’ve had a hot shower and a cold Coke.

God, for some reason, has seen fit to bless me with some morning children.  I have one child whose job it is to tell the roosters to crow.  Unfortunately, he cannot do this without his helper friends and rouses them too.  It’s not bad enough that he’s merely awake in the pre-dawn hours, but he also has to be in a good and playful mood.

Annoying is what it is.

During the summer this worked to our advantage.  Not having to be anywhere at anytime we’d lay in bed a little longer than usual.  Yes, this includes Daddy Awesome.  He works about 10 feet from where he sleeps and he’s the boss of him, so sleeping in is allowed.  Well, at the crack of dawn, Boog, our bright and shiny boy would wake up.  I schooled him a bit about waking mommy up.  I need presents.  So, every morning he would make some sort of gift for me and leave it on my nightstand.  Daddy Awesome likes Monster in the morning.  So, Boog would get for him his Monster.  Of course there was a breakdown in communication somewhere and Boog would always ask Daddy Awesome if he wanted his “beer”.    Then Boog would notice my feet hanging out the end of the bed and rub them for me.

So, let me paint this picture a little more clearly, in building my defense.  Our little orphan child, whom we’ve bestowed the name Boog, would get up before dawn to make me a gift, appeasing the crazy woman I was sure to be.  Then he was in charge of bringing Daddy a “beer” and then rubbing my feet until I woke up.

If that isn’t a Dr. Phil moment in the making….

Well, since school has started there is no time for lounging.  Daddy is up first because he now has a time line, being getting the elementary kids to school by 7:50.  And he walks them.  We live like eight blocks from the school.  Although when we first arrived in the City by the Sea, we lived a mere three blocks from school.  Our neighbor asked us to join the carpool.

Three blocks from school.

Not a fake carpool where we had one adult walking all the kids to school, an actual get in the car, drive to the neighbors house, pick up the kids there, do that a couple more times and then drive THREE BLOCKS.

Anyway, since Daddy Awesome has to leave the house by 7:30 he has to make sure there is nothing on fire work wise before doing so.  That means no time for lounging.  So when Boog wakes up, he’s without a purpose.  When Boog is without something to do, he usually starts something.  He wakes up the sleepy heads, the anxiety riddled sleepy heads who need structure and routine.

And that’s how the fight started.

There I am, without a gift or a foot rub, without a shower or a Coke, trying to keep the restless natives rested.  It ain’t pretty.

Last week, in addition to the fighting, and anxiety, Roran and the boyfriend were here.  He’s a morning tv watcher.  Morning Nascar tv watcher.

“I’m pretty sure that race ain’t live.  Record it and watch it later.”

So, new rules.

1. Stay in your room until someone comes to get you.
2. No tv.
3. No noise making toys.
4. No talking.
5. No hovering.
6. No pacing through the kitchen.

Get up, get dressed, sit down, eat, brush your teeth.  Once your teeth are brushed you can talk, but only if it’s important.

By then the caffeine should have made it’s first lap.

You might have heard, it’s mah birthday.  No one is more excited than the littles.  For some reason they have the love language of birthday celebrating.  It is non-stop singing, dancing, decorating, present giving and cake eating.  Fast and furious is the pace they expect.

Yet, we who were raised in an era prior to Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties and Super Sweet 16’s are a little slower paced.  We know there are about three things that go on at a (family oriented) birthday.   Food.  Cake.  Presents.  Well, one bite in and we were ready to move on to the presents.  Radical got me a lovely necklace that he picked out and paid for himself.  Boog, the head partier had wrapped a present for me earlier in the day.  A book.  Off his book shelf.  And when I say “he” wrapped it, I mean “me”.  But I LOVE his spirit.  When I got ready to open the present that was very obviously a book because it a) looked like a book and b) I had wrapped it, I shook it and said “Is it a new car?”  and he laughed and laughed.  Then it was a mad dash to the other room to find me a car.  And a third hand purse, and then about every other thing they could get their hands on.  So cute.

By the time the presents were finished, I wanted to sit and chat quietly with Hubby (wait for the alcohol to kick in).  So we sent them away.  They came back.  This process repeated one too many times with yet another “when can we have some cake?”  I told them to run check in the back yard and see if Satan was back there holding some ice skates.

They did.

They were still outside when we heard the screaming.

“SATAN’S NOT OUT HERE MOM.”

Yeah, the neighbors are talking about the Awesome’s tonight.

Again.

(also, Hubby got me a slumber party with my girl friends)