Fate is all up in my bizness

Gargamel is even more evil than I thought!

My day was a miserable one, right from the part where I woke up nearly 45 minutes late onward.  It was just a mess of a day, so when I looked down at my phone and saw the name of my girly doctor's office on the caller ID when my appointment was only a couple hours away I knew they couldn't be calling to confirm.

Nope, Gargamel somehow, from the confines of my poor, poor uterus, managed to make the doctor sick and cut out early today.

Seriously.

Well, the doctor DID get sick, and DID have to go home early.  I chose, however realistically you may find it, to believe that Gargamel is somehow responsible for this.  Gargamel's new date of death is Thursday, fingers crossed!

But, let's try for something happy, just to spite the evil little piece of plastic!

Nine years ago I met my husband!  Yup, nine years ago today the Bunyan and I met, and it was a meeting that was entirely contrived by completely meddling pushy people who refused to listen to either of us when we swore we had no interest in meeting anyone of the opposite sex no matter how perfect they swore we were for each other.

It all started with blinking Guinness stickers stuck to my boobs.

So this may not be the version I tell my children ... but yeah, epic St. Patrick's day.  Given my super fabulous opinion of my birthday, I generally celebrate St. Pat's as my special day.  I milk the redheaded Irish thing for all it is worth.  So there I was at a local pub having a grand ol' time with some friends who had never had an "Irish Car Bomb" and wanted to try one.  Or four.  Whatever.  I happen to be an expert on slamming those bad boys, or was back in my prime anyway LOL  So most of the night is a bit blurry in my memory honestly, but I recall a friend trying to click her heals together "like a leprechaun" and she wound up falling quite spectacularly.  Oh and somehow I walked out of the pub with three pints of beer, all nice Guinness themed glasses which the bouncers happily let me leave with but the designated driver had the good sense to make me chug/spill before we headed home.

So the following day, I had to get up and ready because I had a painting to finish and my BFF was going to be coming to town.  She and her husband planned to spend Spring Break with me and Meatball (who had been getting spoiled by my parents while I leading the bar in Danny Boy).  At relatively the last minute they invited this friend of theirs, some dude who I had seen precisely one blurry picture of and admittedly thought had a super sexy voice because he was over at their house frequently when I was on the phone with BFF.  She and her husband were both insistent that we were like perfect for each other.  Both of us were entirely cool with being single having both had horrible luck with the opposite gender, but he figured he'd come because the weather here is infinitely better than the weather in the midwest.


So I try to get going, but I was still pretty unsteady from the night before.  By unsteady of course I mean I had drank so much that I was still drunk.  It was like 7 PM and I still was getting the spins if I moved too fast.  I was glad I hadn't had to go anywhere all day and I was thinking I was really too old to act so stupid when the door bell rang.  Dressed in my painting clothes -- old jeans and a t-shirt covered in paint -- with my hair in a pony tail and very little make up on, I hurried to the door.  Not what I would have chosen to wear had I known what was about to happen.  I was so excited to see my BFF, who was a few months preggo at the time, that I really wasn't thinking about the other guy until I opened the door.

Bam.

Seriously, I am not a super sappy person, but that was it.  We consider March 18th the start of our relationship, our anniversary because we honestly were both done from then in.  I knew, I spent the better part of a year telling myself I was crazy and needed to shut up with all this "love at first sight" crap I was thinking.  But it didn't matter.

Bunyan may drive me bonkers, and I am sure I do him too, but he is my soul mate and best friend.  There is no one I would or could walk this life with, and I am beyond grateful for the honor to even know him, much less be the one who steals the covers from him.  Every night.

So while it may not be an Irish Car Bomb, I still raise my drink in a toast to the man of my dreams, the guy who killed my 24 hour old buzz nine years ago, is an amazing father and a truly awesome person whom I love dearly. Ta mo chroi istgh ionat! 

the Moron + the Overachiever

My dog is a moron.

Cute, very loyal and great with kids, but for the purposes of this post I want to really focus on what a moron he is.

My husband is an overachiever.

He is an overachiever who likes "survival stuff" and transferred all his hemp knot knowledge from high school into paracord knots for all kinds of supposed practical stuff.  I have yet to see any of these things function in their secondary way (i.e. a bracelet that can come apart and be used as rope to repel down a mountain or something) but I am sure they would be usable in a pinch.

Just a few examples.
Seriously, we have hundreds of these.

Combine the overachieving husband and the moron dog and what do you get?  Me, praying over dog poop.

Paul Bunyan has made more paracord bracelets, key chains, zipper pulls, and knife handle cover things than I can count.  We have all sorts of colors including the natural camo looking ones and neon ones too.  *eye roll*

This one is mine.  I won't complain about this one ;)

Well a few weeks ago he made one, with like 40 feet of freaking cord in it.  Black and yellow.  It looks like a normal bracelet and everything, but if you unravel it you have some crazy long colorful rope.  Well he left it on his nightstand, which was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Cue the moron, but cute dog.  This one.

He got bored, and by the time we got home all that was left were two black clips with teeth marks in them.

So somewhere IN my dog is like 40 feet of paracord.  It is possible for it to, um, pass on its own.  So now here we are two days later and suddenly Furry McMoron is wanting to poo a lot.  But he doesn't actually poo a lot.

Here is hoping it is still small enough to pass and hasn't unraveled ... I shudder to think of 40 feet worth of cord unraveled.  He is acting fine and has another 24 hours before I resentfully drag his booty into the vet and fork over a small country's worth in vet bills for them to say "he is a moron" and take care of it.

Allergy Parent's Bat Signal: Homeschool, 504, something else?

I have probably sat down to write this blog post, or one very similar a million times.  I wind up getting rambly and not having a real point, so they are all just archived and will never see the light of the actual interwebz, which is likely for the best.

Today, however, I have a purpose in mind.  I would like feedback.  I would like ideas.  I would like someone to pat me on the back and say "there there I get it, this is how we handle it and it will all be okay."

Trouble is you can't give me the last one 100% and it is the one I want the most.  But I do know that I can get some ideas and feedback from other been there done this parents, and that is primarily what I am hoping for most realistically.

The Beans has allergies to six out of the top eight major food allergens.  I have discussed it briefly on this blog a few times, but mostly because I didn't want to make this into an "allergy mom" blog I have refrained.  I didn't mention all the weird reactions, the ones we couldn't explain.  I haven't detailed the panic I have felt countless times in silly situations that should be innocuous and no big deal because I am paralyzed with fear that Beans has been exposed and may puff up and stop breathing on me.  I didn't share about the time his face swelled up or the countless hives we have had to watch and Benadryl out of existence.

I didn't want this to become and "allergy mom" blog because, well if we gonna be blunt, I don't want to be an allergy mom.  It was a little corner of my world where I could just pretend it isn't a biggie.

But I suck at pretending.

So, the Beans will be three in April.  Apart from the normal "oh my gosh my baaaaaby!'ing that I am doing at this I am also arrested with a new panic.

School.

Starting with the 2014/15 school year in August the Beans is preschool eligible.  Bunyan and I have oscillated a million times on where we stand on the subject.  He was the one to panic first (outloud) and say "can't we just homeschool him?"

I never pictured being a homeschool parent.  I used to be pretty opposed to the idea.  At present, I have educated myself a lot more on what GOOD homeschooling looks like and I have no opposition to it in principal.  Just ... do I want to do it?

My hesitancies with homeschooling Beans, and I mean really homeschooling him, not the summer school stuff I do with Meatball which we are prepping for already this year, stem from two main thoughts.

One: He would love a classroom environment SO much.

Two: I was kinda looking forward to having him go to school for MY sake.  

So if item numero dos makes me a bad mom, okay.  I am going for honest here, and to be honest I was looking forward to the possibilities of 3 hours a day while he is in preschool AND then once he is in full day maybe I could go back to work?  I could be ME, more than just the mom and house elf.  Not necessarily a decision maker, but financially this would make a big difference to us as a family too.

Item number one is the part that makes me sad.  I don't know how to look into homeschooling groups in my area to help with the socialization stuff.  The one I found says it is "closed" which was pretty discouraging.  I am not well versed on my state's laws regarding homeschool, I have a lot of research to do.

Academically, I am not worried.  That is so not my issue.  It is all the other stuff.

But when I start to think about sending him off to school ... I am overwhelmed with the number of opportunities with which he could be exposed.  I am well versed in 504 plans, I will link some stuff I have found at the end of this post in case it is helpful to anyone else.  But a 504 plan is just a plan.  Even a really good one, even when executed by a phenomenal teacher and school staff is less secure and safe than my home is.  My home is kept as free of any allergen as possible.

You start talking about removing allergens from public school classrooms and people bust out the pitch forks and start talking about their kid's fundamental need and right to have peanut butter.

It isn't that I disagree with those parents.  It is just that when debating about their 8 hours of inconvenience that can help improve the chances of keeping my kid alive I have a hard time not becoming emotionally involved in the discussion.  

And honestly, I don't think peanut and tree nut free classrooms in my school district and area are a big deal anymore, so it isn't the peanut butter.  It is all the other stuff.  Beans cannot come in contact with peanuts, tree nuts, dairy, egg, soy, gluten, honey, bananas, and possibly latex.  Even if parents, teachers and a school were willing it would be challenging.  Add to this that they won't be willing to remove all those things from the school day for my special snowflake and you introduce risks.  What if Jimmy doesn't wash his hands and touches Beans?  What if snacks are mixed up and he eats something he shouldn't?  What if, what if, what if?! 

So then my mind goes back to homeschooling and round and round we go.  Bunyan is no better with this, he cycles as much as I do about it.

So here is the part where I hope to get feedback.  If you DO have a school aged kiddo with food allergies what do you do?  If your child attends school (public or otherwise) outside your home what kind of 504 plan do you have in place?  If you homeschool what does that look like and what brought you to this decision?

If you don't have any feedback for me, but could share this with anyone you think might, I would super appreciate it too.  I just want to gather as much info as possible so that when we do commit to a decision we can do it in as informed a way as possible.

Links:
Rather than slap 50 links up here I am just going to provide you with one.  This is the link to my Pinterest board, Allergy Resources.  For the record, my name is not actually "Helen Highwater" but it is a fitting pseudonym none the less ;)  I also started a Pinterest board for homeschooling and preschool in addition to lots of other stuff.

beards

"Its my Daddy and my Gramps!"

That is what the Beans had to say upon seeing this.

Now my dad has always had a beard, as far back as I remember, and Paul Bunyan has had some variation on facial hair since the day we met.  However, recently it has been a bit like a ZZTop concert round here.

Dad was growing his for the Red Sox, which I have NO grudge against because I again wept as my team made it three in my life time and won the Series.  But my husband, no matter how hard I tried to lie to myself and say it was for Boston, was not growing his beard for Papi and crew.

No, he just really is embracing the whole Paul Bunyan redneck thing.

He thinks Duck Dynasty is hilarious.  I watched it the first time and had an epiphany ... my husband is Jase.

Don't get me wrong, there are worse things, by far to be married to.  When Bunyan ain't looking, I laugh at and even with Jase, I don't particularly mind him.  But it is part of our loving banter for me to be annoyed.  There are definitely limits to my acceptance.  Like camo "bibs" on an adult man, that would be one big merther fracken limit of mine.  But the beard was okay ... it was getting a little, um, shall we say, unruly though and I might have suggested he trim it or something.

Well, I wasn't trying to be funny!  I was merely suggesting that you trim it up a little, because, well, it won't hurt you to ...

That isn't true, there are men who don't have beards, but I wasn't suggesting that you have NO beard, just maybe LESS beard ...

Well that isn't constructive at all.  I was just saying that maybe a little trim would be a good thing.  

I could go on with fake meme replies.  There are no shortage of Jase-isms that sound particularly Bunyan-like.  Many of which I agree with.

Some I find alarmingly close to the mentality he has sometimes.

Bunyan's beard isn't that long yet, but I think that is the end goal in mind and he is getting close.  He mentioned the other day that he may need beard wax or something like that, to help "control" it.  

Uh, I am not even sure what to say to THAT.

All things considered, there are worse things my husband could decide to do in order to annoy me or assert himself on.  While he may be a pain in the butt sometimes, he is my soul mate and partner in crime.  Besides, while I leave you with a quote from the "wrong" Robertson brother, we have similar parenting philosophies ...

LOL on that note, I bid you a farewell for today!

oil pan magnet board

My love-hate relationship with Pintercrack marches on.  Some days I want to kick the whole website in the nuts, some days I am not sure how I'd survive without it.

Today is a good day ... for now.

Have you seen this one?

While I don't see me posting my kid on the internet in nothing more than a diaper, I do dig the idea.  You can nab one of those oil pan thingies at Walmart for like $12.

So I did.  Then I had to figure out how to get the stupid thing home in a Corolla with two kids and a driver.

It wasn't pretty.

But then I brought it in the house and freaked Paul Bunyan out by saying I was just going to Gorilla Glue the crap out of it.

Eventually, he is going to realize how easy he is to manipulate, right?

Anyway, he took over the hanging of the thing (which involved pre-drilling holes and using bits I wouldn't have known existed so it was for the best I didn't want to do that anyway) and just wanted me to tell him where.

And taaaa daaaa...

Apparently there is something weird in our wall and the bottom left hand corner of the pan didn't hit a stud, so he had to do it over just a bit to the right, which left a ridiculously sharp metal hole in the darn thing.  The cure?

Slap a cute pirate sticker on it and BAM, all better.

Beans loves playing with his "numbers" ... they are letters, but hey, he is two and we are working on it!

Its my Mommy!

I remember when my oldest started naming his toys after me.  I thought it was soooo cute.  All his beloved stuffed animals were affectionately called "mommy" and I thought it was precious.

Beans has however, taken a different approach.

First off, he names anything female after me, and everything male-like after daddy.  However, sometimes I swear the kid is messing with me and trying to break me via self-confidence-destruction.

Want proof?

These are "Mommy" and "Daddy" ... and no, I don't really want to discuss who is who.

I mean it was all fine when we were talking Hot Wheels.

Mommy.

Daddy.

I was willing to just take the whole chocolate bar themed car as Beans knowing his mommy well, rather than it being a comment about my exceptional and nutritional take on life.  But a muscular one-eyed, bearded dude?  Come on!!!

Feeling a bit miffed about the whole thing I packed Beans up and went about my usual errands, which this day happened to include a Costco run.

I don't know why, but the people at Costco who check your receipt at the door think that no matter how impatient and completely pissed your child is, they can cure them with a cute smiley face drawn on the receipt with a highlighter.  So while Beans is losing patience and our items are being counted, I take a deep breath as the gentleman at the door flips the receipt over and begins his Picasso moment.  He wraps it up and hands his masterpiece over to the Beans who takes one look at it and gasps.  Three people, plus myself and the Costco employee look down at him as he proudly holds the page up and yells

Its my Daddy!!!

Suddenly, I felt a lot better about being a bearded pirate.  

its a passing phase

Productivity comes in cycles for me.  Sometimes I have like zero ambition, and that can even be an ambitious estimate, while others I seem to be a bit obsessed.

I have to make the most out of the obsessed times because they are usually short lived and often followed by stretches of lazy lostness.  Yes, I make one fabulous housewife.

At any rate, I've been more productive than usual.  I am referring to my in-person-life here because my blogging alter ego has been pretty much worthless lately.  In so doing, I have also developed an abnormally large sense of self confidence, which I figure will either translate to shit getting done or a whole lot of writing material.  I call it a win-win either way.

I have heard that in order to be really truly accountable you have to tell people what your goals are.  If you don't share them, then you never really need to admit you failed.  I usually have no problem castigating myself over my own failures, but what the heck, lets make a list here and see how I do with the public thing:

I have birthdays, summer, and in-law visits on my horizon ... I gotta get crap done ...

(in no particular order)

1. Clean ceiling fans, because I rarely have them off and notice how dirty they are
2. Organize the growing box pathetically labeled "pictures and keepsakes"
3. Finish the 11 year old's baby book *hangs head in shame*
4. Clean house thoroughly closer to visits, not halfsies clean
5. Finish the "measure the kids" ruler thingy that has been half-done for like a year and a half
6. Clean out Meatball's closet
7. Clean out the Bean's closet
8. Clean out toys ... purge the hell outta toys ...
9. Make a Goodwill and/or consignment shop run to ditch some crap
10. Make my kitchen cabinets look less blah
11. Make my/our bedroom not be the one with the door always closed in shame
12. Do something with the bathroom walls, b-o-r-i-n-g!
13. What are we doing for the Beans' birthday?
14. Hair cut, its pathetic and been like a year since I did that
15. Garage -- make the parts that are my problem look less like a bomb test site
16. Garage -- urge and support Paul Bunyan to deal with the rest of the garage
17. The backyard will only be a livable space for a couple months, make it look nice for them
18. Make my Command Center wall so I can at least appear organized!
19. Shave the dog.  Yes, I said that.
20. Come up with an item # 20 because you can't have a list of 19 things!!!

There, that is a start.  I have no real hope of accomplishing all of that in the ridiculously short time frame I am giving myself ... which is like 2 weeks ... but let's see what we can do, eh?

Insanity will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2 ... aren't you glad you don't live here? ... and 1 ...

They're getting to me!

I've made no secret about my being out numbered by males in my clan. Usually it's a source of bemusement, annoyance, and occasional disgust or frustration. Today? No, today it was something much darker, more horrific.

You see, they're getting to me. Like some kind of gross-boy-cooties-water-boarding, they're wearing me down.

I was gonna tell you the whole story with a bunch of justifying and pleading, but the truth of the matter is that I just can't. There's no defense ... beyond, perhaps, understanding the psychological need for developing coping mechanisms.

To the point, today I actually said the following. Don't judge, you can't know my pain.

Oh my gawd, after the last three days 

I could squat and shit on the kitchen table 

and I'd still be doing better than you!

All I will offer up in my defense is this: no child heard me and Paul Bunyan nearly peed his pants laughing at how the mighty (me) have fallen.

Maybe there is still hope for me?

Damn, guess not.

the !@#$% chore sticks, done!

Okie dokie, so these chore sticks that never seem to get done and just hover in my semi conscious demanding I finish them with the intoxicating promise of being helpful ... yeah, I want them done.  I have mentally attached the completion of these sticks to the success and smooth running of this household, so I am feeling a smidgy desperate.

So I gave you the massive list of chores, and I showed you how to make the sticks, and how to take a really ugly picnic utensils basket and make it be something you'd actually want in your home.  So now, how to use it!

Here is the gist of it:

There is the section for the chores not being used this week.

Then there is the section for the regular chores that are always expected and never a commission.  This is the daily stuff that Meatball has to do every day.  We don't think that he should be paid to take care of his basic responsibilities and contributions to the house.

Then there is the section for the 20 chores that are available this week for commission.

I will put the chores in on Sunday and they will remain there all week.  We do not control Meatball on when he does the chores, when and how many are entirely up to him.  There are only 20 chores here per week because he can only earn a maximum weekly commission of $5.  This doesn't sound like much (as far as chore numbers) but with Meatball's other responsibilities -- his daily non-commission chores, school, sports, being a kid -- it really is pushing it for him to hit all 20.  At least, we think it will be.  Obviously we will adjust as needed, and I know that during school breaks we will have to develop a plan of some sort.

Each stick is worth twenty-five cents.  This may sound steep, but Meatball is 11 and we didn't want him to have a max earning of $2.  When the Beans is older and he starts getting chores the amount per stick will be much less and will grow with him.

The very last section on the basket is the "done" section, which is divided into two parts.

One is for the daily non-commission ones, the other for the weekly commission ones.  This makes it easier on Meatball to start each day by grabbing yesterday's done dailies and just putting them in the section he still is working on.  When they mix together it takes longer, which means he just skips it and defeats the whole dang point.

Oh and the container that Meatball insisted that he needed because four sections in the basket wasn't enough?

We have no use for it currently, so it is just sitting behind the chore basket with the "I'm Bored" sticks ... which I don't think I ever posted about either ... I will get on that.  So here it is at a glace, I didn't bother to label the dog kennel or my Scentsy warmer, but I think you get the idear!

So, now they're done, is my house clean and organized yet?  Am I hoping for too much?

Sheldon ... & owl poop

Recently I did a post detailing some of the things I never pictured saying to a child of my own in those days, ages ago, before children. Many of them centered on hygiene, safety or logic but I had a dozy today that I simply must share because I think there are high odds it has never in the history if parenthood been said before.

Oh yes, the debate between is it boogers or blood has surely been said before by someone. Certainly at least one parent before me has wept in gratitude at the avoidance of the catastrophic prior to hitting the deductible.  But this ... I'd be willing to bet my wine cozy has not been said before.

"No! Rat bones and owl poop are NOT appropriate keepsakes!"

While not nearly as frightening or even as creepy as it sounds, it was still wholly unacceptable that it needed to be said.

Here is hoping no mothers-of-mass-murderers have said this sort of thing before.

Recently, however, Paul Bunyan and I have been watching the Big Bang Theory for the first time.  I'm only a few episodes in and I've noticed something that alarms me: I have way to much in common with Sheldon Cooper.  Like enough that while we are watching things Paul Bunyan swivels his head to stare at me pointedly.  Kinda like ...

... and I'm all ...

... but this was me when Meatball asked if he could keep his owl poop and rat bones in a baggie because science class was soooooo cool today.

Um, no.

the importance of parchment paper

It is funny how the little things can derail you.

Take for example, parchment paper.  Something so simple, yet apparently it is quite important to listen to a recipe when it says that you should use it and not, for example, tin foil.

Allow me to teach you why and how.

I found these on Pintercrack.  Marvel in their beauty for a moment if you will, Raw Banana Bread Bars from The Sweet Life Online.  

Now we all know there is a snowball's chance I can make anything even half that pretty and the odds of it being as tasty as those probably are is equally slim, if not less.  But if I gave up there I'd have nothing to blog about.

I bought bananas because they are cheap.  I found dates (which I have admittedly never bought before) and had the oatmeal ... it seemed sooo simple.  But the website very clearly says you need parchment paper.

Now I did not intentionally disregard this, I just overlooked it.  Until I was all ready to go.  Keep in mind I am allergic to bananas and Paul Bunyan gets frustrated when I try to handle them, so speed was of the essence here.  So I made a snap decision to proceed because, really, how important can parchment paper be?  

Um, apparently very.  

So I slice for about 45 years and put them on tin foil coated in a non-stick spray ... 

I presume that this is where I went wrong because where the bananas were supposed to get a bit dry and bendy I instead had kind of smoked bananas at the end.  And they were just as wet as they started, but definitely stickier.

So yes, I messed this one up on like the very first step.  I did continue on in the hope that it would end up being edible in some form ... but ... well, see for yourself ...

In the processor, but already doomed.

Um, that looks appetizing, right?

Trying to flatten it per the instructions, but it is a bit liquidy.

Uh, yeah, once they are in the right shape they are clearly much better looking.  Right?  Yeah, I didn't think so either.  

As you can tell the end result wasn't particularly appetizing in appearance.  What the picture doesn't appropriately convey is the texture and consistency.  It was wet, soupy, gooey, and just plain gross. 

Ultimately, I tried sticking it in the fridge over night in the hope that the cold would firm it up.  Still a big nope. 

So in the trash it went, and I know now that while clear plastic wrap may be my arch nemesis parchment paper is clearly a very underrated product.  

Oh, and the extra burned gooey bananas?

Threw them out too.  Ew.

child labor and commissions

I have been feeling particularly down and failurey as a homemaker lately.  Perhaps it is the constant state of disarray the house is in, or perhaps it is the constant state of disarray the house is in, but it has left me craving simplicity and order like Thin Mints during PMS (thank the gods that Thin Mints are nut free, I would have had to throw myself in front of a bus).

I wanted to start off with a list of just household chores, that everyone can do.  Myself, the kids, and the husband.  But kept getting stuck on laundry and toilets, and how much I'd like to never deal with either, and couldn't think past them.

So I click on over to Pintercrack just certain there will be a treasure trove of helpful lists and ideas.  Instead I find about a million "chores that burn 100 calories," ways to attach mops to crawling children's clothes, and a whole lot a jokes about chores and marital congress being directly proportional.

Did you hear that Paul Bunyan?

At any rate, it seems Pintercrack is telling me that my only hope for an organized clean home is child labor or 30 minutes of mini golf.

Aaaaand a clean home is seeming even more hopeless over here.

Then I remembered my stellar yet never fully utilized chore sticks.  Remember these?  Beautimous, but not like I really finished posting about them, right?  Well that was kind of a premonition of what was to come because I was totally a bad ass at putting the chore sticks out for Meatball ... for like three weeks.  Then he had to remind me for like another three weeks.  Then he, unsurprisingly, stopped.

So I am Resurrecting them!  Because, well, I want a clean house and Pintercrack made it clear child labor was the way to go!  Oh, and they were a poop ton of work to complete so I'd rather them be used!

So picking up where that last post left off I have purdy painted sticks and a basket.  I also have a short list of  100 chores already established (what was I searching for on Pintercrack for again?  Oh ... yeah, that's right. Something I already have.  Lovely.)

The list can be found at the bottom of this post, and it is quite comprehensive.  Feel free to pin the crack outta dat!

So then I decide, because it makes sense and because I am on a huge Dave Ramsey kick right now (in the Snowball stage and we are rollin' that muthah!) that allowance is now commission.  Meatball hasn't actually collected an allowance in a while, so he is down for anything that gets him paid again.

So the price is twenty-five cents a stick with a weekly cap of $5 as the most he could possibly earn for the time being.  If you are wondering why on earth we'd cap his chore earning/doing capacity it is simple -- he'd forgo sleep.  At any rate  between school, sports and kidness he really can only fit an additional 20 chores max in there anyway.  His usual chores (dishes, bed making, dog poo, etc) are non-commission because they are part of being a family member.  Especially the dog poo one, mama no wanna.

Tomorrow I will tell you about how we use it -- what are all those sections of the basket for anyway?! -- and what payday will look and feel like for the Meatball.

Clean organized house?  Instituting child labor and hope to have it soon!

So here is the list, 109 things including the "Freebies" which are there so that if Meatball has to pull chores at random he may get lucky.  Without the Freebies there are a total of 100 chores.  


Meatball’s Room (YELLOW)
1. Laundry
2. Feed/water turtle
3. Dust all surfaces
4. Windex all glass
5. Make your bed
6. Vacuum
7. Change bedding
8. Clean out closet
9. Organize your toys
10. Freebie

Meatball’s Bathroom (HOT PINK)
11. Scrub toilet
12. Scrub bathtub/shower
13. Empty garbage
14. Shake rug
15. Sweep floor
16. Swiffer floor
17. Mop floor
18. Wash sink
19. Freebie

The Garage and Laundry Area (GREY)
20. Empty garage garbage
21. Sweep garage
22. Vacuum washer area rug
23. Wipe down washer and drier
24. Wash mom’s vehicle
25. Empty Mom’s vehicle garbage
26. Wash flat interior surfaces of Mom’s car
27. Check Mom’s oil
28. Check Mom’s antifreeze
29. Check Dad’s tire pressure
30. Empty Dad’s garbage
31. Wash flat interior surfaces of Dad’s truck
32. Wash Dad’s windows
33. Vacuum Dad’s Truck
34. Wash Dad’s truck
35. Freebie

General Cleaning (ORANGE)
36. Wash baseboards in hallway
37. Wash baseboards in beds/bath
38. Wash baseboards in kitchen/dining
39. Wash walls in the kitchen/dining area
40. Wash walls in the hallway
41. Wash walls bed/bath
42. Dust all picture frames
43. Vacuum all carpet
44. Wipe up bathroom when done
45. Sweep all tile
46. Sweep all wood
47. Swiffer all tile
48. Swiffer all wood
49. Mop all tile
50. Mop all wood
51. Wash all light plates
52. Windex all glass
53. Clean all windows
54. Freebie

Kitchen (TEAL)
55. Load/unload dishwasher
56. Empty recycling bin
57. Feed dogs AM
58. Feed dogs PM
59. Empty garbage
60. Wipe down oven
61. Wipe down stove top
62. Wipe down chairs
63. Wipe down microwave
64. Wipe down cabinet exteriors
65. Wipe table
66. Mop kitchen
67. Wipe down dishwasher
68. Wipe down juicer
69. Wipe down refrigerator
70. Wipe counters
71. Sweep kitchen
72. Sweep eating area
73. Dust eating area
74. Dust kitchen blinds
75. Swiffer kitchen
76. Swiffer eating area
77. Clean sink
78. Freebie

Outside (GREEN)
79. Pick up dog poop
80. Sweep patio
81. Wash patio furniture
82. Wash the “park” and “truck”
83. Water plants
84. Mow backyard
85. Weed the backyard
86. Weed front yard
87. Weed garden
88. Freebie

Living Room (BLUE)
89. Swiffer
90. Sweep
91. Empty garbage
92. Wipe down furniture
93. Organize/clean up toys
94. Vacuum rug
95. Dust knick knacks
96. Mop wood
97. Dust flat surfaces
98. Vacuum the shelves*
99. Freebie

Adult Bathroom (MAROON)
100. Scrub bath/shower
101. Windex mirror
102. Mop floor
103. Empty garbage
104. Sweep floor
105. Shake rug
106. Scrub toilet
107. Wash sink
108. Freebie
109. Freebie

* Yes, it does say vacuum shelves.  Trust me, it works better than dusting.

I want a halfsies kid

No one actually thinks they have a halfsies kid, but I want one.

We can all label other people's children as halfsies, or easy kids.  The kids who don't have to charge like a knight into a joust into everything they do.  Kids who only kinda get sick.  Or only kinda have sleep problems.  Or only kinda have temper tantrums.

Okay, maybe they don't actually exist, maybe the idea of a child who is easy is just a figment of the imagination and wishes of parents the world over.  If one of those kids do exist, maybe they grow up to be the Hannibal Lecter's of the world and we should just be cool with our needy little poor sleepers with attitudes and feeding issues.

Sigh.

That said, we all know that while we'd gladly run into a burning buildings after soaking in gasoline for our children, we do not have to like them all the time.  Honest truth, love my kids blindly.  Don't happen to always like them.  Would do anything for them, but would give a kidney for a five second break most days.  I mean, I can't even remember the last time I went to the bathroom without a resounding applause and "mommy potty!" just before I flushed.

So, the Beans is sick.  Being that he is not a halfsies kid, AT ALL, he went full boar.  Why have ONE ear infection, man, when you have two ears?  What's the point of having a fever and making mom search for the damned thermometer if you can't yield a number greater than 101?  Who needs a cough when you can choke on phlegm?   And, of course, why the heck would you just have a runny nose when you can make your family wish they had hip waders to better navigate the rivers of your snot with?

But while I was feeling nothing but pity and sympathy on day one and two, I began wallowing in my own pathetic misery by day three. So by day four and a half when Beans was on the slight upswing I realized something.

There is something much worse than a sick child.  The child who is finally starting to feel better after days of infirmary is much, much worse.

Beans would oscillate between the utterly male/baby conviction that no one in the history of suffering had ever suffered as much as he was and then would swing to the other end of the pendulum and was like a squirrel on a crack-speed cocktail.  Running around like a madman, laughing in a manic way ... then coughing like a three-pack-a-day-habit while crying and choking on his own snot while moaning "mama" and wanting nothing more than me holding him.


Hold him, I did.  Whilst praying fervently that the misery would pass, and the copious amounts of hand sanitizer I was requiring everyone to use in addition to the bleach cleaning wipes that rarely left my side were doing their job and preventing the plague from spreading.

But today I woke up and I sound like Louis Armstrong.  Fingers, toes and eyes crossed that I am the only marked one in the house.  Again, I am reminded about the main difficulty in living with men.  It has nothing to do with toilet seats in the wrong position, fart jokes, or never owning breakables or white items.  No, it is the dreaded man cold.

So the point of this post was, in summary: whine, vent, complain, pray!

he found me!

Oh the fun is over. It was good while it lasted, the fleeting taste of glorious freedom. Passing though it was, it has gone.

My husband, the Paul Bunyan, discovered twitter.

"Hey, sweetie, do you have a Twitter account " I hear him ask, and I realize what this means.  He's never ask just because he was like curious.  I sigh, and say yes, yes I do.

And he followed me.

I actually maintain anonymity among my family and friends regarding this blog.  I have never been terribly good with self promotion and the only times anyone has ever said "OMG you are funny and should have a blog" has been when they are drunk.  Not exactly a strong selling point to be all up in people's faces about what I do here, ya know?  Not to mention, the whole premise of this place is to discuss my suckiness and I do like to maintain facades in real life.  Sometimes.  But at any rate, the husband, who has never actually read anything here but knows about it, asked for my Twitter handle ... and I gave it to him.  Note the one person up there who "favorited" my tweet.  It was him.  Then he had some smart assy reply about how I can't behave long. Pssh, whatevs.

It's only a matter if time before he stumbles here and I get in trouble for the shit I talk.  Le sigh.  Well let us go out with one hoorah, shall we?

A study in the difference between men and women, Mars and Venus, me and my husband.  I am the blue talky bubbles and he is the white ones:

Eh, nothing around here is going to change, I remain the snarky sarcastic, wordy, irreverent loon I have always been.  Its just that Paul Bunyan is reading it here now too.  He gets double whammied, cuz I am just as adorable in person.

*Waves* 

Hi honey! I loves you!

P.S. If you don't follow me on Twitter but wanna I am @domrocsurg :)