Smelling Like...Febreze?

Katelyn has the option of wearing a crew-neck cotton sweatshirt or a fleece pull-over. Usually, the fleece wins because it has pockets and what 6-year old cannot live without pockets? What would they do with all of those treasures that they find throughout their day? How would they make sure that their chap-stick gets washes and dried, as it is securely tucked into the zipped pocket? How would they be able to dispose of their snack trash, because apparently there are no trash cans at school? And of course, their hands might just fall off from being so FROZEN without the ability to put them into the toasty warm pocket!

A few days ago, Katelyn was DETERMINED that she was going to wear her fleece to school. Because the other one just wouldn't do. However I had been a little slow on laundry and it was sitting at the bottom of the dirty clothes pile. Since my laundry seems to reproduce on its own, the fleece was sitting under a pretty large pile of stinky clothes. Without regards to potentially offending her classmates or teachers, she dug through the pile and came out victorious. I had decided not to fight this battle - if she wanted to dig through the mound and wear a dirty sweater, it was her choice...after all, she was the one wearing it, not me.

Now here is where my excellent parenting skills comes into play...just to make sure that no one thinks I never wash my children's clothes, I gave her a few sprays of Febreze as she walked out the door. We were laughing as I was doing it, but hey, at least she smelt cleaned!

Cue: Circus Theme Music

I'm standing in the living room folding a HUGE mound of laundry; Paige is in her walker scooting around me, pulling clean folded clothes off of the couch as quickly as I get them folded; Vanessa is at the art table unrolling a coloring page roll across the room (imagine a full roll of paper towels being rolled out); Katelyn is at the kitchen table doing a "project", one that involves her cutting a piece of paper into a million little pieces; Bill is propped up in the corner of the couch trying to work while incapacitated with back pain.

Summing up Daddy’s existence

Apparently, we shouldn't have verbal conversations in front of our three year old. Maybe we’ll have to resort to communicating through text messages or IM only, or perhaps just S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G T-H-I-N-G-S O-U-T.

Me: “Do you have any money?”

Bill: “Sure. Here’s what I have, you can take it all.”


Me: “Oh, I don’t need it all, you can have some.”

Bill: “It’s OK, I don’t need any money.”

Vanessa: “Yeah Daddy, you can work for more money so Mommy can take it and spend it.”

Arriving May 2009

I wanted to cry from frustration, hide from embarrassment, and laugh from the chaos of it all

The girls and I went on several errands yesterday; nothing out of the ordinary. We were all having a good time, everyone’s ears were “on”, and a red balloon was waiting for us as soon as we got through the check-out line. That was until we visited Trader Joe’s. To be more specific, the egg section of Trader Joe’s. We then lost the privilege of the red balloon. And yes, there were eggs on the floor.