lesson 3

So lesson 3 involves a baby, scissors, and almost an eyeball. Yikes!! So here goes: Never try to curl ribbon when you have a baby strapped to the front of you. I was rushing around, watching an extra kid, trying to get to a birthday party on time when I remembered that I needed to get a present. We made a quick stop at the toy factory, unloaded 4 kids, herded them through the doors, picked the first thing that I saw with fairies on it, dug through my purse for the debit card, answered rapid fire questions from two 3 year old interrogators about the construction vehicles outside while paying for the present, had a conversation with a mom I knew, while trying to wrap a present and find someplace to stuff a receipt, while trying not to be rude to aforementioned mom, cut off 4 pieces of ribbon that were just a tad too short to curl, tried to curl them anyway, scissors slip poke baby Claire in what I thought was an eyeball, and then...moment of clarity. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? I grabbed the baby, extricated her from the Bjorn, flipped her around, and did a thorough examination of her face. Thank God, I hadn't poked her in the eye-ball. She had a small scratch across her forehead and didn't so much as whimper. At this point I slapped one of those Christmas, peel the back and stick it, ribbons on the present and was off. Another lesson learned. Now that I've had a scary experience with scissors I'll now be overly cautious around them but maybe not pay attention when I plop a kid down next to the neighbors hive full of angry bees. It's funny how we moms get super aware of some dangers when we've had a scary experience and hardly blink an eye at others.

Lesson 2

Lesson number 2 involves my ass...my ass that I keep forgetting has grown a size (or two) since having 3 kids. I was at story time in Monroe with Trevor, Anna, and Claire. At this particular story time snack was passed out (I know right? Snack at the library? Usually they don't even allow water.) The kids began happily munching on their animal crackers and honed in to the book as never before eagerly anticipating each new story introduction. As the last of the stories was being read, Anna asked for more crackers, and when I informed her that there were no more she seemed content to listen to the story until her 3 year old eagle eyes spotted her younger sister's cup o' drooled upon and soggy crackers. She could tell Claire was done and asked if she could have them. I said are you sure you want these nasty things. She said yes, took the crackers, and re-focused her attention on the librarian. Story time had come to an end and the story teller told all the children that she had a free book bag with book marks for every child. Two words: pandemonium and chaos! All the children at story time came rushing forward and since we were a foot away from the librarian, I had to snatch Claire up off the floor before she was trampled by 20 crazed kids. In the process my rather well endowed behind came in direct contact with Anna's face sending her flying as well as her newly attained (albeit soggy) crackers. Cookies exploded everywhere, trampled into the carpet, landed on mom's who exclaimed, "oh gross" and subsequently dropped them into the garbage can, and near other children who quickly gobbled them up. Devastated does not even begin to describe Anna's state of mind. Sobs that shook her to the core enveloped her body and then she began this cat like yowl that I was unsure of what orifice it was being emitted from. She repeated over and over again "my crackers, my crackers" as I drug her to the car. If you know Anna this was very odd behavior for her and I couldn't quite understand why she was so upset until I realized that that morning in a rush to get out the door she had eaten a strawberry and bite of bagel for breakfast. Do I win Mother of the Year award yet?

3 Lessons

So recently I have learned three valuable lessons about domestic life.
Lesson number one: Never get angry at your beaters when your thumb is precariously balanced on the on switch. Story: I was trying to get a million things done as usual and only had about 30 minutes to make a recipe of brownies that usually takes 45 minutes. I grabbed my lovely beaters that have a problem getting stuck in the on position and stuffed the first beater in the hole. Well it was the wrong hole and didn't have the correct ring around the end of the apparatus to make it fit into the beaters. I rammed it into the second hole, reached for the second beater and began sticking this beater into the beater hole (this doesn't sound quite right...). My thumb just happened to be on the on switch in just the spot one would hold the beaters while shoving a beater into the correct hole (some engineer is laughing deviously while tapping his fingers together in a dimly lit cubicle laughing an evil maniacal laugh). As I shoved the beater with great angst, my thumb slipped and flipped the switch to on. Since the beaters have a malfunction and will not turn off even when the switch is in the off position my fingers became entangled in the lovely, unforgiving wire of the beaters. As my eyes comprehended the tangled mess of my fingers my brain didn't comprehend the pain I was about to experience. I let go of the beaters since I couldn't turn them off and reached over and unplugged the beaters from the wall. I pried my fingers out of their unnatural maze and examined what I thought for sure was a broken finger. I was shaking and saw deep grooves where the beaters had dug into my digits but amazingly that was it...just bruises, small indentations, and an embarrassing incident that I would have to share with my husband. Oh how I felt like a fool. Hailey thought the entire thing was hysterical.
2 other lessons coming shortly....

Running

The kids ran in their first race last weekend. They were very excited and we lined up, poised to "sprint" to the finish line 1/4 of a mile away. As the MC said "ready, set, go" Hailey and Trevor, took off like white lightning and Anna and I began to not so much sprint as to jog "the most laboriously slow movement and still call it a jog" jog. We ran? for about 10 seconds and Anna looks up at me and says, "okay, that's enough". It reminds me of when I start running again after taking a week, a month, 6 months, 2 days, or whatever length of time off and I think to myself, "alright this time I'm sticking with it. No more excuses, I will work off that third ass". I start running with immaculate posture, chest out, breathing in perfect rhythm with my stride, just as my book on running says and thinking, boy don't I look spiffy. Inevitably what happens is I trip over a crack in the side walk tweeking my ankle (looking like an idiot and nonchalantly looking around to see if anyone saw me), get a cramp, can't breathe anymore, or all of the above. When this happens I start walking, gasping for air, and dripping like a sweaty hog. (I don't know what idiot said "run through the pain", I can understand drink through the pain, sit down until the pain passes, or pop pills until you don't remember the pain, but running through the pain simply does not compute). I justify my abandonment of running by thinking, "Walking is better for your joints anyway, running will destroy your knees, I'll just plan some hikes with friends and hike a really long time to get the same benefits, etc." I wonder where Anna gets it...