This Isn't What Saturdays Are For

What happened to the Spring weather? I woke up this morning to blue skies and sunshine, windchimes and chirping birds, and it was ever so lovely. Unfortunately, it also made me feel guilty that I haven't done a darn thing in the yard so far this Spring, and that I needed to stop procrastinating about mowing for the first time this season. Note: I have not missed mowing, at all.

In a vain attempt to find a way out of this annoying task, I managed to convince myself that the inside of the house, and its cleanliness, outranked what the outside of my house looked like. Sure, the house is on the market, but surely anyone who comes to look at it will understand that most people haven't even begun to whip out their lawn mowers yet, right? I'm so good at conning myself, plus, it's a little hard to get motivated to make the outside of your house look all pretty, investing in flowers and such, when it belongs to you on a limited-time-only basis.

Admittedly, the inside of the house needed a little rehab, but not too much. Mostly, just a good wipe-down, to rid it of dust, stains, crayon marks, and fingerprints. The way my house accumulates dust is truly uncanny. I could dust twice a week, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference, and as it is, I'm lucky if I get to dust every couple of weeks. As I was monotonously swiping a rag full of Pledge over every little thing in the house, I made a mental note: The less you take with you when you move, means the less you'll have to dust once you live there. Sounds good to me-- I've always wanted to pursue minimalism, and now a simple thing like dust gave me an excuse.

I know you're thinking, "How did you manage to successfully dust your house when you have three kids pestering you every four seconds?" The answer: I tossed them outside in the backyard, and issued the threat that, if any of them started fighting or screaming, they would have to come in and help me clean. Given the choices between playing outside in the sunshine, or helping Evil Mommy/Cleaning Demon, it's fairly obvious what they chose to do. Miraculously, they played peacefully for long enough to allow me to dust the entire house and tidy-up my disaster of a desk, and Gabe even gathered a lovely bouquet of weeds for me (awww!). I took the time to appreciate their very dainty, heart-shaped leaves, until all hell broke loose because Gabe wouldn't take turns with Quincy on the swing, and everyone wound up coming inside (sigh). So much for progress.

Soon after dragging them inside, it was time to tackle Quincy's room. I had been getting onto her all week about the Mt. Everest of messes that had taken center-stage on her bedroom floor, but she kept fiddling around, making excuses about why she couldn't/shouldn't clean it. She's very convincing, or at least she thinks she is, making attempts to negotiate her way out of cleaning it, somehow trying to persuade me that the house (and the world itself) will be a better place with the pile of Legos, plastic food, and puzzle pieces blocking passage through her room. I remained unconvinced, and decided to get tough, threatening to put her favorite toys in the trash if she didn't start making the pile smaller, immediately. After issuing this order, I went into my room, to finish putting some laundry away (my other mortal enemy, besides yard work), and after about fifteen minutes, I returned to check on her progress.

She was in her bed-- HER BED, lying down under the covers, all tucked in, nice and comfy, smiling at me as I stood in her doorway, fuming. She appeared confused by my anger, since according to her, she "was tired and needed to rest." Mmmmm-hmm. Yeah, sweetie. Mommy's tired and would like to rest, too, but I'm not, which means you're not either. One of my favorite phrases around this house is, "Mama didn't breed 'lazy'." I detest laziness, so when Quincy was lounging in her bed while she was supposed to be cleaning up her mess, you can imagine that didn't sit too well with me, and I was off to grab the roll of 39-gallon, lawn-n-leaf, heavy-duty, could possibly hold a dead body, trash bags.

Imagine shrieks so shrill that they are nearly above human hearing range, and those are what I heard when I started collecting Quincy's favorite toys for the garbage bag. Her giant, talking Buzz Lightyear (gasp!), her Buzz and Woody dolls (double-gasp!), her Toy Story books, her baby and various members of her core stuffed animal posse-- all being re-dubbed The Garbage Bag Gang. I'll admit, I felt a little awful doing this, but like I said, this Mama didn't breed "lazy", and I wasn't going to put up with her resistance any longer. I meant business, and she figured that out very quickly when she watched her most prized possessions disappear inside a big, black plastic void.

Feeling satisfied that this little tactic had motivated Quincy enough to begin chipping away at the mass of stuff on her floor, I took the opportunity to vacuum the upstairs, and felt a great deal of satisfaction when I was able to finally take a step without stepping on stray Cheerios, and the ceiling fans no longer appeared as if they were growing fur. Then I took a moment to help Quincy in her struggles, because she had started to do more pouting than cleaning, and then went downstairs to get started on the boys' lunch. This reminded me that I hadn't even stopped to eat breakfast, and considering it was after 12:00, I decided I should probably stop to eat something. So, I offered Quincy a reprieve from cleaning, and we all gathered around the table for lunch, where, as usual, they all wanted something off of my plate, and I was left to basically starve. I knew at that point that all I might succeed in consuming over the course of the day was a Little Debbie snack, if I was lucky.

Yay, nap time! Not for me, for them-- duh. I would never be that lucky. I was nice enough to let the boys nap in the living room, and even bestowed a little kindness onto Quincy by allowing her to rescue one member of the Garbage Bag Gang for nap time. To no surprise, she picked "Big Buzz". By this time, dark clouds had started to roll in outside, and the memory of hearing my neighbor's mower and weed-eater purring earlier in the day had begun to plague me with more of the guilt I originally felt when I woke up this morning. The last thing I wanted was for the Amazon jungle of weeds to grow higher and thicker, and for my already squishy yard to become even soggier and harder to mow, so I reluctantly (very reluctantly) ditched my pj's for some mowing attire, and trudged out to the shed, secretly praying that my suspicions about the mower's inability to start were true. Upon arriving at the shed, I realized that I had forgotten the key, and the little imaginary light-bulb clicked on, reminding me that I didn't have the foggiest idea where I had put the key at the end of last season. On top of that, I had actually packed things in the house since then, which meant that the key could, in fact, be lost forever. Oh, darn! Well, at least I won't have to mow, but the impending doom of the storm, and evil snarls that came from the jungle below my feet made me abandon that excuse pretty darn quickly.

Ah, yes! Check your desk drawer! Sure enough, there it was (whew!). I swear, I must put everything in my desk drawer. Now, back out through the mine-field of dog poo, to open the shed. I'm always a little nervous when I open the shed after several months of non-use, fearing I'll find a dead squirrel, hoards of gigantic spiders, or something worse (I'm not sure what would be worse, but you get the picture). Sure enough, there was one seriously ginormous spider, but I managed not to have a complete heart-attack, and quickly yanked the mower out into the daylight. Please let there be gas in the can. Please let there be gas in the can. Okay, whew! Just enough to mow the front and back. Now please start. Please start. Please start. Several pulls on the cord later, the mower came to life like Frankenstein, and I let it idle while I poked my head inside to make sure the boys hadn't destroyed the living room. All was well, so off I went to do what I'd been putting off for weeks now. Gross.

The front yard went fast, because it wasn't as weed-infested as the back, but I was still wishing I had a working weed-eater, so I could clean things up around the mailbox, but at that point I was just grateful that the mower was running. At the point I reached the backyard, I sort of went all cross-eyed, because it was hard to know where and how to start. This is a good time to mention that the self-propel feature on the mower quit at the beginning of last season, and never got repaired. Yeah, good times, especially when the weeds were so thick that they actually hid pieces of firewood-- no joke. No time to dilly-dally, though, since the wind was picking up, the clouds were getting darker, and the temperature was dropping.

I should take a moment to let all of you know that I don't typically allow my yard to look bad, like, ever, but as I stated earlier, it's hard to stay inspired to keep it pristine when it doesn't even feel like it's yours anymore. Technically, I don't even live in my house anymore-- I am the maid and the groundskeeper, so to speak. Still, I was a little embarassed when I saw just how bad it had gotten, and was still desperately wishing I had a weed-eater, so I could actually see the fruits of my labor more clearly, but no.

SCARY!

Now, I told myself when I went outside that I was only going to mow-- no weed pulling, sweeping, rearranging, sprucing, etc. No time for any of that today-- just mow. That was easier said than done when I rounded the north corner of the house, only to be reminded of how much mildew had grown on the siding in the past few months, to the point that I felt like I was looking at the inside of a dirty fish tank. This does not scream, "Buy me!" Just take care of this, but nothing else. So, because that side of my off-white house had now turned a disgusting shade of green, I went inside for a bucket of hot water, some bleach, and a scrub brush.


ALL CLEAN!

In case you were wondering, yes, the storm in the sky was still brewing, but there I was, like a completely obsessed moron, diligently scrubbing away on the north side of the house. I'm OCD, and I just couldn't stand it, and I didn't figure it would take too awful long. The problem was that bleach spray and strong winds don't mix... in your eyes. Mmmmmm, fun! I... will... not... be... deterred! I... will... get... this... done... if... it... means... blindness! Hey, at least if I was blind, I wouldn't have to look at it anymore if I didn't get it done.

When the house was returned to its original, algae-free color, I retreated inside, my hands and arms aching from pushing the busted lawn mower, and scouring the side of the house. Time for a shower. I pleaded with the boys to behave themselves for just a short while, so I could relish a hot shower in peace, and they agreed. Quincy was quarantined in her room, so I had no worries as far as she was concerned, although I was dreading what she had done to her room during nap time, despite the fact that the Garbage Bag Gang was still contained in their dark, plastic residence. Ahhhhh, shower! I even managed to shave my legs, which, in and of itself, was a huge accomplishment for the day, and not much unlike shredding the jungle in the backyard.

After emerging from the shower, and realizing that there weren't any shrieks coming from anywhere in the house, I decided to take advantage, and snag a few extra minutes to try on an outfit that I had discovered buried in the back of my closet earlier in the week, to decide whether or not to wear it to church tomorrow. This is going to be a matter of whether or not I want to take the time to alter the straps this evening, or not, and considering you've already had a busy day, I would be betting on "not". (Sigh), so cute-- ah well, there will be other Sundays. Now, get out of La-La Land, and go fix dinner.

Can I just take the opportunity right now to say that hot dogs kind of gross me out? Sure, kids love them, and they take no time at all to cook, but what's in them? Hmmmmmm. It's questionable, at best, but considering I was starving from my Jungle Workout 9000 (aka, the busted mower), I was not as dramatically opposed to hot dogs as I usually am. Gabe, for one, was tickled pink, eyes the size of dinner plates, and thankfully, all the kids ate without much complaint.

Now, after dinner was a different story. I went upstairs to clean Quincy's sink (which she had decorated with bright blue toothpaste and half a bottle of sunscreen earlier in the week), only to discover that she had gone to the sink, and used the faucet to fill up her Lego table with water, so she could "do her dishes". Yes, all of her plastic dishes were submerged in water, which was sloshing around inside her Lego table. Now, most of you might think this is just darling, but considering I have asked her countless times to stay out of the sink, and to stop using the water for dishes or tea parties, I was peaved. Had she not learned her lesson from earlier? Was she willing to risk "Big Buzz"'s safety, for the sake of nap time entertainment? Surely not. I summoned her upstairs (using my big, mean Mommy voice), and she immediately hid her face in her hands in guilt. Total shame. She tried to rattle off some quick and charming excuse about doing dishes, but I think even she knew it wasn't going to fly, so she helped me sop up the mess, and went back downstairs to wreak havoc on the boys' foam block hotel that they were building. I call her, "Godzilla".

After I managed to finish peeling the chunks of toothpaste off of Quincy's vanity, and vacuumed the downstairs, I heard wild, wailing outbursts coming from the boys, and saw Quincy running down the hall with some blocks in her hand. Lovely. Just lovely. If I hear anymore screaming or whining today, I'm going to the boys' ear/nose/throat doctor, and asking him if he can actually remove my eardrums, so that I no longer have to listen to any of this. It is at times like this that I would like to go hide in my closet-- my happy lil' safe place, where I am surrounded my all of my dear, sweet, comforting friends, on hangers, and in shoe-cubbies, and I can pretend that my kids aren't actually mine. Unfortunately, reality never actually allows me to do that, and even if I did, the kids would just find me anyway, so what would be the point?

Sure enough, the latest and greatest Gabe n' Josh Hotel had been demolished by the blonde-haired, terrorizing monster that is my daughter, and this just confirmed that it was, in fact (thank you, Jesus) bedtime. I herded them upstairs for pj's, and then Gabe wanted to sit and read the entire 60 pages of "Hop on Pop" out loud for all of us, which of course, I let him do. Josh just shook his head in impressed disbelief, gushing, "Gosh, he sure is good." I managed to contain my laughter at Josh's comment, and Gabe continued to read page after page to us. By the end of it, I had to agree with Josh, Gosh, he really is good. Even after the day I had with them, I had to say that they all really are good at the end of it all.

Now, with the peace and quiet that has taken over the house, I am putting my last batch of flash batteries on the charger for tomorrow's pictures for children's church, and trying to remember the settings I used the last time I shot pictures in there. I also need to devote at least an hour of my life to the bike (and Season One of Grey's Anatomy), or else I may be tempted to make chocolate-chip cookies instead. Truthfully, I really want to give myself a pedicure, but I can't very well do that before stuffing my feet inside of my cycling shoes, now can I? Considering it's after 9:00 already, I am thinking that my unsightly tootsies will have to wait for another day, because I might as well punish myself a little more while my body is already aching.

A VERY Whiny Blog

When... are... these... boys... going... to... go... back... to... school?

To anyone who says that tonsil surgery is no big deal, I stick my tongue out at you (as well as throw up a few choice gestures). Here we are, nine days post-surgery, and I still have a couple of sick, worn-out little guys, who are ready for their lives to return to normal (as am I).

If I could just get them to eat consistently, I'd be happy. I think Gabe must've lived on fudgesicles for several days straight, but once they started proving to me that they could eat regular food, I started cracking the whip, and now they are incredibly upset to lose their ice cream diet (hey, I would be, too). One minute they're up, the next minute they're down, and if they could just give me one "solid" day, I'd be more than happy to let them go back to school, just so we could all return to some sort of normalcy.

Oh, and I'll be seriously happy to get away from the boys' dragon-breath. It's really beyond words, in terms of "awful". The doctors warned us about this, because they cartarize the wounds, but they really didn't give us enough warning. It's like a combination of really bad farts and burnt flesh. Sound appetizing? Mmmmmmm. Try being cooped up in the car with them, unable to roll the windows down? I'm not exaggerating-- even a very short car-ride is enough to make you want to choke, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. It's "all part of the healing process".

The combination of the time-change, Spring Break, surgery, weird diet, and completely whacky routine this weekend have all basically turned the kids into little monsters that need to be reprogrammed. Like, do they have a "restart" button? If so, where is it? LOL. I keep trying to tell myself that, by this time next week, things should be at least close to normal.

Of course it doesn't help that Quincy decides to get into things during her nap-- things that she has no business playing with. Today, it was a bottle of sunscreen. Fun. A few days ago, it was blue toothpaste. Like I needed one more mess to clean up, especially since I have a realtor bringing people to see the house later this week. Thanks, Quincy, for giving me another time-consuming thing to do, as I scramble to get the house ready to show! You are an angel!

Kooka also thinks this is a great time to pee a little extra in the house, creating more laundry and mopping than I already have to do. I also have a bone to pick with Mother Nature, for dumping a bunch of snow on us, and then immediately melting it, to create a yard that is full of overgrown weeds, but yet, is too soggy to mow. I hope my potential buyers don't mind the fact that the yard is a jungle, because I seriously doubt it will be dry enough to mow it anytime soon.

With Spring weeds, comes Spring weather, which is awesome, but it would be more awesome if I actually had time to ride my bike or run, or something this week. So yes, I'm bitter about the weather, too-- because I can be. LOL.

Yes, I'm whiny. This is a whiny blog. Whine, whine, whine. I'm entitled. My kids do it 837 times a day, so I'm entitled to at least one blog. So there.

First Blog In Forever/Boys' Surgery Synopsis/Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Wow, okay. So I haven't posted since July (which, coincidentally, is when I joined FB). Now that I have finally figured out that I can link the two, I have the best of both worlds! Since I've had a lot of questions about Monday's surgery with the boys, I figured what better time than now to combine my FB and my blog, right?

So, Monday morning started early, and I mean EARLY. Like, sickening, should-be-against-the-law-early. I got up at 3:45, which actually felt like 2:45, given the stupid time change. I wondered, "Why did I even bother going to bed?" Unfortunately, the boys had to be at the ol' hospital by 5:30, so I didn't have much of a choice if I still wanted time to get dressed, feed the dogs, and eat a little breakfast (plus, I'm just a slow-mover-- mornings and I are not friends). I finally woke the boys up at 5:00, and they were less-than-thrilled, especially when I told them they couldn't have breakfast (Good morning, boys! It's so stinkin' early that it's still dark outside, AND you have to get up, AND you have to starve! Happy Monday!).

Their "I'm not very happy with you, Mommy!" attitude quickly changed once I informed them that they could wear their pajamas and slippers in the car. Considering we were the only ones in the waiting room, they got to watch Disney Channel, while we tried very hard not to pass out from exhaustion and boredom. Luckily, they took us back pretty quickly, and the boys were excited to discover that they each had a fancy backpack waiting for them on their beds, complete with a teddy bear in a doctor's coat. Given some of the squirrelly names that Gabe gives his animals, I was pretty surprised when he named it "Mr. Doctor Bear". B-O-R-I-N-G. Oh well, maybe it was still too early in the morning for him to be creative. In my opinion, it was too early in the morning to know my own name, much less come up with a name for someone else.

The nurses were all super nice, and a little before 7:00, one of them came in to give Gabe his "silly drink". Gabe was adamant against the idea of falling asleep, and insisted that I give the doctor his request, so I was glad that they gave each of the boys a little "liquid happy" to chill them out before taking them down for surgery. They warned us it would make them goofy within about 10 minutes or so, and while Gabe didn't seem all that phased by it, Josh was incredibly entertaining, to the point that I wished my phone was able to capture video clips. He absolutely insisted that he had eleven fingers, and just laughed at us when we told him he only had ten. Then, I guess his vision must have been getting blurry, because he told us that his "eyes were getting old, because he couldn't see very good" (laughing the whole time). The best part was when he was swatting at all of the invisible "bugs" that were in the room. I'm ashamed to say that we got a good laugh out of it all-- it was kind of like picking on the drunk guy at the party. Hey, anything to keep us awake, because I could hardly keep my eyes open, and the rocking chair they gave me to sit in certainly didn't help matters.

Gabe's tonsils, adenoids, and ear tubes only took about an hour, and then we were taken to the recovery room. A warning to all parents who have never had their child come out of anesthesia before: Be prepared for a violent child. I kind of wish someone would have warned us about how kids react when they start to wake up from surgery, because at least we would've been prepared for the angry, confused little monsters they turned into. By the time we arrived in recovery, Gabe had stripped his gown off, was trying to pull the IV out of his foot, swinging and kicking at anyone who was handling him, and screaming and crying. It wasn't fun. Luckily, they don't remember that part of things, according to the nurses, which is good. Plus, they felt like they couldn't breathe, because the numbing agent in their throats left them feeling like they had something stuck inside, so he kept gagging and coughing. The nurse warned us that it could last 30-4o minutes (jaw on floor at this point), but that most kids end up falling back asleep, which Gabe did after about 15 minutes or so, thank goodness.

Josh's tonsils and adenoids didn't take quite so long, but when he finally arrived in the recovery room, his whole waking-up process went the same way, only a nurse finally had to hold his feet, because he was kicking everyone so bad. He also stripped himself (ha-ha), but it took him a little longer to fall asleep. Once he calmed down, Gabe had started to wake up enough to want his pj's, and the first thing he asked was, "Where's Josh?" so we wheeled his bed into Josh's recovery room, where they both slept for a couple of hours. Once they were both able to drink, and we had Josh's pj's back on, they were ready to go. They must've been on a lot of pain meds, because they were having entirely too much fun wheeling themselves around in the wheel chairs at that point.

Once we got them home, they took over my bed, slept a lot, ate some yogurt, and watched TV. We began the lovely medication schedule, that will last until Monday at least. Every 4-6 hours, around the clock. Good times. That is why I finally passed out on the couch around 5:30 for about an hour, until Eric woke me up for dinner. Once we got them to bed, I took care of a few things around the house, and crashed about 10:30, because I had to get up again at midnight. The boys wanted to sleep in my bed, and I let them, which was kind of a huge mistake, because I didn't sleep a wink with all of their gurgling and coughing. Then, later in the night, Gabe threw up, which they warned us they would probably do from all the drainage (I won't gross you out with the details). Needless to say, it was a L-O-N-G night, especially after I had been awake since 3:45 the previous morning.

Yesterday, they both tanked, which they also warned us they would do. Gabe felt decent enough in the morning, even though he wasn't eating, because he had enough thought and energy to get into costume and make a silent (but noteworthy) appearance downstairs.

Not too long after that, everything went downhill, and they just sort of laid there, watching TV and sleeping, with their mouths hanging open, barely talking. They were like little zombies. While they are both usually really good about taking medicine, I've had to all but hold them down just to medicate them, which makes for a long process when you have to do it for two kids. Then, they refused to eat anything yesterday, and didn't want to drink much either, which can pose a real problem when the doctor wants them to drink 60 oz. per day. Yeah, right. I fell asleep for about 20 minutes sometime after 4:00, but that was about it. They wouldn't even eat dinner, but I at least convinced them to have a shower, which they were resistant to at first, but then enjoyed, when they realized how good it felt on their stiff neck, back, and shoulders (for some reason, this particular surgery causes those muscles to get stiff). I convinced them to sleep in their own bed, didn't have to completely wrestle and hog-tie them for their bedtime medicine, and got them into bed by 7:30. I finally got myself to bed a couple of hours later, so as to prepare (yet again) for the 12:00 and 5:00 doses of medicine.

Had I known how last night was going to go, I would've skipped the two hours-worth of cleaning-up I did after I got them in bed, and taken that time to sleep. Gabe threw up again once, and Josh threw up three times, once all over the floor, so I had to stay up to clean that up (for reasons I won't go into, due to the gross factor). Then, they wanted to come back to my room, but rather than try to move them in with me, I just told them I'd take the top bunk instead, and they seemed pleased with that. So, it was another night of gurgling, coughing, snoring, puking, and medicating, and I'm beginning to forget what it feels like to sleep. Words can't describe how excited I am about doing this little routine until Monday (but hey, at least it's probably only until then-- it could be worse).

Today they seem to be doing better, although now that they're talking more, I can definitely hear the change in their voices. It's really, really weird. Josh has fought me on his medicine, but Gabe is finally starting to take it like a man. Part of that is due to the fact that Josh is convinced that the medicine makes him throw up, but I've explained to him why that is not the case. Once he managed to hold down his medicine, he got brave enough to eat some Cheerios, and now some Spaghetti-O's (GAG ME). Gabe is on his third bowl of Cheerios today, so that's good, too. I'm just hoping they nap this afternoon, so I can squeeze in a power-nap, or a shower, or something along those lines. It's like having new babies all over again-- LOL.

Oh yeah, Happy St. Patrick's Day!