Taking My Home to Work

I was at work the other night and called Sam to see how the evening was going. Homework was done, yay. The kids had eaten, a plus. And then...

Sam: The neighbor's dog caught and killed a groundhog.
Me: Oh, no.
Sam: Yeah. It was a baby.
Me: Ick. What did she do with it?
Sam: Well, she was going through our property on her way home, I guess. But then the kids ran out to see and scared her and she dropped it on our driveway.
Me: Vomit. So? What did you do? It better not still be there.
Sam: No. I threw it at the dog.
Me: The hell?
Sam: Well, I wanted her to take it with her.
Me: You just winged it at her? And how did that work for you?
Sam: It's at least in their woods now, instead of our driveway.

Sometimes the "don't call home on your break" option is the best option.

Jubilation!... Right?

Emily was in desperate want of a CD player, and I promised that the next time we went somewhere that sold them, I'd get her one. Steel trap, her mind is when it comes to promises. She had one within two days.

Grasping it to her chest like gold, she and I caught up with the boys at a music/movie store.

Sam, looking suspiciously at the obvious money expenditure: What's that?
Emily: Mommy bought me a CD player!
Sarah: Traitor.
Sam: What for? Does she even have any CD's?
Sarah: She has some audio books.
Sam: Well get her some Simon and Garfunkel so I don't have to play it in the car for her anymore.

I found her a greatest hits set, used, for twenty bucks. She proceeded to learn every song.

Fast forward to a few days ago in the car. Emily is singing random non-word nonsense.

Sarah: If you're going to sing, make it something real.
Emily, singing: Cecelia! You're breaking my heart! / You're shaking my confidence daily! / Oh Cecelia! I'm down on my knees! / I'm begging you please, to come home!

As she continues singing, Sam suddenly grips my thigh. In my mind, I begin to fast-forward through the lyrics. Unfortunately, Emily beats me to the problematic bit.

Emily, singing: Making love in the afternoon with Cecelia / Up in my bedroom! Making love! / I got up to wash my face / When I come back to bed / Someone's taken my place!
Sarah, screeching: PARSLEY, SAGE, ROSEMARY, AND THYME!
Emily: That's not in this song!
Sarah: Well, sing this other one instead.

Yes, I am aware of how much trouble I'm in for in the future.

Six Word Saturday

Cate

Whose turn to clean the house?

Because, shockingly, bird feeders quickly become squirrel feeders.

Sam whipping open the back door, mostly not clothed: Yeah! You better run you stupid squirrel!

Me: Get your boxer clad ass back in the house!

Sam: I have to give :insert neighbor lady's name here: something to drool over.

Ethan: Who's :insert neighbor lady's name here:?

Me: Nice. Idiot.

Sam: That's what I call the squirrel in our backyard.

Ethan: Oh.

Everyone Needs Their Mommy

As we left a plant nursery yesterday, I was boasting about how awesome I was for having only spent four dollars on two plants- this is as opposed to the just slightly over a hundred the last time. Sam didn't realize that he was supposed to be impressed- this only encourages me to spend money, I gotta say.

To shorten up the progression of the conversation, it turned from the money to specific plants to bees being attracted to certain plants to me being allergic to bees to Ethan not being allergic. This is a good thing because the kid seems to get stung more often than average. Connor, apparently completely oblivious to this fact, said something about him never getting stung.

I decided to take the moment and turn it into a learning experience because I'm such an outstanding mom. I needed to compliment Ethan while at the same time not embarrassing him by giving Connor something to make fun of Ethan for and take a dig at no one specific yet everyone at the same time- frankly, every member of this household can be such a drama queen. "He's been stung plenty," I said. "He just handles it like a man."

"Yeah," said Ethan. "I just run and tell Mom."

I've Suffered a Loss

My friend disappeared today. I know I'll never see or hear from him again. His twin might come around, but I'll know the difference. I knew I only had thirty days with him before a higher power wiped him from my life forever. I miscounted. I thought I still had through the end of today. Alas, it was not to be. Rest in pieces, dear friend.

I am SO not officially old.

We are spending a little less time in front of the television. We are getting up earlier. We are becoming more mature! (We bought a bird feeder.)

We are participating in a family activity. We aren't spending money. We are becoming better people! (We bought a bird feeder.)

It feels like a confession. But listen, you jerks, I am not old. It's fun. Okay, maybe not fun. But soothing. Did you know there are more than five different kinds of birds? There's way more than that. Like eight (no). Everyone has their own check-list and we sit at the windows for hours on end, looking at books full of birds, like scared witnesses flipping through mug-shot albums trying to identify a thief.

It sounds boring, but we've really been enjoying it, and the kids don't object and they're not staring at any kind of screen (other than the one that keeps the bugs out), which is not something that is easy to claim these days. It also gives them an excuse to chase squirrels.

And, just to prove how not mature I am, doubters, it throws me every time one of my kids yells out "a tufted titmouse!".