I bet Van Gogh's mother didn't have to put up with this

Deb, I love the pillow I won from your blog.

In fact, I was going to do a whole post about this amazing pillow that I won, that you made and how it contains the alphabet on it.

Bombshell shocker:

My son has decorated it with red marker.

I'm putting it in the wash. I'll let you know how it fares.

I've been contemplating painting the kids room.

My son likes to colour on the wall.

I've put the whole painting thing on hold.

Markers now reside high up and out of son's reach.

My son has now mastered climbing into forbidden areas where markers are kept out of high reach.

I'm thinking of teaching my son 'no' in 7 different languages. I am hoping this will get the point across.

He's two.

He's on the loose.

And he's an artist.

I'm the parent.

I'm in charge.

But he's too artistic to take me seriously.

Help!

LeTT3rs &Num3r0's to get my point across

Don't you love chatting online with family or friends who you haven't seen in forever?

Invariably, you get close to the end and it's time to sign off.

I find the following funny:

THEM: Hey, gotta get going

ME: Ok, love ya lots. Say hi to the fam for me.

THEM:You bet.

ME: Miss you, too, eh?

THEM: I miss u 2

ME: Thanks. Love you

THEM: Loves x 10

ME: See ya

THEM: Bye, Patch.

ME: I thought we agreed we wouldn't call me that any more

THEM: Verbal agreement. Strictly verbal.

ME: PunK with a capital K

THEM: I thought you said you loved me

ME: I thought you said you had to go?

THEM: True.

ME: uh-huh

THEM: Buh-bye

ME: Bye

THEM: Love you

ME: Love you x 100

THEM:See you

ME: Okay.

THEM: Bye

ME: Bye

THEM: L8r

Okay, at this point I am thinking four things:

*how long can this one word goodbye go on for?

*I thought you had to get going...oh, I see, it was merely a ruse. You don't really have to go, you were just coming bored with me

*Don't go!!!! We haven't talked long enough and I miss you, wish you were here and love you x a million

* Shucks! I forgot to make reference to the WAZZUP commercial from three years ago (true! True!)

Aslan and Table Runners

Every time I listen to “The Back of the North Wind “ with my children, and it reaches the end, I spend about ten minutes crying and telling Jesus I love Him and that His eyes are beautiful to behold.

After I calm down, I also am grateful that that book was written...because if it hadn’t been inspiration for CS Lewis, what would life be like without the Chronicles of Narnia?

--

I broke down and bought one of those fantastic table runners it seems that everyone in blog world has in their homes that they constantly showcase (and brag that they made it all happen for fifteen dollars, spray paint and a few globs of modgepodge.)

My table runner was on sale.

Fifteen dollars.

Thank you, Pier One.

Then my kids ate at the table. After two meals it needed cleaning.

Company was coming over and I pulled it off the table, threw it in the laundry room and didn’t give it another thought.

Until...

I pulled my purple sweater out of the wash yesterday and wondered at all the strange lint that was stuck to it.

Then I pulled out my mangled table runner that said “Spot Clean Only.”

New decisions that have been made from this encounter:

I really need to start reading labels

I really need to stop being trendy like most blog homes I see on the net

There is no point having anything lovely on my table until my kids are past the spilling everything stage

No more going into Pier One and buying table runners

New thoughts that emerged:

Will my kids ever stop spilling things?

How will I get this sweater cleaned?

Am I going to be one of those old ladies who hides all her nice things when the grandkids come to visit and follow them around with a vacuum?

Another time where I should have just said "Fine."

My husband was injured at work last week. And while it was a very dramatic accident, he's come out relatively ok. He is hobbling around with a cane right now and is at home where I can keep him safe.

The other day when my sister said, "How are things with you being at home, Jeep."

He replied, "Not bad at all," .

And so I felt it necessary to add in this little fun fact, "I get to give him sponge baths, so it's not bad, not bad at all."

And that's been a funny joke that I've shared a few times with friends.

It always gets a laugh.

Except for tonight.

My father-in-law called and said, "So how are things?"

And I did my little joke.

Met by silence.

Then my father-in-law speaks up and says, "I'm just here on the phone with your mother-in-law and Nan (my husband's grandma)."

I hear a little voice in the background say, "Hello, dear."

Oh dear.

Grandma heard the sponge bath joke.

That's bad.

That's bad all over.

Tae Kwon Do you know where you are?

My eldest wants to take Tae Kwon Do.

No problem.

Like any good mother would, I call the local Tae Kwon Do place. We live in a small town so I google the number and call the one place that's in town.

"Ma'am, you can come and observe a class any night of the week. Monday to Thursday between 5-6 pm."

Great! I take a quick look at the address off of google: 2212 12 Ave, memorize it and hop in the car with my girl.

And we drive down to 12 ave.

The Industrial section of town. We cruise up and down the street looking for our Tae Kwon Do place. My gut gives me this vibe that the gym ain't in the Industrial Park.

I vaguely remember being at a rummage sale at a church that was holding a Tae Kwon Do class. I head over to the church in hopes that I am just confused.

No one is there.

No activity is happening.

Everything is still and silent.

Back in the car to answer the questions of my bright 8 year old who wants to know why I didn't write down the address.

I ignore the question.

I stop a young man with scraggy hair on the street. My desperate voice asks if he knows where it is.

"Uh, yeah, go to the end of this street, turn right at Queen's Hotel, it's on your left."

Perfect! Finally a youth of the community leads the way for an elder member.

I follow his directions. I drive up and down the street three times.

My upstanding youth has now become a little punk, in my eyes.

It's no where to be seen.

I drive home.

I call the number on my google screen and find out from Courtney, the receptionist, that they are right by the Salvation Army.

I am convinced I'm blind because I drove past the Salvation Army three times and saw nothing.

The next day we head out at the same time because Courtney says, "We'll be there."

I google the address, write it down and head out.

We drive down to the Industrial section. And since there is no Salvation Army at that end of town, I drive down to the other end of town. I drive up and down that street and see nothing.

My brain is truly puzzled...until I think about how our local town and the nearest big city are part of the same Tae Kwon Do club.

And then I remember that the one in the big city is right next to a Salvation Army.

And then I realize I've been an idiot and depended on Google a little too much.

On a whim, I drive over to the church and what do I find?

Yes, that's right.

A Tae Kwon Do class, in session, like it is every Thursday night.

Because I, yes I oh-brilliant-mother-that-I-am had Googled and called the wrong Tae Kwon Do club and drove around trying to locate it in my town.

I think this is a new personal low in the "Oblivious to the Obvious" portion in my life.

Sigh.

I said I wasn't going to lose my head....

I had a really fun morning.

It may have something to do with the fact that I played this song.

Seriously, it just makes me giggle.

Especially Hugh's hair.

And I like to snap my fingers when they snap their fingers and I pretend that my wardrobe changes.

But it doesn't.

I still have my pajamas on.

Sigh.

This Mary Poppins method of getting dressed must be re-thought.

And now a word from the indestructible plastic toy company

You've gotta find a way to get out of your own way, so you can progress in life.

Steve Carlton

The toy lives.

And as it lives, I suffer.

--Not from the knowledge that I intentionally let it fall to a demise by drowning

--Not from turning a blind eye as it bobbed up for air the third time

--Not from the notion that I am a mother who would let a noisy toy be destroyed by what seemed to be "only an accident."

No, I suffer for a different sort of reason.

I suffer because it lives.

It refused to die and now...NOW...talks in a high-pitched fast paced voice that is ten times more annoying then the first.

And that, my friends, is what I call a big drink of Irony.

And the irony is that they wrote better without access to my quotes.

Steve Carlton

Death of a Talking Toy

I've done something I'm not proud of.

And yet, here I am, oh-so-willing to admit it to my readers.

Perhaps this will be a cleansing of the soul-- a redemption of sorts.

My son.

My pure and innocent son.

He owns a toy.

Not just any toy.

A toy that talks.

A toy that makes noise.

A lot of noise.

I saw him playing with this toy in the bath tub water.

And I thought, "I should pull that toy out before it gets wrecked."

And then I thought, "Or maybe not."

Water has destroyed a great many of things...why not make annoying talking toys another one of its casualties?

These things happen.

Or so I will tell myself tonight should I have trouble falling asleep over choosing to do nothing while a toy met it's demise.

Pedals

I've been off the "blogging bicycle" for a few months and it's time to get back on.

You know what they say about riding a bicycle...

you never forget.

However, it may be worth saying that I haven't truly ridden a bike in over ten years.

The last time I did, I fell in front of an old man raking leaves about 100 feet from where I had my precarious start. And it didn't matter if I was a 20 something young woman, there was a visceral urge to stick my tongue out at him and laugh at the pants he had yanked up to just below his arm pits.

Age is not indicative of maturity, my friends.

Carry that in your pocket and use it when the next opportunity arises.