Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Blah, Blah, Blah

I thought I would get a drop on the blog post before the clock strikes midnight. Too bad that didn't work as it's now 2 am. It's been a crazy day. We've gone from teenage angst to hilarity all within the speed of smell.

Luckily N has chilled - slightly. It might be from me shoving him outside and locking the door. For a few minutes. While I wave and pretend I can't hear him.

More like I handed him his MP3 and told him to go get his happy on. Which pretty much means your attitude sucks and either you fix or I'll fix it. My way involves a big stick. He smirked and took the hint and thank heavens, he got with the program.


I felt bad because he was disappointed over something, but he needs to learn to not take it out on everyone else. So I had to get him laughing about something because laughter is the spoonful of sugar that helps life to go down. It worked.

Fast forward a little bit and we're all helping Jared come up with a sentence for a number code. This was a recipe for serious goofiness because lately dude thinks just about anything I say is the most funny thing he's ever heard.

This gets old real quick.

When dude flops on the floor gasping for air, I'll give him a weird look which only makes him point and laugh even harder. I then say, "Now you're making fun of me? You saying I'm funny looking?" By this point, he's a lovely shade of pink, mouth hanging open, tongue hanging out which is rather gross and I wish he would quit, and no sound coming out of his mouth. I'm also thinking not much oxygen is getting in either hence the color change.

So there we were, older boys laughing at something I said, Jared on the floor not quite pink yet, and me trying to ignore them so I could write a blog post. I caught myself before I could say, "Sheesh people I'm trying to concentrate and come up with something to write about, not help you figure out your school stuff." Which is a good thing I didn't say it because I really don't want to be on the home school worst parent list.

I have some pride after all.

Word of that getting out and I might take all the awards. Except the abusive worst parent part because that's just wrong to be handing out awards for that. I think that's what they call enabling. I don't care that it comes with matching bracelets and a new wardrobe that involves stripes, there is a mandatory spa treatment that can take 5-10 years and who really has time to commit to that? I know I don't.

Where was I?

I thought maybe if I wrote this post (that it turning out sadder by the minute) that maybe I would actually follow through with the request/strong suggestion I hear every night. It's the 'don't stay up late'.

Define late.

He did.

Turns out I am up waaay past his definition of late.


I really don't get this request. Every night when I come to bed, my honey is out. Hair smushed every which way, face planted in a pillow which serves as both a squeegee for the drool and muffles the snoring. This leads me to think that I'm not affecting his sleep pattern at all so it really shouldn't matter what time it is.

I have told him this is when I write. The only time it's ever quiet around here and I'm left alone so I can actually finish a blooming sentence. I can't even go to the bathroom without someone bugging me for something. Am I the only mom out there that has decided to drip dry just so they could have a few more moments of peace?? If I'm at that stage, then needless to say I'm needing some me time.


So this is like a vain attempt at letting my train of thought try to heal and finish the track it was on. It's a work in progress. Clearly we're not there. (See all my earlier posts for further proof.)

But the train wreck doesn't stop there. Turns out the craziness sort of spilled over into my dreams. Hubster did ask me the other night what in the world was I dreaming about. I can't remember much of it other than I had to explain why I pulled some prank at wally world and I woke up saying, "really officer it was quite funny at the time..."

That got his attention.

Not that I would ever do something like that. Seriously. I'm a chronic chicken. I have been known to cluck and lay an egg when under too much pressure. I come up with sarcasm to keep the clucking at bay.

I think the sarcasm is all I'm left with at the end of the day. I told dear Hubby that I could write some spastic blog or take it out on him. And since I've only been blogging for a couple years, I think Hubs has had his fill and said to blog on.


Either that or it was put the baseball bat down - I can't remember.

I do remember how the dream got started. I was sort of freaking out earlier because I was opening up our mail when it turns out one of the letters wasn't for us. This is the 4th letter this week that doesn't belong here. But the person who lived here before us has the same first name as Hubs so I only saw the first part and opened it up before I caught the blunder.

And because I'm a frequent flyer of craziness and can be totally irrational, I started to wonder if that would be a federal offense and wondered if officer John and mailman Bob were going to show up on my door step to question me and confiscate my letter opener for evidence.

Yes, that is how my crazy rolls around here. I'm trying to come up with a theme song to go with it. You just know I'm hard core as I already have some street creds to my name. Big white chicken. I so would have gone with a jail house tat if it weren't for being chicken and all.

Maybe that is a sign of sleep deprivation. This would explain why Hubby dear has been trying to encourage me to sleep more. Poor guy must think sleep cures crazy.

3 comments:

rthling said...

Once upon a time, in a house far, far away, I would get serious looking letters addressed to a previous owner. I just threw them away the first year, with a chuckle that the sender was gonna have to work harder to find the guy they were after. But when a year or two had gone by, I finally got fed up with getting those letters and opened one. I figured there would be a number on it I could call and inform them that their guy was long gone, his house had been foreclosed upon, and he hadn't lived there for two years.
That's when I learned that the guy was still using our address (his old one) as his current one.
I ended up calling the creditor and they found him and prosecuted him for all sorts of stuff, including fraud.
Now, in our current home, which was also a foreclosure, we have actually had police at our door at 3 in the morning looking for the previous owners. Apparently, they owe some folks money. I'm just glad it wasn't a hit man from some "loan" agency that isn't registered with the BBB, you know?

Julie said...

My husband is always trying to get me to come to bed earlier. When I climb into bed in the wee hours of the morning, he always rolls over and says, "Do you know what time it is?" ... Why no Joe, I never learned to tell time. *rolls eyes*

*lol*

http://scrapgrrl.com

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