Having been my children's primary care provider (i.e. Mom) for the last 17 years (I know, I'm old, SHUDDUP!) I look forward to impromptu school holidays, like Columbus Day, when I don't have to cook, clean or do anything special (like, cook or clean) normally associated with celebrating more traditional gift-giving and feasting-type holidays.
I kind of get excited when my husband, Garth (not his real name) happens to have the day off, too!
Still.
Working from home does have its disadvantages.
"When is So-and-So and What's Her Name coming over, again?"
We're helping a couple of friends out by sitting their kids, today (what's two more, right?) and by we…of course…I mean, Garth (not his real name!)
"I'm going to make a worm box!"
Aaaaand, I have to be honest, I am feeling a little threatened at the moment.
"Cool, can we help!"
Honestly, a worm box?
So, I went outside (seeing as I showered, got dressed and everything) to take a look at this fantastical worm box.
Aaaaand, not ONLY is it a fantastical way to get kids outside (so, mommy can get a jump start on a couple of writing projects this week) not to mention, actually convincing them that something low-tech, like digging for worms is, you know, fun (their names are Jeffrey, Skittles and Bob) but, Garth (not his real name) got a chance to demonstrate his multi-tasking skills, by cleaning out my shredder, too.
DAMMIT!
"Do you need any clean clothes for your trip, tomorrow?"
Aaaand, I'm okay with that AND totally crushing on my husband's feminine side…today!
(Disclosure: Garth (not his real name) just reminded me that my son and his friend wanted nothing to do with the outdoors and now they are ALL folding socks.)
Boys, however, ARE stewpid!
(Disclosure: I was able to convince the boys that…yeah…they REALLY would probably rather be outside, too.)
We are ALL major Ty Pennington fans (okay, mostly me) so, last night, the kids and I settled in on the couch and watched the premiere episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.
Not even five minutes into the show, man, and I was reaching for the Kleenex.
Then, Ty let the families know that Girls (and Boys) Hope will be getting full four-year college scholarships (including room, books and board) this time, my kids were reaching for the Kleenex and I think a couple of them even started to cry.
"Maybe we should apply to be on the show, Mom!"
Oh, if I had a dollar for each time I wished (out loud) for Ty to come crashing through the drywall, well, it would be nice to actually quit using our garage…as a basement.
Never mind, worrying about how in the heck we're sending our kids to college.
"There are A LOT of people who need help more, right Mom?"
Always. Still. It WOULD be nice not to explain that, you know, we don't decorate in early drywall…on purpose.
Then, Ty started interviewing the families.
"We never let my daughter know that we couldn't afford to send her to college."
I grabbed another tissue and cursed myself (in my head) for not thinking and doing the same thing.
Oh, it's NOT like we're going around saying stuff like:
Heather: "I want to go to Boston University."
Holly: "I'd like to go to Italy and study art."
Glen: "I want to go to Rutgers."
"Me: Well you can ALL just FUHGHETABOUTIT!"
But, practically speaking:
Me: "That WOULD be nice, maybe, I dunno, we'll see."
Then, my youngest (she's 9) snuggled in closer.
"Well, I love my home."
[bites lower lip]
"I think our house is perfect for us, right mommy?"
[squish]
I do now. And, if I didn't, I certainly would NOT say it (out loud) not anymore.
I know, I know, I said it…housewife…it's a bad word…however, rather than get into a debate on whether stay-at-home mom is any better (honestly, I really don't give two bon-bons about labels) say what you want, just, don't call me desperate.
Unless, we're all out of coffee AND milk [shiver] or, the microwave explodes AND takes the toaster with it.
What? It can happen, trust me.
Aaaaanyway, I work from home…BAH!…there I go again…okay, so, like do working moms stop working, you know, once they get home from work?
Color me confused (preferably, in a soft and slightly muted tone, like, heather gray) but, I thought we were ALL passed the, I know you are, but what am I, sort of thing.
I still remember that fateful day, when my husband Garth (not his real name) and I nervously sat down at the conference table, distracting the lawyer long enough to hand us each styrofoam cups of stale coffee and, between the 3 of us, was the only one able to hold a pen steady enough to sign the papers.
"I think I'm gonna throw up!"
I was a few weeks pregnant with our first daughter (commuting, while under the influence of gestation, sucks wet poodle, btw!) and, well, WE WERE BUYING OUR FIRST HOUSE!
"You're young, yet, there's still time."
The lawyer, who seemed very well-versed in the matter, insisted that investing in a starter home was the way to go and that our timing could NOT have been better.
"As long as you move before the kid starts kindergarten!"
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, 2 refinances and 1 doofus-dawg, later (give or take a couple of goldfish) both my husband and I have FINALLY accepted the fact that we are, you know, totally screwed.
"Wow, it's a lot bigger than I thought!"
If I had a dollar for each time a repairman has said that to me, well, I'd be able to park my car in the garage, by now.
"We get that, a lot."
Not to mention, folks who are surprised to find that our house, you know, looks A LOT different…on the inside.
"Doing some work, I see."
It's not like we have this thing for
dry wall (although, after a while, you DO sorta get used it) but, after
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, etc., etc., other stuff has taken priority
(like, you know, food) and, well, there's ALWAYS something, right?
"How long have you been renovating?"
This particular repairman, however, seemed to be genuinely interested.
"Let's see, um, about 17 years."
The poor guy stopped laughing as soon as he realized that I was, you know, serious.
"Uh-huh, so, okay, I'm done here, buh-bye."
Granted, it's not the smallest house on the block (my 103 year-old next door neighbor has owned that title for, well, over 100 years, now) and, with a few of gallons of paint (give or take a couple of barrels) or, a VERY LARGE construction crew, looking for some pro bono work, who knows?
"Um, did you back-flush the pool, today?"
Because, you see, these days, I am the Queen of Denial AND Supreme Back-flusher!
"Why?"
Then, I remembered….that I forgot…to turn the shut-off valve, you know, back on.
"You burned up the motor!"
Long story, short (you're welcome!) that same day, we also ended up taking my car into the shop (it was either that, or never be able to make a left turn, ever again!) and that little bit of money I just got paid (because, you know, I do work, sometimes) uh-huh, I'm sending one of the Pep Boys on a lovely vacation…this summer.
"You owe your father a cup of coffee."
Apparently, my dad made a big stink about paying for the new pump in the pool store and, well, I owed the man a piece of cake AND dinner for the next 2 weeks, too.
"Why are you ALL wet?"
Apparently, the pump is a whole LOT stronger than our old one, the pressure split the out-take hose and being doused with chlorinated water, while under the influence of coffee (and cake) makes you do this:
What? Melisa thought it was funny when I told her this same EXACT story on Monday (STILL don't have my car, sucks donkey balls, btw!) or, maybe she was just humoring me, either way.
[snort]
Still, it's OUR home, the kids seem to like it and I wouldn't trade this house, or the love I felt for my husband, at that particular moment, for all the philanthropically-inclined contractors in the world.
[wipes eyes]
Okay, maybe Ty Pennington (relax, my husband already knows and he's okay with it) or one of the HGTV Dream Homes (I've been trying to win, since 2001, DAMMIT!) but, let's not open that OLD wound, okay?
Soooooo, what do ya' think? Cynthia at NW Blog Design put together an awesome new look for Scribbit (seriously, go take a peek, I'm pretty sure Michelle won't mind) and, well, in my opinion, her redesign fits the feel of her blog, very well!
"Love what you did at Scribbit's place!"
So, I thought, maybe, juuuuuuust maybe, Cyn could help even a dork (like me) get a virtual remodel — but, how DOES one best define This Full House?
Um, shuddup, I know, that was a rhetorical question, really.
After 16 years of perpetual renovation, (see virtual tour) IRL, I'm STILL staring at drywall, but we've ALL grown used to it and my house has this laid-back, sort of shabby ecclectic feel.
Even IF my house is a mess (IRL) I believe that Cyn hit the nail right on the head and, well, I really, really, like what she's done with the place!
"Honey, I blew up my navigation bar!"
Yeah, I was messing around a little and the nav bar does NOT work, at the moment (I know, act surprised, anyway) but, Cyn said she would help me fix it (she's a saint, really) right after she redoes my other blog, to match!
Since, you know, Ty Pennington won't even return my calls and NO, can't say as I blame him, either.
Stupid drywall!
[Edited to add: I fixed the nav bar…all…by..ownself…and, well, if only I could say the same for the rest of the house — stupid under-cabinet lighting!]
I'm an impulsive mover. I move things. From here, to there, or maybe it will look better in THAT corner.
If I had a dollar, for every time my husband, Garth [not his real name] came home to find the house looking a little, you know, different? Hmph. Well, the poor guy could use a pair of industrial strength shin guards!
"YOUCH, when DID THIS get in here!?!?"
I'd be doing dishes (yes, dishwasher is STILL broken) and I'll be staring out the kitchen window, when, all of a sudden, it would hit me.
"Maybe the kitchen table would look better in the dining room?"
It's a sickness, I know.
"We'll be there, tomorrow, between 12 and 3."
So, I, once again, ignored the growing pile of clean laundry (don't try this at home, I AM A PROFESSIONAL!) and continued to deny the fact that the holidays have been over for, like the last two weeks (it's gonna be a Valentine's tree) and started, you know, moving stuff.
From here, to there, etc… (desk looks like a television hutch, because, you know, it was) to make room for a new couch!
[heart's all a flutter]
I've been saving up for this baby (yes, with MY own money) and FINALLY bought one (yes, with REAL money) with the intention of cozey-ing-up our game-slash-laundry-slash-media-slash-mom's hideout-slash-playroom.
"I'll MAKE IT fit!"
Did I mention, the room is cozy, or that the doorway, to get in, is even, you know, a cozier fit?
"It ain't gonna fit through that door, lady."
Der. I know. That's why I spent the rest of the morning, cleaning up after the dawg (two whole hanging baskets full of Doofus-dung, thank goodness it was frozen, you're welcome!) so that the delivery dudes could bring Molly (we name our cars, too) through the back door.
"Mierda!"
Now, I don't remember much of my high school Spanish (brain cells are at a premium, these days) how-evuh, I do speak several languages…of POOP!
Long story, short (you're welcome) Miss Molly fit right in and it's as if I designed the room around her, right?
Riiiiight. Color my decorating style as, "sheer dumb luck," whatever, sometimes, change is good — I am THRILLED with the end result and, well, guess where I'm spending the rest of MY morning?
Go ahead, I'll wait.
Aaaaaand, YES, I am totally ignoring the fact that I forgot to lock the cabinet and Doofus-Dawg got into the garbage, AGAIN!!!
Over the years, I've grown accustomed to having family over for the holidays and, as the kids get older, I find myself worrying less about the table setting (nope, it doesn't match) or, the food preparation (yes, some of it comes out of a can) not to mention, I don't bother too much about making lists, anymore (seriously?) or, worry whether I've managed to hunt down each and every dust bunny (they're sort of like pets, really and I've even named a few) or not.
Because, no matter how my husband, Garth [not his real name] and I try, we've come to accept the simple fact that, with a family as big as ours (direct and extended) somethings just don't go right and, before you can say, "Pass the potatoes," someone's puking all over your nice, clean and shiny floors.
Last year?
I pretty much insisted that I would not mind it, in the least, if my brother and his wife, you know, did Thanksgiving.
So, the rest of my kids are getting used to learning how to share, rather than compete, for our attention (unfortunately, these days, everything is viral) and my parents, well, they're getting older, too.
Each year, we get to spend together, however difficult, unplanned, or imperfect, IS a gift.
All things considered, along with a few things I haven't bothered to mention (you're welcome) I am very thankful that this passed year wasn't, you know, any worse.
Although, we probably won't be able to see him and my SIL on Thursday (stupid cancer) I am thankful to know that they are, at least, you know, within spitting distance.
[hocks-a-loogie]
Today?
I'm pretty much ready to take back Thanksgiving and
make that bitch mine.
"Strep test came back negative, but there's a lot of puss on his tonsils and, well, it could be mono."
Glen is home with…um…something…so, we're waiting and hoping his fever breaks, before Thursday and well, just remember to call first, okay?
"Mom, it's up to 103!!!"
Um…OH!…look over there!
[sniff-sniff]
"Are we still having Thanksgiving?"
Did you happen to notice my nice shiny clean floors?
"Oh yes, there WILL be turkey, dammit!!!"
[hocks-a-loogie]
Have a Happy Thanksgiving — or a reasonable facsimile, thereof.
Mom, but what BIG ARMS you have — why, yes, the better to hug you with, my dear!
For years (or, as long as this blog has existed…anyways) I have considered the phrase, "Stay-at-Home-Mom" an oxymoron, like:
The Great Depression – to which, my in-laws insist that it was, in fact, you know, not so great.
Dry lake – although, I don't seem to have an immediate problem with dry wine.
Original copy – as opposed to, a copied original, I think.
Clearly misunderstood – is one of my husband's favorite phrases, actually (he's married to me, I know, SHUDUP!)
Makes no sense, right? Sort of like a house wife. What is she, once she leaves the house; does she become a part-time wife; if she drives a car, is she cheating on the house; does anyone else spend way too much time thinking about stupid stuff, like this?
Or, the bigger question (in my mind) does it really matter?
"What do you mean, you got a job?"
Apparently, to some of my children, it really does.
"Who's gonna stay at home, with us?"
Yes, I got a job…well, if you consider working 2 1/2 hours, 3 times a week, a job, I mean…but, it DOES mean actually leaving the house and, you know, getting paid!
"I will, silly."
Once again, I was clearly misunderstood.
"Phew, I thought you said you got a job?"
See what I mean?
"Yes, I start next week!"
I swear, you could hear all 4 of their gorgeous little minds, slam on their imaginary brakes and, truth be told, I was feeling a little guilty about finding amusement in their mass confusion.
"GAH…but, you said…d'oh, I don't get!"
I mean, it should be easy enough to explain:
Yes, mommy got a job.
No, not like daddy's.
Yes, I will be getting paid.
No, I will not have any vacation, or sick days.
Yes, I have to get dressed and leave the house.
No, I will not be home for soccer practice, or girl scouts.
Yes, I will be home for dinner, or when you're home sick, from school.
No, you can't come with me.
Yes, it's a real job.
Then, there's the whole SAHM thing:
Yes, I will be home, during the day, mostly.
No, I can't go to work in my pajamas.
Yes, I will be getting paid, on time and FOR REAL!
No, it STILL won't get us to Disney…yet.
Yes, I still get to keep my day job, mostly.
No, I don't know how I will find the time, either.
Either way, IMHO — in my humble opinion — no, it really doesn't matter.
The job?
I don't know how to describe it, other than, it involves hanging out with a bunch of sweaty women and trying, real hard, not to break any really expensive exercise equipment.
This is what it looks like, when your toilet needs a root canal!
I was 5 months pregnant when we moved into our house and, almost 16 years later, my husband Garth [not his real name] and I still lovingly refer to it as, "our starter home."
"Why don't you just sell it, as is, and move over here?"
No, you can't break toilet water — though, in this house, you really never can tell — but, my poor husband had just gotten home from taking himself, along with my two oldest girls, to the doctor's office and finished sending me this text:
"Heather has strep, I've got bronchitis, waiting on Holly's culture…"
To which I promptly texted back:
"Holy Sh*t!"
Honestly, I felt bad for Garth [not his real name] I really did. Still. Having spent the last 6 days with him…home…sick…then, the kids getting sick (again!) well, I just knew it wouldn't be long.
"We're closing in 15 minutes."
I tried to explain to the nice girl manning (or, femaling?) the doctor's office that I had this really important trip coming up, that requires me to be away from home, for a couple of days, alone, without having to pack any soccer cleats, or field hockey sticks, not to mention, making multiple trips to the hardware store, or supermarket, while escorting a bunch of rowdy kids, or a couple of moody teenagers, not to mention, hovering over a cranky husband, while he tries to fix something, AGAIN and, well, MY THROAT HURTS DAMMIT!!!
"Okay, Mrs. Thompson, your culture came back negative."
[eyes go wide]
"Er, given the circumstances at home, I'm going to write out a script, anyway."
No, I would never advocate the overuse of antibiotics. However, this is my house, not yours and well, something's gotta give, sometime.
This week, it's the toilet.
"Oh, and your blood pressure is higher than usual."
Aaaaand, I hear that the west coast is really beautiful this time of year — but, I really don't care — given the circumstances here, at home, I'll be happy just to be able to get away and NOT worry about taking my sweet time in the shower, or use a toilet that works!