101 reasons why I’m an idiot

I should have known better.

The day did not start well. I stumbled down the steps and landed in not quite fresh cat-puke. The coffee maker malfunctioned and leaked coffee all over the counter. Not once, but three times. (I kept trying to make it work… addicted, much?) After sopping up the coffee and drinking what could only be called a slurry of grounds and hot water.. I landed on the couch.

I thought the dog was being extra friendly…. cuddling up right next to me… wriggling to get comfortable…. I was wrong. She was getting ready to throw up. On the couch. While I ran for the spot cleaner and paper towels.. she tried to help clean it up.. in that wonderful way that dogs clean up barf…. I almost threw up.

After cleaning up the mess (and cleaning myself) I realized the garbage hadn’t made it’s way to the curb. I opened the garage door to find bags blocking the path… I tossed the one nearest the door- attempting to clear a path and it opened like dandelion.. sprinkling garbage seeds all over the garage.*Sigh*. The sound of approaching garbage trucks pushed me on… Must. Beat. Truck.

I did. After waking up a college boy to help. Which is a little like waking a hungry lion. Dangerous. Cranky.

When I noticed that a shower was no longer an option but a necessity (garbage bags leak.Hate that.) I decided that it would be a good idea to multi task and dye my roots while my youngest ate breakfast.

I was wrong. I should have read the signs…. today was not a good day to dye my hair.

I should have rinsed it out when I noticed the goo was exactly the color of cat litter clumps.

“It never turns out the way it looks while its developing” I thought.

I waited the recommended 10 minutes, and then showered. I hoped a long hot shower and fresh hair color would refresh my  day. The “dark chocolate” color I’d chosen sounded like a fat free dessert treat for my roots. I should have known from the smell that the box had lied. It was a little more gassy beagle than dark chocolate… but I remained hopeful. I rinsed. And rinsed. As I watched the murky muddy water rinse down the drain I told myself… “it can’t be that color… that’s not dark chocolate.. ”

I toweled it dry and noticed that the roots and ends were somewhat different. (Think a nice cheap 1972 ombre’ yarn dark parts and light parts… browns and reds with some black.) “It’s just that it’s wet. It’ll be fine once it’s dry.”

It wasn’t.

My  “dark chocolate” is more “accidental goth.” Which is ok.. if that’s what you want.. but it’s not what I had in mind for Thanksgiving… and it’s a little too late for Halloween.

Yup. Today is one of those days… where everything goes wrong and you keep trying to make the best of it… as an accidental goth.

Ever have one of those ?

What do you do?

I think I’ll hit the bookstore…although with all those sharp pages I could end up dying of papercuts…

Re-post March ’08

“No.  No games today- you’ve been online WAY too much, we’re having a family day.” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were “fighting words.”

No worries-I was ready for a knock down, drag out, go the distance type battle.   In my arsenal I had the classic Mom weapons of:  “Because, I Said So” and “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say.” And- a Mom’s best weapon-  I was right. Balance had gone out the window with a new online game to conquer. Something had to be done and I was just the mom to do it.

However- my being right was quickly lost in doing wrong. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one prepared for a fight.  The child with whom I had engaged in battle- is most certainly, his mothers son.  We verbally dodged and paried for half an hour.  He gave (loud) reasons why the weekends should be his to do what he wants and I gave (even louder) reasons why he WOULD be doing what I said.

At some point, I forgot what the argument was about.  I didn’t care. It was now about making my kid (now, really a man) do what I said. Because I said so.

At one point, I looked over to find the youngest. He was trying to lip-read the Disney Channel with his fingers in his ears. He looked like a bystander in a spaghetti western gun-fight.  Afraid  a stray  that might hit him.

The yelling finally tapered off. The emotion did not.  The computers stayed off (HA! I won.) and everyone got ready for church.   We were even running EARLY.  (An event, here. This does not happen often.) However, the car ride was eerily quiet.  There were short, stilted tries at conversation.  All of which were answered with one word-non conversational answers.  “Yes. No.” Hurt, frustration and anger  filled the car like smoke.  It choked and strangled the conversation and the relationships.

Winning didn’t feel like I’d hoped it would.

Eventually, we drove in uncomfortable silence.  We walked in to church together but separate. We quietly took our seats. A video played.  It showed a family “connecting” via text, blog and cell, but not with each other.  I squirmed in my seat.

I looked at the notes in our program they were entitled “MySpace, or Ours?” Over the next few minutes- music, video and message communicated the message that had been lost in our verbal battle.   We laughed that unfomfortable:  “who followed us to church with a camera” laugh. My son kept elbowing me though out the service.  “Can you believe THIS is what church is about today??? It’s weird!” He said.

“It’s God.” I replied.  And started to feel the iceberg between us melt with the heat of truth gently shared.

In that short hour or so, both of our attitudes had changed. I watched my Man/Boy respond to God through the ministry of the service.  I watched him squirm, under the gentle conviction of an unbalanced life reflected on, and I squirmed along side of him, under conviction of another sort.

I didn’t think I was wrong.  But- I knew I had DONE wrong… The same message that I had wanted to communicate to Him, was communicated through out the entire service- with humor, with creativity and with respect.  All tools that I both profess and possess, but had thrown out the window as soon as I forgot I was the Mom and started a death match over control.  Ouch. Mommy-fail

We spent the afternoon at the Outdoorama.  (I feared permament blindness from all the camouflage.)  We ate junk food (nothing like a concession stand corn dog. YUM.) and I watched all three kids and their Dad fish in a giant bathtub. (Well, a trout pond, same thing. ) No less than 4 times throughout the day, my oldest said he was glad we had spent it together and that he knew we were right.  (The Dad had wisely stated his opinion without actually getting caught up in our battle… a very wise man.)

Eventually, it hit me.  My son was more mature than I was.  He had admitted he was wrong, he had allowed God to change his attitude.  I however, had not.  I wasn’t wrong in what I said… but I was wrong in how I said it.    I hate that. It totally saps the joy from being right.

The bus will bring him home this afternoon, and I will be here, waiting to apologize…….for forgetting I was the Mom;)

“Dear Lord- … I love you – and ask you to help me to communicate in a way that honors you and the children you’ve entrusted to my temporary care. Help me to DO right as well as BE right! amen.”

tom tom   I ALWAYS lock my car.  I am the one who nags my husband to lock his car.  But-   apparently- I messed up. Big time.  I know what happened.  The other night- on my way home from Target- The sunset was SPECTACULAR. ( you can see the pics if you scroll down)  I ran into the house- grabbed the kids -they know i’m crazy- and the camera and ran upstairs to watch it together.  In the commotion, I must have forgot to lock the truck.

Yesterday- when I went out to my car to go pick up groceries- I noticed my husband’s Tom-Tom- (His Christmas gift from last year) was GONE.  It had been on the dash board the night before.    Stolen. 

It’s just a “thing” but it made me so angry.  DH called the police- they will be by tonight to make a report.  But- the bottom line?  It’s gone.  Something special I bought for my hubby (who is hard to buy for like any man) is toast.  I was (ok- I still AM) furious.

The anger- I expected. What I didn’t expect- was the fear I felt later last night.  I felt vulnerable.  Afraid.  Like maybe our neighborhood isn’t as “safe” as I thought.  I checked and double checked the window and door locks before bed.   I turned on every light- inside and out.  

This morning, I realized some people live in fear like this all the time.  Their neighborhoods aren’t safe.  It isn’t just an ocassional thing.  It isn’t just “stuff” being stolen, but real violations.  real hurts.   I can’t imagine how hard that would be. 

This morning- I’m calmer.  I managed to pray for the person who stole the tom-tom.  I keep thinking “what a dumb thing to do- what a dumb thing to be imprisoned for”.  In all probability it’s a kid who wanted to make a few quick bucks.  Totally not worth being arrested for.  The police said there have been a few other cars broken into, other stuff stolen.  Who ever is doing this- has done it more than once.  Eventually, they will be caught. 

I hope they stop.  I hope they get some help.  I hope they find out their life and freedom is worth so much more than “stuff.” I hope they realize they are hurting people. 

The tom- tom can be replaced.  (besides- now I know what to buy him for Christmas this year).   But freedom, lost can’t be.  

I feel so bad for this person- and for those who live in crime ridden areas…. will you pray for them with me?

“Dear Jesus- you know I am angry. I am hurt. But- God- this is just a thing- so totally not as valuable as the person who stole it. I pray that they’d learn their value in your eyes. That they wouldn’t squander their life and freedom over “stuff”. Lord- I pray that I wouldn’t either. I may not steal, but God- you know the truth is I spend too much time worrying about, taking care of and cleaning- stuff. I guess I’m as guilty as anybody of wasting my life on stuff.

Help me to value people more than things- the way that you do. Jesus- I ask you to be with those who live with crime on a constant basis. I pray for them to have courage, and for protection. I pray for the police pfficers who confront crimes big and small, that you’d be with them and protect them, adn give them wisdom and courage. And- Lord- it would be nice if the police could get the stupid tom-tom back… I love you Lord- amen”

Scene 1-Brazilian Kitty Waxing- Sometime Friday…

The boy- has once again found something to get into. He’s been on a “waxing” kick… and it’s not waning. I keep my eyebrow wax under the bathroom counter. (Before you say anything…I don’t anymore…)

While under the guise of a need for “privacy” I left him in the bathroom unatttended for a few minutes. FYI: “Privacy” is code for: “I need to poop, Mom- leave me alone” (He’s five- and now getting so much more refined in his manners…NOT) Anyway- he privately once again discovered the wax. I found drips and drops along the counter and floor.

I cleaned it up- and put him in time out.

All was once again calm.

Hours later- I went to have some privacy of my own…..when I discovered a clump of suspiscious white cat hair on the counter. A CLUMP, I tell you. Not just a few kitty strands. I swiped at the fur….when I realized it was stuck.

Poor Cappucino, (our white long haired “good cat”) must have learned the hard way how painful a bikini waxing is…..sat in a missed drop of wax….and RIPPPPP. Brazilian style kitty butt. (ok I’m exaggerating…. I couldn’t find any bald spots…he was fine…but there WAS a clump of fluff on the counter!) Hmmmm maybe now he’ll stay off the countertops.

Scene 2- The daring old mom, flys down the steps- sometime- yesterday

How many times have I said… “Don’t play on the steps?” Apparently I should have listened, to myself.

Standing at the top of the steps- while I was holding him, Noah said: “Don’t drop me Mommy!”

“I would never drop you, goofy!” Then, being the outrageously funny and fun mom that I am, I tipped him back wards… just far enough that he’d feel like I may actually drop him. He laughed as I snapped him back upright.

That’s when I learned a lesson in physics.

Nyloned feet
+ carpeted steps
+ wiggling 5 year old
+ Old Mom off balance

= a rather unpleasant way to slip slide and bounce down a flight of steps.

My feet slid out from under me… I held on to my little man with all my might, and bounce/slid down 14 steps on my left hip and elbow—- The one struggling to hold onto Mr Noah…

Most importantly- he’s fine- and No, I did not drop him.

However- this morning- my shoulder/back feels like burning lead and I may just be making an un-planned trip to the urgent care……

The worst part? It’s affecting my knitting. But not enough to stop me;)

Cast on Central Park Hoodie #2- In Cascade Sierra “Raspberry” Colorway.

I’m about to cast off for the shoulder shaping on the back. (I am knitting it a bit longer than the pattern— I’m rather long waisted- (and short legged- now that’s attractive;)

I wore my CPH on Sunday…. I love that sweater, but will need one that isn’t as heavy for spring/summer wearing. The Sierra is an 80 cotton 20 wool blend. And I’m knitting it a bit looser. Should be just the thing- If I don’t end up with my arm immobilized or something!

cookies and CPH 003

Scene 3- A guilt induced fit of “Good Mommy Cookie Baking”

No calamity- but after goofing around on the steps and falling with my little man- the residual guilt levels were still quite high…. so after a nice tub full of bubbles (Noah not me– although a long hot soak sounds wonderful about now…) we decided to bake and decorate some Easter cookies…..well- we decorated cookies and licked the spatulas….;)

cookies and CPH 001 cookies and CPH 002

Dear Lord- thanks for not letting me smoosh my little guy..on the steps…please heal my shoulder- and help me be patient as it heals…Thank you Lord- for all you did on the very first Easter… I love you Lord- amen!