Our Little Planner

Shnookie4 has reached that ripe old age of nine, where you start to look ahead and plan in minute detail the next 72 years of your life. Isn't your nine-year-old doing that? (Heck, I have a 17-yr-old who struggles to plan the next 72 MINUTES of his life.)

The other night, Hubby was tucking Shnookie4 into bed, and she says:

"I've been making some plans. When I grow up I want a nice house. Nothing too big, but just kinda big. (Describes every detail of the backyard)I want to decorate the house so that it's colorful but not too flashy. Like I want a room in two main colors, with just a hint of a third color."

Do you thing HGTV is on too much in our house?

Then a few days ago, after school, she tells me:

"Mom, I've decided that when I grow up, I want to be a genius in college."

I'm so glad she's pacing herself. There's just no use wasting genius on public school. She's gonna save it for the big leagues.

Once again, Target changes my life

So I got one of my wild hairs the other day. I was actually at the doctor with my mother-in-law, Dixie, and I was reading about organization in a magazine. It suggested keeping a folder with you of little things you need to do--thank you notes, bills, etc--so that if you're waiting somewhere (oh say, at a doctor's office), you can get those little things done. The lightbulb went on, which in turn triggered a wild hair, and I was at Target that very afternoon looking for that very thing. What I found was PERFECTION, and I don't just throw that word around lightly. Perfection for me entails the following formula:
something even better than I'd envisioned in my wildest dreams
+
the possibility of embellishing
+
off the clearance rack.

She shoots, she scores!!
These beauties were all of the above, cardboard and canvas portable file purse-like thingys. (Yes, that's what the label said. Prove me wrong.) I was prepared to use them straight off the shelf, but those cardboard sides screamed at me "paper me, embellish me, make me all that I can be!" (These are obviously file thingys with some military tendencies.)

So, I did.

I made one for my neighbor for her b-day, and one for me, and one more because I just couldn't stop myself. And now a picture:



I am going to fill mine with not only the things they suggested, but also those random magazines/catalogs that are just too cool to throw away before looking through, and the school newsletters I need to read, and all of the other stuff I never seem to get to. (maybe the dishes??) Then when I'm waiting in the car for a kid to get out of practice, I can whip something out, do it, and feel triumphant.

That mom driving down the street in her minivan with a smug smile on her face? That will be me.

867-530ni-i-ine.....plus 1 80wu-uh-uh-n

It has happened to Utah. We now have to dial 1+our area code to call our next door neighbors. It’s such a pain! Seriously, now it’s more efficient to just run next door rather than dial ALL ELEVEN DIGITS. And it’s even worse for me, because I just cannot adapt. So I end up dialing EIGHTEEN digits by the time I dial the old way, get the ‘wee-WEE-wee I’m sorry…” lady, and re-dial the new way. It’s been like ten days since they made the change, and I’m still doing it wrong 90% of the time! Do you realize how many precious minutes of my life have been wasted by this conspiracy?

Let me just admit right here that numbers are not my friends. I can remember the name of every dog in a 6-block radius, but do not expect me to retain anything number-oriented in my brain. Thus, it takes me FOR.EV.ER to learn a new phone number. I’ve had the same cell phone for 3 years, and I still have to ask my kids for the number. If someone tells me a phone number and I have to dial it 2 seconds later, I will get every digit wrong. Hubby changed his work number five months ago, and I never call him, because I CAN’T REMEMBER THE NUMBER. (Hmm…this sheds some light on WHY he changed the number…)

OK, so I believe I have established that I am number challenged. Add this area code debacle into the mix, and I’m practically paralyzed. You know how you spend 5 minutes looking up a number and then close the phone book while it’s dialing? Yup. I get the ‘I’m sorry…’ lady every time and have to start all over. I’m a mess. My kids are going hungry, I don’t have time to shower, and I’ve lost all of my money to the swearing jar.

AND IT’S NOT JUST ME!! My own mother didn’t call me for a week, because she’d had me on speed dial and couldn’t find my number! (Which is why, BTW, I never put anyone on speed dial—if I do, I’ll never be forced to remember their number and I’ll be unable to contact them in an emergency. As I’ve plainly demonstrated, this is just such an emergency.) Our friends live in a gated community, and no one could get in or out for a couple days until they re-programmed the gate for their new phone numbers. SEE?? These things have global repercussions! It’s no coincidence that the economy started tanking at the exact same moment the state of Utah hatched this inane plan.

If you’d like to discuss this matter at length, give me a call. I’d call you but, well………duh!

!!YADHTRIB YPPAH

Shnookie4 turned the ripe old age of nine this week. Despite all of the begging, guilt-tripping, subliminal images and unwilling hypnotism, the child just will not conform to my anti-growing wishes. I don't know what to do with her!! I just can't get through to her, and I'm at my wits end. She's even resisting now when I swaddle her and rock her to sleep at night with a bottle. I blame it on that public school we send her to. They are just way too liberal with their 'grow up and be yourself' dribble.

So we threw a big party for the rebellious child. It was a backwards party, and the TEN girls she invited had a great time. The mom did not. I NEVER have let the kids invite more than seven friends to their parties, because...well...I'm just not THAT mom. I know my limitations (see last post about terrorizing innocent children). It was a weak moment when I told Shnookie4 she could invite all 10 of her friends. It was Tuesday...the party was Friday...and I was sure that most of them would not be able to come. Apparently, these are 8-yr-olds with very little on their plates, because there they were--every single one of them--amped up on sugar and ready to par-teh. Here they are in a rare physically restrained moment (you can't tell, but all of their mouths were still working a million miles a minute):



We played 'pin the donkey on the tail,' silent chairs (walk around the chairs in silence, sit when the music STARTS), backwards relays, ate the upside-down cupcakes UNDER the table, said 'goodbye' instead of 'hello,' and all sorts of other silliness. Of course, the kids thought it was great fun to tell me 'yes' when they meant 'no' and let me try to figure out what they meant. I was so over that within minutes!

It was wild. One of the gentler, meeker souls that attended the party literally ran out the door when her mom came to pick her up. The mom was inside talking to me, and her daughter was out in the car, buckled up and ready to jet. It was that crazy of a party.

Now we just have to send out the thank-you invitation notes (because we sent out the thank you notes as invitations--written backwards of course. It's all backwards--get it?) and it will all be behind me.

That was Friday, and on Saturday, we had a much more relaxed day. We had our Somalie friends, Rugia and Fatuma come stay the day with us. They are sisters who were relocated in Utah from a Somalian refugee camp. (I can't imagine two places more different than Somalia and Utah, but it is what it is, I guess!) We went swimming and the girls played a lot of Wii, and they seemed to have a great time. Aren't they gorgeous??

And in my spare time I torture puppies

I have had one of those do-everything-all-at-the-same-time-and-then-do-some-more weeks. It’s like everyone else’s calendars read “if you have something to do that involves Erin, plan it for this week.” It’s a giant conspiracy, I tell ya. (It’s not being paranoid if it’s true, btw.)

At the very least, the grade school had it out for me, because I had 3 major commitments there, two of which required me to teach and herd boatloads of children. I’m pretty sure they’ll never invite me back, based on how grouchy I was by the third visit. I know there’s one 5th grade boy in particular who will sleep with one eye open from now on.

Good place to insert soapbox… Why is it that so many of today’s kids think they rule the world? I’m no “kids should be seen and not heard” person (well…55% of the time), but really—-do they have to talk ALL of the time? And with that much attitude? I swear there are too many parents who are literally afraid of their kids, and can’t say “Hey, maybe when an adult speaks to you, you shouldn’t mock them to their face.” Well, those parents better sleep with one eye open too, cause I’ve got their number. That’s right, world wide web, I’m calling out wimpy parents everywhere.

Okay, raise your hand if you’re never leaving me alone with your kids again. (Heck, I've got my own hand raised. This chic is s-c-a-r-y.)

Stalker Mom Hits Paydirt

I know I've mentioned before that my oldest child is not much into communication...at least not with us. Judging by his texting record, he knows how to do it--A LOT.

Let's be honest, though, how teens text can hardly be called communication. "You suck." "No, You suck." "No YOU suck" "Huh-uh" "Uh-huh" and so on. (And oops--I actually included punctuation there for a second. As if.) I've texted with my son. He answers most of my queries with "You would" or "Maybe" as in:

(Me) I need you to come home for dinner.
(Him) You would
(Me) So you'll be home at 6:00?
(Him) Maybe
(Me) I'm going to be upset if you're not here.
(Him) You would

(To be fair, he always does what I ask him to, so I enjoy his sarcastic little answers. I might even do the same to him. But admitting all of that would ruin my point, so let's pretend this paragraph doesn't exist.)

When I succumbed to the Facebook pressure, I hesitantly sent a friend invitation to my son. I could just picture him cringing at the thought of letting his mom into this corner of his life. I was pleasantly surprised when he accepted my invitation right away (not with any fanfare, mind you--there was no "Look everyone! My mom's here! Hooray!!!).

Having access to my son's Facebook wall has opened up a whole new world of deep communication for us. He's pretty diligent about updating his status on there. Sure, most of the time what he posts makes absolutely no sense (which is the way he likes it IMHO.), such as this one: "Shnookie 1 is rain master." Ooooookaaaaay...

HOWEVER, a lot of the time I get more out of his little one-liner synopses than I could ever gather from 3 sentences of forced face-to-face conversation. For example, yesterday I bopped on over there and found this little gem: "Shnookie 1 is happy with everything that's going on." Whoa. That's just too much information for mom to handle--especially in complete sentence format. He almost sounds--dare I say it--like an actual mature person.

(I wonder where he learned sarcasm?)

It is rather ridiculous how happy Shnook 1's statement made hubby and me. If you have one of those 'can't shut them up' teenage boys (I'm sure they're out there...somewhere...maybe?), this might not make sense to you. But for ME, I'm walking on air. It's the most revealing conversation he and I have had all year.

In Potty News...

I am finally ready to post a picture of an entire remodeled room. We've done so much, but I hate sharing a room until it's all done, and...well...that's a difficult concept for me. I can't think of a single room in my house that I consider 'done,'and I've been at it for 11 years. (Wait--my master closet is done. But don't ask for a picture of it. I said it was done...that doesn't mean it's clean.)

Okay, so the big whole room I'm ready to show is our powder room. (Ya know--baby steps.) And it's not done. (Surprise.) I still have to hang some art, but I can't wait that long.

Now, keep in mind that this was Boozer's room for the first 8 months of his life, so it was trashed (thus the remodel). Try not to be frightened. Okay, so here's the before:



And here--ta dum, ta dum--is the after:



I know the bright colors aren't for everyone, but wow, do I love them!! We're all a little overly giddy about the whole thing, but when you consider that we haven't been able to use this bathroom--our only main floor potty--for a year, it's a tad more understandable. It's a long hike up or down a flight of stairs when ya gotta go, KWIM?

The moral of today's post? If you want a new bathroom, move a massive puppy into it, wait a year, and viola!