No apologies
It's been a long time, I know. Chaos has swallowed whole the Casa de Testosterone. And I'm here, really and truly, just to let you know I'm still breathing. Barely.
School started. And within a week, soccer started. Two different teams, two different practices, two different games on Saturdays. So for almost a month now we have existed from one even to the next, barely catching our breath. Gavin started school with a cold. Almost a month later, he's almost better, and the rest of us have it. We've done school, we've done soccer, we've gone with friends to learn how to make home made tamales, we've been to concerts, we've been to swim parties, we've been to the ER. And this, my friends, is parenthood.
And here is a snippet of 24 hours. Just 24 hours of a holiday weekend, just so you know what you've been missing. Sunday morning with four head colds means no church, because you can't go to nursery oozing green snot, and I can't shake him off my leg fast enough for them to not notice and body block me at the door. I've tried. They get some sort of specialized training, I think. But it's ok...God knows we love him from home and through congestion. Not that we slept in, mind you. Because the wild boys were up and I heard them escaping from the garage at about 6:45 am.
On a Sunday.
On a holiday weekend, dammit.
And so I ventured out to the deck, yelling at two boys in pajamas on their jungle gym (in the mud, mind you, because hey, it rained just enough for that) to get back in side and watch television like normal children. Please, for the love of all that's holy!!! We'll never get better if you don't let us sleep!!!
Yeah, right. So I laid in bed, fighting getting up, staring at amazement as the cop snored, and poking him occasionally because I was bitter and awake. That's love, people. OK, that's marriage. But I do love him.
I changed out of pajamas and put on JUST enough makeup to not frighten the natives and went to the store to pick up the three things I forgot for the crock pot dinner that needed to be started almost immediately upon getting out of bed. As Murphy's law dictates, and my luck always follows, I ran in to several people I know who apparently needed to make conversation with me right then, sans any redeeming cosmetics, and I survived. So I thought to celebrate I'd treat the wild boys and pick up some bear claws.
Here's what I've learned. Bear claws have virtually no nutritional value whatsoever. They are nothing but sugar. Which is nothing but crack for young children. You think you know this. I think I realize this. But somehow I ALWAYS manage to forget it and be shocked when their pupils blow and they start speaking in tongues while running in a blur throughout the house.
Which resulted in me having to do house cleaning, while they "helped" the cop with construction of a foot bridge that apparently didn't meet his OCD standards the first time he built it. And somehow, we timed things perfectly to where the house was clean and dinner was ready as they were cleaning up outside. During which Gabe got sawdust blown in his eye by an over zealous six year old with a shop vac who shall remain nameless.
Clean Gabe, plate food, clean Gavin, sit to eat. Gabe, through tears, refused to consume anything. Warning sign number one. Gavin refused to eat our amazing Cuban pork roast because: "I know what pork is, Dad. It's a pig. They roll in mud. And at the state fair with Grandma and Grandpa we got to see pigs being born. They stick their hands up INTO THE PIG'S PRIVATES and pull the babies out, and the babies come out yellow Dad. Yellow. That's pretty disgusting, Dad. Wish you would've made beef."
I looked at the cop, who was sipping his cocktail while his eye twitched, and stood to make some instant macaroni. It was just easier.
The next 12 hours involved a trip to the ER for the eye injury, a trip to the pediatric optometrist, and trying to teach Gavin how to ride a two wheeler. He nailed it, really, almost immediately. Well, almost immediately after nailing me as I tried to take video. Oh, and Gabe once. Who laid on the ground, stunned, a mass of bicycle and boy, and screamed every time Gavin got on the bike thereafter.
And now I'm home. Just finished paying bills, just about to make dinner, watching Gavin trying to close the trunk of my SUV with a deck broom which he thinks I don't notice, listening to Gabe make up songs at about a million decibels in the microphone of his keyboard.
That, dear readers, is the reason for the delay. Because really, it's like that almost every day in la casa.
Until next time.
School started. And within a week, soccer started. Two different teams, two different practices, two different games on Saturdays. So for almost a month now we have existed from one even to the next, barely catching our breath. Gavin started school with a cold. Almost a month later, he's almost better, and the rest of us have it. We've done school, we've done soccer, we've gone with friends to learn how to make home made tamales, we've been to concerts, we've been to swim parties, we've been to the ER. And this, my friends, is parenthood.
And here is a snippet of 24 hours. Just 24 hours of a holiday weekend, just so you know what you've been missing. Sunday morning with four head colds means no church, because you can't go to nursery oozing green snot, and I can't shake him off my leg fast enough for them to not notice and body block me at the door. I've tried. They get some sort of specialized training, I think. But it's ok...God knows we love him from home and through congestion. Not that we slept in, mind you. Because the wild boys were up and I heard them escaping from the garage at about 6:45 am.
On a Sunday.
On a holiday weekend, dammit.
And so I ventured out to the deck, yelling at two boys in pajamas on their jungle gym (in the mud, mind you, because hey, it rained just enough for that) to get back in side and watch television like normal children. Please, for the love of all that's holy!!! We'll never get better if you don't let us sleep!!!
Yeah, right. So I laid in bed, fighting getting up, staring at amazement as the cop snored, and poking him occasionally because I was bitter and awake. That's love, people. OK, that's marriage. But I do love him.
I changed out of pajamas and put on JUST enough makeup to not frighten the natives and went to the store to pick up the three things I forgot for the crock pot dinner that needed to be started almost immediately upon getting out of bed. As Murphy's law dictates, and my luck always follows, I ran in to several people I know who apparently needed to make conversation with me right then, sans any redeeming cosmetics, and I survived. So I thought to celebrate I'd treat the wild boys and pick up some bear claws.
Here's what I've learned. Bear claws have virtually no nutritional value whatsoever. They are nothing but sugar. Which is nothing but crack for young children. You think you know this. I think I realize this. But somehow I ALWAYS manage to forget it and be shocked when their pupils blow and they start speaking in tongues while running in a blur throughout the house.
Which resulted in me having to do house cleaning, while they "helped" the cop with construction of a foot bridge that apparently didn't meet his OCD standards the first time he built it. And somehow, we timed things perfectly to where the house was clean and dinner was ready as they were cleaning up outside. During which Gabe got sawdust blown in his eye by an over zealous six year old with a shop vac who shall remain nameless.
Clean Gabe, plate food, clean Gavin, sit to eat. Gabe, through tears, refused to consume anything. Warning sign number one. Gavin refused to eat our amazing Cuban pork roast because: "I know what pork is, Dad. It's a pig. They roll in mud. And at the state fair with Grandma and Grandpa we got to see pigs being born. They stick their hands up INTO THE PIG'S PRIVATES and pull the babies out, and the babies come out yellow Dad. Yellow. That's pretty disgusting, Dad. Wish you would've made beef."
I looked at the cop, who was sipping his cocktail while his eye twitched, and stood to make some instant macaroni. It was just easier.
The next 12 hours involved a trip to the ER for the eye injury, a trip to the pediatric optometrist, and trying to teach Gavin how to ride a two wheeler. He nailed it, really, almost immediately. Well, almost immediately after nailing me as I tried to take video. Oh, and Gabe once. Who laid on the ground, stunned, a mass of bicycle and boy, and screamed every time Gavin got on the bike thereafter.
And now I'm home. Just finished paying bills, just about to make dinner, watching Gavin trying to close the trunk of my SUV with a deck broom which he thinks I don't notice, listening to Gabe make up songs at about a million decibels in the microphone of his keyboard.
That, dear readers, is the reason for the delay. Because really, it's like that almost every day in la casa.
Until next time.
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