So, it's cold outside. Like, really cold. So cold that when I meet the mailman outside on my porch to get the mail from him, and I say "Brr...it's a cold one today," and he looks up at me with snot frozen to his face, I can tell he secretly blames me for having mail to deliver, thus keeping him outside...in the cold.
Anyways, I haven't left the house in two days. Not because I don't have wildly important things to do, and lunch dates out the wazoo, but the boys have been sicky, my roots need touched up, and we just got movie channels.
But this morning, I had some things to attend to, and after a sweaty hour spent bundling the boys up, and getting them strapped into the car, I jumped in the drivers seat to realize my windshield had the thickest coat of ice on it. Ever.
Quickly realizing that I had lent my hubby my scraper and it's still in his car...at work (DIVORCE!), I had to think fast.
It was cold today scraping my windshield off with the Wiggles CD, but it felt good. It felt good.
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A few months ago, my mom insisted on getting the boy a small fish tank and three small orange fish. I have no idea what type of fish they were, just little mutt fish that the boys named Manny, Carlos, and The Invisible Man. For months the boys, Manny, Carlos, The Invisible Man and I all lived in a happy coexistence. For the most part, I remembered to feed them daily, they didn't seem bothered by the pudgy finger taps on their glass each morning, and the tank made a great night light for the boys. All was well.Two days ago, I had to clean out their tank, because like all things I surround myself with these days, fish poop...a lot. Like a freakish amount. Any ways, I scrubbed everything down, plopped them back in, and went to sleep smelling of spit up and algae.
Yesterday I woke up and Carlos was dead.
Awesome. Now what? Do I hold a dead fish funeral in the bathroom like they did on The Cosby Show? I didn't have anything particularly heart felt to say about Carlos. In all honesty, he was kind the jerk of the tank, hogging all the food, and hiding in the coveted spot inside the treasure chest. I bet Manny and The Invisible Man are glad douche bag Carlos is dead.
Quickly over the funeral idea, I decided to try and distract the boys, sneaking Carlos out via net hearse and into the toilet before anyone knew otherwise.
Unsuccessful. I spent the next 20 minutes explaining how all drains lead to the ocean (Wrong. I know, I know.) and recited some weird ass made up version of dust to dust to a teary eyed toddler and an ambivalent 10 month old. Had I had a copy of Boys II Men's Yesterday, the service would have been complete.
And then there were two.
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Feeding kids is...challenging. I was going to say disgusting, frustrating, and vomit inducing, but in honor of both my newly pregnant friend and my new blog pal Lambrina, I have decided to approach this topic with a sense of optimism (because babies are super fun! Yay babies! Babies for everyone!).But right now, since long abandoning the art of breastfeeding (I guess you can't breastfeed with both your nipples pierced, who knew?! Just kidding mom.), and since I can't seem to rally the family up for a weekend of foraging for nuts and berries, I have found myself in the midst of a war. A war on food.
Unlike my husband, who thinks people can survive on blueberry pop tarts and Red Bull, I would like to keep the boys on a somewhat nutritional path. But no matter what I try, everything that gets shoved in, pops right back out. And, yes, while it is nicer to witness the food popped out in it's undigested state, hungry kids equal cranky kids. Hungry kids don't sleep. They just stay awake, staring you down...spitting food at you.
I tried bartering, songs, dancing, chewing up the food first (hence the vomit inducing aspect), nothing works. The only things my kids won't spit back out at me are celery, Mongolian Chicken from the Chinese place in town, gravy (gag, don't ask) and chewed up pieces of my flip flops. You read that right. Flip. Flop. It's like crack, I have to hide them up on high shelves. It's disgusting, and the weirdest thing I have ever seen (Since OHDN!).
So here I sit. Barefoot. Covered in chicken and rice. Frostbite on my hand. Planning my next fish funeral.
6 comments:
I know you cant tell me, cause Moms never REALLY tell the truth (MUCUS PLUGS???), but you Moms are on some referral plans, right? Where like after so many pregger referrals you get like a really large chocolate bar, or sewing machine, or ice cooler.
And for those that are keeping count (who doesnt) you have earned yourself 50 cool points with reference of one of THE BEST Cosby Shows EVER. I WILL have fish funerals for my children. You know, the children I will birth in my late 30s.
I too have scraped a windshield or two with CDs - I never considered wiggles, although veggietales worked wonders too! Love Ya!
Actually, I have so many referral points, I am going for the plasma. Make sure you give your OB my name, I wanna make sure I get the credit. And whenever the need to pee on a stick comes, I will make sure to shower you with tales of mucus plugs, bloody shows and birthing a gigantic placenta.
Oh and Jen...YOU ROCK! Thanks for the comment, keep them coming! And, if I would allow Veggie tales in my home (blasphemy!) I would most definitely use it to scrape my windshield!
Sorry to hear about Carlos! It is always sad when a fish dies, especially when you are a kid or have kids.
Man, I am glad to not have to deal with bad winters anymore!
Stay WARM!
Hi just came over from Jen's to say congrats. It's really difficult to explain to kids such situations. I had to go through this with a hamster, a gladiator fish and a small turtle. I am dreading what will happen if something happens with our cat.
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