Mom to the Screaming Masses

Shoes

This was a week for shoes. 

I bought Emma new shoes at the beginning of July.  She picked size 7 Hello Kitty sneakers, sandals, and a pair of jellies.  I pulled out, from our trusty shoe box, church shoes in size 7 - remember that number, it will prove to be important - and she was good to go.

Last week, whenever I told her to put her shoes on, she's whine, "My feet huuuuurrrrrtt!"  Um, no.  You just got new shoes, put 'em on and let's go. 

After hearing her whine for a week, I decided that maybe she did need new shoes and took her to Stride Rite for measuring.  The clerk, who looked to be a graduate of grammar school, measured her.  The number made no sense to me, so I requested a second measure.  Same number.  I asked for the more experienced clerk, a grandmother type, to measure her.  Same number.

And just what was that number?

9.  NINE.

Two sizes in four weeks.  Oops. No wonder her feet hurt.  We picked out sneakers and church shoes, and a pair of sandals on clearance.

While there, I had Gabe measured - he needs dark brown shoes for school, and they can be hard to find.  I was in the shoe store, the dark brown shoes were there, and I had a credit card with room on it.  Why not go ahead and buy them. His feet measured the exact same size that they have been for a year - 10.5. I bought an 11, just in case HIS feet decided to grow.  His lack of growth is a bit of a concern for me - since his 5 year check up last Oct, he has gained 1 pound and grown one inch.  I left a message for his pediatrician, but haven't heard yet.  No news is good news, right?  Hey, at least we are getting our money's worth out of his sneakers.

The next night, I took Allegra and Mackenzie for school shoes and church shoes.  They finagled me into slippers as well. I saw some shoes that I liked, but felt too poor to actually get them.

So in three days, I bought 10 pairs of shoes.  Thank goodness that's all we need. 

For now.

A test of wills

Between Nikolas and myself.  Who will win?

Two weeks ago, we did our annual clean out your drawers and closet.  He's got it really cushy here.  All he has to do it brig his laundry downstairs.  I separate it, wash it, and then separate it into each child's pile.  They are responsible for folding it and putting it away. 

He had been complaining for quite a while that he had no socks and underwear.  At first, I thought he had outgrown them, and put them into the box in his room for too small items.  Foolish, foolish me.  Then I thought maybe he had left them at summer camp. So, I bought new.  Two or three times.

Nope.  All of the unders and socks were stuck into various drawers, into the closet, into a suitcase in the closet, and in the bottom of his bookshelf.  All told, we found 35 pairs of unders, 12 undershirts, and over 4 dozen socks.  It's shameful.  I also uncovered piles of clean, folded laundry stuffed into those places.

We folded, we organized, we tidied it all up.  I told him that no longer would I remind him to bring down his basket, but he needed to remember it himself. 

That was three weeks ago.  I haven't seen the basket yet, except when I peek into his room to check how full it is.  And, whoa, is it full.  I'm not reminding him.  He has to learn to be responsible.

But, man, is it bugging me not to remind him.

Abject terror

I took my children to my father in laws this week to swim.  The big kids brought friends, so my fifteen passenger van was full to the brim.  Every seat was full. A girlfriend came over with her two little kids and her husband, and so the pool was full.  F-U-L-L.  I made the big kids stay on the side of the rope closer to the deep end, so that we could have some space with the smaller kids.  Emma and Gabriel had their swim vests on, and I was struggling with  wrestling  trying to swim with Riley.  She didn't want to be in the pool, wasn't having any part of it.  It's in her therapy plan, and so I was determined. She was going to be in the pool for a while.

A few games of ring around the rosy, a trial in the swim tube - no way! - a sit on the float.  She hated every single bit of it.  I put a swim vest on her, and took it off when the coyotes came due to her howling.  I decided to bounce and swing her, using the techniques for calming that the therapist gave me.  I turned her onto her side, pulled her up really tight to my chest, and spread my hand across her stomach.  We swayed, we rocked, we bounced.  BAM!  My right calf cramped up, and instinctively I lifted my leg.  Standing on one leg proved to be a bad idea.  My left leg slid out from underneath me, and I went straight under.  Pulling her down with me. 

Pushing Riley towards the surface, I scrambled to get my left foot to the floor.  Ridiculous, really - I was drowning in three feet of water.  In a pool full of people.  Every time my foot touched the bottom, and I thought I could stand, my other leg would grab again and I'd lose my balance.  The bottom of the pool was slick, and it was a long twenty seconds until I was able to stand. 

I was filled with terror. Was I drowning my child?  I could not believe how scared I was.  How absolutely petrified. 

Once I was standing, we were out of the pool.  I haven't been able to get her back in since.  Can't say as I blame her.

Home Improvements

So, here is what the back of the house looks like.  It's not done, but close enough to grasp....

(as always, click to see a bigger version.)

And then I did some wall graffiti of my own:

in the kitchen, although I'm not Italian:

The Laundry room:

   the breakfast area:

the entire blessing is done around the bay window, I just put one part here for you. 

And, the kids bathroom downstairs:

Ms. Crabby Pants to you!

I'm copying from Chris over at The Big Yellow House.  She's cranky, I'm crabby.  Five more of us, and we could be the 7 dwarves!

Reasons why I'm crabby:

Typepad just erased the wonderful post I had written.

Gabriel, the love of my life, the golden haired child I adore, pried four keys AND the enter key  off of my keyboard.  AND LOST THEM.  H,K,L the windows key, and enter.  Gaaaah.

My hands hurt from typing blank spaces.

Nikolas, fruit of my loins, drank all my Cokes with Lime. 

It's hot. Hot.  HOT.

It's still 25 days until school starts, and Dollymama's kids went back already. Waaaah.

Still nothing from We suck insurance.

Hmmm, I'm sure that there was more.  I can't remember it.  What would I have to be happy about?

Well, my new purse came today, and it's adorable.  Brown and blue stripes and dots.  C-U-T-E.

ONLY 25 days until school starts!

No news is still not a rejection from We suck, right?  Right?

The Hubster is off for the next three days, and I am promised, pinky swear, some writing time. 

Because I delayed, and didn't order the mini soccer goals, I can't make the cake for Mackenzie's party on Sunday.  We are so lucky have to buy an ice cream cake.  MY favorite.  I'll make cupcakes for the ones who don't like ice cream cake, and that way I can have more.  Procrastination, thy name is sweet.

I have Netflix movies and Java Chip ice cream waiting for me!

I have great friends, and wonderful readers, who stick with me even when I slack and put a meme up for you to read. 

I guess it's looking up.  ;)

Oatmeal pancakes

So, I had an interesting experience the other day.  I went to 7-11 to pick up a gallon of milk.  Whoopie, the highlight of my day was going to 7-11!  No, seriously, my father in law had brought over some overly ripe bananas, and I told him that I'd use them to make my famous oatmeal banana chocolate chip pancakes.  He asked if I could bring him some, and I said certainly.  I had NO idea that he meant early the very next day.  I was thinking more along the lines of I'd bring them over the next afternoon, but ok.  He called me at the butt crack of dawn, wondering where his pancakes were. 

Alrighty, then.  I groped for my glasses and went downstairs, ready to cook up some pancakes. I pulled out the ingredients and discovered that I was out of milk.  No more cooking in my jammies for me - I had to get dressed and run to the 7-11.  As I walked in, I overheard a conversation at the register.  An older man was chatting up the clerk, and he was apparently talking about his wife, who had fallen and broken an arm. He was pretty insulting, calling her a "sow" and a "stubborn, thick headed old fool".  The crowning glory came when I was up at the register, waiting to have my milk rang up so I could pay.  He apparently liked having an audience, as his voice grew louder and louder.  He looked over at me and I gave him that small, tight smile you give to perfect strangers.  He said,"Yup, she's just like a woman.  Stubborn, stupid and thick." 

He had NO clue that he had insulted both the clerk and myself.  briefly, I thought about correcting him and decided, why bother?  It wouldn't matter to him at all.

The funny thing was when I walked out of the store, I dropped my Starbucks card out of my pocket.  He fell over his feet to get it to me, calling me "Miss" and holding the door for me.  He wished me a good day.

Guess he's only nice to strangers.  The Hubster said he was just blowing off steam, like all of us do when we re aggravated.  Hmmmmmm....

Leftover Oatmeal Pancakes

Combine in a large bowl: 2 cups flour, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 4 teaspoons baking powder, and 1/2 teaspoon salt.  Set aside.  In antoher bowl, beat together: 2 eggs, 1 cup leftover oatmeal, 2 cups milk and 1/2 cup oil.  Combine the two mixtures and blend until smooth.  Cook in traditional pancake manner. 

You can add anything you want to these - bananas, chocoalte chips, nuts, chopped apples, raisins, yadda yadda.  I usually just make a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave before I start these.  They are REALLY good if you use the Irish oatmeal - the old fashioned stuff that cooks for 30 minutes. 

Enjoy!