Welcome to our morning

Here's a few things I know.

I know my floor is too dirty when Eli drops a piece of Play-Doh on the floor and when I pick it up to give it back to him it is so covered in junk, it looks like a piece of shake 'n bake chicken.  (Disclaimer:  Before you call DCFS, know that when you have a toddler, though you may sweep every day, your kitchen floor often looks like a war zone.)

I know my kid is eating Play-Doh and lying about it when he says "Gross!" and has blue flecks on his lips.  When I ask him if he ate Play-Do, he say, "No, that's gross."

I know my townhouse is too close to my neighbor's when I am using the Chopper (you know that thing you bang on to cut onions) and it makes my neighbor's dog bark for 20 minutes.

I know Eli needs his nails trimmed when he has yellow Play-Doh under every fingernail, like a little crescent.

I know that this is a funny little video of Eli singing.

  

Peeping Lily

While waiting for long measures of time at the check-out line of the grocery store, your eyes tend to wander.  Today, I looked for awhile at the trashy magazine covers, then at the candy, then I settled on the few groceries of the lady in front of me.  She had only three boxes and a bottle.  Upon further study, I realized that she was purchasing the following products:  two boxes of enemas, one box of feminine douche, and one very large bottle of sambuca.  She didn't seem to have any embarrassment or shame about these items, just matter-of-factly displaying them on the conveyor belt.  I admit, in my immaturity, I had to suppress a smile at the identity of the items.  What a night she must have planned...

Catty Comments

Let me tell you the story of a small and slightly less loved member of our family. He is Lorenzo, my cat. I have a love/hate relationship with this small feline. We adopted him in the first six months of our marriage from the local PetsMart. He called out our names and gripped our fingers with his paws; we just couldn't resist. But then, we got home and realized we had adopted the single most needy and nuts cat that ever roamed the Earth. Mark wanted to give him back right away when he wouldn't let us sleep because his obscenely loud purring and kneading of his paws (which had claws at the time) on our faces. I told Mark that we would not be irresponsible pet owners, so we persevered. He got a little better with time.

On the positive side, Lorenzo's neediness makes him quite affectionate, much more than a cat should be. He is constantly sitting on our chests and head-butting us. And he is a great looking cat. If he were not, he would not have fared as well in our house, for we choose things strictly for their aesthetic appeal. Ugly cat would equal ugly treatment.

I had never had a cat before Lorenzo. These strange animals were very much a mystery to me. I did not realize they were vengeful, snobby animals. When we brought Eli home from the hospital, the cat started to pee on any piece of clothing or towel that was left on the ground (which at that time, was a lot of them). We thumped him repeatedly but it wasn't until he got used to Eli and we started picking up our laundry that the stage passed. It was terrible to put on a pair of pants and then hours later sniff around for a strange smell, then realize that it was you and you had cat piss on your pant leg.

When I was pregnant with Eli, the cat decided that I was his preferred owner (Mark might disagree with this). He started to sleep almost literally right on my face at night. I couldn't keep him away from me. This has continued on to this day. He comes and spoons me like he is a person. I try not to move because I might disturb him. When I finally get sick of the position I am in and I shove him away, he takes a bite at me and runs away. This almost always gains some kind of loud and confused swear from me in the middle of the night.

Here are some fun facts about Lorenzo. He has this chicken that he will carry around in his mouth and then randomly throw him in the air and chase him down. If you manage to piss off this cat, he will hunt you down from across the room or wait till you walk by and bite your achilles. He has recently taken to disgustingly humping different objects in the house (he's neutered). And he chases bugs around our house and paws at them.

On this subject, last night while we were watching TV, the cat started jumping around frantically. We saw that he was chasing after a moth. The poor moth was stunned by an aggressive paw and before we knew it, he put the giant moth in his mouth. I tried to get him to release it, all I could see is his wings hanging grotesquely out of Lorenzo's mouth. He would not give him up. I had to watch the foul animal chew up and swallow that moth. He sneezed a few times, which I suppose could have been that moth fluttering in his body, tickling his nose. Sick!

All this to say that I very much love this cat, but he has a very long list of cons(as maybe we all do). If I were a lesser person, I would send him packing but as it is, I will let him snuggle me at night and I will overlook his short-comings, for I know he is a fallen creature, just like me. Also, he helps boost my self-esteem by preferring me (but I might also add he bites me more than anyone else too).

But just look at what a nice-looking cat he is, could you resist him? By the way, would anyone like to cat-sit for us in March?

Life as I know it

I had very great plans for this day but already at 9:17 am, things are getting away from me.  Let me begin by saying that yesterday, after weighing myself, I made a decision that today was the start of a new life for me, at least cardiovascularly speaking.  I was going to do what I have never been able to do before, I was going to set my alarm and wake up early to go for a walk-jog.  I set my alarm for 6 am, which would give me enough time to get out there and back before Mark had to leave for work.  But, unexpectedly, at 5:53, there was a wailing sound from the room down the hall.  It was Eli, awake and mad.  After a few minutes of coaxing, I was able to get him to lie back down and look at a light projection on the ceiling.  Who knows if he ever went back to sleep.  Then I got back into my room and looked at the clock, it read 6:02.  As I glanced around the room, one thing struck me.  It was still dark outside.  How the heck was I going to go out walk-jogging in the dark?  Maybe this is something that should have been considered when I was constructing the Great Life Turn-Around of 2008 in my mind.  So I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up until 7:35, when it was really time to get up.  

Next disaster.  While feeding Eli breakfast with little luck, I was making my morning Internet rounds when the dumb wireless connection wasn't working.  I tried restarting the computer, then unplugging the router.  Let me quickly explain where our router sits.  It is on top of our giant entertainment center, which is really like a seven foot tower that is about two inches from the wall. All the wires are hidden in this small space.  During first attempt at rebooting the router, I unplugged the power cord but when I went to plug it back in, I lost my grip on the plug and it fell behind the shelf.  The only way to get it back is to jam your arm into that two inch space and use your fingers like pincers to grab the cord.  Even though it was uncomfortable on the skin of my forearm, I succeeded in record time.  Then I came back to the computer to check on our Internet status.  Dang!  It was still not working properly.  This time I unplugged the Ethernet cord and the power cord.  And of course, the power cord went flying back behind the shelf again.  I had to jam my arm back there again and pince it.  I got it three-forths of the way and dropped it, this time to a much further, out of my reach position.  Also, my arm was stuck, all the way to the armpit behind the shelf.  I had to throw myself away from the shelf to pull it out, leaving half my skin behind.  Now was the dilemma.  If I wanted further Internet access today, I would have to find a way to get that cord back.  I went searching in the kitchen for a tool.  What I found was a pair of kitchen grabbers (I don't know the proper names for any of my kitchen tools).  With this, I was able to once again (painfully) wedge my arm back behind the shelf and this time successfully fish out the cord.  Mercifully, this time the Internet came back to me, as clearly I am now using it to type this blog.  

My arm shows the track marks of this morning's trauma.  It is scraped from below the elbow bend all the way to the armpit.  I might just tell people I got in a motorcycle accident, because the inside of the arm is a very common place for road rash.   

Down the toilet we go

As I have mentioned in earlier blogs, we are deep in the throws of a potty training struggle.  Unfortunately, I am as much to blame for our troubles as my defiant son.  I am inconsistent, which is the downfall of the potty training parent.  

Last week, I made up my mind that this would all change.  I have had it with buying expensive packs of diapers and wrestling Eli to get them on and off.  I sat down and made him a potty chart that we would put star stickers on when we had a toilet triumph.  I knew better than to make the chart a daily one so I put weeks up there.  How many times in a week could Eli use the toilet?  For 6 days of the first week, no star found it's way to the poster.  But then yesterday, after 15 minutes on the little toilet, Eli had a success.  We took the pot to the toilet and dumped the pee in.  I let him flush the toilet.  Generally, as an afterthought, when the toilet is flushing down, Eli likes to tear off a piece of toilet paper and throw it in the pot.  I haven't really explained to him that we, as adults, use that paper for cleaning before we throw it in.  I just let him feel like he is a big boy.  Then yesterday, as I was rinsing his little potty pot, I heard a big PLUNK.  I turned around to see the entire roll of toilet paper sinking in the toilet, which was still whisking around the pee.  I had to pull the roll out and sternly tell Eli that was an unfortunate decision he made, resulting in money loss and inconvenience for the rest of the family that depends on that toilet paper daily.  He agreed with me on the error of his ways and we went on with our day.

Last night the poster gained another star and no other objects found themselves floating in the toilet.  

This morning we had another success.  This time while the toilet was flushing I heard a CRACK.  Inside the toilet was a shattered tea light holder with accompanying candle.  I had to fish out broken shards of ceramic with my bare hands.  I think most of the pee had already left the toilet but it was still a quite unpleasant experience.  This time I had to explain to Eli that not only was he being disrespectful in breaking our bathroom decorations, he was also causing me to soil my hands with non-potable toilet water and this was all together unacceptable.  I'm not sure he agreed with me on this point, he might have thought the water potable because the kitty is often seen (or heard) drinking from this very toilet.  

In future flushes, I might need to be on better guard, or I might see my purse go into the pissy flush.  

I include for you the evidence of earlier disasters.   

    

Caught, Again!

Last night I had a very poor night of sleep. I stayed at my aunt's house to lend a hand. On my way home at 6 am, I thought it wise to stop by the ol' Dunkin Doughnuts for some coffee and doughnuts for me and my mister. I'm embarrassed to admit how many times a week I drive through this particular food stand, but suffice it to say that the owner knows my name (well, he calls me Lillian) and my order. This morning, I came tearing into the parking lot and just about ran into a ladder they had blocking the drive-thru. I got close enough to read a sign that said, "Sorry, this drive-thru is under repairs, please come inside". I pulled into a parking spot and carefully weighed my options. Go into a public place with bird's-nest-hair, my pajamas, no make-up, wearing my glasses or drink no coffee this morning. I could see a line that had already formed inside. I could feel my hand shaking from serious caffeine addiction that had not yet been satisfied. The choice was clear. I pulled my bedraggled body out of the car and went and stood in line behind two business-casual men. The man directly in front of me did a double-take as I walked behind him. He might have thought I was homeless and going to steal his doughnuts.

Then something unexpected happened. A woman walked in behind me that caused me to do a double-take, for she looked worse than I. She had on a giant orange sweatshirt, giant cut-off pajama pants with small blue hearts and orange crocs. Her hair looked unwashed and she also had her glasses on. I smiled at her and said, "I didn't anticipate having to get out of the car this morning." She responded, "Clearly neither did I". We both shared a laugh as the two men in front of us rolled their eyes. Gene, my doughnut provider, recognized me after a few seconds and guessed my order before I could say it. I quickly paid him and ran out. He told me he would see me tomorrow (pathetic). As I went through the door, I heard him say "Hi Mary! Glazed Cake Doughnut?" Ha!

It makes me feel better that while once again, I am caught in public looking like a disaster, I am not the only one. There are others out there just like me. I don't have to be ashamed anymore.

I am a songbird - like a grackle

One of Mark's co-workers, who knew me when I was younger, recently told him she seemed to remember Lily having a very good voice and asked if he had ever heard me sing.  I believe Mark was a bit dumbfounded by the sheer foolishness of this comment.  Not only has he heard me sing on a regular basis, but he has likely sustained some serious hearing damage from both the volume and the shrill key that can only be heard from the mouth of a suffering animal.  Instead of putting my child in time-out, I sing to him as punishment.  That does more damage than any rounds of sitting in chairs.  He rolls on the floor, covering his ears, telling me he will never do it again (for those of  you ready to call DCFS, perhaps this is a bit of embellishment).  

I believe there is usually a critical moment in a person's life when they realize they have not been blessed with the gift of song.  I used to dream of wowing people with my rendition of "Somewhere Out There" on karaoke.  I would sing Disney songs and wonder at the similarities between my voice and Ariel's.  But then one fateful evening, during a church fundraiser, I had volunteered to sing as part of a trio in front of the crowd.  I can't believe anyone actually agreed to let me.  The whole song was terrible, with me switching on and off key.  There was a small group of teenagers (which included my two siblings) who stood in the back corner and giggled loudly at what they heard.  We did a sad disservice to Michael W. Smith's "Friends are Friends Forever" song.  My mom insisted it wasn't bad while my truthful siblings assured me it was like torture.  People might have actually donated more money that night because they believed me to have special needs.  

Since that night, I have never sung in public again (for the good of the population as a whole). But if someone needs me to sing in their wedding, and they have enough money, I might consider coming out of retirement.