Dusty Drawers

One more Eli story to get the day going...

Last week, Eli had a fever for a few days so we took it pretty easy. Usually when he's sick, I let him stay in his pajamas all day and he gets to watch a lot of TV (yes, judge me all you want). While he was wandering around in his sweats, he kept fiddling with the butt of his pants. I finally asked him what he was doing. He told me his underwear kept getting stuck up his butt. I told him just to pull it out. He said he kept trying but it wasn't working. So I told him to pull his pants all the way down, then work on the underwear (this is a bit unconventional, and not at all the way I remedy my own wedgies). When his pants came down, I discovered he wasn't wearing any underwear at all. His Nana had taken him to the bathroom that morning. [He wears a Pull-Up to bed, just in case he decides to pee everywhere; luckily he has chosen not to do this lately]. She discarded the Pull-Up but left his underwear folded up on the coffee table. She planned to put it on him when they came out to the living room, but forgot. After I discovered he wasn't wearing underwear, I laughed, but wasn't able to replace them because my hands were full. Eli pulled up his pants and went on with his day. Soon I forgot about the underwear too.

Later that night, his other grandma came home and accompanied him to the bathroom. She too was surprised when the pants came down and he was "commando". She asked him where his underwear were. This was his response: "They are using them to dust the tables". My mom laughed and then asked what in the world he was talking about. He repeated his answer. When he saw his underwear folded on the table, he must have assumed that was their purpose.

Just so you know, I'm not in the habit of making my 3-year-old take off his underwear so I can clean the tables with them. But I am happy that he has seen me clean enough times to come up with that conclusion. At least I have done something right, even if I let my son go a whole day without putting on his underwear.

Toy Dreams

I just walked into the living room to find Eli looking very busy. We just got a huge Toys R Us flier in the mail that has 80 pages of toys in it. Every day Eli has been studying it and then saying, "Mommy, would you look at this!" and pointing to a $300 train set or life-size walking T-Rex. Yesterday he asked me if I would buy him a Power Wheels. I had to explain to him that since we don't have a garage, or any money, it would not be a wise purchase. Then he showed me a Barbie or something pink and asks if I would buy it for Marina. Even as I write this, he keeps calling me back into the living room to show me something else.

The sight of him looking at a magazine so intently makes me laugh. One of these days I'm going to walk in there (or hopefully into a room of a new house) and find him reading a book with such intensity.

My little boy is growing up and consequently taking on the commercial view of Christmas - time to bring out the nativity scene. Last year Eli would toss all the figures around and say, "Watch out! Here comes a wise man! Now here comes Baby Jesus!"

Bugging Out

Over the last two years, I have complained about our house many times. I talk about the lack of space, the messy inhabitants, the junky cats, the neighbors, and more. Though I write all of that, please don't think that I am ungrateful for the space we have been given. It isn't falling apart, and we can afford it. That is a nice combination for us.

Now that I made some positive remarks about it, I can continue on with a bit of the negative. Periodically we experience different insect infestations. It is usually all one kind for a while, then we have peace, then another kind take up residence.

We live across the street from a few corn fields (yes, this is Central Illinois, who doesn't live by corn fields?). Every year during harvest, the combines run and displace all of these nasty little lady bugs. A single lady bug can be cute when you see it climbing on a leaf outside, but a swarm of them crawling on your ceilings and flying into your lights is just plain disgusting. Since our sliding glass door is improperly sealed, bugs just walk into our kitchen in neat little lines. Last week, we weren't home for a few days. When we got back, I walked into the kitchen to find a mat of dead lady bugs covering the floor by the door (why most of them were dead, I don't know... maybe no living plants to eat in the house - we must have poor oxygen levels). I don't understand how so many bugs can find a tiny little hole where the door is not sealed and somehow alert their friends. I'm not sorry they died. They should have been smart enough to go back out of that hole.

We also have a spider situation. They also enter the house through the screen door. That door acts as the proverbial Ellis Island for insects. We are the land of opportunity. Come on in and hide in dark corners and occasionally get hunted by cats. The spiders that visit are a particular breed (is that right for spiders?): giant, hairy legs and ugly (this could also describe me right now). Since I am not as quick as I like to think, one specific spider has eluded me for days (I want to believe it is one spider and not a whole family I keep seeing). Now, every day before I put my shoes on, I shake them out to make sure I'm not about to have a close toe encounter with an angry spider (or lady bug for that matter).

What can be done to solve this problem? The better question is what is a free solution? As of right now, I can find nothing that works, so I try to cuss them to death. I'll keep you updated on the success of this strategy.

Note: these are not pictures from bugs inside my house, but merely an illustration of what I am talking about

Bragging Rights

All the time, I get myself in trouble with Mark when I brag to other people about how well he does in sports. I am stuck in a constant "my boyfriend can beat up your boyfriend" complex. I tell them he can out drive them in golf or even work them over on the ping pong table. Then I go home and tell Mark what I've done and he expresses his displeasure. He doesn't think he is as great as I do. Then he has to go out and compete against someone who his wife has trash talked.

I do this for several reasons. Number one: I love him and am proud of his accomplishments. Number two: I have no natural physical ability of my own (unless it is really strong hands) so I take the "two become one" concept very literally and feel like he is doing well on behalf of both of us. Now you can see why it is no wonder I have not been blessed with a competitive advantage. I would be insupportable.

All this said, I tell you I have not yet learned my lesson. Look at what my husband can do to you on the basketball court (: Now who wants to come over to our house and take us on in a game they are sure to lose (when I say "us", I mean I will be standing back observing). Now I'm going to get in trouble for this blog.

Stinkin' Sheets!

There are certain memories in life that may be meaningless but find a way to plague you for many unnecessary years. Some of these include times where I've been caught talking badly about someone, where I was dressed amazingly inappropriate for a function, or that time when I fell backwards off a bike rack and hit my head, while managing to still have my feet wedged in the gaps (maybe I'm a bit on the clumsy side).

A situation which I have looked back on many times and grimaced at the thought of happened years ago when we lived in Utah. Mark and I had been married a couple of years and Eli was only a few months old. We had several friends come to stay with us. One of them got to sleep on a nice bed in the guest room while the other had to sleep on an air mattress on the floor in Eli's room (Eli slept with us. We were not so mean as to make our friends sleep in the room with a baby). His visit was last minute so I quickly inflated the bed and threw sheets on it. He stayed for a few days then left. When I went to clean up his bed, I noticed a particularly rank smell. I was confused. Was it that this guest had bad personal hygiene? Then I was able to place the smell (ah ha!). It was the same smell that comes from the rotten rags that you leave by the side of your sink; the smell that gets on your hands after you touch it and pisses you off all day, even though you repeatedly wash your hands. The sheet I gave him to lie on every night and cover up with was putrid with stink (or stank, if you will).

Before you start shaking your head at our disgustingness, let me offer up an excuse (though it is a bad one). When we first got married, we were both irresponsible and just getting our footing in the whole world of house chores. Sometimes I would put a load of laundry in and leave it there for days before I would remember it again. Most of the times I would just run the wash again and no problem, but every now and then, a load slipped past. Then you would be sitting at work and would smell something strange and realize it was your pants (just as a note, we no longer have the rotten laundry problem, we are officially adults now). Well, on that day, the sheets had managed to make their way out of the rotten load and onto his bed without my notice. As I rolled them into a ball, I cringed at the thought of what he must have been thinking of us. I wanted to call him and explain, but we really didn't have that kind of relationship.

So now, years later, I still can't let it go. Maybe I should send him a card and mention it at the bottom like, "haha, remember when..." Good thing we live in such a small house now, that no one can stay with us and be suffocated in stinky sheets, while being attacked by two quarrelsome, annoying cats, and have their sleep interrupted by a shrieking baby in the middle of the night and an amazingly loud toddler at dawn (except those gluttons for punishment who are related to us).

Maybe we should open a bed and breakfast...

Grace will lead me home

Life is such a mixed bag of joys and sorrows. In my life, the joys outnumber the sorrows.

One year ago today, my beloved grandma died. She had struggled against brain cancer for 6 months before she went. She lived a full and powerful life that was defined in the end by her love for God rather than an aggressive brain tumor. While I watched her health decline, I saw her spirit surge.

On a reflective day like this one, everything seems to have special significance. This morning, I took Eli and Marina (named in honor of her great-grandma) to her grave and we said a little prayer. It was really a perfect crisp fall day where the sun is shining and everything smells wonderful. Eli picked up a few leaves and a small purple flower (probably a weed) growing in the middle of miles of grass. Marina slept. I dressed her this morning in a little yellow sweater that my grandma expertly knit for Eli and he wore the first time she saw him.

I was reminded today that many years ago, my grandma lost one of her children. I've always known that fact, but today I understood the life-long pain she must have felt to have buried a two-year-old child. I watched Eli, a rambunctious 3-year-old, and just wanted to grab him. I looked down into Marina's eyes and felt a protective surge. What a gift I have been given! And how unworthy I am... What will my grandkids think of me? Will my life be something to be proud of?

As we drove away from the cemetery, Amazing Grace was playing in my car. This line is my favorite, and was especially poignant as I thought of my grandma, who has forever impacted my life for the better and who's mark and faith is on my family.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come. 'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home."

Grocery Bomb

Today something so ridiculous happened to me at Cub Foods (this has been the scene of many unfortunate things in the past, come to think of it). I ventured out to the grocery store with my two kids in cold and windy weather. Eli was surprisingly cooperative after I bribed him with the promise of free samples. Marina slept in her car seat in back of the cart and took up all the room for groceries. We got through our shopping in good time, after eating up a large portion of free brownies from the bakery that ended up on our faces, teeth and on Eli's khaki pants.

After dominating the self check-out, we braced ourselves for the gale outside. That's when Marina started to shriek that incessant wail that only small babies can produce. We got to the car and I started to throw groceries in the trunk. Since there was no room in the cart, it was a struggle to get the wedged bags out (yes, I am aware that it might have been much wiser to take the car seat out first then load the groceries, but someone once made me very paranoid about how people watch in grocery store parking lots then run in and steal your kids or car when you put your cart away). I tugged at a bag with one hand and lifted the seat with the other and suddenly the bag gave way (as did the plastic) and all my purchased goods went smashing onto the asphalt. A loud expletive was shouted (I don't know by whom and luckily it was not repeated by the toddler in the cart). A plastic bottle of teriyaki sauce dropped on it's lid which splintered off and a thick, fragrant puddle attacked the rest of the groceries. A container of yogurt joined in with the sauce and expelled it's contents on my naked toes (yes, Mark, I'm aware that these things are always happening to me because I wear flip-flops every day). I had to pluck the unbroken items from the sticky mess and put them in the other bags.

By this time, not only was Marina still screaming but Eli became quite upset with the whole ordeal and started screaming and crying. He kept yelling, "The sauce! The sauce! Get the sauce!" over and over. He didn't know why it was broken and why we were leaving it on the ground. He insisted the wind must have blown it there (he recently developed an irrational fear of the wind). I had to explain that it wasn't the wind, only a clumsy mommy and that he didn't need to cry about it. This didn't help and a frazzled mother had to put her crying babies in the car, drop the sticky groceries in the trunk and take the cart back while hoping no one was stealing her kids out of the car in the meantime. I wiped the yogurt from my toes with an old soiled kleenex in my car before I drove home and wondered why these things seem to happen to me every day. Maybe because I like to tell people of my misfortunes so God is giving me a few more to tell about...