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Mercy don't speak...she just types when she's bored 10:55 a.m. I'm back |
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Mercy don't speak...she just types when she's bored 10:55 a.m. I'm back |
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profile Disclaimer: Disclaimer
addendum:
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I signed on to see if this thing was still there - to pull down some old entries to save and clear them out but then inexplicably I hit "add an entry" and cannot resist the lure of the empty white field box. So what's up with me? and yes, I am well aware I am writing for myself as no one knows I'm here anymore...shhhhh...it'll be our little secret. Married life is great...doesn't look like the baby will be happening as it isn't in God's plans apparently - but I'm dealing with that remarkably well which should shock everyone reading this who knows me. Since that's just me, well, yay me for being less obsessive compulsive than usual. So lets see...why don't I just do a thumb nail sketch of what my life is like at the moment so when I am whining in 10 years about the empty nest symndrome I can cry about what I'm missing - specifically. Recently I started getting up every morning at 6 am to work out with Denise Austin. She's on the tv...not like she comes to my house or anything which is good...I can excersize without doing my hair first. By the time I'm done, #1 son is just getting back from his morning 4 mile run and I make him a calorie infused protien shake to gain weight while I drink a cup of coffee with skim milk and splenda to lose it...and then he hits the shower and I make 3 lunches infusing each with the love of a mother who is really glad school started again (but who also misses the kids while they are gone - I am nothing if not a walking dichotomy) Then I get the other two up, check backpacks to avoid forgotten homework and gym suits, and manage the chaos of the morning until they are off to school. I then tend to the house. I am trying to get the painting finished before the weather turns cold, and so far the boys' rooms, hall, living room, dining room, kids bath, and kitchen are done. Left to do is the girl's room, our bedroom and bath, and the laundry room. I am not totally alone though. The two cats look on with total disinterest execept for glaring at me for making the house smell like paint. Oh, and the dog is slightly more helpful as she wags her tail and gets very excited whenever I'm on the ladder...so excited she releases copious amounts of gas. She's either trying to help by competeing with the paint fumes or we need to change her food. Oh, and she's more than happy to brush up aginst any freshly painted wall so i can wash the paint off her fur against her will. nothing like an interactive partner to make a chore just fly by! While doing this I keep up with all the important news on tv...as long as it appears on the peoples court, judge judy, or an old rerun of Grace Under Fire. Then midafternoon my baby bursts through the door, fresh from all he has learned in 5th grade, and make him a snack and help him with his homework before the ritalin wears off. Usually this is finished about 5 seconds before the doorbell rings. I think it's great he and his 3 best pals all live within a couple of houses of each other - but it does mean we are always running low on popsicles and our grass will never recover from all the bikes that land on it daily. it's about this time I swear under my breath because I remember that one again I have forgotten to take something out for dinner. So i defrost something in the microwave praying for an even thaw. Then I take the meat out, half frozen half completely cooked and I swear under my breath at the microwave and promise that next payday we buy a new one. We never do. We'll wait till it dies, mourn, and then shop. After all it's only 15 years old...when I was a child back in the 1920's microwaves lasted longer. Later in the afternoon the little princess pops in the door from homework lab. It's like a voluntary study hall that she claims makes it easier to do her homework. I think we all know it's easier to do homeowkr with girlfriends while talking about the boys who are also in homework lab. I don't care about her motives, as I haven't received one missing assignment slip on her behalf all year which is some kind of record. She grabs a snack, tells me all about who is fighting with whom, which boys are being the most moronic, and which girl in school had a paticularly cute hairstyle or outfit today. Nothing like a 7th grade girl to keep you informed with current events. She then changes and heads over to cheerleading practice, which for 2 hours a day 5 days a week she is practicing handstands, flips, and cartwheels where God intended...which is anywhere except our hallway and living room. R-O-W-D-I-E that's the way we spell rowdy - ROWDY - let's get ROWDY. LOUDER! good lord, no wonder kids can't spell...and why are the cheers exactly the same as when I was a kid? And why couldn't she be on poms like her old mom? It was definately quieter...but that's only because my parents are no longer alive to give testimony to how obnoxious I was waving those things around practicing dance routines in...the hallway. That's where she gets it. Then my husband comes home, gives me a kiss, and compliments the dog on whatever color her fur is painted today. Then I make dinner - leaving it to congeal while we go pick up #1 son from cross country practice monday-friday. Good thing I was never much of a cook so this new process isn't really a step down. #1 son runs a minimum of 85 miles per week at practice, 4 miles before school and 3 hours everyday after, and half days on weekends where there aren't meets. he loves it so much, high school has been very good to him he's had a great time and made a seamless transition. Open house was an adventure in compiments for me with all teachers telling me how much they love him. I feel bad my parnets never got to expereince that in regards to me. They were treated to questions about why I never shut up, why I think bathrooms are my own private smoking lounges, and will I ever live up to my potential. Apparently the answer to that last one is a big no. Then, for our evenings, there is always something special in store. Unfortunately that something special is never kick back with a cup of coffee and fall asleep watching tv. Mondays - The delicate one cuts cheerleading practice short and we head her and young rocket boy over to CCD. #1 son rests after cross country practice and enjoys the quiet. Tuesdays - cheer/cross country practice/baseball clinic for rocket boy then Rainbow and DeMolay - alternating weeks. Wednesdays - cheer/cross country practice and time to work on the long term homework projects as we have a family vow no longer to wait until the last minute. Mommy can't handle the pressure of deadlines. Thursdays - and extra hour of cheer/cross country practice. Yesterday was the tailgate/pep rally to gear up for homecoming this saturday. Fridays - the night before meets the cross country team has a carb fest pasta party for the team, so that's shuttling him over and picking him up at 10:00. I didn't have enough to feel guilty about, now I have to feel bad we don't have a big enough house to host 55 teenage boys for dinner. Thanksfully we live in the land of the McMansion so there are others who host, but still feel the guilt and helping provide the dessert does assuage that. while he is busy with that rocket boy and his friends get engrossed in video games and the delicate flower of a daughter we have spends either the entire night on the phone recapping who said what to who from the previous week at school, or working on cheers with her little cheer pals. Her handstands are really coming along! Saturdays - football games which require...wait for it...cheerleaders! So days where they are homegames feel like a day off. Usually #1 son has a meet so we go from one to the other, documenting everything via digital pictures. Paris Hilton isn't photographed as much as my kids are - they are going to sue us for papparazzi stalking one of these days. Whilst this is happening, young rocket boy whines just often enough to be annoying not often enough to require discipline...about how he just wants to hang with his buddies and ride bikes and why oh why is he dragged to all these games and meets. Sunday - Sunday - Sunday...a day of rest. And sure it is, after mass and in between driving the kids to their friends houses or having them here - and they don't even have the courtesy to have friends who live in the same part of town. they really need to orchestrate that better. How selfish they are, chosing friends based on internal qualities rather than which subdivision is closest.
I'm back - 2005-09-09
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