Nails

Yesterday my six year old daughter asked me to paint her nails. The almost 2 year old saw this and wanted her nails done too. I figured since we were on a roll, I would do mine too. I don't usually do my nails. Personally, I think fingernails are unattractive and I don't like bringing attention to them. Today I've been self-conscious, thinking that everyone is just staring at my nails and thinking, "wow, that's ugly."

Have you ever really thought about fingernails? Aren't they odd things? And yet, we put paint on them to bring attention to them? I don't get it and I'll probably take the pink polish off my nails soon. My daughters look adorable, though. A little pink nail polish on little girls can look so cute. I'll let them look cute. It's not working for me.

Venting

So, I've started reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin.

(OK, I'm not really reading it, I'm listening to an audio book. Who has time to sit and read anymore?)

I'm only about four chapters in and I'm really loving some parts of it. I think some of the author's goals could work for me and would be great for me to try. Other ideas and goals she sets for herself wouldn't work at all for me. It's got me thinking, though.

One of the goals Gretchen has was to spend a certain amount of time, like a week or a month, and not dump all her problems on her husband. I must raise my hand at being extremely guilty about this. My poor Hubby. He has to listen to me vent all my frustrations on him. Some days there is very little to vent. Other days, like today, I have a lot more to say. The kids were being destructive, I had to deal with a stupid "customer service" person on the phone, etc.... He is pretty good about just letting me vent, but I still feel bad about it.

Maybe I need to set a goal like Gretchen's. I need to go one week without dumping my frustrations on my husband. I can write them in a notebook when I need to vent. I need to try and tell him about the good and the funny things that happen. One week, how bad can it be?

green vs. brown

We had a fun spring break. I love the area my parents live in. It's green, it's slightly hilly, there are trees and lots of cattle. I go there and I never want to leave. They have a wonderful view. When you look out their door, you see a big field with a house in the background and a large pond in the middle of the field. In the early mornings, the sky is pink and purple and a morning fog hangs over the pond and fields. It's so peaceful and pretty. The new spring grass was almost lime green it was so beautiful and new.

I never knew cows were so talkative, but they are. One day, it wasn't too hot or too cold. The weather was just right that day and those cows must have felt good because they chatted up a storm.

I come home and I'm sad. It's so brown and everywhere you look is dead scrub brush and rocks. I've warned my husband, one day I'm going to go visit my family and never return. Why leave beautiful lush green, ponds and trees for tumbleweeds and brown rocks? Well, I guess my hubby is worth it. ;)

(Don't mind me... just having some fun with color.)

Spring Break

It's that wonderful time of year again, spring break. This year we are headed to east Texas to see family and friends. It will be lots of fun.

Check out my weaving blog and see my latest project. I'm quite proud of it.
Inkle and Weave

Crying

The entire neighborhood probably thinks I'm terrible to my one year old. She cries every time we walk out the door. Sometimes it is just because she doesn't want to leave what she was doing. Sometimes there is no reason at all.

I've been to the library twice in two days. I had her with me both times. She cried and yelled through the trip. I was in and out of that library as fast as I could go, but I got a lot of disapproving looks.

When we go to a store, she cries because she wants to walk. She cries because she wants something and I make her put it back. She cries because she wants to go down one aisle and I want to go down another.

Well, if you see me and Peanut in the neighborhood, the store, or the library, and Peanut is crying, just know that I'm not mean to her. She is almost two years old and I'm a frazzled mom of an almost two year old.

If she would stop crying, you would see that she has a pretty smile.

Boo! Got you.

There is a never ended quest between my two oldest kids, my husband and myself to try and scare each other.

Several months ago, my 2nd son was hiding out in a room from his brother. He kept opening the door and peeking out. I quietly walked up to the door, got my face right in the door, so when my son opened the door ever so slightly, I yelled "boo!" and boy did he jump. It was so funny. We all laughed pretty hard.

I guess that same son got my husband good by hiding behind his bed and jumping out at him.

You get the idea.

I was just now in my daughter's room saying good night. I gave her a kiss and backed up towards the door while blowing a kiss her way. As I turned around, there was my 2nd son, yelling "boo!" and scaring me.

He and I had a good laugh as we headed back to his room. I had just tucked him in and I thought he was in bed. Sneaky little boy.

Don't squash "Booleh"

"Booleh" is the made up language of my 6 year old daughter. I don't know if that is how it is spelled, but it is the closest phonetic spelling I can come up.

One day my daughter came home from school and started speaking sentences in some strange language. I asked her if she was learning Spanish at school. No, she informs me, it's Booleh.

Once in a while she will come up to me and say something like, "Do you know how to say 'dinner' in Booleh?"

Nope

"It's fretoh" (Roll the 'r')

It can get pretty annoying when she is constantly telling me these words she made up. I can't squash her enthusiasm, though. What if Mrs. Tolkien had told her young son to stop all his made up language nonsense. Lord of the Rings could never have been what it became without those fabulous languages that he created.

Who knows where Booleh might lead us!

Mess of a cake

I suppose it's my fault. It's time to make a change.

Last night, I went out for an hour alone, to write in my journal. I love my journal time, but I only get it maybe once a month. Anyway, last night we had nothing going and I headed out.

When I got home, my oldest son ran out to the drive way to meet me. I asked him how everything was going.

He answered, "It depends on who you ask."

Uh Oh, do I want to hear this?

"When you bake a cake," he begins, "and you use two boxes of cake mix, and you only put in enough eggs for one box, does it make a big difference in how the cake turns out?"

Yes, it does.

I go into the house. The smell of cake is in the air. Hubby is on the phone with his family and working on my computer at the same time. I peek into the kitchen and my second son has a towel and is mopping up the floor. I assume one of the kids spilled some water. Slowly, I begin to find out what was going on during that hour I was away.

Hubby told the boys they could bake a cake. They've never done this on their own, but they are 11 and 9 years old, smart, and they know how to read. Hubby assumed the boys could follow the directions on the cake box well enough. Well, it seems, they couldn't find a cake pan, so they used the bundt cake pan. The mix only filled up a fourth of the pan, so they decided to add another cake. It seems they forgot to put in the eggs for the second cake. They added green food coloring to the cake, too. Boys... they love to see foods that aren't normally green turn green.

They also spilled the brand new bottle of oil all over the floor, dumping about half of it out. That's what my son was mopping up. Well, they didn't tell us that is what they did. Hubby went into the kitchen to get something and nearly fell when his tennis shoes hit the oily floor.

To make a long story short (too late) we discovered they boys aren't ready to bake on their own yet. I need to invite them into the kitchen more often and supervise. They need to remember to put in all the ingredients, close bottles when they are done using them, time what they bake, and clean up after themselves! There is a big mess in the kitchen this morning thanks to them.

The green mess of a cake was immediately iced by the boys, so the icing melted on the hot cake. everyone tried it. Amazingly, it was edible. It falls into the "ugly but tasty" category.

We'll try it again sometime soon, but this time, Mom's going to be watching their every move.

Things

Things are moving along like normal.

Peanut is into everything, making huge messes, and generally being a one girl wrecking crew. She is just too cute, though.

My four year old son started preschool. It's run by a friend and there are seven kids in the class. He's really enjoying himself and it's helping us all out at home. He was so bored. He wanted so badly to play with other kids, but we could never get anyone to come over. Now he sees his friends a few times a week, is learning some fun things and just enjoying being out.

My daughter is caught up in a school fund raiser. The fund raiser is, they say, for the American Heart Association. She wants to help the AHA, but we keep trying to tell her that most of the money from the fund raiser won't go to the AHA. She is insisting on putting her own pennies into the envelope. I'm so torn. I want her to help others, but I don't like school fund raisers. So much of the money goes toward the promotional company and all the little prizes they give out. Very little will go to the charity and if any of this is for the school, the charity will have to split what money there is with the school. I would rather donate directly to the school or the charity. I really don't like fund raisers and I hate how they play on the emotions and innocence of kids and then tempt them with prizes. I can get the same prize at the Dollar Tree for a dollar. Anyway, she has defied her Dad and my wishes not to put her own money in the fund raiser and has put her coins into the envelope and sealed it. I don't know what to do.

The older boys are not liking school. Good thing spring break is in two weeks.

I'm dealing with my own personal issues. I'm so tired of cleaning up toys and picking up laundry off the floor. I really hate the way my fingernails feel on these tile floors and yet they are constantly scraping the floor because I'm constantly picking up everything off the floor. We are going to have to move at the end of this year because I won't beable to deal with the feel of the floor anymore. It's really making my skin crawl and yet, there is nothing I can do. Things have to get picked up off the floor and I seem to be the only one in the house willing to do it. Ug, just thinking about my fingernails touching this floor is giving my skin the creepy-crawlies. I'm deffiantly developing a .... ?.... what is it called when you can't stand the way something feels? I'm becoming that way with my house floor.

The almost 2 year old

Peanut will be 2 one month from today. Problem is, she is already 2, or acting like it. During the last couple of weeks she has started throwing major tantrums about anything and everything. Horrible screeching, throwing herself to the ground, kicking legs, and if you try to hold her during one of those tantrums, she will hit you in the face.

This isn't unexpected. As a highly emotional child, I only expect the grandest of performances from her. I think I would be disappointed if her tantrums were little weak things. Still, it makes for difficult times with her.

She wakes up each day and within 5 minutes, she is throwing her first tantrum. It is usually because she wants Daddy to hold her and he has to get dressed for work. The tantrums go on all day long at whatever injustice she sees. Mom won't let her watch Blues Clues for the 3rd time in a hour, she throws a tantrum. Brother is playing with a toy she wants, she throws a tantrum.

The worst of them is the midnight tantrums. She will be sleeping and just wake up for no reason, angry and crying and throwing a tantrum. She hits and kicks and cries and is inconsolable. We don't like the midnight tantrums.

I'm hoping it's a phase. I'm really hoping it's a phase.