I think it’s safe to assume that I have lost my BEGINNING OF A NEW SCHOOL YEAR momentum. This morning when Thing 2 woke up at 6:00, I put him in bed with us, and he and I watched Baby Einstein videos on my iPhone. Truthfully, this happens EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. But what doesn’t happen is this: 6:30 passed, and I was still laying in bed, wishing that I could sleep while the Baby Einstein puppets were up to their crazy antics. 6:45 passed. The boy was showered and making his bed, and I was still in my bed. Still watching You Tube videos with Thing 2. 7:00 came. 7:10 came. The boy asked me if I was sick. I assured him that NO, NO I WAS NOT, and WHAT’S THE MATTER? HAVEN’T YOU EVER SEEN YOUR MOTHER IN BED UNTIL THE CARPOOL ARRIVES? I just didn’t have the gumption to get up and shower and do real things.
By 7:15, though, I pretty much had to. I shuffled into the kitchen and packed the boy a lunch. Since I didn’t go to the grocery store over the weekend, his lunchbox looked like an explosion of THIS IS WHAT WE HAVE ON HAND; GOOD LUCK WITH IT. If he gets a belly ache tonight, we can assume the lunch meat was bad, even though it still smelled more on the good side of things. I considered putting some salad croutons in a Ziploc baggie as a side dish, but then I stood up taller in my pajamas and disheveled hair and had some pride, y’all.
I found some stale Cheetohs, which are a little more acceptable in a child’s lunchbox. Sadly, nothing in the boy’s lunch today fell into the category of FRUITS, VEGETABLES, WHOLE GRAINS, or HEALTHY FATS. I fell off the food pyramid and sent him with the heel of a loaf of white bread on his sandwich.
Of course my decision to lie comatose in bed all morning meant that I didn’t get a shower before Hubs left for work. In my former life, this was okay, because I could always just shower WHENEVER. With Thing 2 in the house, there must be a capable adult on baby duty at all times. If I showered without an attendant, Thing 2 would light the house on fire and just burn! It! Down!
I think it’s pretty safe to say that I looked like a tamed-down version of hell at 8:00, but I had only myself to blame.
By 8:30, Sister was here to help gut Thing 2’s closet. Sister has seen me at my all-time worst, so I wasn’t concerned about being a problematic, Miss America contestant who was still loafing around in my pajama bottoms.
By 8:45, my mom was here, because? Did I mention? She retired in May, and she can’t sit still. Plus, she loves to accomplish real work. Cleaning closets for her is as rewarding as staying in bed too long is for me.
Thing 2’s closet is a wonder to behold now. EVERYTHING in there actually fits him, because we took the “too small” clothes out that have been hogging up space and causing me grief.
And then my mama lit into the boy’s bathroom linen closet. I won’t lie; I’m tempted to snap a picture of it tonight and PIN IT! It would go viral on Pinterest, because of the sheer beauty of it. That bathroom closet hasn’t been this organized since… well… EVER. The only problem is that I don’t have any little chalkboard labels on the wicker baskets that hold ALL THINGS BATHROOM RELATED, like Distinguished Susie Homemaker has, but still! I can’t quit throwing open the sliding doors on that giant closet and just standing there, sighing with happiness. I threatened the boy with horrible mayhem and abuse and swirlies in the toilet if he moved anything out of place in there, or if all of my cleaning bottle labels weren’t facing forward in the morning. I think we understand one another.
So pretty much, I don’t have anything to blog about tonight, because my entire life for the last week has been a series of hard, manual labor. I’m just waiting for an emancipation to be declared, so I can give up Housework 101 and return to my leisurely life in the leather chair at Starbucks, surrounded by girlfriends.
And, because every blog post is better with a snapshot, I’ll leave you with this one:
Except, of course, for the one thousand times that Thing 2 pinched his cousin.
And the three hundred and four times that he bit her.
And that time today when he smacked her over the head with a toy, plastic golf club.
I have photographic evidence that proves the guilty party.
Y’all have a good Monday.