You know those people {mainly on TV} that jump out of bed in the morning, hair perfect, face perfect, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, smiling from ear to ear, ready to take on the day?
Well I'm not one of them.
"If people were meant to pop out of bed, we'd all sleep in toasters." ~Author Unknown, attributed to Jim Davis
I wake up...slowly. I wake up...cranky. It doesn't really matter how many hours of sleep I get. Regardless, it is going to take me 30 to 45 minutes to become {me}. Before then, I am short{er}-tempered. I am bleary-eyed. My speech is slurred and my coordination is even worse than normal. I don't like to make small talk. I want to be invisible until the stupor wears off.
Yes, I have much in common with an angry drunk when I stumble out of bed awakened by the crying of one who has not yet learned the art of playing in his bed.
So why don't I set an alarm and allow myself the necessary time to wake up BEFORE my son? Laziness. My alarm goes off and I don't {want} to get up. Truthfully, I don't {want} to get up when I hear my son crying either, but I MUST.
"The older generation thought nothing of getting up at five every morning--and the younger generation doesn't think much of it either." ~John J. Welsh
I'm thinking it is time, {ahem, once again} to implement the morning routine. Starting with setting an alarm and going through my entire wake-up process BEFORE Prince Charming begins his wail. Also thinking it's high time he learned how to play in his crib.
Yes, I think I should. My mornings were much better when I got certain things done before my son got up.
"Be pleasant until ten o'clock in the morning and the rest of the day will take care of itself." ~Elbert Hubbard
Back to the Basics
1. Coffee
2. Bible Study and Prayer Journal
3. Breakfast
4. Dishes and Laundry
{As I sit here, writing this blog, I am cranky. I think when I am sick, it no longer takes me 30 minutes to wake up...it takes 7 days.}
A few more quotes about {morning}, some thought-provoking, some I fully resonate with:
"I have a 'carpe diem' mug and, truthfully, at six in the morning the words do not make me want to seize the day. They make me want to slap a dead poet." ~Joanne Sherman
"One key to success is to have lunch at the time of day most people have breakfast." ~Robert Brault
"The sun has not caught me in bed in fifty years." ~Thomas Jefferson
"Early morning cheerfulness can be extremely obnoxious." ~William Feather
"I don't think jogging is healthy, especially morning jogging. If morning joggers knew how tempting they looked to morning motorists, they would stay home and do sit-ups." ~Rita Rudner
Saturday, September 24, 2011
{It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World}
Welcome to Toddlerdom!
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
Ain't that the truth?!
This is a collection of mini-stories {shorter than short stories} that have taken place over the last few weeks:
My son was laying on our long vanity {counter} in our bathroom. I was changing his diaper. I had undone the tabs and was leaning away from him trying to peel a wipe apart from the stack. Having no luck, I took all hands off my son and continued to try to wrench this particular wipe away from the others. As I look back to check on my son, I see him do the unthinkable. He reached down between his legs, took hold of his {untabbed} diaper, and yanked. To my horror {and I'm sure his}, the POOPY diaper landed square on his FACE. From under the diaper, I heard a shocked whine of complete panic and confusion. I came to his rescue, removing the diaper, only to find a human patty ON. HIS. FACE. I quickly went into {Disinfect Mode}. And my son? Let's just say he hasn't done THAT again.
On this same foul day, as I was most assuredly doing something incredibly important (yeah, right), my son was running to and from the bathroom. This should have been a sign. A flashing neon sign at that. But, I was preoccupied. Finally, my awareness sharpened and I began to take it all in. The pitter patter of excited little feet. The Oreo wrapper. The splash of water. Oh yes, my son was dipping the Oreo wrapper IN. THE. TOILET.
Then there was the day {thank goodness, a different day}, when I forgot to put away ONE crayon. One BLUE crayon. Yes, the other 23 were safely put away, but that ONE LITTLE BLUE CRAYON was not. And so, it was on my previously white bathroom door. My TV screen. My brand-new TV console. A better mom might have taken pictures of the little blue drawings of her {prodigy}. I, however, disciplined my son and scrubbed away the blue.
At this point, I'm sure you are wondering "So isn't this just 'the worst of times'??" Close. But then there was the time he was playing in my mother-in-law's backyard, near the air conditioner unit, and it kicked on. He went into a panic, signed "HELP!", and ran to us, looking over his shoulder at the monster that had come to life.
There was the time he disassembled his potty chair, dragged the bottom portion of it into my bedroom {upside down}, straddled it, and began to ride it, pretending it was a "vroom vroom."
There was also the day, at his great-grandmother's house, that he finally "got" a new sign and signed "MORE" and "HELP" with such enthusiasm and excitement that my mom and I died laughing.
There are the times {plural!} that he grabs my face and kisses me. The times he crawls into my lap just to get a hug, then hops back down. The times he looks at me, smiles at me, and laughs {'course you would too if you saw me when I first wake up}.
There are many more "best" and "worst" times, these are just a few. {Ahh, The Life of a Temporarily Single Mom with an 18-month-going-on-18-year-old}
{No animals or humans were harmed during the making of this blog, however: while writing this blog, my son began to pester me. I looked him in the eye and said, "I am writing a story about YOU. It's called 'It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World." To which he replied, "MAD MAD MAD MAD MAD!" Then knocked over a lamp.}
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
Ain't that the truth?!
This is a collection of mini-stories {shorter than short stories} that have taken place over the last few weeks:
My son was laying on our long vanity {counter} in our bathroom. I was changing his diaper. I had undone the tabs and was leaning away from him trying to peel a wipe apart from the stack. Having no luck, I took all hands off my son and continued to try to wrench this particular wipe away from the others. As I look back to check on my son, I see him do the unthinkable. He reached down between his legs, took hold of his {untabbed} diaper, and yanked. To my horror {and I'm sure his}, the POOPY diaper landed square on his FACE. From under the diaper, I heard a shocked whine of complete panic and confusion. I came to his rescue, removing the diaper, only to find a human patty ON. HIS. FACE. I quickly went into {Disinfect Mode}. And my son? Let's just say he hasn't done THAT again.
On this same foul day, as I was most assuredly doing something incredibly important (yeah, right), my son was running to and from the bathroom. This should have been a sign. A flashing neon sign at that. But, I was preoccupied. Finally, my awareness sharpened and I began to take it all in. The pitter patter of excited little feet. The Oreo wrapper. The splash of water. Oh yes, my son was dipping the Oreo wrapper IN. THE. TOILET.
Then there was the day {thank goodness, a different day}, when I forgot to put away ONE crayon. One BLUE crayon. Yes, the other 23 were safely put away, but that ONE LITTLE BLUE CRAYON was not. And so, it was on my previously white bathroom door. My TV screen. My brand-new TV console. A better mom might have taken pictures of the little blue drawings of her {prodigy}. I, however, disciplined my son and scrubbed away the blue.
At this point, I'm sure you are wondering "So isn't this just 'the worst of times'??" Close. But then there was the time he was playing in my mother-in-law's backyard, near the air conditioner unit, and it kicked on. He went into a panic, signed "HELP!", and ran to us, looking over his shoulder at the monster that had come to life.
There was the time he disassembled his potty chair, dragged the bottom portion of it into my bedroom {upside down}, straddled it, and began to ride it, pretending it was a "vroom vroom."
There was also the day, at his great-grandmother's house, that he finally "got" a new sign and signed "MORE" and "HELP" with such enthusiasm and excitement that my mom and I died laughing.
There are the times {plural!} that he grabs my face and kisses me. The times he crawls into my lap just to get a hug, then hops back down. The times he looks at me, smiles at me, and laughs {'course you would too if you saw me when I first wake up}.
There are many more "best" and "worst" times, these are just a few. {Ahh, The Life of a Temporarily Single Mom with an 18-month-going-on-18-year-old}
{No animals or humans were harmed during the making of this blog, however: while writing this blog, my son began to pester me. I looked him in the eye and said, "I am writing a story about YOU. It's called 'It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World." To which he replied, "MAD MAD MAD MAD MAD!" Then knocked over a lamp.}
Thursday, September 8, 2011
{Liquid Sanity}
Coffee is the one natural {thing} I've been able to find that combats depression {for me}.
No coffee=tired, cranky, short-tempered, unfocused, apathetic.
1 cup of coffee=better.
2 cups of coffee or 1 shot of espresso={PERFECTION} (or pretty dang close, anyway).
3 cups of coffee or 2 shots of espresso=a little much...{WIRED}.
Today, after a great workout, my son and I went through a local drive-thru. I got coffee; he got a smoothie. Win/Win!
My chocolatey liquid sanity had two shots of espresso, however. I momentarily forgot my rule of no more than one shot of espresso!
In no time flat, I went from feeling pretty good to Hammy from Over the Hedge. Once I got home, I morphed into an F5 Tasmanian devil whirling from room to room, magically throwing everything into its proper place.
Sadly~after about 4 hours~my house STILL does not look perfect (I did decide I need to add a 2-shots-of-espresso-day to my weekly plan, though!), BUT I accomplished 2 out of the 3 things on my To-Do list {new plan my MIL recommended: only 3 things on your To-Do list each day} AND my house looks much better than it did this morning!
Back to my FlyLady mantra: Progress Not Perfection!
No coffee=tired, cranky, short-tempered, unfocused, apathetic.
1 cup of coffee=better.
2 cups of coffee or 1 shot of espresso={PERFECTION} (or pretty dang close, anyway).
3 cups of coffee or 2 shots of espresso=a little much...{WIRED}.
Today, after a great workout, my son and I went through a local drive-thru. I got coffee; he got a smoothie. Win/Win!
My chocolatey liquid sanity had two shots of espresso, however. I momentarily forgot my rule of no more than one shot of espresso!
In no time flat, I went from feeling pretty good to Hammy from Over the Hedge. Once I got home, I morphed into an F5 Tasmanian devil whirling from room to room, magically throwing everything into its proper place.
Sadly~after about 4 hours~my house STILL does not look perfect (I did decide I need to add a 2-shots-of-espresso-day to my weekly plan, though!), BUT I accomplished 2 out of the 3 things on my To-Do list {new plan my MIL recommended: only 3 things on your To-Do list each day} AND my house looks much better than it did this morning!
Back to my FlyLady mantra: Progress Not Perfection!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
{Nutter Butter Nagger}
Sometimes, strange though it may be, I enjoy a bit of privacy.
While at my parents' house (just my son and me), I decided to go to the bathroom ALONE. My son ran after me, assuming he, of course, was to be included in this activity, and was stunned to witness the door shutting in front of him.
Like the 18-month-old he is, he whined and cried. Then, as I sat there, I watched as a shiny red package appeared under the door. I could hear him grunting and whining. I saw little boy fingers wrapped around the package as he finally pushed the rest of it through the narrow gap between the door and the floor.
I laughed outloud as I saw he had delivered a package of Nutter Butters to him. Perhaps he thought it would be his entrance fee. He was sadly mistaken.
As he realized his misjudgment, he tried to retrieve his beloved cookies. But as the raccoon, he quickly learned that retrieval wasn't as easy. He gripped the red foil packaging with his little fingers and pulled and pulled. I just cracked up.
{Don't worry. As soon as I was finished, he got his treasure back!}
While at my parents' house (just my son and me), I decided to go to the bathroom ALONE. My son ran after me, assuming he, of course, was to be included in this activity, and was stunned to witness the door shutting in front of him.
Like the 18-month-old he is, he whined and cried. Then, as I sat there, I watched as a shiny red package appeared under the door. I could hear him grunting and whining. I saw little boy fingers wrapped around the package as he finally pushed the rest of it through the narrow gap between the door and the floor.
I laughed outloud as I saw he had delivered a package of Nutter Butters to him. Perhaps he thought it would be his entrance fee. He was sadly mistaken.
As he realized his misjudgment, he tried to retrieve his beloved cookies. But as the raccoon, he quickly learned that retrieval wasn't as easy. He gripped the red foil packaging with his little fingers and pulled and pulled. I just cracked up.
{Don't worry. As soon as I was finished, he got his treasure back!}
{Drawing Water}
Like the responsible parent I am--*cough*--I was sitting on my bed, chatting on Facebook with my sisters, paying CLOSE attention to my son...or maybe not so close. Because I am such a multi-tasker (Code for ADD), I was filling the tub for a bath at the same time.
I decided to go check on the tub, so I looked over the side of my bed before hopping down (our bed is pretty high up and I am quite short), and to my dismay, saw a puddle on the floor. Thinking that my son SOMEHOW must have opened and spilled his Gatorade, I sighed and hopped down, avoiding the puddle.
My eyes stayed ahead of my feet and took in not one, but several puddles of growing volume between where I stood and the doorway of my bedroom. About the same time, I heard the quick pitter patter of little boy feet headed in the direction of the bathroom. Incredulous, I increased my pace as I made a beeline for the bathroom calling aloud to my son.
As I rounded the corner and stepped into the hall bath, I saw my son, bent over the side of the tub. In his hands was an Easter basket made of camo fabric. He finished filling it with water from the tub and ran, in his cute high-step fashion, to bring me the bucket of water as it quickly seeped--or rather RUSHED--out of the bottom. His face was alight with his ear-to-ear grin.
Needless to say, this was one moment filled with both laughter AND {loving} discipline.
I decided to go check on the tub, so I looked over the side of my bed before hopping down (our bed is pretty high up and I am quite short), and to my dismay, saw a puddle on the floor. Thinking that my son SOMEHOW must have opened and spilled his Gatorade, I sighed and hopped down, avoiding the puddle.
My eyes stayed ahead of my feet and took in not one, but several puddles of growing volume between where I stood and the doorway of my bedroom. About the same time, I heard the quick pitter patter of little boy feet headed in the direction of the bathroom. Incredulous, I increased my pace as I made a beeline for the bathroom calling aloud to my son.
As I rounded the corner and stepped into the hall bath, I saw my son, bent over the side of the tub. In his hands was an Easter basket made of camo fabric. He finished filling it with water from the tub and ran, in his cute high-step fashion, to bring me the bucket of water as it quickly seeped--or rather RUSHED--out of the bottom. His face was alight with his ear-to-ear grin.
Needless to say, this was one moment filled with both laughter AND {loving} discipline.
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