
I repeat myself using
many decibels
Long day. If you are posting Back to School pictures, well, good for you.
Shenanigans and Antics

Long day. If you are posting Back to School pictures, well, good for you.

I told my kids, “It’s time to go!”
They refused to get out of the pool.
“But it’s fun to stay at the YMCA!”
Oh, kids. That’s SO not cool.
Note: Tomorrow’s Bad Poem-A-Day is about Pokémon. Make sure you catch it all.
It was a good run.
You came into my room last night
Your body woke you
Clutching the tiny flashlight we gave you
In front with both hands
Braving the journey one door down
Body quieted, you climbed into my bed
Mind unsettled
Unaware of your own thrashing
You pulled the pink blanket up to your nose
The one I fetched without request
Sank into my sanctuary and
Breathed in my sleep
As fearless as my tiny Thing Two is, she sometimes needs to borrow some of my brave to get back to sleep. I wrote this after one of these nights when she uncertainly came in, not knowing what to do, and let me take care of her. I don’t mind if she steals my sleep. I’ll sleep later.
If you give a Mom a dustrag, she’s going to want to clean the windows.
When she cleans the windows, the sun is going to shine on the table.
Mom will see that the table needs a good going over.
She might get carried away, and decide to clean the whole table.
When she’s under the table, she’s going to see the stickers you put there.
While she’s peeling off the stickers, she’s going to notice that the finish on the table is a little worn.
She’ll want to refinish the table, so she’ll need to go to the store.
While Mom is at the store, she’ll buy a refinishing kit, a gallon of milk, something for dinner, and some cookies.
When Mom gets home, she’s going to refinish the table. The table will look so good, Mom will want to redecorate the whole house!
Dad will say no.
By this time, you will be hungry. You will whine to Mom that you need a snack.
Mom will give you a cookie and some milk.
If Mom gives you some milk and a cookie, you will sit at the newly refinished table to eat it. Chances are…you will spill your milk all over the &^*% place, and Mom will need to find her dustrag.
(My hat-tip is to Laura Numeroff for such a signature rhythm. If you have little people, the “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” series books are very cute and good at bedtime. Pretty sure Felicia Bond will not be contacting me to illustrate.)
Burning question of the day: Why wasn’t my house always spotless before I had kids? Seriously, there was, in hindsight, no legitimate reason why it couldn’t have been clean all the time. I guess I was just really lazy. And happy. I was lazy, and happy, and I played video games and worked a lot. Now, when I talk about what I’ve been doing all day, or better yet, what I got DONE, I find that I’m … fudging it a little? What I say…doesn’t seem to mean what I used to think it meant.
“I cleaned the floor.”
Used to mean: I picked up every single thing and vacuumed and mopped the entire house.
Now: I picked up most of the things, and kicked the others around the carpet so I could vacuum. Then I squinted my eyes to simulate an older person who doesn’t see well, and paper towel spot-cleaned anything on the laminate that was glowing green or creating texture.
“I cooked dinner.”
Used to mean: I spent at least 45 minutes cooking some spicy, complicated creation from scratch, using every pan and spoon I owned.
Now: We are eating anything besides take and bake pizza.
“I did laundry.”
Used to mean: I spent all day Sunday washing and drying all the things, so that I could spend my time watching X-Files, folding the laundry, and putting it away during commercial breaks. Voila! All the clothes clean for Monday morning.
Now: I washed and dried some clothes, many of which are small and annoying to fold. They are sitting on the bed RIGHT NOW. If I can sneak off after dinner, I will fold a few of them, then the rest will get smashed into the giant pile of wrinkles in our bedroom. Sorry, dear.
“I cleaned the bathroom.”
Used to mean: The bathroom was ready for a picnic. You could eat off any surface you desired. Everything was sanitized, shiny, and the end of the toilet paper was folded into a little triangle just to make you feel fancy on the john.
Now: Visible signs of the small people have been hurriedly scrubbed off with a disinfecting wipe, and a flushable brush has been swished around the toilet to remove whatever it will remove. Notice I didn’t mention the tub. That’s what shower curtains are for. If you look, it is your problem—why are you looking in my shower? Weirdo.

Pin This! Effort-free growth chart for the little ones! Smear their hands with a different color of sidewalk chalk for each year.
“I’m ready to go.”
Used to mean: I’m ready to go, except I need one more thing that I forgot. There, now I’m ready.
Now: I might be ready to go in about 15 minutes, after I get the other 17 things the children *need* to be happy, find the other shoe, tie them into the carseats and then run upstairs and “fix” my hair. That is conditional. If anyone needs to use the potty, flips out over a sibling saying the wrong thing, or comes down with a flash virus, all guarantees, implied or otherwise, are forever cancelled.
“I did the dishes.”
Used to mean: Who are we kidding? I never kept up with the damn dishes. It pretty much means the same exact thing now as it always did: We’re expecting company.
I like my macaroni,
Better than a pony.
I don’t have to feed it,
In fact, I can eat it.
I have a preschooler, therefore I get all kinds of gifts made of various things that are inexpensive and hard to break. This was a special “surprise,” and I proudly wore it the entire day. It has a magical power. It makes me remember how very small they still are.
Recently, I saw a Facebook post about someone’s otherwise accomplished eight-year-old having trouble making macaroni and cheese. I was not surprised by this. After 30 years of making macaroni and cheese, I have issues regularly. The little people who crash at my house eat the stuff about once a week, and I have become the world’s foremost expert on every way to make it wrong. There’s a trophy and complimentary tickets to the local Museum of Cat Hoarding for being “foremost.” I suppose I would rather be “hindmost,” but there’s no consolation prize. I would always have delicious, non-ruined macaroni and cheese…that’s something, I guess. If you would like to join me in the quest to be the hindmost, please learn from my mistakes.
the flameless candles
were a nice idea, I guess
until she ate them
Thing Two (who is no more than two) is the one person in our family who will pop something into her mouth and then ask, “What am I eating?” CANDLES, honey. You are eating Mommy’s expensive flameless candles.
PS. I would love to have you participate with your own bad poetry about my inspiring topic. I mean, such a moving photo that I took in my house with my iPhone, right? You can’t resist!
I was clearing the lunch dishes the other day (so it was about 4PM), and the sliding glass door off the main floor deck opened. Thing One, a left-handed four-year-old boy with a rather eccentric take on life, poked his pointy head in.
“Mommy. Follow me and I will show you how to wash my socks.”
He was holding in one hand: A filthy, dripping wet sock.
I was instantly intrigued. I have tried many things. His socks are never clean, unless they have not been worn. This is because he likes to take his shoes off, but not his socks. He doesn’t want to get his feet dirty, after all. They would get VERY dirty without socks. This summer, we have decided that socks are just going to be semi-disposable.
I followed Thing One and his dripping sock down the stairs to the patio. There he had this:
And this:
He then proceeded to dip the filthy sock in the water and scrub at it with the decanter brush. All very reasonable, and completely devoid of soap, but points for trying, right? Next, he handed ME the filthy, muddy sock.
“Use teamwork to wash my socks.”
Despite the fact that this made me want to die laughing, being the Mommy required that I hold the ruined footwear still while he scrubbed at it with the decanter brush, “Like this.” I told him that teamwork is a really good way to get something done, proving that I am taking all of this very seriously. (I want Mommy points for that.)
At this point, the sock looked something like this:
Thing One looked at the sock with no small amount of consternation, handed me the decanter brush, and ran off to do something else. I believe he has a bright future in management consulting.