it’s not about you

So there I was, having a sweet little moment with my boy - lying on the bed with Killian, singing songs with him as he played with his feet to get him settled down in order to go to sleep, when Joshua walked in the room with Killian’s milk cup.

Killian smiled contentedly, said “bauk,” and reached for the cup, when we all noticed a bit of milk spill onto his shirt. As Joshua handed the cup over to Killian, the entire contents of the cup hit my baby boy right in THE FACE. Apparently, Joshua forgot to screw on the lid.

It took all three of us a full few seconds to figure out what it the world had just happened - did my husband REALLY throw a cup of milk in our son’s face? And for the love of all things good - WHY? Confess, Child! Confess!

Of course, Killian started screaming bloody murder - that’s COLD MILK! ON HIS FACE! I handed him over to his father who took him to the bathroom, stripped him down and started running him a bath. He was completely covered in milk. Then I started stripping all his sheets. It got EVERYWHERE.

You know how a tablespoon of liquid seems to spread out and get everywhere? Try a whole cup. On your son’s face. I think I’ll get his milk from now on.

If a four-year-old is running, falls and scrapes her ankle on the sidewalk, tearing off a pretty good chunk of skin, how many band-aids will she put on it until it heals?

If a toddler drops his full, seven-ounce milk cup from the seat of the shopping cart for sport, how big of a bruise will it leave on mommy’s foot just under her toes? Will she be able to wear flip-flops?

If a four-year-old “accidentally” knocks over her bowl full of milk from breakfast, and the milk covers an area of roughly 16 to 20 square feet, plus the table, chair, cushion, and said four-year-old, how many applesauce splatters that you missed from the day before will you then find?

If a 21-month-old drops four ounces of applesauce from a height of three-and-a-half-feet, and it splatters in an arc all over the floor, table, and wall, exactly how long will it take to clean up?

That sweet little baby has turned into a sweet little girl, and believe me, there are days when I want to glue a bucket to her head just to muffle the whining, and then position her so that she’ll walk blindly into a wall, but on days like today, I understand that she is and always will be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

via dooce.

Mary Judah’s preschool went on a field trip to Harley Farms down in Pescadero today. I am EXHAUSTED. Tonight, I had a sub-committee meeting at my house for the church Steering Committee, and the last person just left five minutes ago.

Mary Judah was very excited about taking her camera to the goat farm this morning and the first thing she did when we got there was whip it out and take pictures. She took pictures the whole time we were there. When Joshua got home from work tonight, she showed him all the pictures from her camera. Somehow, Killian got ahold of it and started pushing buttons (Joshua just informed me that Mary judah handed Killian her camera). When Mary Judah went to show our friend Nick the photos she’d taken today, none of them appeared. Apparently, Killian had been deleting photos the entire time he was pushing buttons.

I feel like crying about it, and boy howdy, have we had enough of that around here. All of those photos she worked so hard to get - GONE. And I can’t pay six bucks and just go get another one. I feel SO BAD. She was so thrilled about her photos and now they’re GONE GONE GONE.

In other news, I’m teaching her that when she tells people, “My mom is going to homeschool me” she needs to add, “and we’re sticking it to the man.”

That’s my girl.

Since news of Eliot Spitzer’s “alleged” involvement with a prostitute, I’ve been getting A LOT MORE hits off of google for “Kristen.”

I’m not her, by the way.

If you are not bleeding, dismembered, and if no body parts are broken, please:

DO NOT INTERRUPT MY MORNING COFFEE.

Be advised that if you do, consequences could include, but are not limited to, the following: bleeding, dismemberment, or broken bones.

You have been so warned.

Simply sit down on the toilet. That’s guaranteed to get them to come running.

via sfgate.com.

Jane Hambleton has dubbed herself the “meanest mom on the planet.”
After finding alcohol in her son’s car, she decided to sell the car and share her 19-year-old’s misdeed with everyone — by placing an ad in the local newspaper.

The ad reads: “OLDS 1999 Intrigue. Totally uncool parents who obviously don’t love teenage son, selling his car. Only driven for three weeks before snoopy mom who needs to get a life found booze under front seat. $3,700/offer. Call meanest mom on the planet.”

Hambleton has heard from people besides interested buyers since recently placing the ad in The Des Moines Register.

The 48-year-old from Fort Dodge says she has fielded more than 70 telephone calls from emergency room technicians, nurses, school counselors and even a Georgia man who wanted to congratulate her.

“The ad cost a fortune, but you know what? I’m telling people what happened here,” Hambleton says. “I’m not just gonna put the car for resale when there’s nothing wrong with it, except the driver made a dumb decision.

“It’s overwhelming the number of calls I’ve gotten from people saying ‘Thank you, it’s nice to see a responsible parent.’ So far there are no calls from anyone saying, ‘You’re really strict. You’re real overboard, lady.’”

The only critic is her son, who Hambleton says is “very, very unhappy” with the ad and claims the alcohol was left by a passenger.

Hambleton believes her son but has decided mercy isn’t the best policy in this case. She says she set two rules when she bought the car at Thanksgiving: No booze, and always keep it locked.

The car has been sold, but Hambleton says she will continue the ad for another week — just for the feedback.

Yesterday, Judah had a REALLY rough day. I’m not exactly sure what was going on with her, but everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, was sending her into fits of angry tears.

I picked her up from preschool yesterday, and usually, all the children are sitting on the front steps together singing a song while waiting for all the parents to arrive. When I walked up, I couldn’t see Judah, who is usually right in the middle of everyone with a huge grin on her face.

I heard her call my name but I couldn’t see her and I thought maybe something had happened. Her teachers told me that she refused to put her shoes on and that she was still inside, and that they weren’t making a big deal out of it. Confused, I went upstairs to see what was going on when Judah melted down. Apparently she didn’t want to leave her first day back to preschool. Which doesn’t surprise me, because when I dropped her off that morning, she wouldn’t even give me hugs and kisses good-bye. I think she’s four going on fourteen.

When we got home, all the way through lunch and afterward, it was the same thing. Everything sent her over the edge. I kept sending her to her room and making her sit in my comfy chair until she would calm down, only to have her melt down all over again at the next injustice of the world - Killian wanting to do what HE wanted and not what SHE wanted.

I finally made her go lie down on my bed and gave her an afghan as some covers, which, of course, she immediately threw on the floor to spite me. She screamed at me for about 20 minutes through the door, and when she finally calmed down, I went in to talk to her. I tried to ask her what was going on and why so was crying and so upset. She kept saying she just wanted to play, or just wanted to read that book, or whatever, and I told her I didn’t understand why she was crying about it all.

After a while, I told her I wanted to her lie down on my bed and rest, and maybe take a nap, and that while she did it, I wanted her to talk to Jesus and tell him how she was feeling and ask him to help her have a happy heart.

At that she began to cry again and I asked her what was wrong, and she said she couldn’t talk to Jesus because she couldn’t see the sky. I told her that she could talk to Jesus no matter where she was, and that God was everywhere. She then said that God didn’t live here and so she couldn’t talk to him. I asked her where God lived and she said, whimpering,

“God lives in Texas.”

Classic. Yeah, so I don’t really have a response for that.

So I told her again that I wanted her to talk to God, and she said she didn’t want to. So I said that was fine, and she could lie there and just listen for God to talk to her. At this I left the room and went in the kids’ room to play with Killian. After about 15 or 20 minutes, I heard her calling me. I went in to see what she needed, and she turned to me and said,

“God’s not saying anything to me.”