Ten Days

Family ordinance 9.1.2014.130p:

Hereafter, and forevermore, no Katie over the age of thirty shall attempt to put on or utilize roller skates of any size, color, or variety, in an effort to reclaim her youth, impress her children, and/or fondly remember the long-gone glory days of Stardust Roller Rink. If any Katie takes part in any of the above, said family shall not be held responsible for any injuries that may occur as a result of these actions, nor the costs incurred associated with any of the aforementioned injuries.

No, it's not broken. The docs at Urgent Care called it a strain, splinted and wrapped my hand, gave me a sling, recommended more x-rays in five days, and told me to keep my hand immobile for ten days. (This should be interesting.)

Yes, I am embarrassed that this happened.

Yes, I went to Urgent Care with my hair looking like this. I had fallen asleep on the couch earlier but I couldn't move my left hand to fix my loony locks.

No, I cannot button my pants, or get a baby dressed, or make dinner, or put in a new trash bag, or floss my teeth, or put a twist-tie on.

Yes, this could have been much worse.

So, I am basking in fact that I am fortunate enough to still do a lot of things like pour milk, or load the dishwasher, or switch the laundry, or change a wet diaper. (Not a poopy one, though...I need backup for those.) I am blessed with a sweet mother-in-law who came to my rescue to help with Spencer today, an attentive Visiting Teacher who brought my kids home from school and then brought me dinner, kids who are pitching in without complaint, and a handsome honey who is willing to do whatever I can't, from putting my hair in a ponytail, to bringing down and starting the laundry, to cleaning up the kitchen and bathing the kiddos.

But yeah, I'll be excited when ten days have gone by.

Everyday Humor

I will be the first to admit that I love seeing vacuum lines on the carpet. Especially when they were put there by someone that's not named "Mommy." Imagine my surprise, then, when I got back from a run and found that Craig had spontaneously vacuumed our family room. Our exchange went something like this:

Me: Wow, did you vacuum in here?

Craig: Yep.

Me (seeing the toys): And then you decided to play for a little bit?

Craig (smiling): Well, I just vacuumed the important parts.

I'm not complaining. I'll take all the free vacuum lines I can get. But it does make me chuckle.

Other recent exchanges that make me laugh:

Me: Hey, just so you know, I finally designated a craft cupboard for us.
Craig: You did? Oh, good.
Me: That's "craft," not "crap."
Craig: Dangit.

And:

Savanna (on a particularly stressful day): Mommy, what was your favorite part of the day today?
Mommy: Hmm. I don't know if my favorite part of the day has happened yet. But I am really excited that I got all the fingerprints off the fridge and microwave today. My life is not very exciting.
Craig (laughing so hard that he's almost choking on his food): My favorite part of the day was hearing what Mommy's favorite part of the day was.

Thank goodness for reasons to laugh out loud every day.

(P.S. This is my 500th post! Slow and steady wins the race, people; slo-ow and steady...)

Running for My Life

I've always used the phrase, "running after my children" figuratively. Yes, they have always kept me very busy, but not at the frenzied, frenetic pace that comes to mind when using the word "run."

Until now.

Child number 4, Boy of Boys, Messer of Messes, Destructor of All Things Clean and Hallowed, has changed my use of the word "run" from a funny little euphemism to a full-blown reality.

Indeed, I find myself running indoors much more often than would befit a woman of my age. Running to make sure he isn't playing in the toilet...again. Running to pull him down off of the kitchen table for the eleventh time in as many minutes. Running when I hear the words, "Mommy, he's getting in the [insert place where babies shouldn't be] again!" Running to the office to find him on top of the desk, kneeling on (and incidentally breaking) the keyboard.

And, most recently, running to the pantry where he was helping himself to a pre-bedtime snack...

("Um, what? You're the one that keeps the cereal where I can reach it.")

And again to the bathroom where he had insinuated himself, at lightning speed, back into the bathtub that I had just gotten him out of.

("Whatever, lady. Just because you think I'm done in the bathtub doesn't mean I really am.")

Incidentally, even though he's wearing the same thing, these two instances actually happened on different nights.

Maybe something is wrong with the pajamas.

Or maybe he's just crazy.

My bet is on the second of the two.

Out of Reach

This may or may not be what it looks like when the household 4-year-old is in charge of putting the chips away. ("What?? Spencer was going to get them!")

I knew those little magnets were on the chip clips for a good reason.

Main Squeezes

Okay, seriously, sometimes I cannot believe how I can be so fortunate as to get to love these two wonderful men in my life.

1 Daddy + 1 Spencer = Luckiest Girl Ever