Thoughts About Moving

At the moment, my life is random. I pack a little, spend a LOT of time sorting out the antics of the neighborhood kids, clean up wikis and blogs, yadda yadda yadda.

So, in the spirit of the moment, here are some random thoughts.

In my spare time (har), I like to read through decorating magazines to get ideas for our new pad. But, here is the thing. I really don't think people LIVE in places like that. It can NOT be possible. These are supposedly "kid friendly" houses. But, um, MY KIDS would wreck those delicate vases and soil any couch not made of teflon or rubber.

I love how the magazines talk about having "fun totes" all over the place. What tote is fun? What will my six year old do that is FUN with a tote that doesn't fall under the "please don't kill your brother by suffocation" category? Truly, it is a lot full of rubbish.

I am convinced that I am both a terrible mother and a horrid wife. My house has never been spic or span, my kids don't eat broccoli flourets whipped up in a snappy second, they don't do arts and crafts in the family painting lounge, and, jeebus, they don't say things like "Please, Moustache Man, I feel that it would be super swell of you to pass me that crayon. Oh, I can totally understand why you don't want to share it, but really, I feel it is my turn to use it. Oh, thank you for being such a wonderful brother. I admire you for giving me that crayon."

Here is the real deal around here...

Sharpie Boy eats food he hides. This is a gross thing. I understand it is gross. But, I CAN'T FIND HIS HIDING SPOTS. The doctor says he will survive.

Not only do I not whip things or souffle them in my kitchen, I don't think the word flouret is in any cook book I own (unless there are brownies decorated with them). Even if I could whip a flouret, I am fairly certain that Moustache Man would still demand a waffle or a hot dog, and Sharpie Boy would ignore it and find his stash of goldfish crackers.

Arts and crafts happen on the floor, on the porch, and in the tub. The floor and porch are sanctioned; the tub creations are rarely approved. The best art, at least to my crew, is clogging the toilet and yelling "Run! We have a FLOOD!"

And, at no time, does sharing of toys happen unless there is a negotiation on the table. This is the real dialogue:

MM: Gimme that crayon.
SB: No
MM: (Hits SB)
SB: (Kicks MM)
MM: Cries
SB: Cries louder
Mom: Yells

So, you see, I need these magazines, but their advice is truly crappy. If I HAD A MAGAZINE, it would have articles like "How to Get Sharpie Marker Off The Antique Piano" and "The Best Hot Dogs for Kids" and "12 Ways to Unclog a Toilet." I would have layouts of REAL kid rooms where the clothes are all stuffed under the bed and dirty underoos are hanging from the crooked train lamp. I would have marriage columns called "My Marriage Survival Tip: Always Sleep when Husband Drives" and "How to Guilt Trip Husband into Washing His 4-Day Old Coffee Cup that HE Hid"

I would only accept ads from places where I can actually fit into the clothing. And, all of the models would be well fed and robust, so that we can SEE what would look like crap on us BEFORE we dream of looking like Genie. There are NO "carefree pants" and "brilliant hues" for Moms. We wear what doesn't smell, and we find the least stained item to go to PTA.

Anywho. Those are my random thoughts for today. Tomorrow, I might talk about cleaning out all my wikis and blogs. That was a CHORE! But, I needed to change all the references of my former employer to my current one, and I also cleaned up some odd looking stuff. It wasn't as fun, nearly, as unclogging the toilet.