2017 total: $12105.73


The Great Delurk

You know what kind of freaks me out? There are a whole lot of you that come by this little page. If I do the math, it quickly becomes evident that I am in no way related to each and every one of you. So who are you people? Delurk yourself! Please? Just for one day?

The Great Mofo Delurk 2007


I Just HAD to Open My Mouth

Guess what happens when you talk about some kind of annoying thing that your kid does in the middle of the night? She changes it to something significantly more annoying, of course. Last night was not so much about the "Good night!" at 3:30 as it was about the "Woe is me, however shall I survive?" It took hugs, kisses, and a pacifier to convince Alexis that I needed to be asleep, not standing in her room holding conversations that I only partially understand. (Yes, I admit it. There was still one lonely pacifier in this house. In a moment of absolute desperation I seemed to incredibly gain the ability to find it. In the dark. Despite the fact that I could have sworn that I threw it away the last time I encountered it. This time I KNOW I threw it away. Promise.)

I finally returned to bed at 4:00. Strangely, I was really glad when the alarm went off at 5:00 because it interrupted a bad dream. The kind of bad dream where there is a really large spider crawling on your neck and you're not freaking out because it's a dream and in your dreams you're not altogether sane. During waking hours I would have been shrieking, screaming, and running for dear life if there was a large spider on me. So the interruption was welcome because it kept me from having to dream about being a crazy lady that stands still while spiders crawl on her. *Shudder*

So I went from spider dreams to the shower, where I was delighted to see that I had been joined by a REAL LIFE large spider. He (she?) was between the shower curtain and transparent liner, taunting me by walking around just inches from my real life neck. In plain sight. At a time of day when I couldn't scream like a sissy-girl. Which is probably just as well because my husband? Not a spider kind of guy. He'll do every load of laundry in the house but he will not rid my bathroom of some itty- bitty spider. While this particular spider was of the large variety, it's all the same. He's useless when it comes to spider-busting.

I was reminded of that when I was cooking dinner and a spider dropped down from the vent, right onto the stove. That particular itty-bitty spider met an ugly sort of death because, well, the means were right there in front of me. And the husband? He disappeared the second I said "Darn it! There's another spider!" (Let's pretend I said "Darn" and not that other word that is far more likely, mmkay?) Good thing it was his egg sandwich I was frying at that moment, now isn't it?


I'm Happy to See You, Too

We long ago mastered the art of bedtime. I'm proud to say I still have a child that tells me when she's ready to get in her crib and go to sleep. No screaming, no crying, no struggles. Actually, I dare say, bedtime is a pleasure. It's about six hours after bedtime that has me ready to jump off the nearest bridge.

For the past two months or so, Alexis has insisted on announcing she is awake in the middle of the night. It's not every single night, but it's frequently enough to keep me dependent on Starbucks (For the record, I still refuse to pay $4.07 for what I really want and have been settling for a Caramel Macchiato. Why, yes, I am bitter. Thanks for asking.). I don't really mind the waking up part, I mind the screaming bloody murder as if someone is ripping her toenails out one-by-one. I mind even more that I end up getting out of my warm, cozy bed to make sure she isn't actually being clawed to death by a cat or something.

As I stagger the twenty feet between her room and my warm, cozy bed (did I mention that it's warm and cozy?), I'm usually convinced that she really must be dying. There is no other explanation for the intensity of the shrieks. I peer through the doorway and am greeted by:

"Muuuuummmmmmy! Good night!"

Honest to goodness. She puts on airs like she is a prisoner in Abu Ghraib then cheerily tells me good night and flops back down to return to sleep. All she has to do is see the outline of my body. She's back to sleep in under 30 seconds and I'm left wide-awake, wondering what exactly just transpired.

I think this may be some sort of test. What I don't know is whether I'm passing it or failing miserably. I fear the latter.

Also, this is what happens when Daddy is put in charge of nap time: