The progressive Suckiness of A Mother’s Night:

1)One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.

2) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom.

3) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.

4) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.

6) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.  As soon as you touch the hand towel, you feel that it is soaking wet and you instantly realize that the same amazing kid tried to clean it up themselves, which is why they didn’t tell you immediately, and then hung the hand towel back up on the bar. 

7)One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.  As soon as you touch the hand towel, you feel that it is soaking wet and you instantly realize that the same amazing kid tried to clean it up themselves, which is why they didn’t tell you immediately, and then hung the hand towel back up on the bar.  You start cleaning again.

Glitter is the Devil

I have three girls.  I know this.  I should be ok with all the gurly things that come with that must estrogen.  We have naked Barbies littering rooms, and I can deal with this.  We have Little Pet Shop bins overflowing with tiny little funky eyed animals, and I think it is fine.  And while I absolutely love fun craft projects that my girls adore doing, I have to say that I have reached my limit when it comes to one thing: Glitter.
Glitter is the devil.
I have started to hate all things sparkly, and believe me, we have a ton of it.
For her birthday, someone gave The Big One a jewelry box.  This is no ordinary jewelry box, though.  It is a Velvet color yourself one, like those posters we all used to have at just her age.  The cheap black velvet with the crazy drawing taken out, so that you can color it to your hearts content.  Her box even takes it a step further with glitter glue and wait for it...sequins.  Yes.  Sequins, velvet, and glitter, oh my.  Its the ultimate little girls fancy material project.  And I abhor it.  It isn't so much that I hate all the glittery goodness of the box itself, it really comes down to one thing: will the glittery things end up all over my house.  The answer is yes and therein lies the loathing.  I may not hate it as much if we didn't have The Littlest One.  She is here, though, and I have to be protective of her in her tiny, I will put anything in my mouth, state.  Her big sister loves her, sometimes a little too much.  So, The Big One play with the box, washes her hands as is the rule, and then plays with The Littlest One.  No matter how much washing she does before hand, there always ends up random glitter on the baby.  Usually in the froward, hair zone.  That alone is enough to hate the stuff, before I even think about the fact that I am always cleaning it off the floor, the counter tops, and my poor dining table.  I even made the rule that it all has to stay in her room now, but it doesn't seem to prevent the sparkles from ending up all over the house.

To add to the glitz that bejewels my carpets, both of The Bigger Girls have clothes with glitter on them.  That would again be all fine and dandy, if the glitter actually stayed on them.  My dryer lint could often be used to make an barely there top for a Vegas show girl.  I will admit that I could control some of that by simply not purchasing the clothes with the glitter, but being a girl myself, it is really hard to pass up a little girl's t-shirt with  a skull and cross bones made of glitter, especially if the bow on the top is of hot pink glitter.  I can only have so much self control when it comes to clothes like that.

So, here we all live, in a sparkled out house that seems to be as girls as possible.  I supposed I shouldn't complain too much, though, as least as I stated before, I am a girl.  I imagine it is much worse for My Husband, who has to live in the land of all things girly.  I know he goes to work with glitter on him sometimes, because I often find it when he returns.  My hope is that somehow, some of that glitter ends up on the inside of his helicopters, because heaven knows, they could use a little glitz and glam.

Wait. That isn't my snack!

You ever have one of those moments that just kind of grosses you out? I feel like sharing one of mine from today.

As I was cleaning, getting down and sweeping floors, and all that jazz, I notice I have a little piece of food on my chest. Now, with a chest like mine, it is an unfortunate fact that food often sits on my boobs. Another unfortunate fact is that I don't always notice until someone else points it out to me. My husband is oft the one to point this out to me. He generally, though, points it out by asking me if I was saving what ever it is he spies as a snack for later.

This time, there was no adult around to point out my lapse. My children, apparently, don't care if I walk around with food on my clothes. I wish I could say the reverse was true.

Anyway, I look down while cleaning, and notice something there. I pull off this whitish thing, only to realize that i have been walking around with a piece of chicken on me. Now, this might not be too gross, ok, it is, but what makes it even worse is that it isn't my chicken. I didn't have chicken for lunch. What makes it really, really nasty is that, if you read my profile you know, I am a vegetarian. I have been for the last 12 or so years, in fact. So, hanging out with a tag-a-long piece of chicken on my shirt is incredibly disgusting for me. It certainly wasn't something I was saving for later.

I do know exactly where it come from, though. That should be of some comfort, I suppose. At least it wasn't some random piece of meat that I can't place. I know that this particular piece of chicken fell out of my daughter's mouth at lunch time.

She is incredibly cranky for about 18 out of 24 hours in a day at present as we are going through a nap time change. Now, she sleeps more than 6 hours a day, but since she seems to even be cranky in her sleep lately, I had to up her average number of crankified hours. Anyway, at lunch she was, of course, really cranky. She insisted I hold her. Even while she ate. I have been making great efforts to try and feed her more meat. My husband usually takes care of that, but with him gone, I have to try and honor the fact that she happens to be the meat eatingist baby I have ever seen. So, I gave her chicken today. She must have really loved it. Maybe I should feel bad about that, because she loved it so much, she seems to have saved a piece as a snack for later. Like any other child, she just ask mom to hold it for her until she was ready.

Ehh, what can you do? I'm not getting smaller boobs, or neater kids. I think we will just have to manage with the finding of random snacks around here.

Next Bathroom, Please

The sign reads:
This restroom is currently closed to maintain the cleanliness level until our guests arrive. Please use any of the other bathrooms in the house until after our guests are gone. Anyone caught using this bathroom until the allotted time will be directed to speak with Momma.

Ok. I don't really have that sign, but I want one.

Why is it that right after you clean the bathroom guests use, someone slips by you, uses the bathroom, and instantly makes it unrepresentable?? I swear to you all that I bleached my bathroom down, late, late last night after everyone went to bed. In fact, it was around midnight when I was done. At lunch time today, I went into the bathroom to change the trash, the last thing I needed to do, and low and behold, I find a big chunk of poop in my rug. You read that right. Poop. There is poop on the wall. There is poop everywhere. I can't believe it. I seriously can't believe it. I just cleaned that thing!!

So, from here on out, let it be known that any person who lives in my house, may no longer use the guest restroom on any day that guests are expected until the time after they leave. The proclamation shall stand forever more, or until we move into a house that has no guest rest room, which ever comes first.