Setting The Bar

I'm not Super-Mom.

I'm not even Above-Average-Mom.

I'm a pretty much just Mom.

You could look at as though I'm "keeping it real" for my kids. They need to know that having a family, a home, and a job also means that they have to forgo home-cooked, four-course meals and a spot-free household existence.

It became abundantly clear how far from "spot-free" my home had become based on Stinkle's reaction to cleaning her room yesterday.

Her room was a disaster area. Stuffed animals, barrettes, Barbies, Barbie accessories, baby dolls, McDonald's toys, scraps of at least five sheets of green construction paper, magnets, Littlest Pet Shop stuff, and much more littered her bedroom floor.

It's not a big room - only 11X10 and that might be generous. So it doesn't take much of a mess to make it look much, much smaller.

This poor child also has a massive case of second child syndrome:

• She has the smallest of the bedrooms with the smallest closet.
• Her bed is the actually the trundle from under Cupie's Captains bed.
• The floor lamp used to be Cupie's but it didn't fit the new decor when we moved into our current house so Stinkles inherited it.
• The dresser was originally Cupie's too, but Cupie got a new one when Stinkles was born so it's technically a hand-me-down too.

Cupie has a walk-in closet that we were able to add storage shelves to. She has 25 feet of space to store games, those doll make-up heads, Pixos, books, Barbie stuff, etc. Stinkles has none.

That's one reason her room is a mess. We'd provided her no means of organizing it nor had we shown her how.

So we were at Home Depot this weekend. And you know as soon as we walked in, the kids had to go to the bathroom.

What's with kids and needing to go to the bathroom at every store we visit?

We were there to get a couple of things that sold at the front of the store. Now, I had to traipse all the way to the back of the store to find the bathrooms. Said Traipsing took me through the Closetmaid storage stuff isle.

Whaaaaaaaaaaah. A magical glow floated over the racks of brackets & wire shelving.

I started guesstimating the size of Stinkles closet.

Holy crap!

It was going to cost us at least $250 to do her closet. The angel choir ceased abruptly.

Now, I know you can do a 34"X47" (we measured when we got home) for less than $250, but I wanted the "track" system so we could screw this stuff into the wall once and still have flexibility to change the height of the shelves later. Trying to cover up the bullet sized holes from wall anchors is a pain in the rump.

We ultimately decided to buy the materials for part of her closet. At least she would get some storage.

Stinkles was pretty excited about getting some shelves in her closet and cleaning up her room. Don't you just love this age? She was excited about cleaning!

So I started moving stuff around in her closet. Like, I stacked the tubs of hand-me-down clothes on one side. I moved the boxes of hand-me-down shoes off the shelf already in the closet to the top of the tubs. Thankfully, the wall was there to prevent the fall of the leaning tower of hand-me-downs.

In the process, I found evidence of good intentions. There were three collapsible canvas cubes to match the colors of her room. Stinkles helped decide what went into each one.

I think I saw that on Oprah or read it in one of those perfect parent type of magazines - let the kids help make the decision and maybe they'll stick with it. I thought if she helped decide what went in the cubes, the likelihood of those items making it back into the cubes would increase.

Stay tuned, we'll see if that worked.

Believe it or not, the shelving went up uneventfully.

How does that happen to me?

I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I'll just shut-up and put a check in the success column.

Anywho, Hubby took the kids to Wally-world for a new camera (stay tuned for that saga) and I finished up Stinkle's closet & room cleaning.

When she got home, Stinkles ran to her room. By the time I made my way up, she was at the top of the stairs, jumping up and down with her arms up in the air. She looked like she had just won the lottery.

I got a huge hug and kiss.

I asked her, "Do you like what Mommy did in your room?"

She let go, stepped back, and vigorously nodded her head. Then she said, "Now let's go look at the closet!"

She was that excited about her room being clean - she hadn't even looked at the closet yet!

You know you're doing something wrong when your child thinks that a clean room is cause for celebration.

Or maybe I've done it right by setting the bar pretty darn low.

Silver Lining:

1. There was no stepping on Barbie boots or any other foot puncturing item when sneaking in for one last kiss before I went to be last night.
2. The tables have been turned on Cupie. Stinkles informed her that her room is a "daster". And it spurred a mini cleaning spree by Cupie. Mini as in, she made her bed - woo, who!
3. Stinkles got a small taste of victory. We did something just for her - she was the sole focus of this project and she didn't have to share it with her sister. I'm sure she put an imaginary check in the success column too.

Got Wood?

So, Sissy & I drove all the way up to Wisconsin last week (hence the week-long absence) to help Mom get her house ready to sell.

There was much to do - stain a fence, spread mulch, clean a garage, move large stuff into the garage, paint a bedroom, general staging, etc.

All this cleaning/moving resulted in several pieces of wood. Mom pulled out the trusty saw and saw horses, cut them up into manageable, carriable pieces. Since it was trash day and the trash truck hadn't been by, we hauled them to the curb.

Not the curb at the end of the driveway mind you. No, they had to be hauled to the end of the block, and she lives on the "loooooooooong" side of the block. Mom's street was tore up for complete re-paving. (Yeah, we totally had to haul all our luggage and what-not that far too.)

After two or three trips, it was all down there, kind of hanging into the street a bit. Definitely taking up a preemo parking space right at the corner.

We worked all day in the 90 degree heat, cleaned ourselves up and headed out for the evening.

We walked aaaaaallllllll the way down to the car.

The trash was gone.

The recycling was gone.

The wood was not gone.

We left anyway.

When we got back - around 9:30 - the wood was still sitting there. Not even the rubbish scavengers were interested.

We made our way aaaaaallllll the way back to the house. After we got inside, my mom was just beside herself fidgeting.

We really should go get that wood. It's taking up a space where someone could park. I don't want anyone getting upset at me.

[Eye roll]

Mom, I don't think anyone knows you left the wood down there. We can just go get it tomorrow if it's still there.

No, someone might know I put it down there. And there isn't a lot of parking. And I'm just not going to sleep tonight knowing . . .

[Eye roll]

I looked outside.

It was dark.

No one was around.

No one was going to see us going down to get the wood. No one would know my mother left the wood down there if we went and got it tonight. If we waited until morning, we would definitely be seen and anyone who may have gotten upset about the wood taking up a perfectly good parking space would know it was her. Blah, blah, blah.

[Sigh]

Fine, let's go get it.

There was a lot of wood so we decided to take the wheelbarrow to haul it back. My mom's house is over 60 years old and I swear so is the wheelbarrow we were using. It very well could be, it used to be my grandfather's and he died almost 20 years ago. So it creaks and groans even when it's empty.

Every bump in the sidewalk (and there are many because it may also be 60 years old) makes the wheelbarrow jump. When it lands it makes that "thunder" noise. You know the sound, the one every kid loves to make it by shaking a found piece of sheet metal. It's friggin' loud!

Here we are, in the cloak of darkness, taking the wheelbarrow aaaaaalllllll the way down to the corner to pick up the wood.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

For crying out loud. Get out the metal trashcan lids, pots and pans and some wooden spoons. We could have had an old fashioned parade! The neighbors would be thrilled!

So much for going quietly.

As we approached the end of the street, I noticed a beacon of light showing us the way.

No it wasn't the moon.

It was a street light.

Shining right down on the pile of wood.

So much for our cloak of darkness too.

Silver Lining:

1. On the way back, because there was some weight in the wheelbarrow, it didn't make as much noise.


2. We only had to make two trips to get all the wood back to the house. Since the wheelbarrow was so noisy, I didn't even bother taking the wood out, I just dumped it (with a loud clatter) into a pile on the driveway.


3. We are only aware of one neighbor witnessing our "stealthiness" - they just happened to get home later than we did, like while we were retrieving our contraband wood.


4. Mom's house was in pretty good shape when we left. Hopefully, she'll have the house sold and be moved down near us by Halloween.

Fifth Dear So & So Letters

It's Friday!

I've got a few things I need to get off my chest so I can have a good weekend. So I've written a few letters. I think you may enjoy some of my moments of misery, confusion, and dingy-ness.


Dear George,

Could you consistently lean back a bit when you poop? I know you have the ability to clear the perches as evidenced with the three piles of poop rising like volcanoes from the floor of your cage. I really don't like cleaning poop encrusted perches.

Grossed Out,
Your Birdie Mommy

Dear Padded Bra Makers,

Why do you make padded bras for children? Don't deny it. I saw them in the little girl underwear section at Wal-Mart!

Do twelve or thirteen year-olds really need padded bras? They grow up fast enough! You don't need to push that process by making their chests bigger than they really are.

Feeling A Little Ranty,
Pollyanna

Dear Self,

When trying to drill into a wall that has duct work in it, make sure the drill bit is turning the right way. If the bit is turning to the left, it will not penetrate the duct work. Going to the left only helps you remove screws.

Hee, hee. The left = loose screws.

Just an FYI for next time. You know, so you don't have look like an idiot when Hubby has to come over and help you.

DIY Dingy,
Me

Dear Mother Nature,

Did you really have to choose the moment I ran out to the garage to start a deluge of rain?

I was only going to run out and run back in. I was expecting to come inside with a few rain drops in my hair, not as a sopping mess with no towel in sight.

I know I've written you a letter at least one other time about the weather, and I never got a response. That's poor customer service. Maybe I should just take over for the Pleasantville area.

Wet,
Pollyanna

Dear Self (again),

Don't wear Crocs in the rain. You will slip & fall on a smooth surface. Such as a garage floor.

A Little Ache-y,
Me

There are others out there who share my thoughts - I'm sure of it. Why don't we all head over to Kat's place to see who else is writing letters this week?

Silver Lining:

1. George has a sparkly clean cage. I cleaned EVERYTHING! He was so confused when I was all done (because I rearranged the "furniture") that he almost didn't want to get back in.


2. After Hubby drilled a little hole for me, he didn't even tease me about the drill. I knew there was a reason I keep him around. XOXOXO to Hubby.


3. Apparently, I'll live after my little rain run. I eventually dried out. And my arm doesn't really hurt from the fall anymore