Whoops

It's just been that kind of week. I can't believe I haven't posted since Wednesday. I can't believe I just misspelled Wednesday the first time I typed it.

I'm so full. I ate way too much at dinner.

In case you hadn't noticed yet, this will be a stream-of-consciousness post. Or, as a former English teacher used to call it, "verbal diarrhea."

Speaking of high school, for some reason I was reminded tonight of French class. And The Countdown. We had a countdown to the end of class. Class ended at 1:27 pm, and The Countdown began at 1:00 pm. I don't know why I remember any of this. Also, when things got really dreary, we had a countdown to The Countdown.

I loved French class, which makes you wonder about The Countdown. Peer pressure, guys.

I spent most of the morning grading papers. It was...interesting.

I'm going to go sit in a warmer room, and relax now.

A Very Manly Wordless Wednesday

Don't You Want One?

I want one. A baby one, of course. Who has room for a full-grown elephant? That would be silly.

I just asked Wiggle Man what sound an elephant makes. He did the tractor sound. Not far off, I think. Of course, this is the same child that occasionally thinks Mommy's name is "Wooooof." We don't ask.

Not Me! Monday Again

Once again, it's Monday morning, and thanks to MckMama, we can all purge ourselves from the memories of things we didn't do this week. I give you my weekly offering:

This week:

*I did not repeatedly smell Wiggle Man's rear and exclaim "OOOOOH...SMELLY!" simply because it sent him into a fit of belly laughs. Every time. I certainly wouldn't subject myself to that kind of odourous torture for a laugh.

*I do not put Wiggle Man on display every time company comes over, hoping he'll demonstrate for our guests his vast knowledge of animal sounds and body parts. (For although he's not actually speaking yet, he can mimick--on cue--the sounds of a handful of animals, and show you his nose. And ears. And tongue. You get the point.) But I would never use my child like a trained monkey. Never.

*I do not tell Wiggle Man that my work-out time (thank you, Tony Horton and your magical 10 minutes) is actually dancing time, in the hopes that he'll think it's fun and not whine the entire time.

*I did not try to explain to Wiggle Man that Mommy took away his ball because sometimes we do things that have consequences. I mean, who uses a 12-letter word with a child whose current vocabulary consists of "woof", "quack", and a handful of other animal/machine sounds?

*I did not splurge on a fresh, Amish-made donut this weekend. And certainly not on the same day I got some rich, creamy chocolate milk from my local "micro-moo-ery." (Their clever wordplay, not mine. Thank you, Trickling Springs.) And while I'm on the food portion of my NM!M, there was not a whole lotta pasta involved from our favourite Italian place. And there certainly wasn't blush sauce piled on top.

Once again, friends, a weekly listing of things it's possible I did. But I didn't. Of course.

My Son Gave Me A Black Eye

I'm not kidding. Or being metaphorical. We're not talking a full-on shiner or anything, but there's some nice bruising, especially on the inside of my eye, by my nose.

Picture it. America. 2009. (You have to imagine that line in a Sophia Petrillo voice for it to be funny.)

So there we were, having one of our daily (if not more often) kissy fights. Wiggle Man, being a rough and tumble boy, likes to combine "rasslin" with his "luvin". So he'll jump on you, then give you a slobbery kiss or two. Or twenty. It depends on how affectionate he's feeling.

He's also discovered head-butting.

Sometimes, instead of a kiss, that's what you get. And that's what I got last night, just before dinner. Smack dab in the middle of my face. I had a slightly swollen lip at dinner,which hurt like the dickens at first, let me tell you. It hurt so much I paid little attention to the headache I had. Until my sister-in-law commented that my eyes were pretty bloodshot.

The bruising appeared by the time I went to bed. Nice.

Cover-up really is a girl's best friend.

Wordless Wednesday

The Not Me! Mondays

As always, head on over to MckMama's for the best in Not Me! Monday-ness. Check out her weekly confessionals, and don't forget to visit Mr. Linky to see tons of other NM!Mers.

This week:

*I did not start working on this last Monday, saving updates to my drafts. This was not done because I'm so forgetful I can't remember all my shortcomings (which really helps in the self-esteem department, I'll admit.)

*I did not pre-moistened facial cloths to wipe down my bathroom sink. And the floor. And certainly not the toilet.

*Speaking of toilets, I have never, ever purchased bathroom cleaning products because the animated scrubbies were cute. Not I. And the fact that advertising works so well on me is definitely not a running joke in our household.

*I did not succumb to an ad on the sidebar of a website I was using. See above.

*I did not resort to opening a free sample of in-shower lotion with my teeth. Because I was already in said shower. And those things get darn slippery. Seriously--free sample makers out there--invent something that can be opened in the shower without the use of teeth. Because after all that, I still couldn't get the thing open.


*I am not chowing down on a bag of Cinnamon and Sugar Pita Chips while I type this.

*I do not think I have Super-Mommy senses, just because I could "sense" that the cup Wiggle Man was playing with was not actually empty.

Well, there you have it. Proof positive that I am not perfect. Or, at least, I wouldn't be perfect if I did any of those things. Which, of course, I didn't.

Well, We All Know What Robert Frost Would Do

Have you ever been at that point in your life where, frankly, two roads did indeed diverge? Perhaps not in a yellow wood, but there was diverging, all right. *Is diverging a word? Help me out, English majors.*

I wish it were as simple as choosing the road less traveled by.



I know what you're thinking. That looks like a well traveled road, at least for an unpaved road. But for our family, this definitely represents the road less traveled by.

Or, do we go with something a little more familiar?


Well, we've taken the decision out of our hands, and put it firmly in The Hands of Someone Who knows (much better than we could) the direction our family should take.

We still have no answers, but we're trusting hard in the guidance of The One Who has loved us since the foundations of time.

And that's comforting.

Friday Favourite Things

Inspired by one of my new favourite things, the massage I had today, I thought I'd list some of my other favourite things. (In no particular order, of course.)

Raindrops on roses. (Just kidding.)

Wiggle Man Kisses

Nutella

Good soup. Preferably in a bread bowl.

Timmy's

Snow Days

Kenya

Comfy Jeans

Anything from the Body Shop

Apple Pie

Hockey

Family (and my friends are included in that. You guys are family to me.)

Snuggly Cats

Amish Farmer's Markets

That's all I can think of, off the top of my head. Leave me a comment with your list!

I Really Wouldn't Change A Thing

So, I just finished reading MckMama's post today about giving ourselves a measure of grace when it comes to our children. Allowing them to have messy faces, and stained shirts, and hair that occasionally sticks up.

So many times over the last few days, it seems like God has been reminding me just how blessed I am. I'm not where I thought I would be in my life. There's a lot I haven't accomplished yet--things I always thought I'd do, places I always thought I'd go.

But I really wouldn't change a thing.

I love chasing Wiggle Man around the house, listening to him shriek with laughter. I love cleaning peanut butter off his face. I love having kissy fights with him, even if it means getting drooled on.

I love being Hubba Hubba's wife--he's amazing. I love talking with him--about anything or nothing. Sometimes both at once.

This year I want to take the time to really savour these things. When it's 2 pm and I'm still in my jammies with horrendous hair and no make-up, and someone pulls in my driveway, I'm going to remember that I still love this life. And then I'll hope I can get my teeth brushed before I have to answer the door.

Not Me! Monday

Not Me! Monday is, for me, the start of every week. Generally it's the first thing I do after the baby's fed on Monday mornings. And every morning I sit here and ask myself if it's really Monday again. Everyone always told me that time would fly once I was a parent--I guess it's true!

If you're itching for more NM!M craziness, head on over to Mckmama for her NM!M (the first and best) as well as links to other bloggers participating. And while you're there, stick around and read her other posts--she's one of my favourites!

This week:

*I did not polish off the tub of cream cheese I bought at the farmer's market in a mere two days. I did not justify it to myself by focusing on the facts that it was a small tub, and fat free.

*I did not also finish off the baggie of chocolate covered pretzel balls. With Hubba Hubba's help.

*I did not drive Hubba Hubba to work in my jammies.

*I did not go out and buy a new baby monitor this week even though there was nothing technically wrong with the old one, besides that it drove me nuts.

*I did not secretly rejoice in the fact that I had an hour to myself yesterday to drink hot chocolate and read the paper.

*I did not go to bed at 8 o'clock last night. I was not still tired when I had to get up this morning.

Well, that's my weekly confessional. Head on over to Mckmama to read others' posts, and learn how to join in yourself!

You know how after you come back from vacation, you feel like you need a vacation after all that vacationing you just did.

That's been my week.

I spent a lot of time and energy this week just getting caught up on laundry. This was the problem I was least expecting to have, since we did laundry just before coming home from said "vacation."

However, more dirty laundry materialized somehow. Lots more.

This, of course, is when the washing machine decided not to work. That would be simple enough, right? Just take your laundry somewhere else--like a laundramat, or your neighbour's, or whatever. Except, it worked half the time, and didn't work the other. So, silly me--I kept trying to wash my clothes. It took me all week to wash half my clothes, before I gave up and just took my clothes next door.

Now I really need to clean the bathroom. I wonder how long that will take?

A Not Me! Monday Manifesto

Happy Monday, everyone! Mckmama is back with her Not Me! Mondays, and I've decided to NM!M it up a little differently, this week. (I hope that's ok, MckMama!) Last night I came to an important realisation. Except, I've realised this before, so I guess it's a re-realisation. Or something like that. I'm calling it my Mommy Manifesto, and while it's the usual NM!M sarcastic "I do not" style, I'm making it a resolution this year to actually live this way. So maybe next year my Mommy Manifesto could be my way of life, instead of a NM!M post.

One more small detail: for those of you who know me well, or read this blog at all, you may wonder where references to my faith are. I've left them out on purpose, so that Mommies of different beliefs can relate, but know that my knowledge of God's love for me is what drives all of this.

Jenn's Mommy Manifesto:

*I do not let my jean size determine my value. That is a number with no relevance. Instead, I will focus on the number of slimy kisses Wiggle Man gives me in a day (much higher than my jean size, anyway), or the number of times Hubba Hubba squeezes my hand and tells me I'm the best wife. Ever.

*I do not let fancy jars of exfoliating cream sit in my shower for a year while I save them for a special occasion. I will use the fancy cream until it's gone, and then maybe even buy a new jar.

*I do not let myself get into the vicious cycle of not taking care of myself, feeling unattractive, and so therefore feeling I'm not worth taking care of. I will do something to make myself feel pretty, even if I'm wearing sweats at home all day with Wiggle Man.

*I do not beat myself up when I don't fit the mold of a perfect wife or a perfect mother. I will extend this grace to others, as well as myself.

*I do not have ridiculously high expectations for my fitness regime. My body does not whip itself into shape in a matter of months. I will be consistent, and believe Tony Horton when he says to do my best, and "forget the rest."

*I do not focus on the negative when it comes to myself. I will remind myself that I have great legs when I'm tempted to focus on my pudgy tummy.

There you have it, my Mommy Manifesto. Like me, it's a work in progress, so if you have any thoughts on what to add, just let me know!

And then there were three...

Three people sick, that is.

Yes, Wiggle Man, Hubba Hubba and I are big on sharing with our friends. So, after Wiggle Man shared his germs with Daddy, we thought we'd share them with our friends who were kind enough to let us visit them on our way home from the wedding.

This was a long awaited visit--we haven't seen them since I was preggers with Wiggle Man, and had been trying to plan a visit for awhile now, but the craziest things kept getting in the way. So, it was kind of a huge bummer when Hubba Hubba got sick pretty much as soon as we arrived here. I thought we were out of the woods because Wiggle Man was back to his wiggly self.

I forgot that grown-ups get sick, too.

Then, as Hubba Hubba rounded the corner last night, I thought we could at least enjoy one last day with our friends, with everyone healthy. Until I got up, and The Queen of Cards was sick in the bathroom.

Apparently the flu is no respecter of royalty.

This week did provide the opportunity for what I'm calling "The Greatest Achievement of My Parenting Career." (That's more impressive if you imagine it in a sports announcer sort of voice.)

Thanks to Wiggle Man's Vomit-O-Rama on the way up to the wedding, our car smelled like bad cheese, with reminiscences of the Smelly Cheese Van. No amount of scrubbing and Febreezing was taking care of this. So I was driven to do the one thing I never wanted to have to do: remove the car seat cover.

Please understand that merely adjusting the straps before installing said car seat the first time reduced me to tears and cursing. This was not a job I ever wanted to do. But Hubba Hubba was still sick, and The Queen of Cards and I needed to make a Target run. Preferably in a car that didn't reek of cheese.

It took me hours, friends, but I did it. The cover was removed, washed, dried, and put back on, all minus the (not so helpful anyway) instruction manual.

In my head, the Rocky theme played while I did a victory dance.