On Friday, I retired the red plastic snow shovel that has stood sentry outside our front door for the past four months. It was 60 degrees and sunny outside, and I figured it was time for that old shovel to travel to his summer home beside the water heater in the basement. I patted him gently and wished him a good rest, chirping that “spring was on the way!”
Which is why, as I write this on Sunday night, we are expecting up to seven inches of snow.
Continue reading at Crunchable.
Tom is giving a whole new meaning to cleaning with a good attitude, lately. In an effort to dig out of my slovenly ways, I have been doing some spring-ish cleaning around the house. Tom, being Tom, wanted desperately to help, so I handed him a paper towel and sprayed the oven door with Windex. As I dashed off to wash the windows in the front room, this is what I heard:
Tom: Ok, oven, I’m scrubbing you! Don’t worry about it.
Tom (in a higher-pitched voice): Thank you for scrubbing me!
Tom: You’re welcome, oven. I’m scrubbing my friend oven, getting that mark off … and THAT mark off… and that mark off.
For the rest of the day, whenever he was cleaning, he would have similar conversations with whatever inanimate object he was working on.
I love that kid.
It’s week two Jo-Lynne’s What I Learned This Week carnival over at Musings of a Housewife. Here’s what I learned this week:
- It is entirely possible for a 3-year-old to throw up and have the runs every 20 minutes for 12 hours and still feel like playing with his toys and tearing around the house pretending to be a superhero.
- After taking care of said sick child, you will pray fervently that washing your hands till they crack and bleed will keep you from getting the same disease.
- You will think that you escaped, and do a happy dance of joy, only to catch the same bug five days later.
- Guaranteed, when the bug hits, you will also get six inches of nasty snow and ice, making it near impossible to get to the store for ginger ale, Gatorade or any other necessities.
- There will be no one to take care of you while you are sick, and you will still have to take care of your own kids, who by now are feeling full of energy.
What did you learn this week?
I have learned that no matter how big I think the problem is, Handsome Husband will listen, sympathize and then help me find a solution. He will also always make it OK.
I have learned that two toddlers + one bottle of baby shampoo = a big mess.
I have learned, when talking to adults, that I will always, always say “yes!” when what I really mean is “No.”
I have learned that I’m not nearly as smart as I once thought I was.
I have learned that Tommy is actually able to pay attention in karate class, and that his teacher thinks it’s hilarious that he wants to be called “Super Tiger.”
What have you learned? Check out more weekly education bulletins at Musings of a Housewife.
I have a beard, and my 19-month-old boy loves it. He put it there himself, and he couldn’t be more pleased.
As soon as he sees the white and fragrant bubbles in his bath, Seth runs over to the tub and starts scooping froth to his face until it covers his chin and mouth. Then he carefully licks his lips and turns to me wearing only a big grin and a perfect Colonel Sanders goatee.
“Bubba bead,” he chortles.
Then he smashes a handful of bubbles into my face, and we are suddenly both very manly.
Continue reading at Crunchable.
Things are smoking around here at the Wishful Thinking household … literally. On Monday, as I was finishing up at Rasberry Lemon Shortbread Tart, the oven caught on fire. I was busy readying the house for my playgroup, and I didn’t notice the flames until I saw the smoke pouring out of the oven vent. The good news is that the smoke detector in my living room works great! (I’ve been meaning to test it for several months now.) The bad news is … well, there was no bad news. The tart was un-singed. I grabbed my trusty box of baking soda and put out the fire. No harm no foul.
But it was the first time in my life behind a stove that I’ve experienced a cooking fire. (We’re not going to count that time a few weeks ago when I caught my arm on fire. That was just weird.)
I figured one fire per every six years or so was not such a bad rate. But apparently my luck is turning.
This afternoon I was upstairs actually putting away folded laundry – again, another first for me. Suddenly, the air began to smell a little – burnt, like maybe something was on fire. A burning, wintry, evergreen scent.
Like the candle in the downstairs bathroom.
I dashed down the stairs to find four-inch flames shooting out of my trusty Glade candle.
My bathroom is attached to my kitchen, so I often keep a glass jar candle burning in there to prevent certain odors from leaking into the food preparation area, if you know what I mean. I’ve been doing this for years, and have never had anything like this happen before. The glass around the candle was shattered, pools of wax spilling onto the top of the toilet. The entire surface of the wax appeared to be on fire. I tried to blow it out, but the flames just laughed at me. I sprinkled a bit of baking soda on the mess and poof, no more fire.
After the candle cooled down a little, I discovered the remains of an entire matchbook floating in the wax. It seems that one or the other of my children (I’m guessing Seth) decided to try a little homemade pyrotechnic display. Frightening.
I am so thankful that no one was hurt, and that my house didn’t burn down. Also, so thankful for baking soda. It’s a miracle substance.