The Stroke of Twelve

It’s just after midnight, and I just finished unloading and reloading the dishwasher, sorting and switching the laundry, packing the kids lunch boxes, doing a general pick up of the house, and sprinkling baking soda on the carpet (it needs to marinade for a few hours).  I do not understand people that go to bed at 10.

Meanwhile, we’ve had some really fun packages in the mail. The most exciting package was for the girls… mostly Blayne. You see, Blayne is built like me. This is to say, that she has rather long legs, and a short waist. Which means that we have to be very particular about the types of shirts she wears, because a scoop neck means that our belly button is showing. ANYWAYS. Tea Collection got in touch with me and we picked out the most fabulous things for Blayne, and THE NECKLINES! Be still my heart. They are awesome. And the clothes are super soft, and they fit exactly the way children’s clothing should fit, and I am seriously in love. And have already bought something extra for Taylor. But FOR REALS, we’ll have a fashion show later, because Blayne wants to show off.

I have also decided that I need to work on being empathetic towards people. Actually, maybe not. Because empathy is not the same thing as compassion, and I am compassionate towards people and willing to help out with things and such. But empathy. Bleh. I don’t want to feel what other people are feeling. Frankly, any type of emotion exhausts me. Even thinking about having to deal with people’s feelings stresses me out. I’m too clinical for my own good. COMPARTMENTALIZE PEOPLE.

Did you see that I resurrected my other blog? Because I did. And I LOVE IT. And I made some Halloween printables to get my toes wet. Here, have a peek. 

I know it’s not a TON of stuff, but I have more coming. Promise. Besides, it’s free, so you really don’t have any room to complain. (Stop having feelings and click here to download.)

AND NOW, we get to talk something that I can never quite decide about. It’s after midnight, so TECHNICALLY, this is THURSDAY, but I should maybe just pretend it’s still WEDNESDAY because I haven’t yet gone to bed. The stroke of midnight, gets me every time.

The Butterfly Hunter

We were discussing chores the other day.

You see, after living in this house for two-ish years or so, I think I finally have a handle on how to clean the house the quickest, with the least amount of work.

I know that things like that are terribly boring to some people, but I think that those people probably don't have sneaky children that are artistic, which is really code for: my kids color on stuff. Which, incidentally, does not help in the cleaning arena, because the children have colored on builder grade FLAT paint, which, as any mom will attest to, is of the devil.

At any rate, we were talking about chores, and how we should divide things up.

And dear, sweet Taylor offered to do the "most hardest job in the world."

Killing all the butterflies.

You see, this is the hardest job in the world, because FIRST, she would have to FIND THE BUTTERFLIES. And since I'm fairly certain that there are currently no butterflies living in the house, I can only assume that the finding of the butterflies would take a very long time.

SECONDLY, when she DOES find a butterfly, she would have to catch it. Which would be highly amusing because she is rather short, and butterflies are rather tricky. I imagine that a lot of stacking and climbing would be involved.

THEN she would have to catch the butterfly. Except that I was informed that she would need special purple butterfly "glubs" to catch it. Because butterflies only like purple. Not even pink. If you have pink gloves, the butterfly will BITE YOU with their TINY CHOMPY TEETH.

So, after putting on her special purple gloves, and climbing to the tippy top of whatever, then you have to sing a special butterfly catching song. It goes like this: "Butterfly! Fly Fly Fly! Butterfly! Me is your friend! Butterfly! I love you!"

This song is EXTRA silly because you are REALLY tricking the butterfly.

And when that butterfly is good and tricked, then it will land in the palms of your hands. And after you finish singing your sweet, sweet lullaby of death, you would squash it with a hammer. But not daddy's hammer, just a toy hammer, so that it would only hurt a little bit.

And then, if the butterfly was really pretty, then we could put it in a frame on the wall by Mommy's other bug. (Because yes, I do have an insect pinned and framed on the wall.)

Needless to say, the discussion about the divvying of the chores did not go as planned.

But I do have an official butterfly killer now, and that has got to count for something.

How To Confuse Your Children Without Really Trying

Today we started a new cleaning method.

It’s been highly confusing to my children because it involves no sorting whatsoever.

This is a dilemma, because my children sometimes like to take 7 and a half hours to “clean up” their bedroom.

But THEN, today, I decided that I just don’t care anymore.

I don’t care which toy goes where, I don’t care what belongs to who…. I only care about whether or not I am going to step on said toy, and whether or not it will hurt ME when I do.

So today, I purchased great, big, sturdy storage bucket things (Is it a tote? A bucket? A bin? A box? I just don’t care) and have placed them on each floor of my house.

At dinner, I told the kids that the buckets are not to move floors. There are not “girl” or “boy” buckets. They are not “car” or “doll” or “book” buckets. I told them that sometimes their buckets would have girl AND boy toys in them, and that IT WOULD ALL BE OKAY.

Of course, my children, having lived with me for their entire lives, looked at me in horror and said, “But what if it’s a upstairs toy? Or a library book? OR A BALL?”

And I repeated that I. Don’t. Care.

I just want, to not step, on a tiny pokey toy, going up the stairs, with my full weight, in the middle of the night.