Now "Operator" can also be stuck in your head. You're welcome.

 I'm sure you've heard "New York State of Mind" by Billy Joel or "Pieces of April" by Three Dog Night. I've been living a similar vein, though mine channels Jim Croce. 

I'd been procrastinating on cleaning the bathroom, but figured it was time to wade in. I poured in a glug of toilet bowl cleaner and let it sit awhile with the ceiling fan on. In eyeing our bathtub and noticing the ring around it, I decided it might be a good time to give it a scrub. I got my necessary equipment, wet it down, sprinkled in my soap, and started scrubbing. Assuming that the toilet bowl cleaner had been in there long enough to do its thing, I gave the toilet a quick flush and turned my back on it to resume scrubbing the tub.

It keeps filling. And filling. Finally I notice that hey, waitaminute, that hasn't stopped filling yet!? I grab the plunger with a loud exclamation of, "are you kidding me!?" and give it a few good pumps, but too late. Sure enough, it overflows as I snatch and then fling the bath mat out of the way and start tearing towels out of the bathroom cart to sop up the water. 

I can hear Jim Croce crooning, "isn't that the way they say it goes?" 

I guess the universe just determined that if I was going to clean the bathroom, I may as well clean the bathroom. Come on over. Our floor is mopped and we have freshly laundered towels!

One hot mess, all the live-long day

We've been having some rough mornings around here this week. Monday turned into an icky weather day which cancelled school, just like last Friday, so it's been extra hard to focus on a back-to-school routine. The only day they went last week was Thursday, their first day back. We got a solid Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday rhythm going but are facing a preemptive delay already for tomorrow morning. Given that they have Monday off for Martin Luther King Day, there is a very real possibility that we're staring down another four-day weekend. 

Send rum. And Samoas. Lots and lots of both.

This morning we went our usual rounds of "yes, you're going to school, so go XYZ123, etc" with the typical threats of violence and more than usual antagonism. Part of it I'll chalk up to hormones. The rest is just... I don't even know. 

At any rate, the big kids made it onto the bus without being maimed- always a plus. 

I come back in and am in the middle of round two of "yes, you're going to school, so go XYZ123, etc" again when Bosley starts that hurking sound that dog owners know immediately of which no good will come. Damon, transfixed and horrified until he realizes what's going to happen, just stands there... and then he bolts for cover. I'm hollering, "Bosley, Bosley, come, come, COME!" and he finally scurries over to me. Right after hurling on the carpet. Two inches from the linoleum. And it's not even Monday.

Mess number one cleaned up, dog deposited outside, Damon onto the bus. Whew.

Just usual messes for the next few hours: dishes, laundry, vacuuming, dog hair, dog hair, dog hair. I thought Triskal's fuzz balls were bad, but I really don't understand how a dog a fraction of her size can fill an entire lint trap with dog hair just from the kids' clothes. Boggles the mind.

The kids get home in shifts and I send Liam to the shower, forgetting for a few that we need to bring in more wood before the imminent weather. Oh well. Damon makes it home, we suit up in our raincoats (as it's 50+ degrees and muddy, in fact it's 54 right now at 9:30 PM) and, the directions were, "wear your rain/mud boots, because it's muddy out. No, don't wear your snow boots. It's muddy."

Liam apparently has no rain/mud boots which fit, so he's in his snow boots bringing in wood. And mud. Carrie chose to wear her new snow boots, which she loves, as she's bringing in wood. And mud. Damon and I wear our rain boots, after surviving the drama of the hunt this morning to find a pair that fit him before school. 

Now, bringing in wood is always a misadventure. I've tried varying the system, with varying degrees of success. The only method that seems to be efficient is if one parent loads up each kid outside while the other parent stacks the wood brought inside.

Well, Dada was at work, and since there's only me, this time I picked the outside job. It was springy and fresh and muddy and I'm just as susceptible (thank you, spell check, goodness) to cabin fever as the next mom (thanks for getting it together, Mother Nature {see previous post}). So I'm loading kids up with proportionate loads of wood and trusting their good judgment, spatial estimates, oh heck, I'm trusting them to let me know when we've gotten enough to fill two rows inside.   

Assuming we have enough, I release them to go play, more fool me. I sweep up the dead oak leaves and mud and end up at the indoor wood stacks which look like this:

Jiminy Christmas.

We could have gotten lots more in here, but it's too late now as the kids have scattered to the four corners. Damon, predictably, has attached himself to the couch and is playing on the Wii. Carrie is outside, somewhere, and no matter how much I call, I can't find Liam. 

I hear a knock at the back door, which is unlocked and the glass door is still, in fact, propped wide open from bringing in wood, because the top metal piece is stuck and though Carrie and I have both attempted to move it, it ain't budgin'. I see Carrie and Liam, who is strategically hidden behind his sister. 

"Um, okay, don't freak out. Don't be mad. We fell in a mud puddle. Well, Liam did, and his boots got stuck, and I tried to pull him out and it pulled me in and we're sorry." Liam surveys the scene, the penny drops, and he tips his head back to wail, "and I JUST took a SHOWER!"

They then burst into chuckles.

At which point I did what any mom would do. I didn't yell. I didn't scream. I didn't lecture. I did briefly consider attaching the hose to the house and just letting them have it, but I refrained.     

I closed the door. And locked it.

After more giggles and a shake of my head, I told them they were taking everything off out there and getting showers. They attempt to gather up their stuff and condense the mess while I get towels ready for them inside. The big kids are flummoxed as to how to get all the mud off their snow boots. This is where I point out that we're supposed to get snow again tomorrow, and their boots are sitting in the garage, encrusted in mess and no doubt soaking wet. Has this occurred to them? Survey says, "doubtful."

Dada arrives home and does a dead stop when he sees the collection of muddy pants and raincoats and towels...

He's quickly brought up to speed, the kids eventually make it out of the showers and come to dinner. Damon is finished before everyone else and is maybe mid-dessert course or maybe even finished (I was in the kitchen and by the grace of God missed all this), when somehow he knocked over Liam's cup of milk which, from the sound of it, cascades all over Liam's math homework packet and then more of the table. I took up my post of handing out towels and refrained from surveying the damage- Dada was home and it was his turn.

Damon ended up in the bathtub, which had more dog hairs in it than mud after Carrie's shower, surprisingly. Or maybe not so surprisingly as she is his clear favorite because she encourages all his bad habits...

Now we have three squeaky clean kids, one muddy dog, and I have to go assess the load that is done in the washer. I quit. Next time, Deloris can have her turn.