Oops, I did it again

Gotta love it when the photos are all out of order. I'll let your smart brains figure out the sequence of PaPa and I scraping off the remnants of our bathroom wallpaper border before using almost every last scrap of the leftover stuff to repair what we could. For those who missed it, years ago when we removed wallpaper in our foyer and sunroom and kitchen as a family, a certain family member got carried away and continued the process into our bathroom, destroying my very favorite part of the wallpaper. So PaPa graciously helped me redo it and did the vast majority of the work on his last visit here. Thank you SO much- it looks tons better!

I especially love this one. Tell me how you feel about peeling off wallpaper without saying a word...

 

Wherein I play the role of Mrs. Potato Head. Again.

 In the post about the Chaos Party I mention being (mostly) done with cancer treatment. The mostly part was because while surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation are all behind me, (again), I still have some Stuff To Do. 

Because my cancer has been hormone-driven, my oncologist strongly recommended having my ovaries and tubes out, and felt that my surgeon could decide about the uterus and cervix. Let's face it; I'm almost 50, I don't need any of that stuff anymore, and like Dada said, "clearly your departments aren't communicating with each other because you haven't been able to physically feed a child since 2018 so why do they keep trying to make one?" I couldn't agree more. Enough is enough already. 

My surgeon felt the same. "Why in the world would we leave anything in there to cause trouble later on down the line? No! Let's do it all at once."

"I agree. No uterus left behind. Everybody out of the pool."

So, my belly (and bug bites) Before:

My surgeon also said that she prescribes a bowel cleanse before the surgery. Should anything, God forbid, go wrong, there's less mess to deal with if you're squeaky clean inside. Good times ahead for me and my stack of library books...

The pre-op nurse who called to go over everything told me that they'd be able to use my port. I was thrilled. That doesn't happen for every procedure like you'd think it would. And while they did indeed get my port, which was being stubborn and not wanting to draw blood (it does that sometimes. It'll let you put stuff in but gets selfish and won't let stuff come out. She had to re-poke it, then it gave up and cooperated), they informed me regretfully that because the surgery was being done robotically, that meant I'd need another line started to push meds in case anything unforeseen should happen. 

I told the nurse, "good luck! I have tiny, uncooperative veins and haven't been drinking because of the bowel prep." Bless her heart, she got me on the first try in that lower pink circle, and then AFTER it was all over they do a blood draw to check your hemoglobin status so that is the elbow stick in the top pink circle! Six days later, I'm less blue and purple and more green and yellow.

They applied a scopolamine patch behind my left ear to prevent nausea. You leave that baby on for 24 hours and then peel it off, throw it in the trash wrapped up, and wash your hands. If you touch your eyes the medication can dilate your eyes and cause blurry vision- the opposite of anti-nausea, haha, so follow directions. 

I had other stuff in my IVs and fentanyl for the surgery, which I've had before, apparently, because I asked and they checked. The anesthesiologist had already gone over her checklist with me about myself or any family members who have had trouble with anesthesia. 

My bugger of a port, looking all innocent:

I don't even remember seeing the docs in the OR. Dada smooched me and they rolled me down the hall. I remember going into OR #3, seeing the lights, hearing someone say that Tiffany was already in there, and then looking down my right side as they lined up the bed I was in with the OR bed, then nothing until the recovery room. My surgeon showed Dada the pictures of everything that was removed, and she may have showed them to me but I ALSO don't remember seeing her afterwards, so I'll have to ask at my follow up appointment. Gotta check on my Mrs. Potato Head pieces!

So it's four small incisions for a robotically laparoscopic complete hysterectomy and then everything gets pulled out down below. A camera is inserted into your bladder during the surgery to make sure nothing is accidentally nicked in that area as well, so you do have some burning upon urination immediately after surgery, but by the second day that had already faded for me. 

They sent me home the same afternoon with ibuprofen to take every 8 hours with food, a stool softener to take twice a day because straining during constipation can tear open your stitches and then you have a right mess, and Percoset which I haven't taken any of because for me the ibuprofen/tylenol routine works great. I'm thankful. I thought there would be both more pain and more bleeding, but I have only had twinges and some spotting, no cramps, no gushing, nothing awful! Did I mention I'm thankful? 

Bye bye, lady parts. Well done, good and faithful servants.

Thank you all for your prayers and the well checks. I have the best tribe, as always!

Please pray that I continue to heal well- my follow ups are at the 2 weeks and 8 weeks marks, and I'm not anticipating difficulties there, but I AM beginning a new medicine that I'll be on for the next three years if I tolerate it well. 

It's called a cyclin-dependent kinase 4 and 6 inhibitor (CDK4/6 for short). CDK4/6 proteins regulate cell division and cell growth, so by inhibiting/blocking those proteins, the drug slows or stops cancer cell growth. We are using this because my cancer has been hormone receptor (HR)-positive (meaning estrogen and progesterone driven) and HER2 negative this time around. 

It's a lot of big words, so just picture Gandalf with his staff in front of my regular cells, and bellowing to any stray cancer cells, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

It's a 21 day on, 7 day off cycle, like a lot of birth control pills. Blood counts will be monitored while I'm on it, so my goofy port had better get it together and start drawing blood correctly. There's potential side effects, as with any drug, and these ones could affect heart and liver. I already had my EKG before beginning it so we have a baseline, and my oncologist does blood draws at each visit. 

Fatigue is also a potential side effect, and there's a laundry list of others that I suppose I should read so I know what to watch out for. It's a fine line between knowing what could happen versus scaring myself to death. My radiation doctor is actually the one who put the bug in my oncologist's ear about this type of drug, lucky me; they're conspiring, haha! He had a different brand in mind and my oncologist declared this one to be much less time in the bathroom than the other, so thank heavens for that.

Please pray that my system tolerates it well, so we can do the 3 year stint and be done with it. The reason it is three years is that it's been proven to prevent recurrence when patients have taken it for three years, and there aren't apparent benefits to continuing past then. I'll also be switching from Tamoxifen to Arimidex no that I no longer have ovaries. "Better living though chemistry," is the quote I keep hearing in my head, but I don't know that I believe it, haha! Hair loss is on the list of potential side effects, so it'll be interesting to see if I end up bald for a third time and how long that will last. As usual, plenty of the side effects are "I can deal with" ones like fatigue, bathroom issues for which one can use Imodium or stool softeners, and so forth. There are some more serious ones, as well, such as your heart rhythm being affected (long QT syndrome) so that's a bit worrisome. I guess there's no such thing as a risk-free life, and the meds are to help prevent recurrence. Since I do NOT want to endure a Round Three, here we go!

Lodging a complaint

 We can't be the only ones with this problem. We have lots of spiders in our home, lurking in bathrooms, hanging out in ceiling corners, weaving webs across the stretch between doorjambs. I'm generally the first one out of bed, so I have the distinct displeasure of breaking web strands in the morning. Lovely. And where is the spider NOW?

Generally I leave them alone. The terms and conditions are that they earn their keep. I don't mind if you want to chill in a corner of the ceiling, but you better be the one to catch the stray mosquito. I know houseflies are fast, but with my fly swatter I am faster, so they get a pass on those. Why do we still have fruit flies even with the apple cider vinegar/dishsoap concoction and resident spiders?

A few mornings ago I saw a baby Guillermo, as house centipedes are known in our house, scurry out from behind our bathroom mirror and wedge himself behind the sponge on the sink. I missed him emerge, but next saw him attempting to run the gauntlet between a bathroom rug and a spider in a web under our floorboard heater. He, sadly, was intercepted. A battle ensued, a spindly bathroom spider tried to join the fray and was rebuffed by the sleek spider, the baby Guillermo ended up curled like a sad comma, and the sleek spider reigned triumphant. 

My complaint is this: why do I have THREE predators in my bathroom who are attempting to off each other when I had to smash FIVE moths in the pantry all by myself with a sixth out of reach on the popcorn ceiling? 

Get outta my bathroom an' get to work or you're all fired!

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!

Guillermo

 The other day I was doing yoga in what we call the sitting room which is adjacent to our bathroom when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something small skitter across the floor. I debated about getting up to investigate and decided to continue and check later. 

I didn't find anything.

Last night, I flipped on the bathroom light and lo and behold there was a house centipede just chillin' on the wall next to the toilet paper holder. You know the kind- they look like someone's eyebrow. Lots of delicate legs. And antenna-ish things. Wonderful hunters/predators yet extremely high on the Heebie Jeebie Scale. Not sure he/she realizes he/she is poaching on the territory of the many, many spiders we already have in there. Today I counted five in the bathtub alone; there's no shower in there, and it's a fancy tub so it doesn't get used as often as it should. Every time we DO use it we evict spiders, plural.

He/she took off and hid under the baseboard heater. I am reallllllly hoping it finds a better home before it's cool enough to turn that heater on; pretty sure toasted centipede is not going to be a desirable Yankee Candle scent. 

In the meantime, I shall name him Guillermo, because writing that name looks like it has lots of legs... 

Tales from The Ridiculous

School mornings continue around here about as you'd expect. I had to hold back The Fist of Death from Dilbert this morning when I commented to Liam that he needed to improve on his time management skills.

"It's just mornings. I'm pretty good at it."

Hooooooold me back! He was serious! He genuinely believes that he is good at time management.

Please excuse me while I go bang my head against the first hard surface I can find.

***

I made the mistake of leaving the "Bath and Whatever" (as Uncle Jeff calls Bed, Bath, and Beyond) catalog on the kitchen table and as any distraction is a good distraction, Liam dove for it. He found "toilet golf" and "toilet fishing" and declared them to be good ideas. I'm not even kidding. These are real things one can actually purchase. Check your catalogs, people. Thing1 and I shook our heads ruefully that anyone anywhere would think that more games to be played in the bathroom could possibly be a good idea. Her money is on single guys. I mimed holding someone by the shirt and punching them repeatedly in the face.

Clearly I'll have to circle back and have a discussion on how toilet anything can not be conducive to any kind of time management... 

***

The firstborn announced this morning, "I have a great idea! We should make pepperoni for dogs and call it pupperoni!"

Totally bursted that bubble: "They already make that."

"Oh NOOOOOO!" Giggles ensued from both parties.

***
Then the firstborn knocked authoritatively on the bathroom door to chivvy Thing3 along. 

Startled, he calls "what!?" and then opens the door.

All the way downstairs I hear, "why are you naked!?"

More giggles. And blindness.

Happy Hump Day, everyone...

Venting in the November breeze

I. Can't. Get. Warm.

It is the first week of November and we are already experiencing wind chill that says, "feels like 19." We skipped Indian summer completely and I reluctantly sadly despairingly boxed up my sun dresses, tank tops, floaty summery skirts; I begrudgingly unpacked my sweaters, long sleeves, and pants. Not that I don't like tights and sweaters, I'd just prefer to not have to wear multiple layers every single day for the next six months. Leggings under pants is ridiculous, but here we are. Some of you woke up to snow. I don't want to talk about it.

I have my largest pot on the stove with bone broth simmering away for up to the next 12 hours. Between the dark and the cold, I can hear the pounds sneaking on from the steady stream of comfort food that I'll be consuming. Our spring break is the very first week of March (yes, I'm serious), so there is zero chance of anyone spotting me in anything revealing until... oh, around May when Ohio gets her act together and recognizes that spring started two months previous. Why not indulge? The calories will keep me warm. Warm-er. Ish. Surely?

That is, if I don't end up on the news and living in a new venue before then. One where I'd be wearing orange. Or, perhaps, stripes. 

I don't know about you people, but let me set the record straight; boys do not have less drama than girls- they merely have different drama. 

For example, our resident middle school student made it to his fourteenth birthday last week by the grace of God. The vast majority of our meals together, he needs reminded, "get your knees down under the table. You are smashing your stomach and feeling full before you're actually full. Get your food in you. Quit playing around. Eat. Eat your food. Close the book." Repeat ad nauseam. By "vast majority" I mean 95% or higher of our meals. Often with food he likes!  

And will someone please invent a water shut-off valve that can be remotely activated by a parent's phone so that there issues a hard burst signifying a "you-have-two-minutes-left-so-rinse-and-get-out-lest-you-stay-sudsy" warning? Said child was given 10 minutes in the bathroom yesterday and took 45. Granted, some of this issue is caused by the bliss of having A) hot, running water, B) more than one bathroom, C) parents who are busy doing other things than standing around timing how long one is taking in the bathroom. However, short of taking the hinges off the bathroom door (which, while I have seriously considered, I object to the almighty draft I'd have to deal with when having my own shower) how does one pry another person out of the shower when one is on the opposite side of the bathroom door?!

People, I need a beating breakthrough. I'd rather not end up on the news. Eighth grade means this child in particular should be spectacular by now at getting himself ready for school. He lays out school clothes the night before. He makes his lunch the night before. He sets out what he wants for breakfast (unless it's refrigerated, obviously) the night before. Why then, are we having the same battles every day? 

Some would say, "just let him do it all on his own. He's gotta figure it out." Then he will miss the bus, and who does that inconvenience? Me. I'd have to take him to school. Especially when Dada is out of town for work. And his younger sibling, who is not old enough to be left home to get himself on his own bus yet, so he'd have to hurry to get ready to come with me. And the dogs, who have been built into our morning routine. Let's just empty the entire toolbox into the works, shall we? The heck with the wrench. 

Out of curiosity, I checked google maps. It would be around a 45 minute walk from our home to his school, and I know at least some of it doesn't have sidewalks. That would make him that much later if he missed the bus. The whole point of getting on the bus is so I don't have to drive him, adding more gasoline burned and more emissions and so forth. If I had any desire to take him to school, that would be built into our routine already.

How do we raise someone whom other someones (college roommates, apartment mates, future spouses) won't want to maim because of their inconsideration/selfishness/obliviousness? The child has zero money because, as our children, we don't believe they should be paid to help around the house. They live here, they should help, period. So we can't fine him the price of the water bill to open his eyes to the cost of sitting under the hot water for ridiculous amounts of time. How do we waken the (I hope) innate self-awareness of, "hey, I'm being kind of a jerk hogging the hot water, I should get clean and get out"? It is clear that what we/I am doing now does not work and is unsustainable. 

I don't want to leave you with the idea that he is a problem child and the other two are angelic by comparison; they most certainly are not. We have three great kids, each with their own issues. Would I trade them in on a yo-yo, as Nana used to say? Do not tempt me, Frodo. 

How is it still May?

It probably seems like I rag on May a lot. I guess I do. Even Cheeky Beaky appears to have endured enough May for one year:

I don't feel like it's asking too much to have ONE room in the house be clean and able to be used. Clearly, this room is not it. This is affectionately known as the Old Lady Room. When we viewed the house, it had a very low couch, a stand-up, old-time radio, wingback chairs, etc. It was painted a pink/purple/gray/tan/no color and had roses on the carpet. 

You can see we stuck with the carpet, mostly because when the guys came to clean it the first time they informed us, "that's probably the best quality carpet in the house."

Of course it is.

So we painted and got furniture, kept the drapes, strung fairy lights, and threw our pajamas and underpants all over the floor. Perfect.

That is not the current painting project, by the way. This room was finished two summers ago when we shipped all the kids to various camps and grandparents' so we could work in peace. 

There are two days left of school and I haven't even started painting the actual kitchen yet. Good thing it's essentially just the backsplash area and the soffit and around one doorway. The sitting room is almost done except for an up high part that I can't reach while standing on the bar and I can't just slide the ladder over as the bar is in the way. It'll take Dada reconfiguring said ladder to get that part finished. 

Tomorrow I have coffee with my friend Janet and a dentist appointment anyway, so we'll see how much gets done once that's all finished. Last coffee date of the school year, haha!

If it ever stops monsooning, the guys will be able to finish the roof. Today they began adding some of the metal roofing over the sunroom. I took a picture of it but apparently my phone is once again not speaking to my laptop.

If it ever stops monsooning, I'll get the plants into the garden that I spent hours weeding on Memorial Day. It's still not completely ready for the seedlings as it's hard to weed around cilantro. But it's fun to see self seeding marigolds and borage popping up and stray tomato seedlings sprouting from last year's went-to-waste-on-the-vine. And lettuce. And surprise squash. I think. Time will tell!

As far as storm damage, we've been beyond lucky. Some friends have not fared well at all. We occasionally have ducks swimming in the yard, but structurally everything seems to be holding up well, including our rear mostly-naked-and-covered-in-Sharkskin roof. 

On the medical front, some of you have been privy to (haha, that's funny!) photos on facebook of my morning meds with cookies. Three Nerlynx seemed to work pretty well. Upping this week to four has worked rather less well in terms of side effects. I called my oncology office today and laid it all out. They checked and double checked and now I'm to not take any Nerlynx for the next two days and then start back up with three a day. My appointment is next week, so we'll talk then about how things are progressing. Or not. Thanks to those of you who have been checking in on me and praying against me moving into the bathroom permanently. I quipped to a friend that I'd be finished with my summer reading list in about a week if this kept up. Yes, I'm drinking plenty. Yes, I'm keeping an eye on electrolytes. Yes, I'm keeping my doc in the loop. Yes, perhaps next summer will be diarrhea-free, (third year's a charm, right?) and then I'll celebrate with ice cream every day!

In the meantime, there's no homework which means the boys are reveling in their rediscovered love of screen time as I attempt to finish the painting, Bosley Underfoot is losing his mind every time the roofers show up, the seedlings need separated and popped into the ground, Dada and I have an actual date *gasp* planned for next week, there are two more days of school, and life is good. We are blessed. 

Keep your butts to yourself

Someone, who shall remain nameless, deliberately mooned me first thing this morning. Then, as he's always thinking about things, he inquired, "why did God give us buttcheeks? Why couldn't there be just a hole?"

While slapping his PBJ wrap together I answered, "He probably figured you could use something soft to sit on."

Mulling this over, which I can hear because he left the bathroom door open, he murmurs to himself, "huh. They ARE kinda soft."

This discussion is followed by him turning in circles, chin down over his shoulder, as he tries to inspect his own rear end. 

May your day be productive and not running in circles!

Midges and ermagersh!

Since it is still 80+ degrees in Ohio, I had ample opportunity to hang out our bedsheets and another load of laundry today. I kept getting bitten by tiny little gnats? Midges? Small winged insects of malicious or perhaps merely hungry intent at any rate. It made me think of Merry's lament as the Hobbits are slogging through the marshes, "what do they get when they can't get Hobbit?"

Me, Merry. They get me.

BUT this blog is not all about just me, so here's one that you're going to hope I made up. I assure you, I am just as flabbergasted and revolted as you are and I really don't know how to articulate it. So I'm just gonna say it.

Liam was playing the euphonium.

In the bathroom.

😑

That's the only face I can imagine making, unless perhaps embellishing a bit by adding a hand across the forehead...

Granted, bathroom acoustics are fantastic. Yes, he was told to practice. My father right now is thanking his lucky stars that one cannot haul a piano into a bathroom. 

There just aren't words. Except that I have learned one thing. The answer to Captain Jack Sparrow's inquiry of "why is the rum always gone?" 

That would be "because there are children."

All the hairy details

It's funny. I read in one of my multitudes of breast cancer books that I should box up all my hair care products so they're out of my way and I don't have to keep seeing them. I did my best, but those of you with plenty of hair know how hair clips and hair elastics and hair accessories seem to migrate all through the house, the car, into every handbag, etc. I thought I did pretty well gathering Stuff up and sticking it all in a box:

Then I remembered I also had a drawer in the kids' bathroom:

If the entire purpose of boxing up The Hair Stuff was to free space, the experts have seriously underestimated the generosity of my friends and family. This is not everything I received in the mail or in person, but it is the vast majority of it. The bandannas in the bottom left are representatives of a much larger stack of them which I've used throughout my life and especially at camp. To any of you who thoughtfully picked out fabrics, styles, and colors for my naked bean, I thank you. Thanks for spiffing up my wardrobe!

And to those of you who see me when I'm not wearing anything on my head, you now are absolutely sure that it is not because I am lacking appropriate headgear. Sometimes it is nice to just feel the wind in my hair eyebrows eyelashes ears. 

No, I really don't like that. I tend to pull all these suckers down so the wind doesn't do that...

There are many more tiny hairs on my head than there were a few weeks ago. Dada is teasing me about it coming in white and curly, but they look mighty straight-and-stick-outy to me. My Mary Alice calls it dandelion hair. Time will tell. Eyebrows also seem to be attempting a comeback and I have curled my eyelashes without fear of losing them entirely twice in the last week. This is what progress looks like!

New arrival and the less than desirables

So sorry. I forgot to update you. Yes, our new dishwasher has arrived and is definitely pulling its weight. I had forgotten how fast we can fill a dishwasher, haha! It is a black Kitchen Aid with a towel rack and it works. In other words, it is just about perfection.

Now the dryer is on the fritz. Poor Dada has it taken apart and is waiting for a piece to arrive...

Since I don't speak Dryer I can't tell you what it is he is waiting for, but I can say that I am wholeheartedly grateful for the sunshine we are to have today and tomorrow as our clothes are drying outside:

I can also tell you, just as wholeheartedly, that I am a firm believer in the adage about "no good deed goes unpunished". In this particular case, it would be because the rescue dog, AKA Bosley Underfoot the Dunderbutt, found mud and poop to roll in this morning as I was picking tomatoes. Why Bosley, how thoughtful of you; I would just loooooooove to give you a bath and then have an entire bathroom to clean" said nobody ever. 

Do not be fooled by the dotty eyebrows. He is an idiot. And so am I for letting him free range. I know that I can't trust him as far as I could throw him, but did I clip him out there? Noooo, I didn't, because he looked cute and innocent in the sunshine. More fool me.

The part where I bang my head against the wall

There are lots of jokes out there about the world having two kinds of people- the morning people and everyone else. 

We are not a family of early birds around here. Let me just tell you that in case it has somehow escaped your notice from any other blog post about mornings or bus schedules or breakfast or in case this is your first time on the blog. Hello! Welcome to our niche of crazy!

For example, Carrie sets two alarms, one for 6:15 and one for 6:30 and then on a good day she gets out of bed at 6:45 to catch her 7:10 school bus. 

Got all that? 

She can pull this off because she wears the same hoodie and jeans/shorts pretty much daily, changing out her T shirt, socks, and skivvies. She owns several combs- uses none of them- maybe brushes her teeth after breakfast if she has time, does no makeup, very little jewelry. This is my no-fuss girl, and I thank God for that. 

Now, we have multiple bathrooms, so it shouldn't be an issue of not being able to get into one in the morning. However, this morning she was in the tiny loo downstairs because it's closest to the garage door we leave from to get to the bus. She'd meant to just dash in and out, so she didn't shut the door the whole way.

Damon comes staggering downstairs, leaps out at Dada and I with a cheerful, "BOO!" and proceeds to head to the the same tiny loo where he usually does his morning routine. He starts to push open the door (remember that THIS kid has been up all of 3 minutes) and she bashes it shut the whole way, hitting him in the head.

After kisses and gentle admonitions to always, always knock just in case, I manage to get Carrie out the door so he can get in there. (He's fine, she only clipped him.)

After her bus comes and goes and I'm back inside, I realize that I still haven't even seen Liam, whose alarm went off almost 15 minutes ago. Damon is wandering around, accumulating his breakfast, and Dada heads up to check on Liam's progress. 

I throw our sheets into the washer and come back down to Honey Nut Cheerios ("Bee O's" in our house, because of the honeybee on the box of the genuine ones) all over the floor by Liam's seat. Apparently gross motor skills are not happening on this Tuesday morning. 

I swear he sleepwalks through breakfast today, putzing and interfering with the thank you card full and fully-dressed Damon is working on for his teacher, being scolded redirected several times. 

The phone rings. 

Let me just stop right there, because if you're new around here you probably don't know that I despise the telephone. My sweet, sweet innocent husband gently reminds me that when the phone rings it's because someone wants to talk to me, and that I should not snarl as I pick it up.

I let the machine get it and hear, "hey Mom, it's me, and I..."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mom, it's me. In my backpack [which she hasn't taken for the last two weeks because she has only been carrying her binder] is a weather and science hard back book that I need for seventh period. Could you please bring it to school?"

*Here's where you insert every mental argument and counter argument about teaching responsibility (not taking it- it was her book, her responsibility), teachable moments (showing grace by taking it in; she's just a kid, and it IS the third-to-last day of school), waffle between those and other scenarios instantaneously in your head. I did.*

"Are you supposed to turn them in today?"

"Haha, well, actually, that was yesterday, but I forgot, and then I forgot again today..."

Nail in your coffin, my girl, nail in your coffin...

"I'll think about it. Have a good day. I love you! Bye!"

"Okay, bye." [Because Heaven help her if she uses any type of affection over the phone in the Office, bless her heart.]

Eventually, the spilled Bee O's get swept up, (thank you, Dada, who has already left for work by this point), with Liam topping off the dustpan before emptying it for our birds and squirrels out front. I physically take his pajamas from him so that he has no choice but to get dressed in the school clothes I had to pick out for him last night because he was busy with karate and last minute Boy Scout requirements that are due Thursday. He's dressed and sent to brush his teeth. He takes his backpack with him.

What the ?

Damon is done with his card at this point and is chattering about glow in the dark bracelets that he's holding and something about the basement and something about school and "because Liam did."

What's that?

Liam has escaped into the bathroom with his backpack, at this point articulating the argument by using our own words of wisdom back at us thus, "I'm supposed to be clear and copious!"

When the door opens, I am right there like a vulture, going through the backpack.

"WHY is there a cape in here!?"

"I only wanted it for recess!"

Yeah, that banging you hear? It's just me beating my head against the bathroom wall. Carry on, citizens.

I may just be raising an Evil Villain...

This one's on the quote board, so you'll be reading it again later, but I did need to share:

Liam was in the bathroom a LONG time.
Mama: You okay, Liam?
Liam: Yep. (Pause) Didn't fall in or anything.
Mama: Good.
Liam: Cuz I was STANDING! *diabolical laugh*

What in the world!?