Is it bad I prayed for the note to be blown away?

Monday I schlepped the kids to the mall to meet up with some friends, let the kids run around in the play area and make a return.  It was cold, and the weather forecast predicted that the wind would kick up.

Well, it did.  It was pretty windy and blustery as we entered the mall around 11 am.


We finished with all out doings at the mall and we make the trek through the parking lot.  It was around 2:15, which is prime nap time for Boy C.  I was carrying Girl C, pushing Boy C in his stroller and rushing to get them in to the car and out of the wind as soon as possible.  I toss Girl C into the car and tell her to get in her car seat and wait to be buckled in.  I go around to the other side of the minivan and put the brakes on the stroller and take Boy C out and into his seat.  As I am setting him in, the wind kicks up something fierce, and it picks up the stroller and propels it full speed into another car.  A freaking Lexus.  Of course.  I chase after the stroller, grab it, and stow it in the car and then buckle in the C's.  I get in the car, start it, and contemplate what I should do.  I even look up at the perimeter of the parking lot to see if there were any cameras.  But, I knew God was watching me and waiting for me to make the right choice.  So, I wrote a note and left my contact info.

So, last night, I get a call from a sweet lady named Joan.  She was so absolutely amazed that there are still people out there that have the integrity and kindness to take responsibility for their actions, even if it means they may have to bear a burden financially.  She said she has two high school aged children that are new drivers and she showed them my note and told them, "This is what you do.  This is what it means to have integrity."  She said there was no damage, and even if there were, things happen and that's part of life.  She even said that I am a good mother and setting a wonderful example of how to be a good person to my children.  By the end of our two-minute conversation, I was in tears from her kind words.

I was so afraid of who was going to call me and how angry they'd be and how much I would have to pay to get (what I thought was) a small blemish buffed from the door.  I went so far as to make a preemptive call to my insurance company  to see what I'd need to do in case it needed to go through insurance.  As an aside, if your baby stroller hits a car, it falls under your homeowners policy.  The more you know.  :)

My favorite time of day

I have to admit, come bedtime, I am ready to clock out for the day and do the things I want to do.  I'm tired of wiping chins, noses, and butts.  I'm tired of crumbs, milk dribbles, and half-drank sippy cups littering my house.  I'm tired of being tired, and I can't ever really go to bed early since Boy C goes to bed around 6 and Girl C goes to bed around 7:30.  On the days when Girl C takes a nap, she morphs into this screaming, running, hyperactive little banshee who won't go to bed until at least 8:30.  So, by then, I'm anticipating Boy C to wake up for his 9:30 (on the nose) feeding.

But that feeding is my favorite.  I've had a little time to unwind from both kids, have a glass of wine if the day dictated I needed one, and clean the house without fear of it looking like I'm a hoarder 37 seconds later.

It's my favorite because I've missed my kids.  I've missed holding my baby boy in my arms.  I've missed the weight of him, the specific areas his little body puts pressure and the way my muscles have to move and flex as they cradle his head, body, and arms.  I've missed his smell, his noise, and the way his downy hair tickles my lips and chin as I drink in his baby smell.  I'm awake enough to enjoy this moment of him and I in the quiet and dark room - just us. And then I put him back in his crib and pull up his blanket to him and smile as he puts two fingers in his mouth (just like his big sister), grabs the blanket and rolls over, snuggling himself back to sleep.

Then, I tip toe over to Girl C's room and smile at what position she's chosen to sleep in, kiss her little forehead, and turn off her light.

That's my favorite.

This meeting will now "come" to order

Imagine if Robert's rules of order were applied to sex.

-This meeting of husband and wife will now come to order. Are all members of the marriage present?

-Aye

-Husband, please read the minutes of the last meeting.

-Meeting convened at 10:32 PM, roll call taken, minutes of previous meeting read and approved, No old business was discussed, regular business was performed, no new business was discussed, and meeting adjourned at 10:59 PM.  

-Can I get a motion to approve the minutes of the previous meeting?

-I move we just get to the regular business.

-Motion approved!

The end.  

Weather and Diapers

There's a strange correlation when you're out where we are between the weather and laundry.  Besides the obvious - you don't want to hang up your laundry when it's going to rain or freeze.  On a good, hot, breezy summer day, I can wash and dry two loads of laundry on the clothesline and if I play my cards right, I can get a third on dry on the racks up on the deck.  Those are the sweet spots of days when I feel like super country mom.

But when there's the threat of snow, ice, or severe storms another problem arises - diapers.  We cloth diaper for a few reasons.  Some of which being better for the environment, and more cost effective for multiple children, blah,blah blah.  We will never run out of diapers and have to make a midnight run to town to buy any.  So, when weather moves in that has the chance to knock our power out, I have to take a quick clean diaper inventory and weigh if I have enough to last me should there be a power outage.  I'm sure my husband would fire up the generator so I could do a load if I needed to, but so far we've been pretty fortunate in that respect.

It's just begun to show here and it's expected to give us anywhere from 7-10 inches of it.  So, last night at 8 pm, I started a load of diapers.  And at 10 pm, they were done and my husband and I had a diaper-hanging race on the drying racks before bedtime.  Exciting times, indeed.

The toilet knife

You know you live in the country when you have a butter knife dedicated solely for toilet use.  I used to use a screwdriver until Papa B asked me why there was a flat head screwdriver in the bathroom.  I was honest with him - I was using it to clean the toilet.  He looked at me with a combination of utter confusion and a little anger.

A few years ago, Papa B decided to turn off the water softener.  He got too cheap to pay for softener salt.  Since then, I have been fighting a battle with lime scale on my toilets.  I liken my toilet cleaning routine to going to the dentist.  You scrub the bowl once a week or so to get the crud off, and once a month you get out the toilet cleaner and use that.  But about every six months (maybe more, depending on whether or not the "If it's yellow" method backfires on you), I fire up the big guns.  Here's where the toilet knife comes into play.  I will put CLR in the bowl and leave it overnight.  Then next morning, before anyone has a chance to do their business, I will get in there with a brush, pumice, and my toilet knife.  First, I have to chip the lime off the bottom of the toilet, the 'exit' if you will.  This is like the dentist bit - cleaning off the tartar off the toilet with my trusty knife.  It comes off in flakes.  Then I move on to the pumice to get the ring of crud/lime/mystery substance off, and then I finish it off with the brush to get the rest of it.

Oh, the SPARKLE!!  The SHINE!!  The lovely sight of a lime-less toilet is really something to behold.

All thanks to my toilet knife.  I really have some cleaning issues to work though, don't I?

Like a controlled burn.

When I was in high school, I took a gourmet foods class.  By then I knew how to cook, and I could cook a decent meal.  I definitely learned some things, don't get me wrong.  But what the teacher said during one lesson was pretty interesting.  Cooking was nothing more than a controlled burning of your food.

I was reminded of this yesterday when we had a snow/ice day and I got the bug to bake something warm and comforting.  Girl C helped me make some milk chocolate chip cookies.  She was very helpful and interested until I have her the beater from my KitchenAid mixer and her attention was quickly turned to licking the cookie dough off the paddle (not that I blame her).  I decided to put the extra rack in my oven and bake 3 pans of cookies at once.  Papa B is astonishingly cheap (which is totally fodder for scads of posts for the future), so to avoid a lecture on running the full size oven for one tray of cookies, I tossed them all in at once. I set the three pans in the oven, set the time for 10 minutes and waited.  After the allotted time, I had a pan of well-done cookies, medium cookies, and rare cookies.  It just amused me that I had controlled the burn to make everyone happy.  Crispy ones, soft ones, and gooey ones.

Un-Profound Post of the Day (UPPOTD)

My farts have nowhere to go when I wear skinny jeans.  I wonder if that's how it is in a space suit?

I told you it was un-profound.