Cleanliness, Godliness or PMS?

I decided this morning that I would get some cleaning done at home. I usually try to leave some basic things for the kids to do on Saturdays so they can earn their allowance and I can pretend like I'm not the maid, but I'm too fed up with it all. I just want it clean, minus the arguments, griping, and the foot stomping joy of attempting to raise well adjusted children.

I tell myself before I begin anything that I will not, I repeat NOT (and I totally almost mean it) clean the kids' rooms. First of all I could spend all day cleaning two bedrooms and second that would be my whole day. (That second one may sound a lot like the first. It is.)


They just cleaned this room 6 days ago. SIX DAYS AGO IT WAS CLEAN. It's the dressers completely covered in stuff that drive me crazy. Half of it is trash and half of it looks like trash. So maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe expecting to be able to see the tops of dressers that belong to two 13 year old girls is just asking too much. Maybe I have PMS. ( Ok, skip the maybe, but really, isn't that completely beside the point?)

So I may get some grief about posting a photo of their room on my blog. I've already got my pithy little comment prepared. Something like "Well, when I'm living in your house and I don't clean up my mess then you can take a picture of it and post it on your blog." HAH! I was pretty freaking satisfied when I thought that one up! And ahead of time too. But then I envisioned myself old and feeble with no bladder control, living with one of them.

I'm going to have to sock more away for the old people's home.

The Start of School

This year the beginning of school has felt more like a tactical mission in military defense than the back to school tradition of educating three young minds. It's been 3+ weeks since school began and everyday (even on the weekends) I have hoped for a pair of those bullet deflecting gold cuffs that Wonder Woman used to fend off her evil nemeses so that I too may ward off evil ... things. Imagining myself in gold cuffs and a flying eagle bustier has done nothing to help in dealing with our many (mis)adventures(nor has it particularly helped with my body image since I know I can't fill out Linda Carter's wings), but maybe venting will. So here's the short list. I'm just using single words right now to get it all out. Maybe someday I'll expound upon them a little:

handstand
broken arm
volleyball tryouts
cast
(unfortunately the above are in chronological order)
recast
money
pay-to-play sports
13
13
plumber
money
air conditioner
money, money, money (I know, I cheated)
insurance donut
fever
fever
fever
missed school
ADD
missed homework
teacher conference
therapy
damn insurance donut

The Non-Dinner Dinner

My kids haven't seen the side of a vegetable in weeks. Any side. Not even from a distance. I know that when a vegetable finally appears on their plates it will be like seeing E.T. for the first time. Wide eyes followed by boisterous and repetitive (repetitive) verbal complaints. This siting will be followed by teeth clenching and eye ticks. (That'd be me.)

It wasn't an intentional omission. I am admittedly a slight health food fanatic. And when I say "fanatic" I don't really mean that. What I mean is I prefer a day doesn't go by without at least one vegetable slipping between the lips of my offspring. But our summer schedule hasn't given me much leeway in preparing a square meal since it seems we are more often than not at a swim meet. Most of our meals lately have consisted of some form of either melted cheese (nachos, pretzels and cheese, cheese on a hot dog) and some form of hot dog (hot dog, hot dog with coney sauce, hot dog with coney sauce and cheese, the aforementioned hot dog with cheese and corn dog). When we are at home my reflexes often bring me to the jar of spaghetti sauce in the cupboard and whatever I can find to put underneath it. I do believe however that spaghetti sauce could in some instances be considered a serving of vegetables. I really don't know that, I'm just kinda hoping. I'm also kinda hoping that ketchup and pickle relish fall in that same "almost a vegetable so you shouldn't feel like a guilty mom" category. You know that category. It's right next to the "I just ate my kids M&M sundae because I thought he wasn't going to eat it and then he wanted it" category.

But then there's this other small factor and that is that the cook has totally lost her desire or just plain will to cook (probably due from a lack of greens and an excess of caffeine). So any night that we are at home I ponder for hours about the "non-dinner" I'm going to create for dinner. Last night it was ham or roast beef sandwiches (which I didn't have to "cook" by the way, Tim did it). Tonight it's hot dogs and tuna melts for the adults. (Which by the way also contains some celery along with the nutritious pickle relish.)

Usually after a spell of "non-cooking" I gain back the desire to cook or at least the desire to eat something that doesn't come straight out of a box or plastic wrapper. But I'm honestly not feeling it. And I happen to be pretty in tune with my feelings, especially the non-cooking ones.

Tomorrow's menu: ham wrapped around a hot dog covered in cheese with a side of ketchup and pickle relish. Mmmmm....yum!

Eh.

I'm not cooking chicken tonight. I'm cooking salmon. No chopping involved. It's thrilling.

It's a gray day today. Except now we have a little bit of snow on the ground. So if I were to take a picture right now it would look like a black and white photograph. Very, very depressing. That's why I have a lovely new background. Isn't it refreshing? It's like spring. It's fresh and springish. Springish freshness. Green and fresh and, eh, I'm still depressed.

I might as well go cook some chicken.

Churkey

Why chicken does it to me I'll never understand. It always brings me to my knees. I haven't written a thing in over a month and I find myself in the kitchen chopping up a couple of chunky chicken breasts feeling the need to vent my chicken chopping frustrations. I think it's moments of desperation like these when you reach down deep inside yourself take a good look at your life and realize there is something missing - an automatic chicken chopper.

Now I have a purpose. (Motherhood aside and all that.) I need to come up with a prototype for a chicken chopper. Something that chops chicken, removes the fat and makes it all pretty in half, no, a quarter of the time it takes to manually cut up a chicken breast with a big knife a cutting board and a bad attitude.

Hmmmmm...... I'm not even sure where to begin. You know this is one of those random times when I wish my husband was a butcher. It doesn't happen as often as when I wish he was a firefighter, but that's a blog for another day...

This all might stem from the fact that I'm about to host my first Thanksgiving. Yes, it's true I'm forty... something and I've never cooked a turkey. You can look at that two ways 1) wow, what a lazy butt never having cooked the big turkey meal or 2) wow, she managed to not cook the big turkey meal until she was forty-something, impressive I should take lessons from her. I prefer 2.

When I mention this to people they must see the fear in my eyes because they all tell me it will be ok. And I just nod my head in agreement saying yeah, my mom is coaching me. Tim has picked up on my tension. (That's like saying Tim noticed that brick with turkey gizzards attached that I threw at his head the other day) and has pretty much taken over the turkey preparation. Actually there's no pretty much about it so far it's his baby, uh, turkey and I've decided I'm going to keep my nose out of it and let him take his turkey and run with it. ( I just like to picture that image in my head...)

So no, he's not a chef or a cook or a butcher or a firefighter for that matter but this Thanksgiving he'll be joining the ranks of turkey cooks across America and I will still be a turkey virgin. (Haven't used that word in ..... oh, never mind.)

Is It Cold in Here?

I used to have dreams all the time where I was topless. It wasn't like a dream where you are suddenly naked in a crowd of people it was much more subtle than that. I would be going out somewhere with friends and I would just decide that my outfit that evening was going to be a topless one. It was like "should I wear the black shirt or the brown shirt, Oh! I'll just wear the NUDE shirt." And so I would go out with my friends feeling quite the fashionista. I might get a little chilly and then I might realize no one else had the same color of shirt on as I did, if-you-know-what-I-mean. People would kind of stare and not in a "wow, look at those" kinda way. More of a "oh.... dear" kinda way. And then it would dawn on me that I was ok, a little embarassed by my fashion choice and, ironically, freezing my ta-tas off.

So I went to the gynecologist earlier last week. (This is where all of you male readers are jumping ship after my nudie ta-tas story.) I saw the nurse practitioner and I must say I had never been completely felt up in a less amount of time. I often see different nurse practitioners and I've found them all to be incredibly effecient but this lady had a gift. When I told Tim how fast she was he said "wow, that's faster than me." Kinda had to agree with him there.

So I knew when she said "ok, get dressed and I'll be right back" that I had to be quick. Like an idiot I started to dress by the order my clothes were laid on the chair. Underwear.... jeans.... knock on the door and in walks my nurse practitioner. So I act casual because while I'm not wearing a stitch of clothing on my top she had just been there, if-you-know-what-I-mean, so no big deal right? Well, as she hands me a flyer that has to do with, believe it or not, breast health, I start to get a little unsure of my semi-nakedity. I think it was when I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to suggest "yeah I'm half naked but I'm ok with that" that I realized, this really isn't right.

Fortunately because of her speedracer ability the whole incident didn't last long although honestly it felt like 10 minutes of my 15 minute appointment. She told me to "have a great day!" on her way to her next appointment as I'm casually trying to put my bra on in front of her. I think I might have even stopped and gave her a finger wave. I don't know I was feeling a little dizzy by then.

So what I guess I'm saying here is don't put your clothes on in the order they are laying on the chair after your yearly exam. It is possible that dreams really can come true.

Beef... It's What's For Dinner

I should be cooking chicken right now instead I'm here, blogging. I got the chicken out of the freezer, placed it in a microwave safe dish, defrosted it for 6 minutes and then left it. That was an hour and a half ago. I can't seem to get back to the chicken. I'm having a chicken aversion tonight. Go away chickie, chickie.

Not that I don't like chicken. I do. Chicken is tasty. I even like real chickens. Chickens are hilarious. This blog is starting to feel like a deja vu. I need to let the chicken go....

So things have been relatively calm in the Johnson household lately. I guess that's why I'm blogging less. I'm not in need of as much writing therapy. I think we've all finally adjusted to being back in school. My mom always said it takes two weeks to adjust to being out of school and two weeks to adjust being back in school. It has taken us, let's see.... I'm counting.... hold on..... 6 weeks. I think that's a record on the slow to change category of family dysfunction.

But we're finally here so I'm not going to complain. Well I might. Ok, here I go...

No, no, no. I'm not going there. Hey! Good news! Dancing with The Stars is back. Have you seen Maks? I have. Have you DVR'd Maks and played it over and over again? I have. Have you paused when there's a good shot of his pecs? I have. Have you tried to dance along with Maks pretending to be his partner in short shorts and a tank top? Ok, you need therapy. That's over the top.

Ok, I've wasted some time and liberated my Maks libido at the same time so now I'm heading back to the kitchen. I'm really not feeling like chicken anymore though. Wonder if I have some beef...