How We Roll....

Sometimes I wish for a confessional blog. You know, a place where I could rant and rave and confess my shortcomings and drop the f-bomb. And say things I'm hiding from my husband. However, this is not an anonymous blog. Most of you know who I am in real life. But, if this were an anonymous blog, I might just confess the fact that I misplaced my debit card. Again. And several weeks may have passed. I might describe how this is a rather frequent occurrence for me and that usually I blame (and rightly so!) my 14 month old daughter, who somehow knows the difference between the used up Victoria's secret gift card that I keep in my wallet to distract her, and the actual debit card that represents my actual hard-earned money. I might then tell you about how we searched up and down, high and low, every time Daddy went out for a run or was late coming home from work. And then I could write excitedly about how we found it tucked in the pocket of a red blazer I hardly ever wear. Whew.

Laurel spent the afternoon occupying herself by pushing her toy school bus off various surfaces. It's fun to hang back and watch her entertain herself from time to time. Not from too far a distance, as she is a bit of a daredevil and also seems to have a complete lack of understanding about the dangers of glass. She took a break from the school bus every now and again to page through a book. And then she switched to pretending that an old iPod of mine is a cell phone. Watching toddlers figure out imaginary play is hilarious.

Only part of what I wanted to accomplish by Sunday night is actually done. Do I have too high expectations or am I just bad at getting things done? I was on track to be in bed by 9, but then M sliced his finger in the kitchen and he probably needs a stitch but is toughing it out because nobody wants to sit in the ER for six hours on a Sunday night. And he's fine, nobody worry. We just need new knives. We are people who cook, from scratch, at least once or twice a day and we have the most god-awful, dull, cheap knives. We cooked for ages on beat up, hand-me-down aluminum pans, but eventually got around to buying a nice Le Creuset pot and a cast iron frying pan. So we'll get around to the knives. Perhaps sooner, rather than later now that the knives have actually drawn blood.

Now I'm waiting on the last load of laundry and I just don't want to open up gmail because there's a million to-do items buried in that inbox and Monday seems like a much better time to deal with them.

Tomorrow I'll wake up at 5 and then the next thing I know it will be Friday. And so on and so forth until summer vacation and then maybe I can decide what the heck I'm going to do with the rest of my life, because I'm going to need a change of pace from this. There's one thing to be busy, but it's quite another thing to look down and realize that you've put your shirt on backwards or there's baby snot in your hair.


Anonymous said...

Over the years I've acquired a pretty good set of knives. One by one I bought them in France and brought them home. But even French knives get dull -- and then they might as well be cheap knives. It's amazing what a difference a session with my electric knife sharpener can make. Twenty minutes and they're French knives again. I know that purists use a sharpening steel, but I've never been very good at that.

Poor Mark! It's been a tough year for his hands. I'm glad you found your debit card. Love, Aunt Mary

Anonymous said...

Just reading about your schedule wears me out! If it holds true, the early years are the hardest, whether its your career or parenting but then you figure "it" out . I know you will come out of this and look back in amazement at what you have accomplished. Hang in there.
Love, Aunt DC