A test of fortitude. God, I hate tests.

Good morning my friends! I thought I ought to take a second to assure those of you who check in on me that I am indeed alive and well, although I suspect my blood pressure might be a skosh high. The reason for my absence and the 130/80 readingyou might ask?

His name is “Jack” and he’s currently the bane of my existence.

This four year-old sweet baby boy o’ mine is sucking me dry of all available energy and will leaving my inner engine on empty and my brain matter resembling a raisin. And not the plumped up kind. I’m talking the bargain bin, ‘oh why did I buy the generic ones’ kind.

I’ve dealt with precocious preschoolers before, mind you. But this is a horse of an entirely different color, folks. This boy is on a different level. This boy is intelligent. And he’s got my number. He runs this house with calculated expediency, his sharp mind running scenarios at warp speeds, asking himself, “How exactly can I wreak the most havoc while maintaining my adorable exterior and reminding my mother that evil hasn’t taken over every part of my being?” He thrashes through this house, destruction in his wake, earnestly asking, “Am I still a good boy?” after every diabolical incident. This little guy is an oxymoron of mass proportions. And, God help me, I love every bit of him. Even the naughty parts.

So, friendly followers, I beg your forgiveness for my absence and pray that you understand my heart is still here with this blog while my mind is otherwise occupied with various wreckage and carnage left behind by the sweet and sensitive, albeit mind-numbingly frustrating, spawn of my loins.

Wait for me.


A “Typical” Morning…

In order to understand me a tiny bit better (which I’m quite sure you’ve been dying to do) I thought I would lay out for you a “typical” morning in our little suburban household. Now, understand, I have one second grader who attends public school and one four year-old who attends preschool two days a week. The following schedule depicts those two lovely days a week where Jack (the preschooler) actually detaches from my hip.

6:00 a.m. Alarm shrills. I hit the Snooze button and roll back over in bed.

6:05 a.m. Alarm shrills a second time. I curse and hit the Snooze button and roll back over in bed.

6:10 a.m. Alarm shrills a third time. I curse emphatically and roll over to hit the Snooze button only to be met by a tiny little person with swollen morning lips standing beside my bed demanding breakfast. When asked why he’s already out of bed I am answered with, “Your alarm woke me up. Now get me breakfast.” Why don’t I learn?

6:15 – 7:00 a.m. Field numerous questions from four year-old ranging from “Why do my ears have holes in them?” to “Is my winkadoo going to get any bigger when I grow up?’ As much as I stress the early hour, nothing dissuades my little man from hammering me with inquiries.

6:15 – 7:00 a.m. Pray for 7:30 (the point in time Jer takes Jack to school, thereby forcibly detaching him from my hip) to get here.

7:00 a.m. Wake Avery up from blissful slumber.

7:01 a.m. Thank God for blessing me with such a sweet little lady who hardly ever complains about anything I ask her to do.

7:01 1/2 a.m. Quickly thank God for blessing me with Jack, too.

7:05 – 7:15 a.m. Serve breakfast while convincing Jack that he does, indeed, have to carry a backpack to school even though he doesn’t check out books from the library like his sister. Remind Jack that I do not have to, in fact, make him a lunch to take to school as he is home each day by 10:45 a.m.

7:15 – 7:20 a.m. Remind Jack that he is most definitely required to brush his teeth even though he didn’t eat any dessert yet. And, no, we never have dessert after breakfast.

7:21 a.m. Thank God for blessing me with Avery.

7:21 1/2 a.m. Follow-up prayer adding Jack.

7:22-7:29 a.m. Pray for 7:30 to get here…fast.

7:30 a.m. TOUCHDOWN! Jack’s out the door with his dad (after a flurry of hair brushing, finding the socks Jack decided to put on the dog, putting shoes on, removing the Pop Tart from Jack’s sweatshirt pockets that he thought he would bring for his own personal “snack time” and convincing him, again, he does not have any library books.)

7:31 a.m. Close the front door behind Jack and Jer, lean against it and breathe a sigh of relief.

7:31-7:50 a.m. Spend a stress-free twenty minutes with Avery before she leaves for the school bus.

7:51 a.m. Rush to find “twelve objects that have two syllables” that Avery forgot she was supposed to bring to school that day.

7:52 a.m. Thank God that Jack is not yet required to bring objects from home to school. Thank God for Jack’s sweet little face.

7:53 – 10:40 Revel in the almost three hours of freedom before I have to pick up my little man from preschool. Unfortunately, at this stage in my life, “reveling” currently consists of laundry, kitchen clean-up, wiping urine from the toilet seat and cleaning crayon off the vinyl flooring. But, there’s something to be said for completing the above-listed tasks without a four year-old asking you to explain why dogs need eyeballs.

10:40 a.m. Rush to pick up Jack from preschool, realizing how much I actually miss his sweet little face when he’s gone.

10:50 a.m. Wonder why I was in such a hurry to pick him up.

10:51 – 1:00 p.m. Tend to Jack’s every need, praying for naptime.

1:01 p.m. Collapse in exhaustion on the couch, turn on “Quints by Surprise” and thank God for my life.

1:02 p.m. Snooze.

Well, there you have it, a glimpse into Jack’s preschool mornings. The other three days of the school week are much the same, without the three hours of freedom, and consisting of more winkadoo questions and general Jack-induced chaos. I realize I only have two kids. I realize I am not up against chaos at mass proportions. I realize that others may have itwayharder than I do. But, being that this is my blog, it’s my prerogative to vent. And, trust that if I have any inclination to expand my family exponentially thereby inflaming my already chaotic situation, you and TLC will be the first to know.

Happy Monday!


Please tell me you haven’t forgotten about me…

Just a little visual reminder why I drink Rum...

Okay. So, I’ve been a little missing-in-action lately. I have no real solid excuse other than the fact that I’ve had laundry up the wazoo, a voluntarily working-from-home husband who still refuses to occasionally drive his computer-savvy arse to the office thereby refusing to afford me fleeting moments of freedom from staring at the back of his head all day, a 7 year-old who has decided that she’s not really “in” to having a clean bedroom and an almost 4 year-old son who has adopted “But, mom, I wanna be a good boy” as his catchall phrase.

In other words, I’ve been a little busy. And if I’ve learned anything over the last 7 years as a mother I have learned that when I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed I need to let some things go. If even for a bit.

I’ve certainly let things go in the past when feeling the pressure o’ life creeping up my back. Unfortunately, those “things” have typically been comprised of diet plans and workout routines. But this time, in my forever quest for a healthier me, I have been sticking to nightly dates with my walking shoes and back episodes of Gilmore Girls, and have had to let The Suburban Life slide on to my drastically under-utilized back burner.

But, I’m back now and hoping to keep up with posting my random musings with a little more frequency. I definitely notice an increase in unpleasant domestic relations with every decrease in blog posts (and I’m pretty sure my hubby Jer would agree.) Blog writing has become a very therapeutic outlet for me and my wayward thoughts and without that outlet I tend to leak a bit of sarcasm at unnecessary moments. I’m working on it. No one likes a spontaneous leaker. Or any leaker for that matter. Moving on.

It being Friday, I would like to wish everyone a fantastic weekend. We have what could possibly be the very last of our bright and sunny days coming up and it might just motivate me to do something outdoorsy. Like hiking. Or yardwork.

Oh. Who am I kidding?

Happy Friday!