So here we all are, on a rainy, gloomy Sunday afternoon. Just hanging around the house because it's either been scorching hot, or raining down cats and dogs, with thunder and lightning that I don't want to be anywhere near (in fact, we're in the midst of a thunderstorm right now, and I'm surprised I'm not up to my eyeballs in bed covers!).
My kids are insanely bored, and frankly.... so am I. But, with only a half a tank of gas, limited funds, an the ridiculously high heat and humidity we've had around here... well, our options are pretty sparse.
I did get out for a bit yesterday. I ran to the bank to deposit our insurance reimbursement check that came in the mail yesterday, and went to the grocery store to get potatoes for our yummy dinner last night. I made meatloaf (or, as my littlest little calls it, "meatlove"... I personally like her title better!), sour cream mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob... all made possible by our ever-cranking a/c. Can't WAIT to see our electric bill next month ::note the sarcasm::!
My son came downstairs from his "Den of Inequity", and announced to me that he wanted to go to GameStop to buy a new microphone for his XBox 360 Live. It appeared as if he broke his old one, and the explanation varies, depending on who you talk to. He told me that, when his "computer" lags, he typically unplugs the headset from the console, then plugs it back in. When he did it yesterday, he jammed the plug into the console, and now he can't get it out. My oldest daughter later informed me that he told her that she made him so mad by playing with his Guitar Hero guitar (when he'd asked her not to) that he jammed the plug into the console too hard, and when he tried to pull it back out, the head of the plug came loose and got stuck in his console. Of course, he added it was "all her fault" that the thing is now broken. Ehem.... clarification here, mister... it's all YOUR fault for being way too hard on your game system, regardless of the reason why!
So, he came trotting down the stairs, with his halo polished bright and shiny, and mosied on over to me, asking me basically if I'd drop whatever I was doing and drive him to the mall, and essentially BUY HIM a new headpiece.
I explained to my clearly demented 13-year-old son that it is NOT my life's ambition to chauffeur him around and dole out cash on stupid crap that I could care less about, especially when it was his fault that he broke the thing in the first place! I told him if he wants a new headset, HE'S to pay for it, not me. He then chimed in with his "Plan B" (always the strategist, that boy of mine). He wanted me to take him to the bank, so he could close out his savings account (which only has $35 dollars in it, because he keeps dipping into it for all these games and game systems that he "has" to have), and then he'd have the money to buy his new headpiece.
I think it was about that time when I did my very best Linda Blair impersonation. My head started spinning around in circles, and I vaguely remember a trickle of pea soup trailing out of the sides of my mouth. I told him that, even if I could help him to take out the remainder of his savings account (which I can't, because his father's the co-signer of that account, not me), I absolutely would NOT do it. I know we're hard up against it now, but I'd really like to think that sometime in the near future, I'd be able to start putting something back into it again, so we could build his account back up. And, when he got a JOB, he'd be able to do the same. I would not be even REMOTELY willing to close out his savings account for something so trivial as an accessory for his stupid game!
He skulked away from me, and disappeared back up into his cave, probably cursing me up, down, and sideways the whole way there.
My oldest daughter is still "on punishment" for the catastrophe she called her room. She FINALLY got everything clean (and whattya know... she actually has a FLOOR!), and I told her, if she kept her room clean for an entire week, I'd allow her to have her TV back. So, to compensate for her lack of white noise, she's been plopping herself down on a chair or the couch in the living room, curling up into a nice little comfy ball, and falling asleep down here. One of us will wake her, and prompt her to go upstairs to bed. She'll stay up there for about 15 minutes, and then appear back downstairs, and the whole episode will then repeat itself all over again.
Yesterday, I spent an exorbitant amount of time (probably more than I would even care to admit!) on here, reading through a new blog buddies love story between her Rancher man and her (she's a phenomenal writer, and quite the hoot. If you want to go check her out, click on "Ree" on my friends' list). That left my husband in full charge of the remote in the living room. And, that's not necessarily a good thing, because he's a "clicker"... if he's not even remotely interested (sorry... no pun intended!) in the TV program he's landed on, he'll quickly change the channel. While "surfing" my daughter caught a mere glimpse of something that she really wanted to watch. She came to me and asked if she could please go watch it in my bedroom. Those big, ice-blue eyes just slay me every time, so I caved and said yes.
After I peeled my hind side off of this chair, I went into the bathroom to hose my tired, weary and soaked body off in the shower. It took me about 20 minutes to complete all of my "girly work", and in the time it took for me to exit the steamy bathroom, she was completely and totally sacked out on my side of the bed.
There's still something so heartwarming about seeing my babies sleeping. I couldn't bear to disturb her, plus I need about 3498382749237432432 hours for my hair to completely dry anyway (I have the thickest hair, and for those who don't... hey... God had to bless me with something, so he gave me thick hair, beautiful babies, and a good sense of humor! :), so I came back out here to continue reading the self-proclaimed Harlequin Romance that is on PioneerWoman's blog.
Husband started dozing off and on in the living room chair, his snoring sounding like an idling motorcycle (oh, sure... chuckle all you want, but YOU try sleeping next to it some night!), and when he finally roused himself enough to get ready for bed, I knew it was time for me to get this hair dry once and for all, and hit the hay myself. I let him pry our daughter out of our bed, because honestly, I don't ever have the heart to do it, and then I went in, dried my hair, and....got caught up in watching "Drive-Ins, Diners, and Dives" on the FoodNetwork. That Guy Fieri...he's such a hoot!
My littlest little is still struggling with a cold/allergies. She's actually started complaining a little that her throat hurts and her left ear hurts, so I think that warrants a trip to her pediatrician's office tomorrow. Sigh.
Last night, because she wasn't feeling all that well, she took a little while to finally settle into bed for the evening. While we were having our usual "goodnight" ritual (me filling up on lots of kisses and hugs to sustain me through the night, and her telling me she's going to have happy dreams about Mama and Daddy and Sissy and Brother, with no crabs and no spiders in it).
In the process of this routine, she looked over at the calendar I'd printed out for her, which she hung proudly on her closet door. This new "suggestion" from a dear friend of mine was devised as a way to keep my 3-year-old from being the obnoxious little deviant she's turned herself into. The deal is, if she's a good girl for the entire day, she gets to put either a smiley-face or a star sticker on that day of the calendar. If she earns enough stickers in a week, I'll take her for some sort of treat (an ice cream cone, a Happy Meal, a toy at the Dollar Tree.... something along those lines). If she's a BAD girl, Daddy throws one of her "pup-pups" (pacifiers) away in the trash, and she WILL NOT get it back. EVER. To a 3-year-old kid who cherishes her pup-pups almost as much as life itself, this is a major traumatic experience!
After one first horrible evening of dealing with the mourning of a single lost pacifier (which wasn't really lost... Daddy "pretended" to toss it, and stuck it in his pocket instead. Hey, at $3.50 a pop, I don't feel like re-stocking her supply on a steady basis, you know?), she earned two stickers in two days.
As our evening ritual was coming to a close last night, and my hand was on the doorknob, ready to shut her door, she popped up out of bed, took a sideways glance at her pretty Belle calendar, and said, almost to herself, "I hope I get another sticker tomorrow."
It was all I could do to keep from busting a gut! After all, this sticker-earning business is VERY serious to her!
I told her that all she had to do was continue to be a good girl, and I'm sure she'll get to put another one on her calendar. She smiled her apple-cheeks smile, laid back down, put one of her beloved pup-pups in her mouth, and began methodically rubbing the tip of her nose with another (don't ask). All was right in her little world.