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I’m sitting here, looking out my window, at the remains of the great “Snowmageddon” that we were hit with yesterday, and in true Virginia form, its already starting to melt. Back in the homecountry (aka, Upstate NY), this type of thing we’d announce by saying, “it snowed last night.” Meteorologists were predicting upwards of something like 17 feet, and I”m beginning to think some of them might have a future in fortune telling on late night TV. Part of me wanted to laugh at the panic that seemed to have locals by the throat, but unfortunately, part of me bought into it all as well. I woke up yesterday morning to a literal winter wonderland, and began to panic because we only had seven rolls of toilet paper, and in my 20 week hormonal pregnant state, I began sobbing over what a failiure I am as a mother to not prepare for my family in this time of peril. The Hubs wasn’t sure if he should burst out laughing at my craziness, or be really concerned about the fact that I thought seven rolls of toilet paper wouldn’t contain our family’s bowel activities for the next 24 hours. Thankfully, he took the high road, good man that he is, and talked me down off my ledge and reminded me that, a) the possibiltiy of our going through that much toilet paper is unlikely, if not frightening, and b) with his truck and my snow driving prowess, we can make it to 7-11 if we are that desperate. This my friends, is true love.
Ben is now at that age where he doesn’t just talk, but has actual conversations with me. I knew he was funny kid, but its kind of ridiculous:
Him: (bringing me a shirt) can you help me put this on?
Me: (noting its three kids too big for him) this isn’t your shirt
Him: Yes, it is.
Me: No, it isn’t.
Him: Yes. It. Is.
Me: No. It. Isn’t.
Me: ….. okay.
Him: (Puts shirt on, and pulling shirt over knees, “do you think this is too big for me?”
So, you may have noticed that I may have mentioned one or three thousand times on the blog that I’m trying to declutter the Nuthouse. The good news is I’ve made some serious progress. The bad news is I’m No. Freaking. Where. Near. Finished. What I’m glad I did, however, is start with the master boudoir, so that when the rest of the house is falling into a pit of despair, the Hubs and I have one room to retreat to and breathe.
(I’m totally jonesing for a new cover for the bed, but the Hubs is insisting we actually finish the original job of “decluttering” before bringing moving on to “decorating”. Meanie.)
The kids have caught on to this and have been spending quite a bit of time in there. It only reinforces my opinion: if we torch everything and live in a semi empty house, we’ll be just fine.
(p.s. I’d show you a “before” picture, but I do have some pride….)
You know what makes me happy? Over hearing my two year old singing this song:
I’m not sure if there’s something in the water, but today is a bad hair day at the Nuthouse. I give you:
(toothpaste and something granular)
Maybe its not that there’s something in the water, but rather, some people need to get into the water.
In an amazing feat for the Nuthouse, St. Valentine’s evening was marked not with a candlelight dinner for two at an exclusive restaurant (Like the uber exclusive Tierney Bistro), but with a trip to the Emergency Room to have our first case of stitches stitched up.
(while waiting “patiently” in the waiting room at bedtime)
While watching the Olympics that night, Ben seemed to be reenacting Men’s Speed Skating and heck if he wasn’t going for the gold around our coffee table. Unfortunately for Lilly, she turned out to be an unwilling speed bump, and must have hit the coffee table on her way to the floor. As I was attempting to stop the profuse bleeding from her chin, I said to the Hubs that we might need to bring her in for stitches, because it seemed pretty deep. He took a look, and with his extensive medical knowledge (read: he’s done this to himself many times before), declared that she’d be fine with a butterfly bandage. Being the submissive wife that I am (read: I’ve learned how to step back for a minute and let him come to the same conclusion I’ve already found without the fuss of an argument) I stepped off to the side and let him do triage. After several minutes of trying to stop the bleeding and trying to get a bandage to stick, he looked at her and decided that if it were one of the boys, he’d let it heal on its own, but since she’s a girl, we might want to get her stitched up so that she doesn’t get a scar on her face.
Good call, Hubs, good call.
(on the mend)
So, after a four hour trip to the ER with EVERYONE ELSE who managed to hurt themselves on St. Valentine’s Day, I got to take my girl and two big boys who came along for the ride and the complimentary hot cocoa in the waiting room, home by 11pm. Exhausted.
(Stopping for a cup on the way out the door. As you can see, she isn’t too much worse for the wear.)
And here we are, Sunday morning, having made it to Mass in the AM instead of 5pm (yea for waking up early!) and we now do our weekly ritual of “what are we going to do today to get out of the house that we might all enjoy????” Wish us luck and say a prayer for us– we’re a gonna need it.
Have a great week, folks!! 🙂