Bless his Heart

My husband, bless his heart (Southerners tell me that you can say anything you want to as long as you add "bless his/her heart". That somehow negates the insulting nature of the comment. For example, "That dress makes her look like Shamu, bless her heart." Or "Her cooking's so bad, it could kill a horse, bless her heart.") Anyway, my husband, bless his heart, is making me insane. He's basically a good guy. He doesn't go out drinking with the guys. He doesn't feel the need to watch sports on TV twenty-four hours a day. He's had the same job for over twenty years. He cleans up after himself and he's pretty good with the kids. No complaints really.

So why does it make me absolutely insane when he does something like eat ice cream? Seriously, the sound of his spoon clinking against the bowl sends me over the edge. It's a perfectly normal reaction to want to jam the spoon down his throat when he does this, right?
I'm sure it's a perfectly well-adjusted reaction to want throw his toothbrush in the toilet when he leaves globs of toothpaste in the sink or when he walks around taking a tour of the house while brushing his teeth instead of just standing over the sink like a normal person.

When he talks to me while I'm typing, it also makes me nuts. It isn't the talking so much that bothers me as it is the "hovering". I hate when people hover over my shoulder while I read my mail or type anything. It's not that my mail contains any top secret government documents or that I'm writing private letters to secret admirers. I'm really not sure why, but it just drives me up a wall. It makes me want to type something like, 'tonight is the night. I'm going to poison his dinner...' just so he'll stop reading over my shoulder. My kids do this all the time too. Actually, they come in my room, flop down on my bed and sigh repeatedly until I ask, "What's up? What do you want?" in an effort to get them out of my room so I can finish typing. Inevitably their answer is, "I'm bored."

"Oh you must have seen the sign on my door that reads, "Entertainment Committee". Please, come in, come in, and let me find something fun for you to do. Let's see, you could fold those twenty baskets of laundry I haven't gotten to. No? You can wash the dishes that are piled to the ceiling or scrub the bathroom floors. Not challenging enough? Perhaps you'd like to go around the house with the magic eraser and eliminate all traces of your siblings' artwork from the walls. Oh! I've got a good one for you! How about you practice your instrument that I paid a million dollars for and is now collecting dust! Do you even remember how to put it together?"

They usually decide they're not that bored after all at this point.

Here's the thing about having a computer tucked away in your bedroom. Everyone wants to come in your room to see if they're missing out on something. That's fine. I can (usually) deal with all the interruptions. The thing I don't deal with very well is the fact that they never just walk in my room to ask me a question. No, they bring half a dozen toys with them every time. And they leave them there. On my floor. As if I don't have enough piles of mail and homework and other stuff to go through, now I either need to pick up dozens of toys every time I walk out of my room or I need to get the kids to pick them up. Maybe I should put some of those airport security bins outside my bedroom door and make them empty their pockets, deposit all toys, books, food items, shoes, and socks before entering my room.
I am SO saving up for a laptop.

Lex just came in my room singing a song that had the melody of the alphabet song, but she didn't name any letters. Instead she sang nonsense words in an unknown language.
"What do you think Mom? Do you like my song?"
"Yes, that was interesting. What were you singing?"
"The alphabet song."
"Really?"
"Yes, I was singing in Hawaiio (sounds like a combination of Hawaii and Ohio)."
"Ha-wai-oh?"
"Yes, it's like Spanish."
"I see."

After Lex left, Clay ran in full speed ahead (the only speed at which this kid moves), banged into my wall, fell back on his butt, and said, "I wish I was a hot rod."

Do you know what this is? It's a medicine holder. This morning when I gave Lex her penicillin, instead of drinking it, she poured it in this case. Not in the sink or the toilet or even the garbage can. Nope, she poured it in here because obviously I'm too stupid to possibly catch on to this little trick. Every day, twice a day, Lexi screams and cries and otherwise tries to get out of taking her medicine. Today, she walks away with the cup of medicine and returns a few seconds later, the cup miraculously empty, not a tear in sight. Yeah, I'll never have a clue that she didn't drink it. This, my friends, is why you never let a child out of your sight to take their medicine. This is also why there's always an extra tablespoon or so of medicine when your child has finished their course of antibiotics. Doctors and pharmacists just know that the kids are going to spit out or try to dump a dose somewhere along the way.

Thank goodness I have my new super soft cloth diaper to put on my baby since her butt is the color of this Barbie case. Yep, diarrhea is what happens when you let your baby have just a bit too much candy.