Valentines, valentines, EVERYWHERE!

"Mommy, could you please buy me these scissors?  They're safe for me, and I broke the other pair."  How can you say no to such a plea/argument in the sweetest tone from the kindest little 5 year-old?  Not to mention the fact I rarely say no to her, but that's for the therapist.  But the therapist may be needed because I am weak, and I caved, and the results are just another argument I should not be allowed to have kids.

She and her brother proceeded to sit for over an hour, drawing hearts and things humans cannot identify with all the red markers they could find.  Ethan even thought it'd be fun to draw a few--all over his hands.  Thank goodness Ally only wanted to cut out the ones drawn on paper, or 'ol Ethan would be a double amputee.  She cut and she cut and she cut.  With every single "masterpiece", she held it to me and said "Mommy, I made this for you because I love you so much."  I was busy assembling yet another purchase (Sam went to the other room to ignore my purchase and hide from the kids), so I kept responding "That's great, honey!" without looking up.

I should learn to never encourage my children.

There were "valentines" and gifts ALL OVER MY HOUSE.  God Almighty, the OCD kicked into over-drive.  I picked them all up, and threw every last one away after she went to bed.  But maybe I should have kept a few.  Or at least one.  Because a child can only sleep for so long.

She got up, looked around, looked in the trash can (yes, I know I should have taken the trash outside) and looked up, horrified.  "Mommy, who threw all my valentines away?!"  Crap.  Damn.  Shit.  How do I get out of this one?  My mind racing, and because I (1) was a debater in high school and HAVE to think fast, and (2) am absolutely diabolic, I raced through my options and responded in the only way that would get us through the day: "Your daddy."

I pray for Sam's survival when he gets home tonight.

Music?

I do not listen to music.  Anyone who knows me, knows this, but nobody understands it.  They don't understand that music, to me, sounds like...noise.  Annoying noise.  Noise that gives me headaches and puts me in a foul mood.  My car stereo is so rarely used, I forget I even have one.  Sam has vowed that my next car will not have a stereo, which is just fine with me. 

This semester, my nephew wanted to try a new school with his family living in Kansas City, and he finally wore his parents down to agree.  So, we have the privilege of having a teenaged boy (13 going on 14) living with us until May.  We are hoping he'll stay longer because I enjoy him so much.  I love pulling pranks on him because he is so darned gullible; perhaps he does not expect his middle-aged aunt to rival him in maturity level.  But with this teenaged boy comes, you guessed it, music. 

I treat him like he's one of my kids.  Almost two years ago, I had a temporary truce with music and went to my first (for both of us) concert with Ally--The Wiggles, and survived.  So, I thought we should take my nephew to a concert as well--Linkin Park.  But somehow, he'd rather miss the concert altogether than go with me.  What the...?!?  When I first told him I'd be going with him, he looked at me with shock and fear and said "You're jacking with me, right?"  Hmph!  the ingrate!!!  Listen here, friend: Going to a Linkin Park concert would be nothing short of torture for me. 

Thank God Sam likes Linkin Park.  And yes, of course I was jacking with him.  And yes, he learned that term from me. 

I have four more months with this kid, and every day with him is like my favorite holiday--April 1.

I am a virgin to this blogging experience

Here by popular request (3 people on facebook indulging my narcissism) is a view into the twisted paths that inhabit my mind.  I have found that simply by watching life proceed, I have become more and more perplexed, amused, and thankful each day that I am who I am, and I am where I am.  Which might be interpreted as "I'm glad I'm not you." 

If you are sensitive, you probably should not read anything I write.  Ever.  Because while I do not go out of my way to offend, I also do not go out of my way to sugar-coat.  Anything.  Just ask my family, especially my husband and two kids (though only the 5 year-old speaks).  Actually, you could probably ask anyone (which means you should already know this) that has ever had any form of interaction with me.  This is my disclaimer that if your feelings get hurt or you lose sleep over something I write, well, don't come after me. 

I warned you.