As I get older, I’m realizing that the weather must be getting more miserable, and the bleachers at high school football games must be getting harder. Last night I sat at a game until halftime in order to watch Jacob perform with the marching band. It was a wet, damp, cold day, and as the sun went away altogether, it got even more miserable. As I hesitantly sat my rear on the water-logged metal bleacher seat, I cringed and definitely did not remember it being this way when I was in school.
I was on the front row of the bleachers, alongside my mom, who came along to cheer Jacob on, and we had a great view of the rears of everyone standing in front of us. I’m not kidding when I say these high school girls were wearing belly-baring tees and no socks–how were they not freezing?!! I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the stands with a big pink puffy coat, complete with faux fur trim around the hood. It looked like I was headed out for a polar expedition, and that’s when it hit me. I’m getting older, and I just don’t find as much pleasure in sitting outside in grueling weather as I used to. It used to be cool to sit outside and freeze.
Now, I’ve turned into one of those old ladies that orders coffee with her cheeseburger at lunch and wears mittens to go from the house to the car.
Also, I learned a new word from Jacob this week. Ugo. As in, “She’s no ugo.” This evidently means that one is attractive or appealing, opposite of ugly. This was spoken while telling me about his new girlfriend, and while being the girl who is not ugo must be great, I wonder what the ones deemed ugo must feel like with this new label.
Yesterday, our youngest decided to experiment with the Febreeze when mommy finally broke down and decided she had to make a trip to the potty. No more waiting. Had to go. Well, in the time it took me to make it down the hall, do my business, and return, Jordan had Febreezed himself head to toe. I have to admit, he smelled really good. Very fresh and clean–in fact, I think I might start using that instead of the usual baby shampoo and soap I normally use on the boys.
Being the diligent mother that I am, I watched him for a while to make sure he didn’t show any signs of having ingested the stuff, and since he didn’t start foaming at the mouth or anything else just as obvious, I deduced that he was fine. So we went about the rest of our day surrounded with a fresh, clean scent.
Jacob burned his first CD of his own music last night. I think I’m going to have to admit to myself that he really must be serious about this music thing. And ok, I know this is Mom talking, but it was really pretty stinkin’ good. The cool thing was that Jason helped him figure out all the computer ins and outs, so they actually spent some quality dad-son time together. I’m sure it was riveting conversation, as Jacob’s responses lately usually consist of one or fewer syllables and sound more like grunts than words, but it was time spent together, and that’s a good step.
Micaela and Marissa attempted to clean the upstairs bathroom, but they protested when it came time to attack the toilet. Evidently, there is a LOT of evidence of the presence of a teenage boy using that bathroom…and a teenage boy with less-than-average aim. We’ll save that little portion of the room for Jacob to clean. Glad we have tile and not carpet.
I snuck out of the house while everyone was still sleeping this morning. Well, almost everyone that is. Jordan seems to have an interal alarm clock that gets him up every day between 4:45 and 5:00 a.m. Not a whole lot of variation and also not a whole lot of opportunity to sleep in. We’ve tried putting him to bed later, we’ve tried feeding him more, and we even took note of the effect cough medicine might have the last time he was sick…nothing makes that kid sleep later than 5:00 in the morning. He’s trying to kill us.
The hamster is still alive. Now that I’m counting the days, that thing will probably last for years! The little rodent only came home after I was pelted with promise after promise that went something like this, “Mom, we’ll take care of him. We promise. We’ll take him out of his cage to play, and we’ll clean his cage, and we’ll pay a lot of attention to him, and we’ll feed him and check his water. We promise!” Uh-huh. How many times have the girls cleaned his cage? Ummm…let me think…none. And he only gets out on the occasion that I yell that I have to clean the stinking mess and could they possibly entertain the hamster for a while??? How long to rodents live? How long until I can check myself into the old folks home and just sit and sip coffee and read and watch soap operas all day long?
I’ve done it. I’ve decided to break down and join the blogging craze. I have to say, I have tried this before, but this time it will be different. I will be disciplined with my writing. I will be dedicated. (Uh huh…same thing I tell myself when I go on a diet.)
After an initial blogging failure, mostly due to technological brain-freezes on my part, I’ve decided to give it another go. I can teach myself to do this. People everyday learn to do new things, and really, I’m not that out of touch.
Also, I’ve recently been inspired by a visiting speaker who visited us at work and talked about blogging.
Mostly, I want a way to remember and record day-to-day things that I’m sure I’ll eventually store in the cobweb-ridden back portions of my brain, and then one day, when asked to recall events, I will be unable to extract them.
As for the title, again, inspiration. This time my inspiration comes from the two newest additions to our family, our two toddlers from Guatemala. One particularly exhausing day, after lugging them around to take care of several errands, I arrived home only to realize that I had a bit of an uncomfortable, itchy sensation…yes, in my bra. Turns out, one of them (or both) had decided that my cleavage would be an excellent storage facility for their Cheerios. Great idea, except that after running around all day holding two wiggling and energetic toddlers, the Cheerios had become a bit soggy and stuck to my boobs, thus the itching sensation.
It was at this moment that I was reminded of the very unglamorous part of motherhood. Unglamorous, yes…but also very fulfilling. So, now I’m embracing the fact that my bra is a Cheerio-holder, my socks sometimes don’t match, and most probably my t-shirt is wrinkled and covered with some sort of toddler goo. I’m embracing the goo and learning to accept the fact that my hair is always in some sort of half ponytail propped on top of my head. But it’s ok because that look goes nicely with the daily sweatpants and mismatched socks.
To my older kids, who are most likely embarrased at my appearance and the fact that I now spend several moments during the day extracting food items from my bra, I say, “I love you, and I’m sure I looked like this when you were toddlers, too!”