Thursday, June 19, 2008

Things I don't like ...

In random order, and off the top of my head:

- Using the snot-sucker (aka: bulb syringe/nasal aspirator) on Bucket.
Reason: She screams. I have now stooped to rewarding her with some chocolate chips. Just to, you know, sweeten the deal. I can't help it that she appears to have some hay fever and is snottiling away (you know, breathing where you hear the snot rumbling in the nasal passages -- and hey, what's with me inventing words. Do I think I'm Mia Michaels [another judge/choreographer on SYTYCD]?) ... So I'm doing what I can.

- Wiping Bucket's bottom. Again, she screams. Not because she has a diaper rash, but because she has some moral objection against having her lady-bits cleaned with a wet wipe.
(Whereas I have a moral objection to her having yet another diaper rash. Curse that porcelain, delicate skin of hers! ... Well, not really. But curse daiper rashes, for sure!)

-Breaking up yet another skirmish between the kidlets. It's like I'm a frakkin' referee. If I'm going to have to be a ref, I'd better darn well have that swell whistle and vertically-striped shirt. (What? Vertical stripes are slimming, right?)

-Cleaning up puke. It's just gross, y'all. What more can be said?
(Thankfully, this one happens a LOT less. A heckuva lot less.)

- High gas prices. Because the rising price of oil drives up the price of everything else. Curse that OPEC. Curse them a lot.

- Bruise's tantrums. (Just let him start communicating in a way that doesn't involve screaming, tears, and slamming himself headfirst into the ground. Please. That is all I want. ... Well, that and a sizable trust fund or other monetary gift. ... Hey, I'm just keeping it real. And I know how lucky I am to have no problems that cannot be solved by having more money. It's a decent place to be. ^_^)

- Right now I don't like a certain neighbor of ours. Let's just say that he'd LOVE for our neighborhood to be under some Home Owners' Association ... and he'd be just too pleased to be president. He was going to report our really nice neighbor to the city for having some wood leaning up against a fence ... a fence that isn't touching his property. He told that neighbor that he was going to report us for our yard (Yes, I'll totally admit that I'm not one that keeps up with yardwork. I have two toddlers. I have a house that I attempt to clean. I have a husband gone for a good 12 hours four days a week. Yard work is not my highest priority. We don't have a lawnmower, or I'd try to mow our weeds. Whine, whine, whine. But, really. If he has a problem with it, he had better come bring it to us first.
And, really, if it's THAT important to him, he could OFFER us the use of a lawn mower. Or offer to work on it himself. Or offer to chip in for a babysitter so that I don't have to deal with my children trying to run headlong into the street as I try to pull weeds or rake up stuff.
Yeah, since I don't really remember his name, I've taken to calling him "Mr. HOA" (pronounced HO-uh, since HOA = Home Owners' Association) in my head and when I gripe about the stupid situation to Michael.

So, yeah, Tuesday saw Michael spending some time outside in the yard (after he took some Benadryl) working on the weeds. Eventually I joined him ... with the kids (and they MOSTLY stayed on the sidewalk. Mostly). Later, when the kidlets stopped paying attention to us and obeying our bellowed orders to stay on the damn sidewalk, we put them in the house where they watched us through the screen door. Until we went to put the tools away (around the back of the house). We came inside. It's quiet, too quiet.
Bruise had opened the screen door and they were walking around the house.

And, yet again, you see why this whole situation pisses me off.
The yard does look like less of a blighted jungle.
But my children could have been killed, run over, or kidnapped. And that's with BOTH parents home. Gah.

But I will say that I found sufficient motivation in tearing out those weeds by imagining that each root was Mr. HOA's blighted HEAD.
(Homocidal much? Only about once a month, really. Grr.)

But yeah. That's the crap stuff. Figured I'd get it off my chest. And hopefully in a way that y'all can laugh at it.

Oh, and I worked in the yard hard enough that my snot was all gross and full of dirt.

I bet that you REALLY wanted to know that.

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