Life at Lothlorien

This has certainly not been Lothlorien here this week. First, I never realized I would miss the humidity. My hair is straight as a board, my sinuses hurt, and I keep getting nosebleeds. I am actually having to run a humidifier in my house! Now, on to the trials from my children. First, imagine the horrified expression on my face as CC announced "B pee-peed in the sink!" Sure enough, he had relieved himself in the bathroom sink. As I stood paralyzed in stupefication, my DH was much more philosophical and took this as an opportunity to teach B the many wonderful qualities of 409 and bleach. Tuesday, CC and I were at home, with each of us doing our own stuff. She came by at one point and I thought she looked a bit odd, but dismissed it as not having her hair combed. Then I found locks of hair in the kitchen floor and took a better look at her. Yep, she had given herself a mullet. An emergency call to the hairdresser resulted in her new Dorothy Hamill look. After having to explai...

Got this story second-hand: My DH was walking B to the bus the other morning. They were looking at the sky -- it was striped oranges and blues and whites. My DH asked B what he though it looked like. "It looks like Mommy sewed the sky," he replied.

B: "CC, a cornucopia is an ice cream cone that you turn upside down and fill with things you are thankful for."

We were leaving the house to go to the chiropractor's today. B looked a bit uncomfortable and seemed to be holding his private parts. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Yes." "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" "No." He moved his hands away from his pants. There seemed to be a bit of a bulge there, but I thought it was probably one of those things that little boys go through and, being female, I really didn't understand and didn't want to start a conversation about. As we got to the front door, he moved his hand back to his pants. I noticed that the bulge had moved and was actually at the top of his leg. "B, take the toy out of your pants." "How did you know I had a toy in there?" "Because I'm your mother, that's why." "So you can see through pants?" "Yes." And out came a Bee Movie toy from McDonalds. Why he needed to hide it in his pants I don't know -- and don't want to know.

I had been wondering for a couple of days what the white stuff was. First, it was on CC's shirt. Then, some appeared on her dresser. The final straw was when it appeared all over her mirrored closet door. "CC, what is this?" I asked. "The doggies are playing in the snow," she replied. Sure enough, there were two little doggie stickers in the midst of the blizzard. "But where did you get the snow from?" I continued to question. "From your bathroom." I racked my brain for what it could be. It didn't seem like toothpaste (her previous choice for home decorating). "What is it from my bathroom?" "You know, the stuff you put under your arm." And she proceeded to demonstrate how it was used. And I realized that cleaning products are mismarketed, because none of them tell you what will remove underarm deodorant from a mirror. Then again, something like that probably wouldn't sell, because who could anticipate needing it?

One of the things about moving into a smaller house is that I'm having to decide what my priorities are. I can't fit everything in, so I have to decide what kind of a person I really am. And I don't mean a good person or a bad person, but what I really want to spend my time (and money and space) doing and keeping. So, I gave away a lot of kitchen stuff (I am coming to grips with the fact that I really don't cook) and stocked my cabinets in the breakfast room with all of our art stuff. I realized that something was definitely different about me when I had lived here 6 weeks and suddenly realized that I didn't know where my iron was. And, no, I wasn't doing laundry at the time. I was trying to iron hem tape in some brightly colored cloth for some curtains. BTW, I found the iron a week later.

CC is alternately fascinated with Halloween and petrified by it. She tells me she can't go in the dark (or whatever else she doesn't want to do) by saying "I'm too scary." And all too soon, she will grow older and say it correctly and I will miss her being "scary" as much as I miss her brother's fascination with Christmas "crackernuts."