It’s Friday Night, Do You Know Where My Sanity Is?

My hubby decided to do Valentine’s dinner on Friday since it will be snowing on Valentine’s (which is supposed to last all weekend, which means school will be on a two-hour delay or closed–DARN YOU JACK FROST)!

So, I figure, hey, we are going to my favorite restaurant so it doesn’t matter. We will do some light shopping (putting away clothes for my daughter while they are on sale) and then go to dinner. We’ll be back early enough to put the kids in bed (at least the older one because my toddler is still on “sleep strike”). What could go wrong?


We didn’t get out of the door as soon as we intended, which almost always happens anyway–I should have seen that coming.

The store was overly crowded, which makes it that much more difficult to navigate a cart AND kids. I had to salvage through the clothing because, as always, when there are items on sale, they hardly EVER have your child’s size.

I get the clothes, other items, and get ready to go. Hubby comes up with daughter. He is in an unpleasant mood because she has been a little monster the entire time she has been in the store. She is almost twelve so I blame it on hormones. God help us all when Auntie Flow pays her a lovely visit. *Cries softly*

I pay for my purchases and head for the door when I realize…

My son’s coat is GONE! He must have flung it out of the cart while I was shopping. So, I go into PANIC MODE thinking someone walked off with it because it is a nice, brown leather jacket. I ask a few people for help. A young male cashier acted as though I was speaking another language so I sought out a woman. Her and another lady aided in my coat retreval. Thank God for honest people. A woman overheard and found the coat. Phew.

(Meanwhile my daughter finds it a “good idea” to walk behind me so I cannot see where she is and I go into yet ANOTHER panic mode because now I think I’ve lost a kid). She’s too old for one of those leash things, right?

So, we make our way back out. It is now seven pm. Did I mention we left at 4:45 in the afternoon?

We are at the restaurant, which looks crowded. My thoughts: Crud. We won’t get a table and will have to wait a half an hour or more with screaming, hungry children. Sigh.

God took pity on me, I guess, because we got a table.

Menus in hand, my daughter proceeds to beg for a massive order, one which we know she won’t eat. So, we get her the smaller version. She INSISTED she would eat what she asked for.

LIES. I know her all too well, but Daddy is a softy.

We wait for our food. My son is still in the “I throw it, you pick it up stage.” So he continuously tosses his sippy cup on the ground along with the silverware the waiter had just placed on the table…within toddler reach–he must not have children.

She gets her food.

“Ew! Yuck. I don’t like this!” Yes, loudly. Why? Because she only has two volumes: Loud and Extremely loud.

At this point I am ready to scream. She begins making faces and picking at her food. Oh, I did give the, “Be on your best behavior and use your manners” speech prior to leaving the house (and reminded before we entered the restaurant). To which she completely ignored.


On the bright side, we had delicious food and made it home at 8:30.


It’s Your Fault I’m Fat

Let’s face it, the whole “blame game” has become rather old. Yet, people continue it and even conjure up even more clever excuses as to why they gained weight. Now, this does not include those with health issues or disabilities that limit them to exercise–it is actually not their fault; I am speaking of those who willingly make poor food choices or elude exercise. Many people, mainly celebrities, blame it on pregnancy, their fitness instructors, their stylists…one celebrity even blamed God! Ha! Go figure…although I have to give her credit for that–it was clever. Yes, God forced her to shovel those extra calories into her pretty little mouth, just as my son forced me to eat a lot of Mexican food and Doritos most of my pregnancy (those were my choices). I, personally, do not see a problem with heavyweight people. Beauty is only skin deep and should not be determined on how one’s face is formed or whether he/she is muscular or wears a size 2.

What irks me is the fact people do not want to accept the fact that the weight gain is their fault and their fault alone. Sometimes, even spouses are blamed. My hubby playfully accuses me of his access weight gain. “Honey, it’s your fault because of all the good cooking. I used to fit into a size 32 before we met.” My response: “Well, then, stop eating.” LOL!

I have seen several lawsuits against fast food chains, one in which was successful. I was shocked! No one forced him to consume hamburgers and fries on a daily basis. Unless they secretly tied him up, pried open his mouth and force fed him greasy burgers and overly salted fries, meanwhile telling him that if he doesn’t eat it, he will surely die, he has no ground to stand on. And the lawsuits continue. So, in light of all the ridiculousness, I decided to compose a list of possible lawsuits, just for fun.

1. Hersheys and Tollhouse. Cause: temporary acne and weight gain due to the deliciousness they contain.

2. The companies I purchase my high heels from for making my feet sore by the end of the day and occasionally causing blisters upon purchasing new pairs.

3. Pinterest. For being mildly entertaining, thus consuming my time when I “could” be doing something more productive.

4. General Electric. For occasional fingertip burns when pulling something from a hot oven. Reason: Momentarily slight pain and suffering.

5. Icecream companies. Cause: headaches attributed to ingestion or inhalation of a cold stimulus.

6. Better Homes and Garden among my other magazines. Reason: Occasional paper-cuts due to slick edges of pages.

7. Disney. For creating magical, child-captivating movies and incorporating catchy songs that my children continuously sing and/or watch repeatedly, thus resulting in loss of sanity to parent or caregiver.

Hmm, think I stand a chance?


Friday Funnies

My day thus far:

Jonah still grunts since this is a new and amazing sound to him. All day long, grunting. Did I give birth to a dinosaur?

He also has decided that my nose is a good place to put his fingers in, and a majority of day he has been, desperately, trying to yank my tablecloth off of the dining table. I know it’s going to happen someday, I just know it.

We are in the Family Dollar:

Me: No, don’t touch that.
No, stop that.
Jonah: Yeah.
Me: No, I said “don’t touch.” He smiles at me. While I am talking to Steven, he reaches for a package of cookies on a shelf and, of course, it happened to be the package nearest the bottom. Why not, right? Luckily, I caught him before he pulled it out, sending the entire pile tumbling to the floor. Phew.

We are now in Food City. He reaches behind him and tries to grasp for the items in the cart. Of course, his first choice are the eggs. Because, last month, he reached the stage of needing to touch EVERYTHING he sees. And, I mean EVERYTHING! He even tried to nibble on one of the puppies. LOL Sigh.

We are now home. He enjoys his walker and, since he has mastered maneuvering it in only one day (yes, only my kid), this Mommy is constantly on her toes. So, he is in the dining room, I can see him while I am cooking. He starts backing up his walker like he is backing up a vehicle, with one arm on the back seat while looking behind him. He backs into my house plant. The beautiful flowering house plant I have had for over two years, and begins to strip it’s leaves off the stems. I move the house plant into the kitchen and swerve him in another direction. Not two minutes later, I turn around and he is in the garbage! He has a dirty napkin in each hand. I snatch them both and he starts screaming bloody murder…it’s gets even louder when I get a baby wipe to clean his hands. Shame on this Mommy for attacking those germs!

So, now we need to get a taller trash can. Just because it has a lid, does not mean he won’t get in it. And, it is time to put up more baby gates around the house. I thought I had another month or two. I. was. wrong.

By the time my son is one, he is going to believe his name is, “Nodon’ttouchthat.