Smiling Mom

Honestly, it this was just writ­ten down somewhere on paper, I’d swear that I wrote it!!  But I didn’t, Oh The Joys did…

This is NOT our Christ­mas Tree.

Nope, neither is this one!

You see, last year we went and cut down our own tree. We loved the expe­rience. We deci­ded that this would be our family’s tradition.

Then Hubby had sur­gery on his arm. And the whole ‘let’s saw down a tree and throw it on top of our man-van’ idea went out the win­dow. So our family hea­ded to our local Home Depot yes­ter­day to pick out our own small 3–4 foot tall tree.

Hubby was fee­ling bet­ter so he came too.

His eyes got big.

Really big.

He nee­ded a 6–7 foot tree.

We deci­ded on the one pic­tu­red above. It was the one! Beau­ti­ful, full, no holes. Perfect.

Now, step two. How do we get it home?

We deci­ded that I could bat my eyes and Hubby could flash his arm sling at the young guys at the front and maybe they would throw it on top of our man-van for us.

Our plan was devi­sed, pic­tu­res docu­men­ting the tree hunt were taken and we began lug­ging this per­fect tree up to the register.

BUT half way to the regis­ter, Hubby stopped.

He chan­ged his mind. He deci­ded that we should go this wee­kend to a tree farm after all to cut down that tree.

He had to go!

After much mini­mal good hear­ted gri­ping on my part, we tur­ned around and put the beau­ti­ful noble fur back with the others.

BC and eClaire were so confused.

“Change of plans guys!! You get to pick out a pot­ted Christ­mas tree!! Find the per­fect one! GO!” (what the kids didn’t know is that the ‘pot­ted Christ­mas tree’ was really a rose­mary bush sha­ped like a tree! shhh don’t tell!)

So off BC and eClaire went on a hunt for the new per­fect tree to bring home and decorate.

What do you think of the kids rose­mary bush Christ­mas tree?

Smi­ling Mom: Good night kids. Books are done, I’ve snug-a-bugged both of you, and now it is time for you to go to sleep. The night-light is on and I’m shut­ting the door.

Smi­ling Kids: NOOO, don’t shut the door!!

SM: I’m shut­ting the door. Good night.

SK: NOOO, wait, I have to blow my nose, I need a drink of water, I have to peeeee. Wait, I was just refi­nishing the kitchen table. Wait!! I want to write a let­ter to Grandpa!

SM: Good night!

BC: Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?

SM: (Igno­ring the repea­ted calls for attention)

BC: I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m sca­red. I’m scared.

SM: (Finally relen­ting to the inces­sant calls, opens the door) What? What are you sca­red of??

BC: My room, the door shut, the dark.

SM: Every night you go to sleep in the same room with your sis­ter. There is nothing to be sca­red of. Good night.

BC: But I’m scared.

SM: Well. What do you want me to do about it??

BC: Replace me.

SM: Oh, I’ve thought of repla­cing you before buddy! What do you mean ‘replace’?

BC: You know… like you take me and put me in your bed, or you come into my bed and lay with me.

SM: (chuc­kling and still reve­ling in the idea of repla­cing my son with a robot who cleans or something that cooks for me) No BC, I don’t ‘replace’ you when you are scared.

BC: When I say so, you do it! OK?

SM: OK honey.

How can I argue with that?

Do you ever feel like you are stan­ding still and the world is whir­ling out of con­trol around you?  When you were sober?

Hubby’s sur­gery was Mon­day.  He’d doing fine.  He’s a trou­per really.  He’s in a tre­men­dous amount of pain that the presc­ri­bed drugs barely con­trol.  But each day is slowly get­ting better.

Slowly.

Hubby is a terri­ble sick patient.  When he has the flu, I often want to flee the house for sun­nier pla­ces.  But usually we end up at the local ER for a bit of re-hydration instead.

Suf­fice to say I’d set the bar quite low for Hubby post-surgery beha­vior.  But, ama­zingly, he’s doing really well.  He’s set up in our bedroom with a DVD pla­yer and about a bazi­llion movies that he’s allo­wed to watch without much inte­rrup­tion.  He’s even been able to re-watch that dam­ned movie Blackhawk Down, that I watched once. only once. and will never ever watch again.  and make Hubby quit watching when I am home.  Ya that one.  It’s like he gets a vaca­tion from life, really.  Well except for that throb­bing shoul­der.  But whatever!

Any­way.  Back to me.

Life is crazy.  I’m ten­ding to three see­mingly hel­pless beings all day and all night long.  I’m tired.  And I’m a slave to the clock.  7:00 food, 7:30 meds/kids food, 8:30 more food, 9:00 meds.  10:00 snack 11:30 lunch, 1:00 nap 2:30 more food 3:00 meds, 3:30 snack for kids, 5:00 din­ner, 6:30 get kids ready for bed, 7:00 more food, 7:30 meds/get kids to bed.

Somewhere in there I need to clean the house, do laundry, sho­wer myself, my kids, and my husband.

I need to walk the dog take the dog for a quick bike ride around the neigh­borhood because she’s get­ting pretty board around here and has deci­ded to show her stress by eating full sized rocks and then thro­wing them up the follo­wing mor­ning.  Good times.

I think I need a nap.

I’m snappy.  The kids are bug­ging me.  And they are being com­ple­tely normal.

But Hubby’s doing well.  And he’s been able to watch like 15 movies in the past five days!  How cool is that!

So, he’s sup­pose to begin fee­ling bet­ter by about 6 weeks post-op.

The count down beings.

Only 5 weeks 2 days to go!

But I sup­pose I should just shut up and be thank­ful that I have two strong shoul­ders and no need for sur­gery.  Right?

BWHhhahaha

Please.

Have we met?