These past few weeks here in our corporate apartment in Birmingham, Alabama have been challenging to say the least. Brian began his new routine at a regular, 8-5 job for the first time in our marriage. And please believe me, neither of us is complaining. Brian is home every night, and I’m pretty sure the greatest hazards facing him in this particular career field are paper cuts and carpal tunnel.
What has been most challenging for me is the period between 7:30 a.m. and 5:45 p.m. where I have two sets of eyeballs staring at me like I’m supposed to know how to entertain them all day every day.
Do I LOOK like Chuck E Cheese’s?
Don’t answer that.
Warning: The following post contains images of bug bites that may be disturbing to some viewers. In other words you may not want to look at this while you’re eating.
If you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, you’ve probably noticed there’s been a flurry of activity in our lives the past few weeks. Two weekends ago Brian and I attended BloggyCon ’14 in Sandusky, Ohio. In the middle of last week, we drove to Birmingham, Alabama for Brian’s first grown-up interview. We remembered that the last interview he had was in 2001 at a bookstore in Athens, Georgia. He was hired to remove stickers from the textbooks. That interview probably went something like this:
Interviewer: “Son, have you ever sniffed Goo Gone?”
Brian: “Not that I recall.”
Interviewer: “Well, today is your lucky day.”
I’m pretty sure he was high on Goo Gone that entire summer.
For as long as she has had the ability to speak, Averi has referred to yogurt as “dodoke” (pronounced dough-doke). And since I’m a lousy mom with little concern for my child’s cognitive or social development, I don’t bother to correct her.
“Sure, sweetheart, I’ll get you some sugar-and-chemical-filled dodoke. Just let mommy finish her mid-morning nap first. Oh, and can you hand me that lit candle and the lighter fluid while you’re at it?”
The winners of the 3 months of delicious NatureBox snacks are:
Rachel Fish: “Yes I do!”
Kelsey: “I don’t ‘hide’ snacks, but I let my hubby know that there are only a certain number of ‘non-chocolate’ things for me, so please don’t eat them if you can help it! haha”
Congratulations, Rachel & Kelsey! Contact firstname.lastname@example.org to claim your prize.
THANK YOU to everyone who participated! If you didn’t win the giveaway, but still want some delicious, healthy snacks delivered to your door, use the code “KATY” on the NatureBox website to get 50% off your first month of snacks!(This post and giveaway are sponsored by NatureBox. All stories and opinions are my own.)
As a mother of two toddlers, I have learned to accept the fact that we will rarely venture out of our home without some sort of meltdown. Either we’ll skip Averi’s afternoon nap, and she’ll repay us with a Toddlers in Tiaras-worthy hissy fit, or JJ will wake up too early that morning and decide to do that whole-body limp thing every time we try to get him to walk. And since he’s a 3-year-old man-baby and weighs almost as much as I do, this is probably a fun scene for complete strangers to witness.
[Why can’t that woman control her teenage boy? And WHY is he wearing a diaper?]
Okay, he’s not that big.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.”
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, ESV)
For everything, a season.
And it seems that our 3-year-old and our almost-2-year-old have joined together to drag us all—kicking and screaming—through the “break down,” “weep,” and “war” seasons of life. Every day feels like a cage match. Every. Single. Day.
If you’ve ever seen the film(s) Paranormal Activity, the following post will probably run through your mind as you try to fall back asleep tomorrow at 3 a.m., and you’ll say, “I hate you, Katy in a Corner, for reminding me of this! And, oh great. Now I’m thinking about Katy standing in a corner of my room, and I’m even MORE freaked out!” And I’ll just laugh and laugh because I “saw” Paranormal Activity on my parents’ TV with ten fingers in front of my face, without my glasses on, and singing “LALALALALALA” at the top of my lungs. And the only thing I could tell you about that film is that the painting that hangs on my parents’ wall close to their TV is really beautiful. Why? Because I’m not an idiot, that’s why.
I don’t watch scary movies because I don’t want to be reminded of them every time I have to use the facilities at 4 a.m.
Remember my Labor Day post about how Brian got pulled over in a speed trap for the billionth time this year? And remember how I said I would reenact that in a one-woman show about it? And remember how I vowed to never travel in the car with any of them again until one of them learns to stop speeding and two of them learn to defecate in a toilet and to quit whining nonstop?
Feast your eyes, my friends.
I made two promises last week. One was a promise I made to myself that I will never again take a 16-hour road trip with two toddlers. Unless we move and I absolutely have to do it. And then I’ll probably be in the back seat screaming the entire time. And then the kids can record me for a change.
The second promise is that I would publish this video here today. But, before you view it, there are eight things you should know:
I know I said it last Friday, but the past few weeks were ROUGH. I don’t mean slightly irritating from time-to-time. I mean spontaneous tantrums from sun-up to sun-down with very little help from Brian since he had an unusually difficult work schedule. Rough, I tell you. Like, single parent rough.
(I want to go ahead and give a big shout-out to all the single parents out there. How do you do it? HOW?)
I was a “solo parent” for two weeks, and I’m halfway to crazy right now. Well, I guess I was already halfway there, so…
I’ve reached my final destination.