Piss in boots

So I thought and thought about writing what I was most thankful for on Thanksgiving, and I had all kinds of ideas.  My beautiful healthy family, my friends (most of whom are like family), my health, a roof over my head, etc.  But then I threw up in my mouth a little because everything I was inclined to write was all schmaltzy and best written as a script for a Hallmark movie (new career perhaps?), and I didn't want to diminish my true and deep gratitude for all of those things.  I'll save that kind of schmaltz for when I'm three sheets to the wind in a 'I love you man' kind of way when my sentiments will be taken seriously and accepted as truth.

New sign for my boots?

Anyway, today I am thankful for having more than one pair of shoes (there's a proverb in there somewhere if you look close enough) as the toddler monkey peed on my brown boots.  I'll admit the onus is on me for leaving them dangerously close to the toilet in the bathroom, especially when there's a  two year old running around my house naked and who has, at best, poor aim.  He emptied his little bladder all over my boots, and the bathroom floor, but was kind enough to be a little freaked out about missing the toilet completely and to run and get the bleach wipes.

So, in actuality I am grateful for two things today: owning more than one pair of shoes & a considerate, toilet minded toddler.

Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of cuties....

Today I find myself grateful for the Cutie.  No, not the high school hottie down the street who wears nothing but low-rise jeans, but the little, seedless, um, orange? tangerine? clementine? mandarin?  I don't know what the hell they actually are, but my howler monkeys are all up in that mesh bag they come in.

I bought a three pound bag, and already half are gone.  As are half the pack of baby wipes used to clean up sticky hands and faces when they finished.  Whatever, I passed them off as dessert and they literally ate them up.  HA!

Thank you brilliant, evil, Californian marketing geniuses.

Watersports at Chuck E. Cheese?

Today I am ever so grateful to Chuck E. Cheese's.  While it's hard to believe, I assure you, it's quite true.  I am thankful, because today Chuck E. gifted me the ultimate reason for never going back there again.

Let me give you a little backstory.  We haven't been to C.E.C. in about four or five years, as my oldest howler monkey got violently ill each and every time we went.  We didn't go that often, but this place runs high on the birthday wish list of small children.  Anyway, the last time we went my son actually had to be treated, intravenously, for excessive vomiting.  My husband and I were all too happy not to return to an experience that can best be likened to eating the brown acid.

Until today.  We went today because our daughter was invited to a birthday party for one of her new little kindergarten friends.  Siblings included.  We talked to our son who decided he'd take the risk and go.  After being there for about and hour and a half, just when my husband appeared to be weeping, and my eyes started twitching, our son and a friend got off the slide wearing frowny faces and wet clothes.  WET CLOTHES.  They had followed a little girl down the slide who had peed her pants during the entire ride down.   Unbeknownst to them, they (and their clothes) were the clean up crew for someone else's urine.  When you utter the sentence "so you're telling me that you're soaked in a stranger's urine" to your nine year old, it is the time to walk away.  Forever.

Thanks Chuck, you evil rat bastard.

I just wanna bang on the drum all day...

Just the other day, I heard myself telling someone that I didn't think I would be any good at being a stay at home mom.  Because I really appreciate the time I have with my kids, and if I was home all day I wouldn't be able to appreciate all the precious moments; and by precious moments, I am referring to those little ceramic dolls with big eyes, not time spent with my children.  I'm too independent and need adult time and focused, mind expanding experiences all day (which of course begs the question: why did I stop smoking pot?).  Blah, blah, blech - I almost wanted to punch myself in the face for such a confident, sanctimonious answer.  After this brief encounter, I was struck by how I honestly didn't know if what I said was actually true, or something I had sold myself on over the past decade?

The truth of the matter probably lies somewhere in between.  Do I enjoy working? Mostly.  Do I miss my kids during a day? Mostly.  Am I glad to have somewhere productive to be all day?  Mostly.  There are no definitive answers for me, all answers are dependent on a given moment, and current circumstances/situations, and for me to pretend otherwise - conscious or not- is a bunch of malarkey.  I'm calling bullshit on myself.

What I can say with absolute certainty is that while I am at work, I feel badly for not being there for my kids- like this year when I missed Halloween celebrations at their school.  Although, I did get to go trick or treating with them and friends for many hours.  With absolute certainty, I also know that their are many times that I feel like a bad employee - like when I take a day off to stay home with a sick baby, or leave early because the kids have an early release day.   I suppose I'll continue to ride the fence of uncertainty; half bad employee + half bad mom = modern day woman?