Housewife, Ahoy!

I am going on vacation!  No kids.  Sadly, no husband either, as he is staying home to care for the kids.  Have I mentioned that I love this man?

A ten day cruise from NYC to Quebec City.  I am packed and ready to go.  Nothing can go wrong now.  Not the wild fires near my layover city, not a freak earthquake, not a hurricane, not a terrorist attack, not a flood, not a tsunami, not an iceberg.  It's all been done people.  That lightening won't strike twice!  (Add lightening strike to my previous list of things that will not go wrong.)  I'll say it again...Nothing can go wrong now.

Say a little prayer anyway.

If anything exciting happens, I will try to post from the road.  If anything exciting happens which results in my death or permanent incapacitation, my friend Jen from Sunshine SAHM promises me she will come over here and let you all know.

The Next Bottom You Wipe Might Be Your Own

Today, I asked Jonah to go around the house, find the dirty dishes, and bring them to me so that I could wash them.  He just looked at me, confused.

"What?  Why are you looking at me like that?  There are two glasses sitting on the table next to you."

"But...I'm not a woman."  His tone was not disrespectful, just really confused.

My mouth dropped open, and gaped there for a good while.

"Well, I'm not," he said.  "Do I have a pony tail?  Do I have an apron?"  Now he was sassing me.

We had a little chat.  After which he went and gathered up the dirty dishes.  Well, most of them.

"Jonah, you brought me one glass from the end table, but not the other one."

"Oh, that one's not mine."

This is when I lost it.

Not yours?  I don't care if it is not yours.  I asked you to bring it to me.  Do you see all of the dishes in this sink?  Do you know how many of them are "mine"?  I do ALL the dishes.  Even the ones I don't use.  I wash all the clothes.  Even the ones I don't wear.  I brush the teeth in four-out-of-five mouths in this house.  Even though I don't have four mouths.  I wipe three-out-of-five bottoms in this house.  Even though I don't have three bottoms.  So, I don't want to hear about how that one glass, sitting right next to your glass, is NOT your glass.  I want you to pick it up and bring it to me, like a boy with a generous heart.  Or, failing that, like a boy with some sense, and some respect for his mother, and some interest in living in MY house until his seventh birthday.  Because I don't have to do this.  I am a lawyer.  Do you know that?  I went to school for a very long time and I took a very hard test so that I would not have to be the hired help.  I am not the hired help.  I am way overqualified to wipe butts and be disrespected by you.

Then it occurred to me...who isn't overqualified for this?  You usually have to pay someone to do what I do.  And, if you disrespect them, they will quit.  Why would anyone put up with this?  Maybe, as their mother, I am the only one who is qualified.  Well, if that is the case, then a few things need to be set straight.

So, listen here, little man.  Listen closely, and tell your brother and sister.  Tell them that The Woman, the one with the pony tail and the apron, has lost her mind and she has something to say.  This is OUR house, and OUR dishes, and OUR laundry, and yes, even OUR butts.  I am not doing all of this for you, and I am certainly not doing it all for me.  WE are doing this for US.  Just because you are too young to do most of it, does not mean you are off the hook.  So, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would do what you are told, all the way, right away, and with a happy face.  And if you ever tell me that what I do is "woman's work" again, well...God help you, because even Daddy won't be able to.

XOXO ~ Mommy

Counting by Trillions

How many zeros in a trillion?

 This has nothing to do with the national debt.  It has to do with skip counting: what modern education calls counting by twos, fives, tens, etc.

Jonah, little ball of brilliance though he is, had a really hard time learning to count by twos.  Wailing, rending of garments, gnashing of teeth.  A typical school day, really.  And, as usual, he seemed to think it was my fault, like I invented the idea or something.

He often acts as though the things I teach him aren't really important, just chosen arbitrarily and capriciously by me to torment him. (Like I have time for that.)  Or, maybe he just thinks they are hard, and he needs an excuse for all the dramatics he uses to avoid them.  In an attempt to further his point, he test me.  If this is so important, let's see if Mom knows it. 

"Mom?  Can you count by 2's?"

"Yes.  You know I can.  I have been counting with you all day."

"Can you count by hundred's?"

"Yes."

"Well, do it then."

"100, 200, 300..." and so on, I counted to one thousand.  Thwarted, but not satisfied, he continued.

"Can you count by a trillion?"  It was clearly a dare. 

"One trillion, two trillion, three trillion..."  I began to wonder when I could stop.  What comes after a trillion?  And how many trillions does it take to get there?  What was that going to be like?  "Two hundred million trillion, three hundred million trillion..."  My mind boggled.  I didn't have all day to stand in my kitchen counting by a trillion to prove something to my six year old.  Somewhere around twenty trillion, my counting trailed off.

"Why did you stop?"

"Well, I..."  I started to explain to him, what I just explained to you.  But, I didn't get very far.

"I guess you aren't so smart after all," he said, and he kind of wonder away.

"Maybe not,"  I hollered after him.  "But at least I can skip count by two,"

Okay, no, I didn't.  But I did get to show off my skip counting skills for the rest of the week while we practiced and practiced and practiced, until he was ready to kill me, or get it right.  He got it right.  And, he was so proud of himself.

The hardest won victories are the sweetest. 

Now, onto telling time.  I anticipate more drama...at first.  I"ll let you know how it turns out.