Thursday, January 29, 2015

You ain’t got nothing on me!

Move over Red Bull.  Take a hike Five Hour Energy.

One of the most important parts of my morning routine is…of course…coffee.  First, I pick up my mug.  Then, I take a trip down the hall to the break room to wash out said mug.  Then, I stride with purpose back down the hall to my office and proceed to select one lucky K-cup from the spinny-thing on the coffee bar.  I open the maw of King Keurig, pop in the proffered offering, and pierce it through with joyful anticipation bordering on glee.  I usually yawn once or twice, just for good measure, while I wait for King Keurig to spew forth its beautiful, lava-esque liquid.  Strong Coffee, Ultra-Strong Coffee, and Holy-Crap-That’s-Bracing-GASP-Just-Let-Me-Catch-My-Breath-And-Wipe-My-Eyes-Before-You-Try-To-Talk-To-Me-Coffee.  Yeah.  That’s the stuff.

Cream? Nope.  Sugar?  Definitely not.  Why ruin a good thing?

Oh Jen…why?

Because Death Wish Coffee – that’s why.  The most beautiful sacrifice King Keurig has ever, or will ever, touch.  It slices, it dices, it kick’s sleep’s ass.  It’s the best thing since sliced bread.

Wait!  Seriously?  Death Wish Coffee?  You’re kidding, right?  I sincerely hope you’re kidding!

Nope.  It’s awesome.  You, oh coffee-lover extraordinaire, must get some.  Take it from me (in this totally unsolicited, absolutely from-the-heart, truest form of flattery “advertisement” for the brown grounds that are made of awesome) if you truly love coffee in its purest form this is the caffeinated beverage you’ve been dreaming about all your life.

Don’t believe me?  Go to for proof. 


Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Broken Windows and Creative Wordsmithing

Things have not been so awesome the last couple of days.  Details omitted to protect the innocent.  And frankly, I really don’t want to talk about it anyway.

Remember that post I wrote a few days ago about just waiting on the sky to fall or the other shoe to drop?  That one.  Remember?  Well let’s elaborate on that, shall we?

Aside from just a lot of stress at home and (as usual) too much stuff going on, today I decided to go through a drive-thru for breakfast.  Something I very rarely do, but I was hungry today.  I’ve always had trouble with the manual crank on the driver’s window.  Yes, I said manual – there is no auto-anything on my car, except that it is, in fact, and automobile.  Anyway – Hubby has recently fixed said window and until this morning, things were working better than usual.  But trying to roll down the window at the drive-thru was nearly impossible.  I thought maybe the mechanism was just stiff from being so cold, but no.  Upon exiting the drive-thru with my food I pulled over to the side of the parking lot to arrange things – like I usually do – and tried to roll up the window.  I’d barely touched it when it went *POP* and then *SHUNK* and before I could blink the whole window was inside the door – un-roll-up-able.  (I made that word up.  Deal with it.)

So now, since I’ve wasted time by going through a drive-thru, I have no time to go home and switch vehicles.  I call Hubby, tell him the thing is broken, and continue on to work – with the window all the way open in 20-something degree weather.  It was FRIKKIN’ COLD!  It took me all morning to warm up and my little space heater was working overtime.  Not a good day for the thermostat in the office to hover at 68° for most of the morning.

It was warmer driving home.  Plus, I had the added benefit of having grabbed my large, black, hooded, zippy-uppy (hush, you Grammar Nazi!) sweatshirt from the office so I had that on under my jacket.

And now Hubby tells me that it will take a couple weeks for the part to come in.  I don’t remember what it’s called.  Some car part that just the mention of will set my eyes twitching and my teeth on edge.  Now, get me talking about coffee or cats or kids (too bad kids didn’t start with a “C” or that could have been a fine example of alliteration) and I’m totally good.

This should be a fun couple of weeks.  I would really appreciate the assurance that nothing else is going to happen?  You can do that, right?


Tuesday, January 27, 2015

The moment is broken

That moment when your kids have done something not so awesome and they need to be scolded but not so bad that they deserve grounding or time in their room so you give them your most withering mom look and they’re looking back at you like whatever mom I’ve so got your number and you keep glaring at them thinking that if you keep it up they’ll finally learn the silent but necessary lesson you’re trying so desperately to teach and then they grin at you or roll their eyes at you and you try to school your features so you don’t betray this serious lesson by smiling but eventually you’re scrunching up your face and bursting out with laughter because those frustrating kids of yours are kind of cute and you love them you just can’t stand it anymore and the moment is broken.


Or when you’re in bed at night totally engrossed in a book and Hubby comes in and stands at the bottom of the bed and you can see him just beyond the top of your book so you know he’s there but you’re not really paying attention and then he hikes his pajama bottoms up to his armpits and stands there waiting for you to realize that he’s being a goofball trying to draw you away from your book and you know exactly what he’s doing but you try to ignore him except you keep reading the same sentence over and over again and finally you look up thinking you’ll be able to keep a straight face but you come eye to eye with the man you married who has his pajama bottoms pulled up to his armpits and he grins and you burst out laughing because you just can’t stand it anymore and the moment is broken.


I know you know what I’m talking about.  



Monday, January 26, 2015

Uh oh! I am in SO much trouble!

If you could see me right now, you’d see me shaking my head and (to hubby’s vexation) rolling my eyes.

My dear daughter is going to be the death of me.  With apologies to any gentleman readers I may be so lucky to have garnered, if I didn’t know she was seven years old, I would say she was fourteen and pre-menstrual.  All. The. Time.  

She’s so frustrating!  Everything is drama.  Everything is always wrong.  It seems she is always ticked off at someone for some imagined slight.  Every response is clipped and snotty.  “No” is her favorite word.  It doesn’t matter what we do, or don’t do, to incentivize her. Threatening her with loss of things she cares about (blankie, her stuffed dog, Cathy) doesn’t change anything; it just makes her madder.  Or, she’ll start to cry those big crocodile tears, turn red, and storm out of the room hollering, “FINE! I’LL JUST GO IN MY ROOM AND NEVER COME OUT AGAIN!”

Please tell me this ends soon, and I’m not in for another seven, eight, nine years of this stuff?  I might have to go jump off the nearest bridge.

As tough as she is when she’s awake, however, she is a dream (pun intended) at bedtime.  After the struggle of getting her ready for bed, once she is actually in bed she’s usually asleep in about 5 minutes. She’s always been this way.  By contrast, her brother, my dear son, is quite the opposite.

He’s much easier than she is (I’ve been told boys are easier than girls anyway – and so far, this is proving true in our household) but at night, he’s a nightmare (pun intended).  He either has nightmares and wakes up scared, or he can’t sleep; almost every single night.  Last night was no exception. I'd fallen into an exhausted sleep, but I was having a really terrible dream, so I was initially grateful to him when he woke me up with, “Mooo-om!  I can’t sleep!”  But actually, and unusually, I was somewhat scared myself (all I remember was that it was a doozy of a dream) and feeling like a chicken so I didn’t want to get out of bed.  “Come on in here, buddy!” I hollered at him.

And like lightning, he was at my side.  His little heart beating like hummingbirds wings.  Poor kid. So I tucked him in beside me and we snuggled for a bit.  I, drifting unfortunately back into a different, but equally stressful dream, and he, lying awake and staring at the ceiling.  Finally, “Mom?  Just let me know when you want me to go back to my room, OK?”

Me: Huh?

Him: Tell me when you want me to go back to my room.

Me: You want to go back?

Him: Yeah.

Me: OK – I’m coming.

I follow him into his room, tuck him back in, and go to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Great.  Now I’m awake.  He and I probably spent the rest of the night with one or the other (or both) of us awake. 

Unfortunately, this is a pretty consistent pattern with him.  He has never slept well.  So while he’s usually cheerful and a delight to be around during the day, he’s a pain in my butt at night.  And while she is becoming more and more troublesome during the day, she’s always been easy to deal with at night.  Don’t get me wrong, she is a very sweet and loving child (or has been, up until recently) but…SHEESH!

Is it any wonder that I a) LOVE coffee and b) sleep in as often as it is possible to do so?

Also, in case you’re wondering, Hubby is completely deaf in one ear.  So, if he’s sleeping on his good ear he hears none of this.  Ever.  So yes, the creatures I birthed are mine after dark.  (Hm…I guess this adds more credence to those friends who have always believed I was somewhat vampiric?)  Mwahahaha!!! 


Sunday, January 25, 2015

Shoe Shopping and Sugar

So today, I got to spend money I didn't intend to spend…yet.

Kiddos needed new shoes.  Both of them had squished toesies.  I knew new shoes were on the horizon, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until I had to tie Miss G’s shoes today.  I pushed on the ends of her shoes and said, “Oh!  Are those your toes!?

She said, “Yeah.  Why?”  All very matter-of-fact.

I said, “Because they’re all squished into your shoes!  Why didn't you tell me?”

She said, “Um…because they’re just…my shoes.”


Meanwhile, Mr. C, overhearing at least part of this conversation, starts in with, “I need new shoes, too, mom.  Mine are too small and there’s a hole somewhere and water keeps getting in whenever it’s wet and they’re not too great in gym class anymore and…”

I have to shush him or he’ll continue.  I get the picture.

I’m not a neglectful parent, I just really had no idea that both of them were in such desperate need of need of new footwear.

To make a long story short, we wound up at one place where both Miss G and Hubby (because apparently he just had to join the club) each found a pair of shoes they were happy with, but Mr. C didn't find anything.  He was miffed because he decided that Miss G got more help finding her shoes than he did and he just couldn't decide.  He didn't see anything he really liked anyway.

We went to another place where he found a pair right away that he loved.  Thank goodness.

And, of course, both kids had to put on their new shoes as soon as we got into the car.

Really, it’s been a very long day.  It is exhausting buying shoes for three kids.  Um…yes.  I did just include Hubby in that count.


PS: Don't mention donuts to my children, by the way.  It's like mentioning coffee (or bacon) to me.  Let me just say there's a reason it's 8:30 PM and they're both still awake.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Stinkin' Thinkin'

Why is it, when things are going well, you (well…I) wait for the other shoe to drop?  The jinx to occur.  The sky to fall.  The rug to be pulled out from under my feet.  You get the picture?  I’m happy where I am and I keep waiting on something to happen.  I guess I feel like if I wait for it, then when it occurs, I’m prepared.  Or, as prepared as one can ever be.


When I got laid off from my job a few years ago, it was completely and totally unexpected.  "They" spent a lot of time assuring everyone that, though there were big changes afoot within the company, no one had to worry about their jobs.  And then, once said changes took place, they immediately began laying people off.  I was one of the lucky ones that received The Pink Slip Of Doom in the first round.


And folks wonder why, when things are going well, I say, “Yeah, for now.”


To me, it’s not negative thinking.  Stinkin’ Thinkin’.  It is self-preservation.  If I prepare for the worst, or at least the bad, then the blow isn’t quite as devastating.  


In truth, I suppose it really doesn’t work that way.



PS: No. Nothing is wrong. And that's what scares me.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

I see the light!

In a push to further automate our lives, we as a people – the smart ones – have installed automatic light switches with sensors.  In theory, they are supposed to turn lights on when you enter a room by sensing your movement and, after a period of no motion, turn the lights off.  Efficient.  Saves energy.  An all-around good idea, yes?  Yes.  That is, until the sensor does not see, or does not respond, when one walks into a room, leaving one in the dark.

For example, the light sensor in the break room at my office is wonky.  Every morning I go in there with the empty coffee pot to rinse out and refill, and my coffee cup to wash.  I push open the break room door and…nothing.  I can stand in what should be perfect seeing range of the light sensor and dance around like a fool holding my empty coffee pot and my needing-to-be-cleaned mug hoping no one is watching and…still nothing.  Waving my arms doesn’t work either, I’ve tried it.  Walking in front of the light pouring out of the vending machine thinking that my shadow may trick the sensor into turning on the light?  Nope.  (Sigh)  Never mind.

So, I efficiently take care of business in the mostly-dark room.  Upon finishing the rinsing and the washing and the refilling, turn around to leave the room, take one step in the direction of the door and TA DA! The lights come on.

Every.  Blessed.  Morning.

And while we’re on the subject of coffee, might I say that my seven year old daughter, who I love with all my heart, is a prime candidate for coffee first thing in the morning?  That’s not to say I plan to start giving her coffee at this tender age, but boy – I sure hope she turns out to be a coffee-drinker.  In fact, it would be a service to all mankind if someone were to wake her up with a fresh cup of coffee in-hand.  She shouldn’t be allowed to set her feet on the floor without having consumed at least one cup of the strongest coffee available.  Life with my beautiful, wonderful, sweet girl would return and be much more tolerable.  This would not be considered spoiling her, it would be considered self-preservation.  My self.