Have I got a solution for you!

When you've got 2 kids, a full time career with many late nights and a husband who works 90+ hr weeks you learn to just roll with things. I've learned to lower my standards. 90 percent of the time my house looks like a bomb went off. Food stuck to the table, dirty dishes in the sink, drop pile by the front door, finger prints on every window, cheerios as far as the eye can see, toys strewn about, 3 days of mail piled up on the counter and laundry more than week over due. Does this bother me? Absolutely. Does this stress me out? You betcha. Can I do a thing about it? Not a chance.

I've tried using "organizational guru" tips/tricks to contain my mess. None had staying power. My favorite is the Clean for 20 mins a day to make the work seem less cumbersome tip. See.....here's the thing. I'd have to actually FIND 20 mins in my day with nothing better to do than clean. And we all know that ain't happening! But what I could do is consult with my 4yr old, who apparently has a great idea on how to control my clutter.....genius!

As my very best friend can attest, my son is a walking infomercial. It's comical his undying belief in products like Happy Nappers and the The Gyro Bowl. Without fail he can recite commercial verbiage of the most current As Seen On TV product. He's the next TV Pitchman.

Tyler: "Mom! You need a space bag!"

Me: "A what?!"

Tyler: "A space bag, ya know....." demonstrating the item with square hand gestures and a hand pat for emphasis.

Me: "I do do I? And why is that?"

Tyler: "Because your closet is a mess, just look at this clutter! [hands extended out in display] The space bag helps organize your shoes, your sweaters, your coats. AND it's safe from dirt and bugs!"

I guess that about says it all doesn't it.

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We're gonna need a fork lift

A while back it was mentioned to me that I needed to start writing again. Why? Because dammit apparently people like me. Aww, well....gee shuks thanks people. [blush]

So here it is [drum roll] back by popular demand......The new! The improved! The blog! [cymbal crash]

[crickets chirp]

No seriously, let's be honest a hot minute. It's not new and it's defintely not improved. In fact it's probably just about the same, with maybe a bit more cynicism. Overworked with a serious lack of free time and sleep will do that do ya. But it still is a blog. So I guess 1 outta three ain't bad.

To recap my life in the [cough] YEAR that it's been since I last wrote; I gained some weight, had a baby, lost some weight, got reorganized at work which equaled more work same pay, found a sincere love of wine (my Saturday night safety net) and am trying desperately to raise a 4yr old who out runs me, out smarts me and is generally funny as hell.

Case in point: This morning, as I was getting dressed for work, I reminded Tyler that the play kitchen I ordered over this past weekend would be arriving today, at some point. Apparently he missed the "at some point" part and made a bee line for the front window to "stalk" the delivery guy. Kinda reminded me of someone else who stalks the delivery guy

[head shake] Dear God, have mercy on my neighbors. There he was at 6:45am, standing in my front window, in his pull-up and nothing else, bouncing, pulsating with anticipation over a to-be-delivered play kitchen. If little old miss Norma, who takes her morning walks, would have seen him she would have fainted right there on the sidewalk. Medic!

Concerned that the delivery man was not arriving at that very moment, Tyler hollered up at me to "Call the delivery man! Find out where he is!"

My reply that I did not have said phone number, was met with a thumping up the stairs and a prompt face to face conversation that I needed to get that number.

Tyler: "Mom, we need to get that number!" shaking his hands splayed out palm

Me: "Sorry bud, don't have it. But don't worry, it'll be here today"

Tyler: "Mom, I hope it comes with directions"

Me: "I'm sure it will honey" returning to concentrate on my makeup

Tyler: "Mom, we're gonna need a screwdriver and a drill and scissors and some tape and a fork lift!" his arms flapping around demonstrating each tool.

Me: "A fork lift??"

Tyler: "Oh yea, because the box is gonna be THIS big" with his arms stretched out in all directions.

Me: "You're probably right. I'll pick one up on my way home"

Tyler: "Ok, sounds good"

And he walked out of my room and back to the window to continue stalking the delivery man. Like mother like son.

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Lies my father told me

The husband and I have very different view points when it comes to food. He grew up in a family that ate everything. Right down to the brains of a cow. (that those crazy Greeks for ya) While I was raised on good, old fashioned comfort foods. If a recipe didn't include ground beef, cheese or butter, chance were it didn't belong in our house. That's not to say my mother couldn't cook. She was a fabulous cook, everything she made was my favorite. She just had certain likes and dislikes.

Take fish for example. Fish was not something EVER served in my house. My mother didn't like it, my father still doesn't like it (unless that's the only food option, then he'll eat it to keep from going hungry). And my sister believes that if she doesn't eat fish, other little fishes all over the world will spread the good news of her sacrifice and they'll spare her when she chooses to swim in the ocean. She's got some crazy theories....

The closest a fish ever came to being in our house was when my sister was 5. My dad went out fishing without her, which she was DEVASTATED about, and she made him bring home a fish for her to see. When he returned home he had a huge catfish (in retrospect, it probably wasn't all that big) and he had it in his metal minnow bucket with some water. My sister was ecstatic. She was so proud of the fish dad caught that she announced she was taking it to show n tell on Monday. My mother, however, announced it would have to live on the back porch. Perfectly understandable. [nods] This was Saturday. And by Monday morning we discovered that we probably should not have let the fish live on the back porch. Because Sunday had been hot, and fish do not survive on hot days. In metal buckets. We now had a nice steamed catfish. Swimming belly up. It was end of my sister's world. She cried and cried and cried and cried some more. Over a fish. But to make matters worse, she demanded that my dad take the dead fish back to his family. At the lake. An hour away. Perfectly logical to a 5yr old. A fish has got family, a family needs to grieve.

It can easily be assumed that my father was not about to drive an hour away just to throw a dead fish into a pond.

My dad, however, being the crafty father he was, explained to my sister, that if we put him down the storm drain in the front of the house, it'll take him straight back to his family, and everyone would be happy.

She bought it; Hook, line and sinker (pun very much intended).

And she believed that fish had gone back to his family until dad dusted off this old story about 10 yrs later in front of a large family gathering. My sister of course was shocked to find out my dad had lied. How could he?!

To which my father replied, "that's just what parents do..."

And that statement has never been more clear than now. Now that I'm a parent, I find myself "lying" to Tyler out of pure convenience. Alot.

"No, we can't go see the steam shovels at the construction site for the 5th time today, they're sleeping. We don't want to wake them up, right?"

Right.

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