Okay...SOCKS. We have no fewer than three baskets FULL of mateless socks. The idea of putting them in these baskets is to sit down while watching television at night and actually sort and go through them. Of course, THAT never happens. Probably because I ALWAYS have the computer on my lap. AND there's the little fact that I don't WANT to sort them. EVER. So instead of actually SORTING them, they sit in baskets at different parts of the house and everyone scampers for matches every morning. Only my girls do not LIKE to wear matching socks. My son likes to wear OUR socks. They are ridiculously big (and often times mismatched), but that doesn't deter MY son. In fact, I believe it is a selling point.
WELL...after folding...everything for the better part of a day, I had my fully capable children bring their piles of clothes (most of which were simply thrown in the hamper the last time they were asked to clean their rooms) to their rooms to put in their dressers or closets. I expected that possibly some would be unfolded. I expected that some would remain on top of their dressers. I even expected to find some stuffed into the WRONG drawers in wrinkled up balls of fabric. I did NOT expect my daughter to deliberately unfold and stuff clothes into any crevice she could find in her room. I did NOT expect my daughter to stuff clothes into the corner of the closet and I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT expect my daughter to stuff clothes into HER BED (top bunk) and pillows. *SIGH* If only I could underSTAND what the point of it was. If only...
I discovered this backassed scavenger hunt this morning when I couldn't find ANY pants for her. None. I couldn't IMAGINE where they could be since I JUST folded (you know...a GAJILLION) pants YESTERDAY. Grrrrrr. When I finally couldn't TAKE it anymore, I informed the little PITA that she would NO LONGER be choosing her clothes. You should know that I make this empty threat at LEAST seven times a month. Yes, thank you, I KNOW that follow through is important in parenting. Yes, thank you, I KNOW that empty threats are probably the reason why my children DO these things and yes, thank you, I KNOW that consistency is key when raising children. Thank you. I KNOW. I KNOW, but knowing isn't always enough. I KNOW that I should not eat sugar or salt. I KNOW that I shouldn't love television more than my children (just kidding. Kind of...). I KNOW that I should be making dinner instead of typing THIS, but we don't always DO what we KNOW to be right, do we?! At least I don't! Obviously.
The little snot decided to give me serious attitude and refused to get ready for school. After "helping" her (in the Mommie Dearest kind of "helpful" way...don't worry--no wire hangers were used, though we could have USED some for all of the CLOTHES we found) into clothes and (matching for once) socks and shoes, I "helped" her to get into the car--LATE again.
Today was a little different because I was asked to read in Brayden's class in honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday. Because he hates me, he chose Oh Say Can You Say? which I couldn't ..say...MOST of what I read. LUCKILY his classmates are far more considerate than my children. At least to me. His classmates always fall all over me when I visit--some of Ryan's do, too, but I always feel so loved when I see Brayden's classmates, even IF they sneeze and cough all over me as they fight to show me love.
When I was done there, I decided to go to Ryan's class. Her teacher is kind enough to say that I should come in whenever I want to, she doesn't mind. I usually don't do this because I feel like it cannot be helpful to have a crazy parent come in when you are trying to teach. I try to be helpful, but I'm sure I'm not as much helpful as I am a hindrance, though she is really convincing when she tells me how much she appreciates me.
Here's the story: I told Brayden's teacher that he would not be taking the bus, as I would be right down the hall in Ryan's classroom and I may even grab him a bit early because we need to grab the small fry from preschool so that her teachers don't sell her to the highest bidder. Or WORSE, tell me not to bring her to preschool anymore!
WELL...it was a little crazy at the end of the day (always is--was in my classroom, too) in Ryan's class, so we did NOT get out too early. In fact, no one had been dismissed in Ryan's class yet, but her teacher didn't mind that I took her. As she grabbed her coat and backpack, she made a face and told me that both were wet and there was a wet spot on the floor. I told her teacher--because THAT is how good I THINK I am--I just wanted to make sure that no one ELSE got gross wetness on their things. She was (unnecessarily) apologetic and we left to get S
This is NOT even entertaining. At all. I am seriously boring MYSELF here. Let me move along to...well...NOW. Remember the backpack? Yeah, well it turns out the disgusting smell and liquidy disgusting substance was coming from HER backpack. I went in like a surgeon searching for a tumor. I do not even want to EXPOSE you to this, but I can't turn back now. Eight. Milks. Eight milks. The child was hording EIGHT MILKS in the front compartment of her backpack. Only I found those milks AFTER I found a container that once housed cucumbers (it was labelled because it came from the school's veggie sampling day) and several smashed muffins that were evidently breakfast one morning at school. Of course I thought that THOSE were the cause of the stench until I saw the white chunks. I'm sorry--NOTHING is entertaining about the word chunks--generally speaking, nothing good will EVER come of finding them. Especially when they are caused by dairy products. One of the milk cartons had...burped up its contents and filled the front pocket which acted as a strainer of sorts, keeping in most of the chunks and allowing the liquid to seep out--in the school, in my car, in the living room...
I don't know HOW I am not puking right now. And I just realized that if a child of mine is the spawn of Satan, that doesn't bode well for me. ADD is acting up again--sorry. So... Brayden is the last one left at school and the principal brings him out to me. Fail. Ryan stinks up the car and the house with her rotten milk cartons and I have absolutely NO idea of how long they were even IN there. Fail. I was ten minutes late to pick up Addison from preschool. Fail. BUT...she was able to play outside after school and she ALWAYS begs to do that. I guess THAT would not be a fail, though ending ANY day with milk chunks is a definite fail--no matter HOW great the rest of your day went.