Manic Motherhood at it's FINEST!!

Why "I am NOT a VOLCANO!"

Why "I am NOT a VOLCANO!"
click the volcano for the due explanation
"In all of living, have much fun and laughter. Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured." — Gordon B. Hinckley
Exaggeration is the spice of life

Book I am Currently Reading: Peter and The Shadow Thief

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Introducing: The Gleeman's Baby

The Gleeman's Baby


Today, I'm going to introduce my new etsy store, a business I've been working on since I received a serger from my mother in law and my husband for Christmas, and it has become my most priceless and prized posession!!!

(Visit me at http://www.thegleemansbaby.etsy.com/ and "like" me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/The-Gleemans-Baby/177783705607118 - when I reach 100 "likes", I will have a drawing for a free pair of gauntlets!!!)














































































































































































































































































Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Tender mercies: Blessings in (gross) disguises.

So, I've always admired my mother and her ability to consistently remain organized and on top of things, including her squeaky clean house and yard and car. Everything ALWAYS smells good. Never once do I remember a rank smell emitting from the fridge or under a car seat. I don't remember my car seat days, but I'm sure that there was never a crumb to be found.

Now, I wouldn't call myself the opposite. My house is pretty clean. I do laundry, I vacuum often, I do dishes every day, and my SAHM duties are well taken care of.

But, over the years, through much stressing and trying to measure up and make things perfect, and look like i have it all together, I have come to a few conclusions:

1. It's either my house or the car. I can't do both.

Yeah- I know it should be simple to bring everything in as we go, and if we come inside, if there are cups or bags or whatever else on the floor, bring it in too. I mean, it's a simple concept...if you're not also in charge of taking several trips in and out just to be able to carry in 3 sleeping kids, one that just won't walk because she's cranky, and a diaper bag that contains the last of the wipes and formula that has to last until you can make it to the store. Pile that all in the middle, and it kind of makes you want to just leave stuff there. So I do.

2. NO ONE has it all together.

For REAL. Have you seen any comic strips lately? Have you heard any jokes? Talked to other moms? If it weren't true, there wouldn't be jokes about it, and people wouldn't talk. As for other moms, if they talk about how they have it all under control, you know already that they don't- or they wouldn't feel the need to tell people that they do. If they aren't bragging about it, then they're talking about how hard it is, and everyone else agrees with them. I guess I idolized my mom- and truth be told, I still do- but I don't remember things being out of control. Maybe she WAS the only REAL super mom.

3. Laundry is never ending.

Back in the day- you know, the one where i had one or maybe two children- I thought I was extremely clever in committing myself to wash, dry and fold one load of laundry per day. I told myself- if you can keep on top of that, it is THE secret to having a clean house and clothed children. Well...that's all very well and good, and for a time it worked. However, now that I have a plethora of children, my family wears more than one load worth of laundry per day. In order to keep up on that, and make sure that they all have clean things to wear, I have to wash around 3 loads of laundry per day. And then, the question of folding it comes in. Back in the day, when I folded one load, it took me a whole of 15- 20 minutes to fold and hang and put it away. Now, after I spend all morning washing and drying it, when I have time to sit down and fold it (During Teague's nap) my given time is just not enough to cover it. At least not to fold it AND put it away. And then, if I am lucky enough to find a day where it somehow works out and I get most or all of it done, my kids take off their clothes, I put the day's burp rags and wash cloths and towels from baths and showers into the basket....and it starts all over. There is nothing I can do about this. It's the price I pay for having a biological clock that just won't stop ticking.

3. It's going to be a long while before my house is spotless and smells good in every room. As in, when my kids are in college....or more likely, when my GRAND kids are grown up and in college. I try. And I fail. It's a vicious cycle.

Now, many of you know from my previous posts that my middle two children attend preschool around the mountain, 45 minutes away from my house.

Having been on several much longer road trips in the recent past, our minivan is a huge mess. (See conclusion #1.) Last Sunday, after spending the evening with my family, while I loaded children, diaper bags, coats and now empty casserole dishes into my van, my siblings (as amazingly organized and clean as my mother) jokingly commented on my messy van- I remember looking into the depths of it and noting crayons in seat creases, paper and crackers and toys all over the floor, a pile of left sweaters and jackets and blankets between the front seats. Plastic water bottles littered the floor- souvenirs from gas stations all over Utah. And several empty and half full cups from various fast food restaurants in the cup holders at the front.

Yes. I thought. I'm going to clean it.

Well, I didn't. I meant to. But I didn't. You see, in that week, Brandon's car broke down, his work schedule got changed, Mahone had a minor head injury, and that was only Monday. From there, all hell broke loose and it was a week full of stupid.

Today, on the way home from preschool, my Scarlet shrieked from the back seat "MOM!!! I have to go to the bathroom!!!"

"Hold it, hold it!!" I shrieked back, gaging the distance. We were only half way home, passing the refinery. We had a good 20-25 minutes. I told her "We'll be home soon- hold it!" and waited for only a few moments before she cried out in a panic "Mommy! I have to GOOoooo!"

From there, she continued to cry, sounding fairly painful, and I wracked my brain for an idea.

We had already passed the last gas station until we would enter our own town, and stopping by the side of the road where we were could get us arrested as it is private property owned by Kennecott.

Finally, my decision made, I pulled off the side of the road as we rounded the exit and approached a tourist area looking out over the Salt Lake. With an uneasy glance around, I noticed several cars parked along the parking strip, and a few men and women huddling in their coats as a "spring flurry" of fluffy snowflakes flew through the air (yes, I realize it's nearly May...but it's also Utah, so we are always on our toes.) There wasn't any way I could let my 3 year old potty out there without exposing her little bottom to who knows who. Frantically, as she wiggled out of her car seat straining to "hold it", I rummaged frantically through the garbage in my van.

And then, as Scarlet stripped of her pant, I dumped left over watery root beer onto the pavement and held up the soggy, empty cup. And promptly, I laughed inwardly with the idea "I have GOT to blog about this."

So here I am. Near 4 months after having abandoned my blog for the purpose of settling into my new life with a new baby and trusting in the words of a blogger I much respect that it's okay, if you need a break, to abandon your blog indefinitely, and it'll be okay. Your followers will be happy to see you return and you may even gain a few in your absence.

I cannot promise you much, my friends. But I'll promise that I'll TRY. I'll try to post more often. Because it's easier for me to laugh at my life and it's discrepancies, it's daily trials, it's regular frustrations and occasional triumphs when i have somewhere to put it all down, and people who appreciate it's intricacy and truth.


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