Because it doesn’t take much to make me happy, I took a little of my Christmas cash and bought a really good knife.  (Too much Rachel Ray and Paula Deen, I freely admit.)  I wanted to cut and chop and dice and slice with the same sort of ease, and my dear little paring knife was no longer getting the job done to my satisfaction.

I bring home Super Knife and immediately slice an apple for my son.  Heaven, people, the ease with which this knife worked.  I was, in a word, delighted.  And I immediately made the knife Off Limits to my children.

“Do not touch my knife.  It’s mine, it’s very sharp.  Don’t touch it.” 

Evidently there was a breakdown in communication here, because even though I thought I’d made myself clear, the first time I left the kids here alone with my knife, I came home and found something sticky all over it, the counters, the cabinets and the floor.  But you know what?  It was the strangest thing.  No one knew what had happened.  No one had touched my knife.  No one knew how the sticky stuff got all over the kitchen, much less how it had touched and tainted the beloved blade of my brand new knife.  I threatened to take away TV privileges and my daughter cracked like a stale Saltine.

“He did it!  He was throwing tangerines up into the air and cutting them with your knife!  It was him!”  She even demonstrated for me.  A pause then, “Am I gonna lose my TV?”

I looked at my son and waited.  Finally, a slow guilty smile slid over his lips.  “It’s a great knife, Mom.”

We bonded over the blade in that moment.  I made him clean up the mess and took his TV away for two hours.  Because I am such a hard-ass.

 PS–Raven Hart is blogging at The Soapbox Queens today!  Check it out!

In order to spend less time in the kitchen and more time working, I’ve been trying to scale back a bit in the cooking department.  Not to say that I’m not cooking–I am.  But I don’t have to fix a meat, three veggies, a salad and dessert EVERY night in order to properly feed my family.  The dh and I have discussed this and he agrees.

Our children, however, don’t. 

Particularly my daugther who recently informed me–after I’d had the nerve to fix something that wasn’t her absolute favorite–that when she had her own family she’d be fixing them individual meals so that everyone always had something they liked.

Alrighty then.

I’ve written it down and saved it in her keepsake box.  Needless to say, the first time she complains about an ungrateful child showing up at her dinner table, I’ll be pulling that little jewel out and sharing it with her. 

My daughter has had some sort of wicked crud all week and has been home with me for three days.  Yesterday she walks into the living room, where I am working on the laptop and very matter-of-factly says, “I think I’m going to name my tongue.  It’s like having a whole other person in there.”

Then she starts doing all these weird little tricks.  Rolling, making waves, turning it over sideways, curling it up into some sort of flower.  Honestly, it’s amazing.  Apparently they’ve been talking about inherited traits at school–something to do with the tongue–and so she’s just started seeing what all she can do.  Have I mentioned she’s an A student?  (One that can’t spell, but still.)  Should I be concerned that she’s going to join the circus and perform tongue tricks?

Have a great weekend, everyone!

So last night I’m going over a study sheet with my daughter and, while I am used to her misspelling words, I gotta tell you, this one was particularly disturbing.

“disside”

I gaped, people.  Literally.  “Disside???”

Daughter pauses.  “What?”

“How do you spell decide?”

“D-e-c-i-d-e.” 

My  mouth hasn’t managed to close yet.  “I don’t understand.  Why didn’t you spell it right on the study guide?”

She shrugs, unconcerned.  “Dunno.”

She might not know, but I do.  Sheer laziness.  Argh!!!

On a happier note, my son has been keeping his room clean, picking up his dirty clothes, promptly attending to his homework and working for my brother to earn money for a mission trip.

My question is this–why can’t they be good at the same time???

How is it possible that I have borne a child who is a total slob?  Who doesn’t mind hiding dirty dishes in her drawers, hiding TRASH beneath a blanket in her big cushy chair?  Who doesn’t want to make her bed and organize her hair things and put the shoes in her closet?  Who doesn’t want to clean her rabbit’s cage until the stench literally makes her eyes water. 

How did this happen?  Really?  It’s no secret that I like things tidy.  Dirty dishes in the sink drive me nuts and clutter makes me twitch.  I clean the lint filter between every load of clothes.  I take my dishwasher apart and wash it, so that it can properly get my dishes clean.  Beds are made, laundry started, dishes are put away before we ever leave for school in the mornings so that I can come home and go straight to work.

And yet, I have a daughter who appears to have absolutely no interest in all things domestic.

She has begged for a trashcan for in her room so that she can put her garbage away.  I have resisted this for a long time because I would like her to put her trash in the big can in the utility room where it belongs.  Today, after hauling an entire tall kitchen garbage bag full of trash from her room–things that had been piled on her dresser, chest of drawers, under her bed, in her closet and just generally on the floor, I have finally admitted defeat.  I am tired of

Clearly she is not going to make the trek to the utility room.  I give up.  Maybe, just maybe, if I put an actual can for the garbage in her room, the trash will actually go in it. 

I am hopeful blogfriends, but I’m not holding my breath.

Last night I’d gone to bed early, but hadn’t quite fallen asleep when I heard my youngest asking her father if she could come sleep with me.  I couldn’t make out what he’d said, but a few seconds later I heard her feet padding down the hall, then click of the doorknob turning.  I laid perfectly still, could tell that she was waiting to see if I was asleep or not, before trying to sneak into bed with me.  I waited until she’d just lifted the covers and then–

“Boo!”

She screamed bloody murder and because I am, as I point out in the subject of this post, EVIL, I laughed until I cried.

“Mommy!  How could you do that to me?”

“It was easy.  I said, ‘Boo!!!!!!’” and would you believe the kid screamed again?

What can I say?  A Mom’s got to get her entertainment in anywhere she can.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I oftentimes let my daughter pluck my eyebrows.  What can I say?  It’s much easier to lay on the bed and let her do it than for me to peer into the mirror and do it myself.  Anyway, we’re enjoying some sweet quality time.  I’m relaxed and happy, eyes closed just soaking in the closeness.  And then…

“You have holes on your nose.”  A thougtful pause, then “They’re filled with dirt.”

Excellent.  Just what I’ve always wanted.  Dirty pores.

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend.  And you should probably all buy some stock in Biore.  I’m off to buy a case of pore strips….