Welcome to my less than perfect life!

Embracing the imperfections that make my life practically perfect in every way.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Musical Beds

Last night was a typical night in the LTP house:

7:30pm: The Nugget goes to bed first.  The Mister lays with her a few minutes until she nods off.

9:20pm: I go to bed a couple of hours later (on this night narrowly escaping the fate of falling asleep on the couch).  The small dog, Frolic, comes to bed with me, but is restless and heads back downstairs.  The cats are very excited and lots of meowing and purring and petting ensue before we can settle down to sleep.

11:20pm: The Nugget exits her room with a slam of the door and climbs into bed with mom.

11:40pm: The Mister comes to bed.  Frolic stands around on the floor whining until a veritable written invitation is given for her to join us on the bed because she is insane and neurotic and impossible.  The giant dog, Dandy, flops down on the floor with a thud.

12:20am: Dandy is panting loudly and pacing the room as a small storm is passing through because he is insane and neurotic and impossible.  I get up and head downstairs with him to find his Xanax and sequester him from the rest of the family so we aren't all awake.  I then lie down to sleep on the couch.  Frolic follows and lies on the floor and, eventually, Dandy lies down as well.

1:30am: The Nugget awakens me by crawling over my legs to try and join me in sleeping on the couch.  Realizing this is impossible, I corral the whole crew back up to the bedroom.  Frolic, mercifully, stays on the floor this time.

2:45am: I awaken for a bathroom break.

4:00am: I awaken and try to re-shuffle The Nugget, the blankets and the pillows as I am barely clinging to the edge of the bed.

5:30am: The Mister rises to get ready for work.

6:00am: The Mister returns to say goodbye.

6:55am:  The Nugget awakens and declares that she is ready to start the day.

7:30am: I need a nap.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

What's Mine is...Yours

In the early years of our marriage, when it was just he and I, The Mister and I would sometimes have hor's devours night.  This consisted of buying several frozen snacks and baking them in rounds in the oven while we enjoyed a favorite movie or program on television.  I would bake things in shifts so that we had warm treats throughout the evening.

One fateful night, I handed The Mister my plate so that I could go answer the oven timer and pull out our next round of snacks.  After doing so, I returned to the living room to find The Mister holding my empty plate.  Thus was born one of our long-standing inside jokes in which I looked at him, stunned, and uttered: " You ATE my dinner?"  I will never forget his sheepish response:  "I thought you were giving it to me..."

Since that time, The Mister has been cautious to double check any time he is handed a meal or partial meal of mine to ensure we don't have a repeat of that event.  And we never have.  Until...

Just the other night I was lying on the couch.  I had nodded off, which in our house is a code which gives The Mister the go-ahead to play violent video games.  So he was playing said games when I awakened.  As I stirred, The Mister paused his game and crossed the room to where I was on the couch.  He then proceeded to pick up what was left of my Diet Coke and drink the rest.

I looked at him.  Calmly, I said: "It didn't occur to you that I might want the rest of my drink?"

He was genuinely shocked.  "I'm so sorry, honey!  I thought it was mine.  I had no idea!"

I couldn't help but laugh.  He did have a partial drink sitting by his chair.  "So help me understand," I said, "you didn't realize that it was my drink even though it was sitting across the room from you right next to me in a cup that was clearly labeled 'mom'.  Is that what you're saying?"

I'm beginning to think he realizes more than he lets on.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

How Do You Eat an Elephant?

One bite at a time.  Of course, anyone who actually knows me knows that I would never so much as harm a hair on the head of an elephant, let alone eat one, but it's a metaphor.  In this case, a metaphor for completing the mountain of paperwork and tasks associated with adoption.

Yes, we have decided to proceed with adopting our next child.  After all of our pregnancy struggles, we just don't feel it is an option to try that route again.  Honestly, the only thing that has stopped us from adopting in the past has been the financial aspect; it is not a highly affordable undertaking.  But here we are in this phase of life where we are just taking all kinds of leaps of faith, and trusting that we can come up with the money is one of them.

Having addressed that hurdle(ish), we are left to address taking the steps to activate ourselves with our adoption agency.  I was so excited waiting for the packet to come so I could get started that I obsessively checked the mail for days.  When the packet came, I dug in and reviewed every page.  And promptly became completely overwhelmed.  State and federal background checks complete with fingerprinting.  Physical exams.  Copies of every important document that ever existed. Meetings.  Classes. A lengthy written history of the last several generations of our family - no small task in itself since we both have divorce, remarriage and all of the branches that go along with those family trees.

On the bright side, somebody - hello, there - decided recently to take a leap of faith and quit her job.  While that may seem like a real negative on the financial side (okay, it IS), it offers quite the windfall in terms of time.  I'm not necessarily a believer in fate or destiny, but I will say that the universe has provided quite nicely for this eventuality.  So I currently have time to plug away at our paperwork, one bite at a time.

We have our first meeting to initiate our home study tomorrow.  Wish us luck.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

A Rose By Any Other Name

Might punch you in the proverbial eye for calling her by any other name.

The Nugget has been very focused on pretend play lately.  At any given point, she can be found running around our house with her "hooves" pawing at the air while she tries to earn her cutie marks as a My Little Pony.  That is unless she is letting down her hair and descending a tower as Rapunzel.  Or maybe she'll be preparing to go ice skating with Frosty because she is his best friend, Karen.  Best of all, she recently decided to be "Olive" from the Rudolph movie.  I kept trying to figure out who she thought the character Olive was until a friend pointed out that she had no doubt been listening to the Rudolph song and deduced that the line "all of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names" was referring to one particular reindeer by name, "Allof".  Which explains why she kept correcting me about how I was pronouncing the name.

Anyway, I think it's great that The Nugget has an active imagination.  The problem is that we can't always keep up with what imaginary world she is living in.  While that may not seem like a problem, it leads to A LOT of frustration for all parties in the house.  Heaven help the person who calls the child by the pony name Fluttershy when she has moved on to playing princess Tiana.  I have tried to approach her by using generic terms like sweetie or kiddo, but I get sharply corrected then too.  "I'm not sweetheart, I'm Karen!"

This may not seem like a big deal, but this happens in our house about 37 times per day.  That is a whole lot of correcting coming from our little angel - I mean Karen.  She's Karen.  Except when she's not.  At swim lessons the other day she kept adamantly correcting her instructor to call her Karen each time she addressed her by her actual name.  I just looked at the instructor and shrugged.

We've had (repeatedly) the discussion that it is not very nice to constantly be correcting people.  She and I have very similar personalities, so while she loses patience with me for not knowing the correct name, I lose patience with her for losing patience with me.  This led to the following recent exchange:

Me: "Stop correcting me all of the time."

The Nugget: "I'm correcting you, I'm correcting you!"

Me:  *sigh*

I would appreciate it if none of you would let her know that I referred to her as The Nugget while writing this.  I just can't face the consequences.