Getting Soft

I am the bedtime Nazi. Bedtime is at 8, if not sooner. And don't be getting up cause you'll be sorry you did. My kids need the sleep, and Andy and I need the alone time. But Sunday night, I got soft. Zak and Paige had already fallen asleep, and Rene' had taken a very long nap that day. So when she came down the hall, dragging her purple "lankie", I didn't scoop her up and whisk her back to bed, I grabbed her and sat her on the couch with Andy and to watch the rest of the football game. I let her sit on my lap for a few minutes, then said, "ok, next commercial, your going to bed". Andy said, "oh let her stay up and watch the rest of the game, mom." I couldn't say no. She was all cuddled up between us, asking why those guys were pushing each other down. It was a moment, you don't get very often at all with child #3. And had I broken out the bedtime Nazi persona, I would have missed it. And I'm so glad I didn't.

Monday

Yeah. Its Monday. And I can SO tell. Woke up this morning to Rene' wanting to get in our bed. So sleepily, I let her. Then 2 min later I realize she's wet. Nice. Potty training with Rene' has not gone well. So I get her up, put dry clothes on her and tell her she has to go back to bed because my bed is wet. I lay her in her bed, that is not just wet, its soaked. I get her back up and take her back to our room and put her in bed with dad and whisper that her bed is wet so she's going to sleep with him. (Still in a whisper), oh and btw, don't roll over to my side of the bed because its wet too. Andy shot up, clearly mad, ranting and raving about the potty training issue, steps on her wet clothes in the dark bathroom (whoopsie, forgot to take those to the laundry room). So now, he's really mad. After finally settling him down and settling him in on the couch, I finish getting ready and head off to work.

Enter work, where first thing I have 3 emails from the Auditors needing information from me, a looming deadline today that is not going to be met, for reasons beyond my control, and a person I am needing to avoid.

Happy.
Monday.
to
me.

The Apple doesn't fall far from the tree

When it comes to Paige, my 4 year old, I can't seem to relate. First of all, she doesn't like jeans. HATES to wear jeans. She insists on "stretchy pants" or dresses. Jeans are a staple girl, especially a really good pair that always make you feel good in them. Next, she's an imagination girl. I don't know which side of the brain is creative and which is structure, but I got the structure, type A side and she got the carefree spirit, no need for rules side.

But Friday night, I was looking at myself. We went to some friends house for pizza and misc. Rock Band broke out on the Wii, which is a personal fav of mine. I don't care about playing the drums, or guitar, I want to sing. There has always been something magical about holding a microphone in my hand. Now I don't have a fabulous voice, but I can pick out some harmony, and stay on key. As a young girl, I had dreams and aspirations of being a professional singer. As a side note, I lived the dream one time at a girlfriend's bachelorette party where me and my friends went to a bar, had no alcohol, and owned the place in karaoke. I had the entire place up on their feet clapping over their heads to me singing Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name". I'm sure I know why God didn't give me a phenomenal voice. I would have gotten wrapped up in fame and fortune and never made it back to reality. Ok, back to Rock Band. So Jake, who is a drummer, is on the drums, Andy on the guitar, and Zak on the guitar. Paige and I decide to take the mike. We're doing a personal family fav of Taylor Swift's. Well, as the song progresses, I find myself pulling the mike closer to me, because I wanted to make sure we got all the points, right? Well then Paige starts pulling the microphone her way, because she's my daughter and wants it all to herself. It started a little microphone battle that ensued the entire song. Me. And my daughter. Fighting for who gets to hold the microphone.

Did I just say that?