Saturday, June 2, 2012

Who could yell at this kid, right?!

It is better to remain silent and thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.

That was on a wooden plaque above our dining table at our house on Park Street.  Obviously this one didn't stick with me.

I agreed to coach our sons' T Ball team. Jeff promises that this will be fodder for the blog.  I'm worried the whole Sam Kinison School of Parenting will start leaking out. He promised me that I'll be more patient with other peoples' kids.

I did step on the scale yesterday. I had to grab Lime-away from the shelf above the toilet in Jeff's bathroom. So  I unconsciously stepped on the thing and reached to grab the bottle.  When I heard the familiar sound that it made and realized what I had done, I froze in my tracks.  Do I look down?  It was an accident, after all.

Just prior to this, I was seated at the computer for the third day in a row trying to cobble together the plan for the kids, me and Jeff for the summer.  It's not really as easy as it sounds.  Anyway, it was so cold out that I decided to make an entire pot of tea. Henry was in the bathroom naked and came running out and grabbed the teapot by its top and started yanking on it. It was on the desk next to the computer.  So there's my naked kid grabbing the top of a hot pot of tea.  All I could envision were the skin grafts and the fried hard drive.  So I grabbed it and screamed out at him! "Aghhhh!!! Dude, what are you...why are you naked...go put some clothes on."  Well, I know why he was naked.  he went number 2 and just like his TV alter ego, George Costanzo, he has to get naked in order to do that.  Then I realized he's walking around touching everything and has most assuredly NOT washed his hands.  The OCD in me goes crazy at these times.  But then my higher functioning brain, or what's left of it, kicked in and began saying things like 'oh honey, your body is so beautiful but you want to keep your privates private." Another favorite is, "it's not okay to sit on furniture with a bare bottom." They look at me in a sort of glazed-over catatonic stupor when I say things like these. Often they will also laugh and flop away mockingly.  Which he also did yesterday.

When I realized I needed something from the basement, I ran downstairs. By the time I arrived, I had forgotten what it was.  So I walked around looking for a prompting spark to remind me.  I wandered into the bathroom, flicked the light on and noticed the toilet was "messy" from the little naked visitor.  So that's when I grabbed some paper towel and reached for the Lime-Away.

There I stood frozen.  I had one foot perched on the scale, a bottle of lime-away in my right hand, paper towels in my left and my left foot was stretched out behind me like a ballet dancing maid.  Of course I looked down and just as I did the number flashed away.  Thank God, I thought. I almost relapsed.

I've been speaking to a bunch of folks about the scale.  I am not alone in my insanity about it. Most of the folks that I spoke with are in two camps: 1) weigh everydayers and the 2) threw the effing thing away years ago-ers.   So, I feel NOT alone in my lunacy.  MY lunacy stems more from the fact that I can't seem to remain silent and just be THOUGHT a fool.

I must remove all doubt.

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