Sleep Deprivation Haiku

Tiny footfalls sound
Followed by cries for bacon
No, it's five o'clock


Precious child sleeping
dreaming of Daniel Tiger
kicks me in the throat

Noodle Haiku

Pool noodle swordsman
Swinging wildly at siblings
You'll poke an eye out?

Goodbyes stink.

I hate saying goodbye, especially when I'm saying it to one of those rare people whom I can tolerate and is willing to tolerate me.  I don't really become attached to people very easily, but when I do, I'm pretty fiercely loyal.  It's so much easier to be a bitch and push people away than to form a bond with a longtime friend (and his adorably huggable son) and have to say goodbye.

In conclusion, I must say that I hate you.  I can't believe I spent nearly half my life being friends with someone like you.  You have a big head and I hope you step on a Lego.  I find your fascination with David Bowie and Hedwig a bit creepy and love for "retro" gaming oh-so-dull.  Tattoos are stupid, so are Chuck Taylors, and only nerds wear glasses.  Your taste in music is horrible.  Who listens to punk anymore, anyway?  Loser.

I should probably admit now that those things about which I just expressed my disdain are pretty much all of my favorite things.  

I'm back!

I've been gone for a while again.  It just seemed that nothing has been worth posting; or maybe I've just been too busy to write anything.  Maybe I've just been too lazy.  Possibly a combination of all three.  Either way, I'm back.

Kaiya is on her third year of homeschool now and it's going swimmingly.  She has a fascination with Horrible Histories, special effects makeup, and Doctor Who.

Ronin supposedly should be in kindergarten, but we're going easy on things.  He decided it was time for me to teach him to read a few months back and fifteen minutes later, he was reading.  He doesn't care much for sitting still or writing, but he has time to work on those things.  No five year old should sit still for hours at a time, anyhow.

Tanith did this last week.  She's two.

 

And as for me, I've recently rediscovered caffeine.  It's great.  I'm back into being crafty again and currently working on painting our mailbox to resemble the Hylian crest from Legend of Zelda.  

Two shoes . . . need two shoes.

It's 9:00 in the morning here and I've banished my children to outside play.  They helped me to bake some banana macadamia nut almond bread and it'll soon be 90 degrees, so now is the time to send the gingers out for some sun.  Kaiya, the 8 year old drama queen, was outside before I could finish my sentence.  Ronin was entranced by Angry Birds, so it took a bit of prodding.  Tanith, my Princess Thunderfoot, stomped through in one pink sneaker.  The other foot was bare.  I told her that she needed two shoes, and she returned with a black dress shoe and an orange Chuck Taylor while still wearing the pink sneaker, mumbling about how she needed two shoes.  We put the orange Chuck on her left foot and she stomped out to the swingset, singing about how she has two "mashing" shoes.

She just returned, threw on a Batman cape, and informed me, "I am the night!"

Conversations with strangers

Almost every time I leave the house with all three children (which is often), a bystander isn't scared off by appearances or behavior (slightly less often), and the bystanders want to be social or ask questions, I encounter some variance of this conversation.

Bystander: Are they all yours? (While looking around and counting)
Me: Yep.
Bystander: Wow.  They sure are full of energy  How old are they?
Me: Small is 2, Medium is 5, and Large is 8.
Bystander: (counting again) How old are you?
Me: 83 . . . I mean 30.
Bystander: (counting) Wow, I thought you were a lot younger.
Me: Thanks?

It makes me wonder a few things.  Do they think I wandered around town, gathering up stray children who look alike?  Do they think I started having kids at 12?  Do I really look that young, or are they just being nice to make up for the fact that they just asked my age?

Tornado Watch

Our neighborhood recently had a tornado warning and a watch.  I went outside when the watch was announced so I could secure a few things in the yard. When I returned, my 7 year old had packed a bag of towels, stuck her head in the sink to wet her hair, put on snow boots with her shorts and tank top, and built a secure pillow fort. My 5 year old was in cowboy boots and a Batman costume, calling himself Crow. My 2 year old was sitting on top of the German Shepherd mutt with a basket of mismatched shoes and a helmet.
I think my family may be reinforcing the weird homeschooler stereotype.