Every morning in the Folksy house, there is a battle.
It is the battle for Mommy.
Sven is not a morning person. He cannot be pried out of bed, generally speaking, for at least 30 minutes after he awakens on a workday. On the weekends, that figure jumps to around 2 hours. Early on, I adopted the practice of reading, watching TV, or working on my computer while Sven lazes around.
Then came the children. Gone are my quiet mornings. Now my computer is taken over by children watching Spongebob and my body is taken over by grasping hands and damp bottoms. As someone who relishes personal space, this can be hard for me.
My first solution: get up earlier. I now get up at 5:05 every morning, just so I can have some "me time."
Result: fail. Dexy now gets up at 5:07, walks into my room, points at his diaper, points at the open door, and stumbles back down the hall to await my service. When I get to his room, he imperiously commands, "Light, Mommy!" and generally takes charge of the entire operation. "Powder! Shorts! Socks! No shirt! No! Okay." He chooses the music that we listen to while we change his diaper (he prefers up-tempo alternative for the merely damp, while the choice of a contemplative ballad betokens a situation decidedly more serious), then chooses what he will watch on the computer.
Then Princess gets up. The war has begun.
"I want to sit with Mommy! Move, Dex!"
"Want Mommy! No, Princess! Owie!"
"Mommy, Dexy said I hit him but I didn't!" (Hits Dexy.)
It is finally enough to awaken the daddy. At last, I think, I will have some help.
"No, you two," Sven rumbles, moving them aside. "Mommy is mine." For the next 30 minutes, Sven holds on to me while the children, giggling madly, worm their way in between us. I finally can take no more and hie to the bathroom for 10 minutes of peace.
But, even while it is driving me crazy, I love it. I love every slightly sticky second of it. Because I am Mommy. I know it won't last forever, but for now, I love being everybody's favorite toy.
Disclaimer: I have not received any monetary compensation from any company mentioned in this post. Should they offer, you will all be the first to know.
Welcome everyone, to today's installment of Deb's Domestic Do's, in which Deb gives you helpful household hints using absolute avalanches of alliteration.
While other household hint-types may tell you completely useless things like how to explode ants and remove candlewax from your carpet (someone had a fun weekend, am I right?), my household hints are completely useful and relevant to the modern household.
Today's hint: So You've Accidentally Washed Your iPod Nano...Now What?
A few weeks ago, I couldn't find my iPod. This was a crisis of semi-nuclear proportions; if Princess and Dexy don't get to listen to "Witch Doctor" (from Alvin & the Chipmunks), "Dance Magic Dance" (from Labyrinth), "Johanna" (from Sweeney Todd), and "Dancing With Myself" (from the '80's), we cannot get anywhere, so it was absolutely imperative that I find my precious iPod.
It wasn't in my purse.
It wasn't in my shoes (Dexy's favorite hiding place).
It wasn't having breakfast in the dollhouse (Princess' favorite hiding place).
That left one option: the washer.
When at work, I usually keep my keys in my right pocket and my phone (set to silent) in my left. When using my iPod, I put it in the pocket with the phone. For some reason, on that particular day, my phone made it back to my purse, but my iPod did not.
So there I was, soggy iPod in hand, on the phone to Sven, who had this helpful hint:
"Put it in the dryer."
So I took it to work, where I thought about how I could dry out an admittedly fresh-smelling iPod. I was leafing through my desk drawer in a desultory way, happy I had finally used "desultory" in my inner monologue, when I saw it:
My Excedrin graveyard.
I have migraines fairly often, and have found nothing works as effectively at derailing the migraine process than two Excedrin. Due to this, I always have a bottle of Excedrin in my desk drawer, and being the semi-slob that I am, older bottles get pushed to the back of the drawer rather than thrown away.
Each of these bottles was empty, except for that little cylinder that keeps the pills dry: the desiccant capsule.
I took about four of those bad boys and put them in a snack-size ziploc bag with my iPod, rolled it up, and left it in my drawer for a couple of days.
Today, my iPod is as good as new.
So, my helpful household hint: when you get those little desiccant packets or capsules, save them. Maybe take a big prescription pill bottle, or just a ziploc bag, and fill it up. (Keep it out of reach of children! The last thing you need is dried children!) Anytime you have an electronic device such as a cell phone, iPod, remote control, etc. get washed or dunked, give the Deb method a try.
Of course, you won't have the justification to ask for a new one this Christmas. I never said it was a perfect system.
(For non-LDS readers: Our local congregations are called "wards," which are assigned geographically. Wards are grouped into stakes, which are grouped into areas or something, and then it gets fuzzy to me. Each stake is led by a Stake Presidency (president + 2 counselors); each ward has a Bishopric (Bishop + 2 counselors).)
Our ward has had a wonderful Bishop for the past 6-7 years: Bishop Likemydad. I've known Bishop Likemydad since I was a baby. One of his daughters and I were the same age, so we were in Primary and Young Women's together. Bishop Likemydad's wife, Sister Likemymom, knows how to do really cool things like quilting and making her own soap. Bishop Likemydad had something in common with all of the Bishops I've had throughout my life:
He is very comforting and calm
He is caring and someone I could always trust
He is old enough to be my father
Bishop Likemydad was released from his position with a sincere vote of thanks, and we got a new one.
Who is seriously lacking in one particular quality I have always associated with Bishops: age. He is my age. To be precise, he is a mere 3 months (to the day!) older than me.
What does this mean?
It means that, at 34, I am now old enough to have a Bishop my own age. I shall soon be knitting shawls and grousing about the incomprehensibility of popular music.
Ah the days of my youth. I'll miss them.
I'm toying with the notion of assigning him a cute derivative, like "Bish" or "Shoppie." As in, "Yo, Shoppie, whaddup with dat tithing settlement, yo?" Lest my mother hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness, I have abandoned that idea. I look forward to working with our new Bishop and will support him with a straight face and enthusiastic heart.