Unfortunately, it recently met its demise.  When Grandma and Grandpa were here taking care of our children so that Dan and I could head West for my sister’s wedding (yes, back in August), the glass shade broke.  It hangs fairly low, and Grandpa is pretty tall, and I think the table had become off center (imagine that), and the shade ended up with a Grandpa-shaped cut out in it.  Thankfully, no one was hurt.

A few weeks after returning home, I sat with the kids while they ate an early dinner and pondered with them how long it would take for us to get a new light fixture.  It had been, after all, quite some time since the shade had broken.  We all agreed that we’d be lucky to have a replacement by Christmastime.

I mentioned our discussion to Dan, who promptly suggested that we remove the shade (yes, it was still there with the Grandpa-shaped hole in it) and that I take it to a lighting store for a replacement.  I explained that I didn’t think we’d find one, as we had a) bought the fixture online; and b) it would probably cost as much for the shade as a new fixture.

I went anyway.

And, was told by the store owner that a) she wouldn’t be able to order parts, as she didn’t carry that fixture; and b) a new shade would cost almost as much as a new fixture.

I headed to Home Depot to look around and snapped a few pictures of some things that might work and sent them on to Dan.  Nothing, mind you, was right.  They were simply temporary fixes.

I think we discussed the possibilities that evening and then… Nothing.

That trip to Home Depot was over a month ago, and we’ve had nothing but a bare bulb hanging above our kitchen table since.

Last night (after a fun-filled trip to BassPro for some camping gear), Dan headed out to fill the van with gas.  (Sweet guy, I know.)  It seemed to take him FOREVER, but I assumed it was a ploy to avoid putting kids to bed.

I quickly, and unfortunately, discovered that his trip took so long because he had stopped by Home Depot and purchased a “shade” for our kitchen.

I felt sick.  WHAT was he thinking?!?  “It’s better than just a bulb,” he told me.

“NO, NO, NO, NO it’s not!!!  Accccckkkkkkkkk!” I screeched.  And then I reached for my iPhone, took pictures, and texted my family and friends for support.

You can see that a) it doesn’t fit the fixture; and b) it’s UGLY; and c) it’s too small for the space.  I was starting to think my husband had some sort of problem.

I could not get that thing down fast enough.  I even shocked myself trying.  I told Dan that if he didn’t get it off quickly, I was going to simply break it off with a hammer.  Probably save someone else from buying it in the future anyway.

“I still think it’s better than the bulb,” he told me.  “And I didn’t want to spend more than $10.  By the way, it’s a shade made for a ceiling fan light fixture,” he informed me, as if that somehow helped the situation.

We got the thing removed and back in it’s Home Depot bag with its receipt.  After dropping the kids at school this morning, I headed for the store.  I couldn’t get there fast enough.

I returned my “item” and headed to the lighting department, set on getting one of the temporary fixes I’d seen before.  It wasn’t $10, but it wasn’t all that much more.  And, despite not being the best choice, it’s WAY better than that other thing.

Plus, it was installed by a professional

I don’t really have any grand dreams, or places I really, really want to see. Nor do I have feats I feel I must accomplish by a certain date.

But, when I look at my life, often times I cannot believe it’s my life.  I never, ever, would have thought I’d be here, living this life.

I was never deeply driven toward anything, particularly, but there were certainly things that I wanted to avoid.

A sedan, for instance.  As a new college grad, buying my first car, I never even deigned to glance at a sedan.  Four doors?  NEVER.  However, when your regular vehicle is a crumb-filled family van, suddenly a four-door sedan with leather seats, a sunroof, seat warmers and a great stereo is damn cool.

I never thought I’d have kids.  Which is a total jaw-dropper for those that know me now.  But, the fact that I have kids at all, much less FIVE of them, is a jaw-dropper for those who knew me well in my teens and twenties.

I never thought I’d struggle five times a year to come up with and make kick-ass (or disastrous) birthday cakes.

I never thought I’d find myself making Jello jigglers.

Or Duct tape wallets.

I never thought I’d be unable to sleep because I was worried about school – not for me, but one of my kids.

Speaking of school, I never thought I’d be reliving the horror of homework.  (And, it’s much, much worse this time around.)

I never thought I’d see a day where my fridge held more juice pouches than beer.

Or that I’d find myself dancing to “YMCA” with my kids on a Wii.  (Thank goodness there were no other adults to witness this.)

Never thought I’d own a sewing machine, much less sew a quilt. And then go on to use it for sewing scout patches and making headbands.

It’s not all about the kids…

I never thought, for instance, that I’d marry a cop.

Or that I’d live in a very, very rural area.  And have my own chickens.  (Until they mysteriously disappeared.)

I definitely never thought I’d fall in love with that very rural area, only to move away and back to the big city. And love it also.

Never thought I’d live in a place with a serious winter – and enjoy it.

I never thought I’d be ripping out walls and replacing drywall.

Never would I have thought I’d find myself signed up to run a half marathon.  And expect to survive it. (Actually I’m still not sure on this one.)

I never, ever thought I’d give up horses.

I never thought that playing bridge with a bunch of moms would be the highlight of my month.

Or that I’d attend a purse party.  And then host one.

I looked at Dan this evening and told him I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.

What can I say?  I guess I’m the poster child woman for change.

And change is weird.  But good.

Because if you marry a woman and give her children, she’ll need to make her home safe for them.

In order to make her home safe for them (in an older house), she’ll have to have Mario come and fix the plumbing.

When Mario comes to fix the plumbing (i.e. install a scald-free pressure valve for the shower) he’ll need to cut open the wall.

After fixing the plumbing, Mario will have to patch the wall.

After the wall is patched, I feel the need to paint the unsightly area.

In order to paint the area, I have to paint the whole bathroom as there is no left over chalky white cheap-ass paint left over from the previous owners.

Before I can paint the whole bathroom, we have to patch the numerous unsightly holes in the walls and ceiling.

After patching the holes, the ceiling must be painted. (Thankfully, we have just enough left over bathroom ceiling paint from the last bathroom project.)

After painting the ceiling, I have to call my sister in Oregon to find out what color to paint the walls, as she has style and I have none.

After finding out what color to get, I go and get it.  And a few other supplies, ’cause you can’t go to a hardware store and buy just one thing.

After gathering my supplies and paint, I ask hubby to finish up with sanding and patching so I can start on the walls…

Tomorrow!

“Do you need to go potty?” I asked.  “No!  I want to sleep in your bed!” he responded.

“Okay,” I told him, “but do you need to go potty first?”

“No.”

“Okay.  Get in.  But you better not pee in my bed,” I told him.

“Okay.  I won’t,” he told me, as he snuggled in.

Now, being almost 40 and expecting my FIFTH baby, I don’t claim to be the Queen of Pee Control or anything.  I mean, I pee when I laugh.  When I cough.  When I jump.  Or run.  Or sneeze…

So I don’t really get too upset when Sam has the occasional accident in his (or my… or Maria’s) bed at night.  He did go to bed last night at 6:30 p.m. and didn’t wake me to tell me he had peed in my bed until 11 hours later.  That’s a long time for a little boy.

But, by the time he woke to tell me, I had ANOTHER little boy in bed with me.  This one snuggled right up next to me, practically suffocating me, as is his norm.  Not wanting to disturb Luke and wanting to keep my sleep interruption to a minimum, I had Sam strip while I placed towels under the mattress pad and on top of the sheets where the accident occurred.  Then I threw another sheet on top, so that it would be a little more comfortable to lay on.  (Sorry, but there was NO WAY I was going to disrupt Luke and wake myself up enough to strip the bed and remake it that early in the morning.  Plus, it was just a small spot. Really.)

I got Sam dressed in dry clothes and as soon as I finished, he grabbed his blankie and made his way quickly around to MY side of the bed.  As if to sleep there.  Ha.

“Um… no.” I told him.  “I put towels down and a sheet.  You can still sleep on ‘your’ side until morning.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” he screeched and stomped his feet.

“Yes,” I told him.  “Or you can go back upstairs and sleep in your own bed.”

He screeched some more, started bawling, and ran up to his room, crying the whole way.

To his nice, warm, DRY bed.

One of my chores was to clean the refrigerator.  Not just clean it out – ridding ourselves of the icky science experiment-type stuff – but clean it, too.  I set to work, doing one area at a time, top to bottom.  I cleared everything off of a shelf, scrubbed the shelf, wiped down anything nasty, threw out anything that was green and not supposed to be in there and then replaced the good stuff to the newly cleaned shelf.  Things were going swimmingly.  Until I got to the verrrry last door bin on the refrigerator door.

We have four bins, all of which are four-sided and simply hook into the door.  Except for one, that is.  The bottom bin. This bin is only three-sided, so it’s back is really the door to the fridge.  Not realizing this, I pulled the bin off of the door in the same manner as I had all the others – with all the condiments still in it.

While this had worked the first three times, it did NOT work with the last bin.  Due to the stupid different design, when I pulled it off all of the condiments went crashing to the floor, as did the bin.  Which broke.

Guess how much a Frigidaire replacement door bin costs?  About $40.  Forty bucks for a plastic refrigerator door bin. Hating to do it, but having no choice, I ordered the replacement.  When it arrived a few days later, I carefully installed it and went on about my life.

Until today.

I opened the fridge to put something away and the new bin came crashing down – onto my toe, slicing it open – and then falling to the floor.  Where it broke.

As the blood poured to the floor and the condiments rolled throughout the kitchen, all I could do was stand there and stare at the broken bin.  The forty f*cking dollar bin.

I could get a pedicure with that.  Have a nice meal out.  Get a few hours from the babysitter.  Buy a gallon and a half of paint.  Get two tickets to Kiddieland.

But, no.  I’m not going to do any of those things.  No.  I’m going to buy ANOTHER refrigerator door bin.

And maybe a pair of steel-toed boots.

As you all know, the hours between 5 p.m. and bedtime around here are your basic nightmare.  Dinner prep, dinner itself, baths, jammies, teeth… it cannot *ever* go smoothly.  And, the house we live in does NOTHING to ease the situation.

The water pressure here isn’t the best (like at Katey’s house!) but it isn’t terrible.  Unless you’ve got water running from more than once source at a time, i.e. the toilet, the sink, the shower, the dishwasher, the hose, etc.  As long as we keep to ONE thing at a time, a shower or bath can actually be an enjoyable experience.

Sometimes, however, it becomes virtually impossible to use only once source of water at a time.  Invariably, someone needs to use the potty while someone’s in the shower (and must flush it).  Or brush their teeth.  Or rinse a dish.   Multiple water use like this causes just a little tension and often results in a high-pitched scream from whomever is trying to get clean.  If said person is in the upstairs shower, the shreaking is usually a little louder, as we don’t have a temperature controlled valve installed.  (Yet.)

This evening, even though Dan had let me know he’d be late, I was cool and had it all under control.  Immediately after dinner (which went amazingly well), I put Sam in my shower and had Luke follow.  I told Maria to go upstairs and get her bath or shower in.  Her habit (which I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to know about) is to sit on the potty for 30 minutes or so before finally deigning to get into the bath.  She likes to luxuriate, and so I told her she could take as long as she liked as long as she got clean first.

About an hour later, she came down.  In her jammies.  With completely dry hair.  “You didn’t wash your hair!!!” I said.  “Go get back into the shower and wash it.  NOW.”  (Of all the times to pull a stunt like this… we have school pictures tomorrow!)

About that time, Jack was starting his shower downstairs after having come inside from playing in the dirt.

I went up to check on Maria, who had the bathroom door locked.  When I finally gained entry, I discovered her at the sink wetting her hair down.  “This is NOT what I told you to do,” I said, walking her over to the bathtub (which, by the way, was completely dry.  She hadn’t even bathed.)  “But Jack’s in the shower and there won’t be enough water!!!” she screeched.  “Too bad,” I told her, thinking the pressure might be weak, but it would be sufficient. “You were supposed to have done this an hour ago!”

I turned on the water, but after holding the diverter up for more than 60 seconds and getting only a dibble from the showerhead, I gave up.  As I walked through the rest of the bathroom, I found Luke at the sink with the water on full blast and then found Jack waiting for his water to warm up in the shower downstairs, with a recently flushed toilet behind him.  I shut everything off (telling Jack he’d have to wait) and headed back up to supervise Maria.  The pressure was better, but throughout the shower she continued to shriek, as the water went from ice cold to too hot.  (I discovered later that Jack had turned his shower back on as soon as I disappeared from view.)

With Maria (finally) clean, I checked on Jack and told him to hurry – I needed to run the dishwasher.  As Jack likes his water pressure, this usually does the trick.  Unfortunately tonight, it did the trick a little too well.  He emerged from the shower with what looked like blood covering his entire right arm.  “What is that?!?”  I asked.  “Dad’s red soap,” he informed me.  Sheesh.  “Well get back into the shower and rinse off!” I told him.

Which he did.  And then stayed to play, using the rest of any hot water I might have used to wash dishes.  Oh, and have I mentioned that I have yet to get a shower today?  Looks like it’ll be a late one.

Her:  DINK

Me:  SIGK*

Her:  Nice, clean, sporty vehicles

Me:  Mommy van with “character” on the outside and old french fries, homework papers, M&Ms, apple cores, juice box straws and crayons on the inside (although some of this often falls to the outside upon opening doors).

Her:  Beautiful, professionally landscaped home with a spotless interior**.

Me:  House that holds all of us, but may not survive all of us.

Her:  The perfect dog:  Doesn’t need a leash.  Never snatches food from small children.  doesn’t bark early in the morning or late in the night (waking all the neighbors).  Has never been skunked in his umpteen years.

Me:  Cheerio:  Escapes at every possible moment.  Steals food from the table and takes advantage of small children.  Barks at EVERY squirrel she lays eyes on.  Gets skunked quarterly.

Her:  Makes dates to play tennis with her friends in her spare time

Me:  Spare time?  What is that?

Her:  Enjoys drinking a small amount socially

Me:  Drinks wine by the box to keep sane

I could go on and on.  As I said in the beginning, she doesn’t have anything I want or need – I’d never trade with her.  (Okay, maybe cars for a day).  But somehow I always turn into a bumbling idiot in her presence.  I try too hard to keep to myself, shush my kids, and keep the dog on a tight leash while around her.  And then, suddenly all hell breaks loose and the kids are screaming at each other, my hair is sticking up and the dog is running loose down the street dragging her leash and a roll of 1,000 doggie poo bags behind her.

It makes me want to cry.  Or laugh.  Or drink.  A lot.

*Single Income Gaggle of Kids

**I don’t know for sure, as I’ve never been inside.  I’m sure she’d be afraid of what would happen if one of us entered her perfectly ordered home.

I have these same flowers in my flower boxes in the front of our house. Impatiens, if I recall correctly. This flower was one of several that were leftover from the flat I had bought. The few leftovers were still in the flat, and had been languishing out on the deck for weeks.

One day, Jack took it upon himself to plant this one. He never said a word, just got about planting it, and I didn’t discover it until later on. He chose a spot between our two air conditioning units – normally a drab spot, just an area with some dirt.

Whereas it used to a spot to avoid even looking at it, I now find myself looking forward to coming down the deck stairs on my way out the gate so I can check on Jack’s flower.  It’s so pretty and it seems to be just flourishing.  When I pointed out to him how well I thought it was doing, he proudly told me, “That’s because I have a green thumb!”

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