Sweet Sneak

Sweet Sneak: noun. Child who sneaks junkfood.
-verb. The act of sneaking junkfood.

So, this morning Monkey Son #1 woke us up. When Husband and I pulled ourselves out of bed, Husband was very upset with him, but I wasn't sure why waking us up deserved such a stern talking to.

"Did you hear what I said, Mommy?" Husband called.

"Yes. What did he do?"

"Did you want pie?" Husband said. For a moment I thought he was asking if I wanted pie for breakfast. Then I looked down to the counter where the day before had been a beautiful pumpkin pie. We were able to salvage the untouched side.

Knowiquestion

Knowiquestion: noun. A question a child asks, although they really already know the answer.

OK, to be honest, I don't know if Monkey Son #1 really knew the answers to the questions he asked me, but it seems like he should have. We've talked about this subject enough.

I was sitting at the computer, I think actually doing something involving the Mom-tionary, when Monkey Son #1 came running up to me and announced that he has seen Chicago (the place, not the movie, for those of you who briefly wondered).

"Yes," I replied. It's true, we have.

"What is Chicago?" he asked.

Wait, if you don't know what it is, then how do you know that you've seen it? Oh, never mind. "It's a city."

"Where is it?"

"In Illinois." Now, I know we've talked about Illinois enough, for it is the magical land that contains the ever important Grandma and Grandpa, 3 doting aunts and a soon-to-be uncle.

"What's Illinois?"

What, really? "It's a state."

Maybe he thought I was having too much computer time, but his questions lately have been so frequent that I've occasionally answered "Why?" questions with a "It just is."

Really, Monkey, I don't know why the wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is magic. I didn't know yesterday. I don't know today. And I won't know tomorrow. It just is.

It's been rumored, and now it is confirmed...

...that I really do rock. Thanks to Nicolle at The Pink Chandelier for granting me this cute little award. And of course, awards come with rules. This one is that I must pass it on to ten or so other blogs that I love. Well...I don't have that many that I read regularly that I think would be interested in this kind of thing, but I'll do what I can. After all, I would hate to be stripped of my crown, uh, award.

So here's who I am granting the award to and why:

A Year of CrockPotting (very cool recipes)

Banana Peel (because stories about her kids are adaorable)

Utah Desert Runner (so cute)

Banned from Baby Showers (so many reasons!)

Winners can now take that little picture and put it on their own blog.

Thanks to all my readers. *Imagine I am holding a dozen roses, decked out in a ghastly shimmering dress that is way too long and earrings that hang down to my shoulders, while bowing and blowing kisses*

Hardware Hunt Part 2

We were able to go back to the sewing store today. About $13 later, we have a new bobbin case! Hooray! I was so afraid they were going to tell me to come back later, in, you know, that tone they use. You know the one. The "you're an idiot for even asking" tone.

Phibia

Phibia: noun. A childhood or long ago fear that you tell yourself you are over, until the ugly truth comes out.

I was never a huge fan of spiders. When I moved to my current home, I became even less of a fan. But, as I became more used to my surroundings and the "natural" wildlife, I started to get over my fears. I learned that when I could point to a spider and say, "green orchard spider," or "wolf spider," I wasn't so afraid.

Until recently.

On Christmas Eve, awestruck Monkey Son #1 pointed out a spider about the size of my palm in the house. I moved a little closer so I could get a look at its markings and be sure that it was nothing venomous. As I did, it lifted it's body up off the wall and ran like Willy Mays Hayes. I jumped back and lost track of it as it ran to hide in the dining room.

I poked at various objects with a broom, to see if I could coax it out of hiding, but it was nowhere to be found. I spent the rest of the day freaked out. However, I did find out that it is a huntsman spider and is pretty harmless. Except, of course, for the fact that it was large enough to eat one of my children.

Later that night, I spotted the thing in the corner of the ceiling. Husband decided that we would catch it and take it outside, but also told me that it was not the size of my hand (notice I used "size of my palm" in my earlier description. I think that is a little more accurate). He grabbed some plastic containers and told me to watch it so I would know where it went if it escaped him. But...well...as soon as the thing moved I screamed and ran out of the room like a little girl. A few moments later, Husband emerged with his prey in a little container. As he and the boys admired it, I was jumping up and down, shaking my hands and screaming, "Take it outside!"

In case you don't know what a huntsman spider is, here is an example. This is not my video, but very much like what I saw.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67aL4K7EPdc

Hardware Hunt

Hardware Hunt: noun. The hunt for a simple but apparently elusive item, especially but not limited to a piece of hardware.

My ancient and secondhand sewing machine kept getting jammed over and over and over and I didn't know why. It had worked fine for weeks. I was yelling and banging my hands on the table like a toddler. Monkey Son #1 wanted to know what was wrong, i.e., why his mother had gone crazy.

Husband came home and announced the problem was a screw missing from the bobbin case. No problem. We can find a screw at the hardware store, and if not just get a whole bobbin case.

So, the guy at the hardware store put up a valiant effort, but couldn't find that particular size and type of screw. Husband was sure, though, that they had it. But we went home for the day.

So today, we went to a sewing store that boasted of sewing machine repairs and thought that surely, they would have the part. We were told that yes, they have parts, but the tech wasn't in at the moment, which meant that he would not be in at all, and we should come back some time during the week and try to find him then. Great.

We took a trip to the secondhand store we had bought our first machine from. Last time, they had several sewing machines. Maybe we could buy another for cheap and take its bobbin case. Today, though, no sewing machines at all.

Back to the hardware store, as Husband was still sure that they must have that screw. But they didn't.

We plan to go back to the sewing store on Monday, but if that doesn't work, we will just have to order a new bobbin case. In the meantime, my project is on hold, which makes me one cranky momma.

Storiquestion Time

Storiquestion Time: noun. A situation that begins as story time, but results in endless questions.

I've been having a hard time getting the Monkey Boys to just go to bed. They're up and down and running around and crying and laughing and begging for just one more snack.

For crying out loud.

So, I've heard that one thing you can do for this is really get into a routine, and that will help the kids settle down. I try to plan bedtime for around 7, so around 6:30 they get their teeth brushed and we head to their room for story time before lights out.

Tonight we were reading a condensed version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardobe (one of those ones with pictures from the movie). On the first page I pause to explain to him why the Pevensie children are leaving, but then we have to stop because Monkey Son #1 wants to know why London is being bombed.

"Are they bad guys? Why are they doing that? I saw a soldier at the Y and he had a son..."

And then the wardrobe.

"There's a wardrobe! It's a magic wardrobe. It has doors like that. Is it a magic wardrobe? Why is it a magic wardrobe?"

You get the idea. Eventually, the questions lessened, but did not stop. You'll be proud to know we did in fact make it through the whole book.