Sprite's Keeper

Derailed

"Okay, Mommy, you color the hair and I'll color the shirt."

Picking up the red colored pencil she had pointed to, I obediently pressed the tip to within the area designated as Ariel's hair.

"No, wait!" Sprite snatched the pencil from me. "I'll do it. You do the shirt."

Ignoring the tiny impulse to lecture about her tendency to take things: pencils, crayons, remotes, my time, I instead turned my attention to the blue pencil and began to trace the shirt.

"No, Mommy. It's wrong. You're doing it wrong."

"It's not wrong. It's a shirt. I'm coloring the shirt blue. Didn't you want me to?"

She smirked, shaking her head. "Fuhgettabowdit," she drawled, using her left arm to gather the rest of the colors to within the safety of her embrace.

Forget WHAT?

"Who taught you that?"

Her eyes became pure innocence as she looked up at me. "Taught me what?"

"That."

"What?"

"Forget about it."

"Okay."

"No. Who taught you-"

"Can I have a snack?"

"What? Wait, I want to-"

"Do we have strawberries?"

"Sprite, I want to- no. We don't have strawberries."

"Can I have a banana?"

"Um.... yes. We have bananas."

"Thank you so much, Mommy!" Batting her eyelashes and flashing some teeth, she picked up her pencil once more to return to dyeing the Mermaid's hair as I, completely lost on my train of thought, didn't even realize I derailed until after I fetched her a banana.

I think I need to scratch a notch into her side of the score card.

Forsaking Y

I should be blaming Hobby Lobby since they dared to open a store in Fort Myers, then they dared to display all sorts of absolutely useless yet appealing treasures for the home, then DARED to yank up the price only to slash the $$ in half by mounting huge "50% OFF!" sales at eye level to show how friendly yet profitable they are. (I think there's a law somewhere in retail saying all sales signs must be posted between five and a half and six feet from the floor in order to draw the most attention. Some even go above and beyond by covering the actual price with the red cardstock so you can see how much you'd really be saving. That's when they know they have you. You touched it. Whip out that card now. That oversized plate with the 3 butlers all carrying some form of pasta surrounded by the words "Live, Laugh, Love" is now yours.)

I should.

But no, I blame me.

Ever since we painted the great roooom, (No typo, this space covers the living room, dining room, catch-all of life's accessories, and the small alcove we should call a kitchen, but lately it feels even smaller since Sprite and the dogs like to convalesce on the floor while I'm at the stove, and ONLY while I'm at the stove, so I call it "kitch".) John has been happy with it. Sure, add a picture here or there, just so the walls aren't so green, but he didn't see any great need to do more.

Those same walls called to me, asking for company, an art piece, a picture, "something, damnit! Just because we're drywall doesn't mean we're warm!"  (In your home, you talk to the walls. In my home, they talk back. And curse. Expect any different?)

Lately, I've been fascinated by the blog Young House Love in which the DIY-ers transform everything themselves, and have a real knack for it too. I noticed their gallery wall in which their monogram letter was displayed and loved it, thinking I would like to see a "C" on our walls. (See a "C". Seahcy.... I shall name my next child Seahcy. Boy, of course.) (Not pregnant, thanks for asking.) (God, that's getting old.)

While traipsing through the cavernous store with my friend Cynthia after it opened, I spotted some gold brushed letters, perfect for the mossy-sage green walls in my home. I declined to purchase it, thinking I shouldn't waste the money, but remembered it for the next few weeks until I finally talked myself into going back for my little want and using five dollars out of the grocery budget.

While browsing through the selection and making sure I got the "C" with the most even gold tone, (Oh, you do it too. You also finger through the packages to find the one least likely to have been used as a hockey puck during shipping downtime. Don't pretend otherwise. This blog is about TRUTH! And children, which seem to not go well together unless the timing is ironic..) my eyes happened to move down and spy some smaller, also uppercase, letters and an idea came to me.

Why put a C on the walls when it would just mean Cohen? Why not add a little humor, a joke, a twiddle if you're so Victorian inclined? I grabbed a small "Y" and a small "A", also on sale at 50% off! SCORE!, and ran to the register to pay for my snickers before I lost the mojo.

 I came back to work and told Cynthia about my plan. She smiled appropriately, but I knew she thought I was five shades of insane for finding so much joy in it. (There's six shades that I know of, there may be more, but only the truly insane can see them and I'm not quite there.) (Yet.)

Okay, just to make sure we're all on the same page, 1079 if you're following numerically, my vision was to place the "C" near our front door, which is right now only decorated with, well, the door. Then I would add the "Y" and the "A" next to it, so departing guests would notice the "C YA" as a way to not only gesture to the informal nature of our personalities, (Yeah, if personalities were clothes, we would probably be nudists.) but to also really drive that "goodbye" home. There's also the side benefit of CYA being the acronym of "cover your ass", which is like a mother's parting kiss(off) as her child exits, "Have fun and don't get arrested!" or the more impersonal "If shit happens, I don't know you."

Now to convince John....

Who knew he would be easily convinced?

He loved the idea! (Whoa. Total epiphany. Is there a correlation between "idea" and "Ikea"? What does Ikea even mean? Does it mean idea? Because the two really go schurliker in schurliker, don't they? New slogan! "Idea? Ikea!" TRADEMARK PENDING!)

The only issue we had was where to place it, above the door almost like a sideways horseshoe? (Yeah, I mentioned that possible trippy placement to him and he quickly vetoed the idea. Our house is a democracy. With a little tyranny, but at least she has a name and isn't old enough to vote.) Or beside the door since the off white lightswitch coverplate looked so bare by itself?

We finally confirmed beside the door (the vote ended in John saying, "Whatever makes you happy, can we stop talking about it?" Most votes do..) and then had to decide whether to place the "YA" inside the C or to the right of it as more of an obvious phrase. John liked it in. I liked it out. That vote ended in John's win since I ultimately agreed that obvious was not what we were going for.

Then it hit me. Hang the "Y" and the "A" inside the C, but make it look like they were balanced almost half hazardly on the bottom curve, like an afterthought, which would speak of our spontaneous nature. (Given that I'm only 2/3 through the story and over one thousand words in, a lot of thought goes into spontaneous..)

I nailed the "A" in and placed the "Y" to the left of it before asking John if it should be more crooked or not, thinking the "Y" would stay there momentarily while we made our hour long decision.

Now the title makes sense, right?

Of course, as all things happen, the "Y" tipped out in slow motion, while my reflexes were stuck in shocked neutral, and made the four foot dive down to the wooden planks. (Usually that's the starting point before you hit the sea, we just do things backwards around here... Oh, please tell me for the love of comments that someone got that joke.)

Of course, as all things happen, the "Y" then broke into three golden chunks, which of course could not be brought back together, but is now doing double duty as the easiest puzzle Sprite has ever had to solve. "Look, Mommy! The letter Y!" Every. Five. Seconds.

 

And of course, as all things happen, walking into Hobby Lobby on Monday did not yield me my replacement piece as they were currently out of stock, and trying to convince the associate that they really did sell that particular letter, "I know you sell it because I broke it", now has me saddled with a raincheck and a promise to call when the stock comes in. They never call...

So, this is where we stand right now. We have a C and an "A" hung up on our wall, with no "Y" to complete the art statement. And since you need a "Y" to assign the joke to YOU, right now, you could say the joke's only on us.

RTT: It's been a while for me..

I think Stacy is still leading the revolt against ending Random Tuesday Thoughts. Or Keely has picked up the gauntlet again?

Let me cover my tracks and tell you to click on both sites and say hi. This way, you DO make it to the right place (eventually) and I can fact check one less thing today.

*********************

I think Harry has a tick in his fur. Rather, in his skin, since we shaved him near bald this last weekend to stop him from becoming a plant seeing as every weed out there likes to attach their crap seeds to his long hair, so there's really no fur left. In fact, when all the hair came off, we realized how gray he was getting, punctuating the fact (repeatedly) with "Dude, you're getting old!"

Today he turns nine, which works out to, um, add seven... carry the one... really lucky in dog years considering the amount of times he's peed under our dining room table just to be a schmuck.

So, I keep reminding myself every couple of minutes to tell John about the tick since I refuse to do anything about it myself. It's more of a squeamish thing, I think, or it's a, um, nope, definitely a squeamish thing. John is working late tonight (Monday) and I'm trying to stay coherent since the drowsiness is really starting to kick in.

Harry must be noticing my phobia for, even though he's known for being a loner, a rebel, he's extra cuddly tonight, wanting to hop into my lap for some love just to be pushed off amid screams of "Unclean!" (Subtle, no?)

******************

Lately, I am addicted to House Hunters on HGTV. Not the International one, those shows seem to center on people looking for a vacation home in Belize somewhere in the million plus range. "Only five bathrooms? How will my husband and I survive??"

Of course, on most of the episodes I see, I can't help but notice that there's one home out of the three possible that is within budget, nails everything on the wants list, is within walking distance of someone's work, and is move in ready. The prospective buyer gushes about the place only to turn around and pick the one that's over the high end of their budget, had nothing they wanted, and has a crack in the foundation and water in the basement. And then, after they pick it, they praise it up and down about how it's exactly what they were looking for and the water in the basement is a good thing for they now have an indoor pool.

I have actually pressed the rewind button on my Tivo just to make sure they're lying.

They are.

****************************************

Taken from a Facebook status:

John: You can't make me laugh.
Me: Yes I can.
John: Just try it.
Me: ....... Sasquatch.
I win.

************************************

Another Facebook status: (Have I mentioned how tired I am tonight?)

"Can I be the kid?"
"Mommy, you can't be the kid."
"Why not?"
"You're a dolt."

She only has a few more years to get away with this, so I'm letting her have it.

**************************

Okay, one more Facebook status: (Seriously, these little joke apertif's make up most of my Facebook content. I am not known for my insightful commentary..)

Sprite: Where are we going today?
Me: We may go to IKEA.
Sprite: What's IKEA?
Me: A store.
Sprite: It's not a store. It's a playground.
Me: For Mommy it is.

************************

OOH! I just saw this one! Personally, I think it didn't get enough notice for the hidden meaning within the joke, I guess a lot of people were just too in shock over the news to notice it:

ABC canceled All My Children and One Life To Live. There's going to be a lot of pensive staring out of windows tonight..

Please tell me you found that funny. I laughed myself silly over it for ten minutes after I posted it.

Alright, this should be enough for my first foray back into the land of RTT. And I think I have jetlag for some reason even though I went nowhere near a plane this weekend.

******************************

Oh, and John? If you haven't heard yet, Harry may have a tick in his skin. Can you check? Preferably when I'm nowhere near? Thanks.

*shudder*

Al Dente Revisited (technically, it's the first time, so the revisiting is completely hypothetical and only because I couldn't think of a snazzier title and remembered the one time I used this title and figured I should use it again.)

I really need to stop explaining myself so much. It would make for quicker blogging..

(The first Al Dente is here.)

Ah, the dentist, one of the few first time milestones that kids have a developed memory for. The wonder, the instruments, why the hell is this lady trying to stick her rubber tasting fingers into my mouth?

Loads of fun, no?

Since Sprite turned four, I've been meaning to make the appointment. Granted, I probably should have made it when she was two, but I just didn't see the need for the dentist to tell me what I already knew: "She's got teeth. And she bites. Two for two, that'll be a fifty dollar co-pay, please."

 I know, I know. Lazy Mommy. (Hey, just in time for Mother's Day!) Anyway, when I finally made the appointment, after hearing my friend Rachel's glowing recommendation for her childrens' dentist, John and I began the task of actually psyching her up for said appointment.

"Guess what, Sprite? You get to go to the dentist!" (insert squee here)

Now, see how that last exclamation was worded? Not "you're going to the dentist" or "you have to go to the dentist" or "you must go to the dentist", no, no. I know how to play it up. Sell the time share points. "You, yes, you! Are the lucky winnder, selected and qualified to take part in the bi-annual ritual of being encouraged to drool while a stranger puts nasty tasting metal in your mouth and explores in there, all while forcing you to answer questions in Garble-tongue! Just sign here and submit your voided check and we should be on our way to a lifetime of black-out dates!"

Maybe it was because I didn't offer a free lunch or three night stay in the Bahamas to go along with the spiel, for she looked up with her eyes half closed and asked, "Can I have a cookie?"

Meh. We plodded ahead with the previews anyway. "Going to the dentist is fun! You get to sit in a big chair and pick out the flavor toothpaste so they can brush your teeth for you! That's right, Mommy and Daddy are going to sit back and let the big 'Say Cheese' do it for us! And then you get a sticker and we get to sell it to you again in six months-won't-that-be-fun!"

Still not working.

Once we hit the week mark, we became aggressive. Sprite has been fanatical about the Berenstain Bears lately. Every night, she's come to demand a book from the collection my sister so lovingly handed over, and while we have a good six or seven, we zoomed through the stash quickly and have been picking up new ones based on good behavior, usually as of the last ten minutes or so. (Of course, a nighttime accident happened, thanks to my forgetfulness to clear the immediate area of possible targeted dolls and books once she fell asleep, and a brand new book about Too Much TV went the way of the trash the very night we bought it. How's that for irony?) John, with a rare evening off, used his Tablet to buy the Berenstain Bears Visit the Dentist.

This got her attention.

"Sister Bear went to the dentist! And her tooth came out and the tooth fairy took it and Sister got money. Do I gets money when my tooths come out? And she got a sticker and a balloon and can I go to the dentist to-DAY?" (Insert squee here)

All of a sudden, I was on the other end of the excitement. No longer was I hyping up the unavoidable. Now I was disappointing her because, dammit, Monday wasn't Thursday. (Trust me kid. If I could turn Monday into Thursday, I would be very rich and we'd pay someone to go to the dentist for you.)

Questions about when we were going to the dentist were followed by questions of when she would actually lose her first tooth. Suddenly, teeth that were secure in their spots yesterday, I could swear, were mysteriously loose.. "Thee, Mommy? This tooth feelth looth!" Her tongue, a la one of the illustrations in her beloved Berenstain Bears scenes, demonstrated what looked like a noodle hitting a stone wall. That sucker was standing strong no matter how hard she pushed.

"Honey, your teeth will come out when they're ready. Be patient. It will happen. And when it does, the tooth fairy will do something nice for you." (Seeing as first teeth are now worth twenty dollars, the tooth fairy is making no monetary promises.)

Then loose teeth became other body parts. "Mommy, my arm feels loose. Will I get a new arm when this one comes out?"

Oh, Lordy, help me bite my tongue before it spews forth with snarky laughter. "Um, no, sweets. You only get two arms and two legs. The only things that come out are teeth. Everything else grows with you."

Finally Thursday dawned with an 8 AM call time. We were taken back to a kind of middle room for the round of questions and answers. Then the tech announced we would see a short video before commencing with the actual appointment. For a split second I thought I was going to be forced to sit through a "Your Body, Yourself" informational video complete with chalkline diagrams that are supposed to look like anatomy. Instead, we watched a thankfully short cartoon about Geena Giraffe and her trip to the dentist along with her (Subplot!) mission to defeat King Cavity. Sprite, a little put off by the basic animation, (Sprite, once you get to Kindergarten and any public school area, ALL the cartoons and pamphlets look like this. I'm sorry for subjecting you to DreamWorks and Disney for all those years without warning that not every animated plot comes complete with songs and spunky princesses but instead a barely disguised lesson.) looked wearily at the tech once she re-entered the room (Yeah, I wouldn't be forced to sit through that carturd again either..) and announced we would do the x-ray portion of our visit next.

Walking to the little room with a very big chair front and center, the tech proceeded to separate Sprite and me, telling my nervous child that "Mommy needs to stand outside the doorway so her belly doesn't get exposed" while hovering her right hand over my midsection.

Our eyes met, my eyebrow raised in the negative, and she quickly added an addendum to her speech "or her eyes or nose or hands.." while I immediately relegated my empire waist blouse to the back of my closet for the foreseeable future.

Sprite wasn't buying it for she immediately pulled her Ace out of her sleeve. "I hafta go potty."

I called her bluff and took her to the bathroom only to be told, "Just kidding!" and trudged back to the x-ray room where we learned we had lost our spot to two girls, 4 and 3, who were patiently having their x-rays taken.

"See, Sprite? It's not bad at all!" She leaned closer to me, trying to disappear into my purse.

The tech came over sensing Sprite's fear. "We don't have to get the pictures today. We'll just have the dentist look at her teeth."

Now here's where she aced the exam. Opening her mouth on cue for the dentist and letting her teeth be "tickled" with that awful scraper, she was annointed with a clean bill of health and thought nothing of it.

"That was the hardest part, Sprite. Now, can we go get the pictures done?" I asked, even though the tech had packed our file up and was ready to show us the door.

Sprite nodded, and negotiated for Pinkalicious, her morphing turtle-unicorn-pony doll, (Seriously, it's a unicorn to everyone else but her and her interpretation changes daily. In fact, yesterday, she decided that Harry was a girl and Blue was a boy. That was hours of fun of tripping over myself with gender assignments before bedtime magically moved up a half hour. Don't look at me like that. Once the kid can tell time, I promise I'll stop pulling rank.) to also have her x-rays done too.

The kid did it. Without complaint. Just sat and looked this way and that according to direction, and did it.

Damn straight I was proud. And no cavities to boot.

Now, we just get to remind her of her bravery and talk her through it again in six months. Oh, the joys of parenthood...

Just.Don't.Touch.It.

 

It's a headboard. Not quite finished yet, so I won't link the site I snitched the plans from, actually the site gives the plans away for free!, so I promise to give the linky love where it's due. When it's done..

This will be going to into our guest room as soon as I finish getting everything put together. Only the frame is intact and screwed together, so if you were to pick it up right now, the only thing louder than the sound of the loose planks hitting the floor would be the sharp intake of breath escaping my enraged face. Fun, right? Let's not find out..

And Sprite? Thinking the intricate design makes for a challenging game of hopscotch?

No.

JUST NO.

 

So, now you know why pictures are slow in coming, but finishing this project is slow in going. I can't wait until Saturday to finish this baby up, but John and I are now locked in a heated debate over colors.

I want to paint the headboard a yellowish gold to compliment the curtains. The wall is a buttery yellow, lickable if you're really hungry, so I thought a darker shade would contrast nicely. John thinks the headboard should be a merlot red, to matchy matchy the side tablecloths and the lamps atop them.

Hmmm. The decider may be whatever nice shade I can find in a spray paint. I'm not about to touch this puppy with a paint brush in any form..

Pictures of Sprite's room to come next week!

Political conversations at 11:30 PM are never a good idea..

I'm tired of being called a liberal whackjob.

Granted, I did introduce myself as "John's liberal wife" when John brought over his "conservative friend" and her loony husband who immediately insulted all Democrats in general, and that was the first five words out of his mouth, but that was only to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. He laughed, pounded John on the back and hooted, "She's a feisty one!" before making some comment about how I must have been good at other things for my poor husband to keep me around.

Yeah, I'm good at forming an educated opinion.

Schmuck.

My point is simply this: I vote the way I want to see the country evolve, whether it be Republican or Democrat. I have switched sides without guilt when casting my ballot since I tend to vote for the lesser of the two evils. And yes, both sides have a lot of evil.

Immediately after the Arizona shootings, left and right finger pointers were at the ready, bringing up Sarah Palin's map of crosshairs and correlating it to a hit list. Even I, on Sunday, brought it to John's attention, saying that politics should be more careful about what they put out there. I would have to wonder, if she had brought that map before a public relations group prior to posting it on her site, would their recommendation have been "have you thought about flowers or hearts instead of targets?"

Are they related? How would I know? The only person who knows for sure is sitting in a twelve by twelve, and he's not talking.

But the sides began pointing fingers immediately.

I'm tired of being cast as "one of them" if I admit to favoring the D over the R. If I were Republican, I would still feel the same. I think both sides are guilty of fear mongering. I think the media as a whole is guilty of feeding us fear in great big supersized portions while reporting in other news that New York City Mayor Bloomberg is banning salt in restaurants.

DId you know the government is taking over our country?

(Did you know we asked them to?)

Before 9/11, "smaller government, more freedom, don't control me, don't lord over my life, don't decide for me."

After 9/11, "protect me, stop people from getting into our country, even if it stops me from leaving, keep me safe, sure, you can have a few of my liberties to make that happen.."

"Ban smoking! Make it illegal! No smoking in public areas anywhere in the city, beaches, parks!"

"What do you mean, you're banning salt in restaurants? It should be MY decision on whether or not I put a double cheeseburger into my mouth, not yours!"

We are a country of contradictions.

 I do find it sad, yet amusing that I tune in to The Daily Show for most of my political nutrition, people claim he's a liberal pusher, but I've seen him slam everyone with glee.

And he's nice to look at.

(Comments closed. Not because I don't want to hear your opinion, but because I want to give you five more seconds of your day today to have to yourself. You're welcome.)

I gave myself 5 minutes to write something, anything, and this is what I came up with.... I'm sorry.

Why do some Jonathan's have an extra 'h' in there?

It's almost like a sneak attack, stick it near the 'n' where it will remain silent, kind of like a time out, alphabetically speaking.

I mean, I understand why the 'h' pairs up with the 't', Without the 'h' sitting so close, the whole last syllable completely falls apart. It's needed there. Like re-bar in the cement. Or a hug if you don't get constructional symbolism.

But "Johnathan?" Why? Such a waste of a letter. Then again, sorry, my love, why do they plop an 'h' into "John"? It would play out just the same if the 'J' 'o' and 'n' played together and the 'h' sought company elsewhere. I don't see anyone doing oral acrobats in order to differentiate between the two. Give up the 'h', it's not like we have a surplus in them. The entire country is in a recession, don't you think 'i's predecessor is feeling the pinch as well?

Although I do see a positive in this: When mixing an 'h' into a word where it's not needed, like sticking spinach in the spaghetti sauce when little Bobby isn't suspecting it, maybe we're stealing the 'h' from the less friendly words, like '-ate', and 'o'. "Even '-ullabaloo'.

And we can all use a little less of those in life.

Rock on, Johnathan.

 

Impulsive

Lately, I've been feeling these tremors, these inklings, like I need to DO something with the baby stuff we've amassed (oh, have we ever..) over the years, and finally had the idea that I needed to weed through it all and trim down the Graco, FIscher Price, and Evenflo items that were weighing down our guest room, and weighing down my emotions every time I looked in there and thought "Are we ever going to use that mobile again? What about the swing which is taking up half the closet?"

The thrifty side of me balks at this possibility of a purge, knowing that while the sleepers and onesies I've cleaned, folded, and placed into protective bins cost me money, money that I should not have to spend on trying to regroup everything I doled out for Sprite.

Then the practical side of me remembers, I never needed all those outfits, shoes, whatever. I had quickly found my three or four favorites out of twenty different choices and ignored the rest while Sprite continued to spit up on whatever she deemed worthy. (Which usually ended up being MY clothes, but I digress.)

As September brought with it the Jewish New Year and my own birthday, both factors reminding me that even though age is only a number, it weighs heaviest in the early Fall, I am struck, once again, with the urge to clean house. John lets me loose on every room in the house except his office, the door being closed so he doesn't have to hear the now common question "Hey, John, what were you planning to DO with five hammers?" or deal with the sight of his usually disheveled environment inspiring me to organize it.

I've attacked our closet, Sprite's wardrobe, subjecting her to endless repeats of "try this one on", dove mercilessly through her toy chest, looking for things to give away physically, as if that will lighten some of the emotional load. Our home, tidy yet too cluttered for my liking, is nowhere near capacity, but in my mind, it's bursting at the seams.

When John started the process of replacing our land line with an Internet based phone (Ooma something, I've been calling it Armadillo since my tongue can't come to terms with the unique brand name.) and cleared our clunker of a phone out of its primary location in the corner of a kitchen counter, I immediately set about clearing the rest of the accessories out of the same area, finally feeling a sense of relief that I had taken back a section of the surface that had been unavailable to me. What's resting there now? My purse.

*********************

I originally wrote the above in April, 2010, updated it in September, then let the post lie when life distracted me enough to forget about the whole thing. I've decided not to change anything about it since, while the thought process is all over the place, it walks the same path as my mind as of late, and I promise, it will make sense in the end.

I've been absent from much of the blogging community for the last few weeks thanks to a major change in our home infrastructure. Three rooms went through complete overhauls, evictions of the current tenants and paint jobs before the new leasees were welcomed as soon as their first month/ last month deposits cleared. (Sprite's piggy bank is being held as collateral as her credit history is pretty poor.)

Now that most of the paint fumes have settled, (we finished the third room yesterday and I banished the paint to the garage once I had reached a status of "I can live with it" over my re-do's and touch up's and that corner that just wouldn't take the color as well as the rest.

The guest room was the last to be done, Sprite and John's spaces first to be tackled. When I cleared the quarters first to prep it for Sprite, I emptied the closet of those baby items that had been dwelling in the back of my mind for a few years now. The same items sat out and shoved to the side in the dining room, a hold placed on their destination until the house was a little less cluttered.

Now that Sprite is settled in and John has sequestered all of his geek crap into one space, I can now face the facts (and furniture).

In April, I had made up my mind to give the baby items away, the swing, the bouncy seat, the exersaucer, the toys, burp cloths, bottle warmers, the teeny tiny socks that Sprite wore only once, and since they were yellow and pristine, they would practically be new to a baby of any sex... All of these things that had packed into the guest room closet, that had been put away like a thought not to be reckoned with until absolutely necessary, I had decided to donate them.

I didn't.

Every time I've brought it up, I've shot it down since I considered the rules of irony, once she giveth the baby booty, she will getteth pregnant.

I'm not pregnant, thanks for asking.

And now it's staring me in the face, daring me to ignore the rules I had set, that these items would not move anywhere until a decision was made.

I even thought about my sister-in-law about to give birth next month to a baby boy. I had picked these items because of their gender neutrality, expecting to use them for the next baby, regardless of gender. Her first was a girl and their items were decidedly pink, pink, and a touch more of pink. So, I offered them out, almost as a rental, or a lease plan that I wouldn't have to think about it until she was done with them.

She hasn't gotten back to me in the three weeks since the offer was made.

(Honestly, she gave away the very expensive breast pump I had lent her when she had her baby over 2 years ago and hasn't made the merest mention to follow up on it even when I asked of its whereabouts, so I don't think she would stick too closely to any return policy.)

The stuff sits.

Should I hold onto these things for a desire that may never happen? Should I donate these items to someone who can definitely make use of them, honestly, they're doing no good just sitting there in the closet, or keep them until our statute of limitations on trying for another baby runs out?

I can't make up my mind, no matter how many times I do. Every time I build the confidence to finally take action on it, I talk myself out of it.

So I'm turning to you.

What are your thoughts? Should I simply stick them right back into a closet and not open it until we are traveling down that path again or should I donate them, even though I may end up pregnant in the future which means more money shelled out in the long run?

Tough call. Which is why I'm making it yours. Help me decide and clear my mind, not only the clutter.

 ************************

Whoa. I just read this right now. Can we say fragmented?

Code Word Sunrise

"This is Jennifer."

"...... I'll call you back."

Oh, crap. That sounded intense. Is everything okay? Should I call him? Should I wait for him to call me back? Text him? What if he can't text back? OH MY GOD, SOMETHING IS WRONG, HE'S SICK, INJURED, STUCK IN SPANISH MODE, ARGH!!!

Screw it, I'm calling him.

"This is John."

"Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, yes. Nothing's wrong. Someone came to my desk, that's all."

"You can't do that to me. Giving me the low voice and hurried goodbye just scares me."

"Everything's fine, Jen."

"Oy."

"I'm just busy. Tell you what, we can come up with a code word so if something's wrong, you will know right away, even if I can't talk about it."

"I don't know..."

"We can use 'Sprite'."

"No."

"Why not?"

"We call her that all the time. Definitely not. I don't want her name associated with an emergency."

"Then something else."

"I still don't know."

"Because?"

"Because it will immediately sour my stance on that word. Like, if you pick the word 'oreo', I'll never want another oreo cookie in my life since it will then mean something urgent and unwelcome."

"...Maybe that's a good thing?"

"Shut up."

"Then you pick it."

".... How about Sunrise? We used to live there."

"Is that going to change your disposition on sunrises all over?"

"Okay, modify it to 'city of-'."

"Sure. Fine."

"...But won't that sound pretty stupid if you call me out of the blue and just say 'City of Sunrise'?"

"Jen, if something catastrophic or urgent is happening at that point, is it going to matter how stupid I sound?"

"Point taken."

 I wonder if all married couples have these kinds of conversations. (And this was just Wednesday..)

Starting the year off right.

"Achoo!"

"Bless you."

"Mommy, I'm sneezing and coughing. I think I'm sick."

"No, not sick. Just getting rid of the nighttime stuff. Here, put on your shoes."

"Achoo!"

"Bless you. Good job on covering your nose. Next time, use a tissue though."

"I don't feel good."

"You don't feel warm."

"Because I'm cold."

"Right and it's six am. You're not sick, Sprite. And we're going to be late for school if you don't get your shoes on."

"I AM sick. Kayla B. is sick and Byron is sick. Now, I'm sick. I'm going to throw out."

"Sigh. Honey, you're not sick and please don't tell your teachers you are unless you are about to throw out. In fact, wait until after you throw out and then lick every other child in the room so you all get it at the same time and wipe out the germs completely."

"Ew!"

"Hey, we'll do all the other parents a big favor by getting it out of the way early. You'll be the star of the class. Flag holder every day."

"Mommy, you're silly."

"And up for parent of year if your teachers get wind of it."

Oh, please. It's not like she'll do it. Four year olds are a lot faster than people think..