Preparedness

Something I actually caught myself praying for yesterday as I surveyed my barren pantry:

"Lord, if the end times are near and something devastatingly catastrophic is about to happen in the world that will bring America to its knees and forever change our way of life....please let it be right after I make a trip to Costco."


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Mad Science

I am convinced that if I were ever unfortunate enough to fall unconscious while at home during the day, my children would surely kill me.

Here's how:

• Luke would straddle my abdomen, jump up in the air, and slam his bony little bottom (along with 34 pounds of his body mass) directly onto my diaphragm.

• Evie would do the same thing on my face.

• Luke would shout "WAKE UP, MOMMY!" directly into my ear and attempt to force one of my eyes open by gouging his finger into it.

• Evie would stand next to me and calmly kick me in the head.

• They would both step on various sensitive body parts as they walk around and over my prone figure.

• My hair would get pulled, my mouth would get probed, and my face would get slobbered on.

• Something would get bitten.

• If they were strong enough, they'd probably send me tumbling down the stairs.

How do I know this, you ask? Well, let's just say that curiosity got the better of me the other day and I decided to experiment.

At least the bruises are finally starting to fade...



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Curse the Calculator

I sat down to do some math today and figured out that, over the past three years, I have spent 267 hours looking for sippy cups.

That's over eleven full days and nights of walking laps through my house, overturning couch cushions and digging around in toy boxes. Eleven days of scouring the cupboards, the pantry, the bookshelves and the bathrooms. Of making hysterical phone calls to my husband (who only ever seems to know where the shoes are). Of interrogating toddlers under harsh lighting and following one dead-end lead after another.

To come up with this startling total, I estimated an average of 15 minutes a day spent looking for those little buggers. A modest figure, I assure you. And I had to force myself to stop at three years, when what I really wanted to do is look ahead and see how much time I'll spend searching in the future...until my last child learns to use a real cup (without spilling) or goes off to college, whichever comes first.

Eleven days! I still can't get over it. If Israel can win a war in seven days, imagine what I can do with eleven!

I could learn a foreign language or write a short novel. I could drive across the country and take in all the sights, or stay at home and actually finish one game of Sodoku without cheating.

If I spread that time out a little more, I could sleep in an extra two hours every morning for the next five months. Or spend 45 minutes a day for the next year sculpting my abs and trying to get my butt to look a little less like a set of deflated watermelons.

But no, I have to spend that time on my hands and knees with my face pressed to the cold tile floor...trying to spot every nook and cranny that a six inch tall sippy cup could squeeze into.

How depressing.

But then, that's what happens when you play with math.


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