Aw, hell. I’ve gone missing again haven’t I? What’s my deal? I don’t know. I wish I could say that I’ve been traveling and keeping myself busy, but the truth of the matter is the furthest I’ve traveled is my 35-mile commute to and from work. Up hill, both ways.
Busy? Pfft. As if.
I mean, work has been crazy, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been so happy to see that our marketing department is thriving and busy during the downturn in the economy. Recessions are not kind to architects, people. They are even less kind for the support staff responsible for finding the work for architects. Everyone is nervous. Everyone is excited. Everyone is wondering why I haven’t washed my hair in three days. (Including my husband.)
But other than work, have I been busy? Nope. I have sat my a** down on the sofa almost every night and tried to teach my four year old, Henry, the art of a soothing foot rub. So far he’s not getting it at all. Not even close. My advice to you people is not expect perfection from a four-year old when you’re trying to explain to him how to “apply firm, but gentle pressure to mommy’s arches”. Even Reese, his 18-month old sister is grasping the fundamentals of a foot rub better than him. She bends down, smells our feet and then exclaims, “Pew!” as she toddles off. This will go on for a good hour. Reese also has no issue of pretending to smell the feet of complete strangers and proclaiming them stinky. I found one out the hard way at Noodles & Company, ya’ll.
For now, my tired feet and I have settled for Henry just running his little monster trucks up and down on the bottoms of my feet for about 30 seconds until he loses focus and decides he’d rather organize the shoes in his closet. I kid you not. The kid has more shoes than I do and he insists on lining them up next to each other in random formations. It’s not unusual to walk into his room and see his shoes situated in to form the letter “H” in the middle of the floor in his room. Last week, he asked me if I would go buy him some Iron Man shoes and some more Spiderman shoes so he could finish spelling out his name with all of them. So far, when he combines all his shoes together, he can get H-E-N-R before he runs out to complete the "Y". Yes, my child has THAT many shoes. At least he’s using them to learn something. He’s sort of a modern day Charlotte’s Web, wouldn’t you say?
I now feel the need to run right out and pick up a few cheap pairs of sandals for him. I fear that if I don’t, the next thing I’ll find on his floor a giant “F” and “U” out of his little size 7 Sketchers.
Jeremy blew out his pants last week. This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I just had to hurry and write it down before I forgot to tell you all. Those sad looking khakis ripped a good seven inches right down the middle of the seat of his pants while he was engaged in floor play with me and the kids. (Eww, if you read that too fast, it sounds like “foreplay” doesn’t it? Maybe that’s what he had in mind? Rip-away pants anyone?) Lucky for him, he was in the comfort of his own home when the wardrobe failure happened. Not so lucky for the rest of us, he wasn’t wearing any underwear at the time.
Well, until next time, (which could very well be tomorrow, or next month according to my erratic posting schedule) peace out, people. May you live long and prosper, and may your pants never, ever self destruct in front of small, inquisitive children or a spouse with a blog.