Tales of *tiny* Ty: Getting out the door

Quick, now. I've just got to quickly feed the baby (we'll do it on the couch without the Boppy and nobody will die; it's just a quicky), then I'll be out the door.

But before I pick him up off the floor and wrench that soaking wet rubber giraffe out of his faucet-mouth, I'll just quickly use the bathroom. I better do it on this side of feeding him. Might as well; he's loving drooling all over that poor giraffe. Better go now while I can...if I'm fast, he might not notice I'm not sitting right here, watching him salivate.

Oh, he noticed.

Well, I guess I can take my time now that he's crying anyway. Oh good! My jeans are right where they're supposed to be: under the rest of the laundry. I love knowing just where to find stuff. One day I'll put that folded stuff in the drawer. Unless it manages to unfold itself. Then I'll put it back in the hamper. Laundry's so good about offering second chances.

Shirt, shirt, shirt...what does one wear to pick up one's husband from work? Green t-shirt or maroon? Let's do green; it'll set off my eyes. Good. That way I don't have to put mascara on.  That's one for the win. Hmm...it's a little wrinkled, but that's it's own fault for hanging out under the rest of the laundry.

Chapstick, check! Should I do some color over top of that? Oo—better not. Colored lips might draw attention to the fact that I'm letting my t-shirt do mascara duty.

Hold on, I hear you...I've just got to quickly grab the diaper bag. I doubt I'll need it for the five minutes we'll be at the office but the one time I'm caught unprepared...

Don't forget the phone! That'd be my luck, blow out a tire and not have a phone to call Todd.

Ok, ok, I'm here. Lunch is served. *GASP* Wow, those are freezing cold hands! Sheeeesh...put those things away. And no, not back in your mouth.

This isn't a six-courser now, we've just got to quick go pick daddy up. Then it's nap time when we get back. Haha. "Nap time."

Stop crying, you're not done, I just want to burp you real quick and—oh. Oh gross. Grooooss. And this shirt set off my eyes so well. You are the spit-up King, aren't you? Calm down, you can admire your work but ew, don't touch it! Whew, nothing on the couch. Just me. That's easy enough to fix, but gag-a-LICIOUS, it reeks! Well, we'll deal with it after you're done. I got most of it off with the burp cloth anyway.

Done? Great. Let's quickly run back upstairs and change. I guess it's the maroon one after all. It doesn't do a thing for me but a puke-covered shirt does even less, even if it is green.

Ah, that's better. It's not as wrinkled as the green one either! Ok, baby, diaper bag, shoes, out the door we go, and—

Wait wait wait...what is this? Did you puke on this the last time I wore it? Apparently so.

Plan C...what have I got in the drawer? I haven't worn this one since I was whoa-pregant with him. Wonder how it fits sans belly? Fits ok...but how is it that this one is even more wrinkled than the others; it was in the drawer! This is why it doesn't pay to put the laundry away.

Ok, I think I'm ready. And the third trip upstairs gave me a chance to burn more calories and grab another burp cloth. At the rate you're going, we'll need it.

Now, into the carseat you go—I know you hate it. Sorry. But we'll be there real quick. How do I get this thing buckled in...is that it? Belt's a little twisted. Let's try it this way; better. Ok, I think that's good. What? You want your paci? Here you go...you have to put your tongue down for this to work. No, quit spitting it out. Ok, fine. I guess no paci. Oh, you'd rather have hand? Whatever works, buddy.

Car, baby, hands, diaper bag, shoes, keys, garage door up, and...let's go get daddy!

This doesn't have anything to do with anything...I just thought it was cute :) 

Little Miss Monday: Dawn of the Microwave

I weekend hard. Like from 4:30pm Friday until 11:00pm Sunday it's one big, unmediated party up in here.

Kidding. So, SO kidding. I don't even sleep past 6am on Saturday.

So why is it, then, that my house always needs to "recover" from two very un-weekend-ish days? Who knows. But it does and so we do and there's that. For that reason—recovery—I don't "schedule" cleaning to do on Monday. I just...tidy up. Load the dishwasher. Fold the laundry I've been teasing for three days (you know the game...on the bed awaiting attention during the day, relocated to the floor over night, back on the bed the next day...oh wait, is that part just me?). Start a new load of laundry. Or two. The stuff waiting on the bed gets lonely.

You get the idea. Mondays are makeup days.

On rare occasions, though (like today being the only one I can think of) I toss in something for bonus points. It's like swatting at little gold stars above my head and hearing a nice techno "BLIP! BLIP! BLIP!" Super satisfying, even if "BLP! BLIP! BLIP!" is the extent of the pay-off. Today I tackled the microwave, for the second (I think?) time this year, I'd like to say. I feel like that's as often as anyone can be bothered to devote a full five minutes to the microwave, am I right?

 And actually, the microwave is lucky to get that. My in-laws were here in January and I wanted them to know I could keep a clean microwave so their son can reheat in style. Then, my sister is visiting later this week and while she doesn't need to open my microwave to justify her judgement of my housekeeping, I'd just as soon eliminate the opportunity.

No one else is paying me the honor of a visit this year, so the microwave can just deal from here till...the next time I'm feeling "bonus-y."

Back to the microwave itself. It's got some sass to work through. That or a keen sense of humor. I mean, just look at the cute little note it left us:

Good one, Microwave.

Happy Monday to all, and to all, a good...morning :)