Be careful what you wish for

“I wish he’d put the seat down.”

“I washed the clothes.  The least he could do it fold them.”

“Would it kill him to wash a dish every now and again?”

Ask any woman and she will tell you that she would love to have her man help out more around the house.

Well I have a confession to make.  As much as I like to make IP the butt of my jokes, he does help out around the house as much as he can.  Unfortunately, it’s not always as much as I’d like it to be, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get.

Ever since the beginning of our wedded bliss, IP has been the duster of the family.  He was born with a dominant ‘love of dusting’ gene.  Which is good, because I carry a ‘I could care less how much dust is on the end table’ gene.  My vice is vacuuming.

In equal symmetry, IP prefers to cook dinner, especially Sunday dinner, if his schedule allows.  This trait meshes perfectly with me since I loathe cooking.  Maybe, if I was good at it or could dream up inventive meals, I might care more, but I don’t.  Strangely enough, as much as I hate cooking, I equally enjoy doing the dishes.  (I know.  I know.  There is something wrong with me.  Heck, we remodeled our kitchen and I didn’t even put in a dishwasher.  I still scrub everything by hand.  Add it to my list of issues.)


Well, yesterday I came around the corner and found this sight to behold in my kitchen.

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Marinara anyone?  Who wants a meatball?


Play that funky music

I’ve been sitting here, staring at a blank screen, trying to find the best way to phrase that I’ve been in a funk lately.  Here’s what I’ve come up with.

I’ve been in a funk lately.

Over the past few weeks, I think I have started four different blogs that are sitting hopelessly unfinished in draft hell.  This post itself sat with simply a title for three days.

I love writing.  I love bringing you my random thoughts, pointless rants, and hilarious stories.  Luckily, the chaos of my life provides many opportunities for me to find interesting tidbits and head-shaking occurrences to report to you in my oh-so witty ways.

In these last few funky weeks, I’ve still had enough material drop into my lap to write a handful of blog.  I just haven’t had the umph to follow through.

I blame the horribly late arrival.  (Sidebar ~ That MFing Groundhog better never scurry out of his damn Gobbler’s Knob again and have the nerve to say we will have an early spring.  Early spring my a$$.  We had snow in May….SNOW.  I sat at baseball games in my winter coat, seeing my breath!)

I blame the end of the school year.  Traditionally my students do not do well with a change in their schedule.  Despite how much they complain about school, most of them are happy to have a stable place to come everyday and a predicable routine.  They get particularly owly as the calendar comes to a close.  They have been off the wall nuts during these last few weeks of school, draining me of any reserve energy I might have otherwise had.

I blame my crazy home life.  Before you worry, IP, lil’ IP (Paige) and T-Dog (Trystan) are all perfectly fine.  It just seems the family candle has been burning at both ends.  Between school, work, voice lessons, baseball practice, baseball games, pool board, school board, IP’s work schedule, IP’s travel schedule, household errands, household chores, and homework, I’ve lost track of more than a few days.

Just last night, after getting through the four subjects of homework T-Dog brought home and getting him ready to drop off at baseball practice, I realized that school ended in two days and I had yet to buy the end-of-the-year teacher’s gifts and make cupcakes for T-Dog’s classroom to celebrate his summer birthday.  As we jumped in the car to run to the store for the gifts and the vanilla I was out of, it dawned on me that I forgot to make dinner.  Why does my family insist on eating everyday?  And three times a day at that?  Geez!

By the time I get through the list of to-do tasks for the day, it’s all I can do to make it to my bed before I crash.  (Trust me.  You DO NOT want me to crash out on the couch.  Ask IP.  Waking me up after I’ve fallen asleep on the couch is taking your life into your own hands.  I’m cranky to say the least.)

The good news is I clock out of work for the summer on Friday and joyfully take my place in my poolside lounger until August.  The even better news is I will be back at your full disposal, spewing my opinions and observations, while hopefully not boring you with my amusing antics and brilliant adventures.

You’re welcome!

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Splish, splash

She was taking a bath, and then so did our basement……

I get up every morning at 5 am to workout before I wake up the beasts… er… ummm, I mean, the family.  I like to get it done and off the list (Yes, I’m OCD), so that I don’t have to think about it the rest of the day.

The other morning, I stumbled downstairs, blurry eyed, willing myself to just get on that machine and get started.  If I can get going, I will stop trying to talk myself back into bed.  I rounded the corner, reaching for the light switch, when…. SQUISH.

Oh shit!  No, no, no, no, no!  Please, do not let this be what I think it is.  Please, please let this puppy pee.  I’ve never wanted to step in puppy pee so badly in my whole life.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t puppy pee, it was a back-up of the main sewer line to our house.  The basement that we completely finished and carpeted just last year, was soaking in gallons of water that did not drain out to the street after my daughter bath last night, but instead backed up into our basement.

Oh joy!  Drop the running shoes and grab the towels and fans.  Somehow, I don’t think I ‘m getting to the run today.

5 am run…. 5 am Shop Vac-ing.   5 am run…. 5 am Shop Vac-ing.  I may never complain about a morning workout again!

The Conditioner Fairy

As your children get older, they become more self-sufficient.  They start doing things for themselves without being reminded or told to do so.  You have these silent little celebrations when they finish the food on their plates, stand up, and take them to the sink.

‘Hey!  I didn’t have to say anything and the dirty plate ended up in the sink.  And the coat got hung up on the coat hook!  Wow!’

And just when you have taken two steps forward, you take one a giant leap backwards.

My beautiful daughter comes out of the bathroom, having taken her bath early, beating the rush to the tub and ensuring she gets a full load of hot water, and says, “We’re out of conditioner!”

Me – “Um no Paige.  We are not out of conditioner.”

Paige – “Yes we are!  There is none in our bathroom!”

Side Note:  The benefits of having two full bathrooms in your house are 1.  You can have one bathroom you and the hubby use and one the kids mess up, arguing in, and battle over.  2.  You can buy the expensive shampoo and conditioner for use in your bathroom and stock pile the crappy sale shampoo and conditioner in the kids bathroom.   Let’s face it.  They’re just going to squeeze half of it down the drain and then refill the bottle with water.  They don’t get the good stuff.  3.  You don’t have to walk into a toilet bowl surprise.  Scratch that.  I have a husband.  Rule three is only guaranteed if you are single.

Me – “No we are not out of conditioner!  There’s extra conditioner in the hall closet.”

Paige – “Oh….”

Me – “When you use it up, you have to get a new bottle.  There is no Conditioner Fairy who will restock it for you!”

And another childhood illusion is burst in the Soby household.

Like Son, Like Father


I’m making the rounds this morning picking up all the stray dishes that have been abandoned around the house during the week and cursing my maid under my breath for her sloppy job this week, when I realize, I don’t have a maid.  Crap.  I don’t have a maid.  Why don’t I have a maid.  There would be someone to blame for this mess.  Now I just have to be mad at myself for the state of my house.  Dirty dish failure.  Add that to the list of things to talk to my therapist about.  Crap!  I don’t have  therapist either!  What has my life come to?

Anyhoo….I’m in my husband’s office when I find this.

What the….  Apparently growing mold is a family trait and my son gets his winning fungi abilities from his father.  Lucky me!


Keep dreaming sweetheart

In an attempt to get a jump-start on my weekend laundry adventure, (I know I’m stuck doing it.  I might as well give it the best title possible!) I put out an all call in the house.  All laundry report to the washing machine for proper sorting and load assignment, STAT!

The kids hauled theirs down right away, then came up to offer help with mine.  (Quarters still working!)

As we walked into my bedroom, I said to Paige.  “Hey, grab your dad’s pile of clothes, put it with the stuff in the hamper, and take it all downstairs.”

Paige – “Ok Mom, but why doesn’t Dad just put his clothes in the hamper?  It’s right there!”

Me – “I don’t know Paige.  He just doesn’t.  None of them do.”

Paige – “Oh, the man I marry will use the hamper!”

Me – “Sure Paige.  Good luck with that.”

Oh the optimism of youth!

Let them eat cake?

My daughter turned 12 on April 18th.  We, of course, had cake and parties and festivities.  It was all lovely.  As with most birthdays, there was cake left over.  There was a small wedge piece left over from one of her birthday cakes.  (Yes, I said one of her cakes.  She ended up with two this year.  One on her actually birthday, because it’s not really your birthday if you don’t have cake.  And one on the day of her party the following weekend.  I love baking and who doesn’t love cake!)  Anyhoo…. I shoved the leftover wedge piece of cake and the box into the garage fridge.  We had the party, life got crazy busy, and the cake was forgotten.

Three days ago, I was cleaning up in the garage and opened that fridge to see what could be pitched.  Hello old cake!  Goodbye old cake!  In it went, box and all, into the trash can for curbside pick up later this week.

Cut to last night.  After doing a little weeding and watering the flowers and garden, I pulled out the trash cans to haul to the curb in the morning.  I went around to the back of house to grab something, and, as I come around the corner, I found my darling son with lips and fingers smeared with frosting.

“Trystan!  That cake is a month old AND I pulled it out of the fridge three days ago!” 

“I was just trying it.”

Sure, just trying it.  Just trying month old, rotten cake to see what food poisoning is like.  My guess… it will be like a belated birthday present you don’t want and can’t return!