Decision-y

Good morning! I've been up since 4am! How 'bout you? Why up so early? Because I simply love to stare up at my dark ceiling and toss and turn while my brain goes a million miles an hour about things that are only partly in my immediate control.

It's a freakoutfest. We kinda took a big risk/first step yesterday without warning. It was, what I'm hoping at least, to be a prompting in the rental department. (crossing fingers not to jinx it!) It was totally out of nowhere... remember that staying off the padmapper pledge? That was short lived- as I have zero self control. So anyway I am both excited, panicked... and nervous about the whole thing.

So much so that I don't want to go into it too deeply. It's too soon to tell what is really going on, anyway. Let's just say there may be four bedrooms, three car garage, and a single story (stairs are evil, I tell you!) behemoth of a house in our future.  And we put money down on it. A sizeable amount of money. And it could fall through. And it could be a big fat disaster on so many levels. But it could be wonderful! And great! And yay!

Just to be clear- not a moving announcement yet.

So I am going a wee bit postal about the logistics, the moving, the finances, the emotional toll, the whole Ashley-is-a-royal-spaz bit.

And that is not all that happened this weekend. (yes, I can hear your stunned amazement all the way over here) I also had a minor mental breakdown to boot!




The girls had been on a bit of a hunger strike. Picking at food here, refusing food there, and while if it were Little Man pulling these antics, I would not so much as flinch. (I do enough of that just picking up his hefty girth from the floor) But the twin waifs I have over here? The 28 lbs. of four year old fury? (The average weight for their age is 40 lbs.) Different story entirely.

There's also the uptick in sass and mouthing off to Mommy in the mix. And the will of steel. Sigh. So anyway, after four or so days of shoving food down my disposal, of bribery, and losing to bribery, and flat out refusal to want ice cream, (it came to that! Turning down ICE CREAM! The holy grail of treatery!) I decided to have a last stand. I was to be Custard. (He wins, right?) Friday night. Squirt (who just by happenstance decided that ice cream was not worth hoarking down some chicken and pasta for that night) was going to sit at the table until the bowl was clean.

--- unnecessary explaining of kid rearing philosophy --- I've avoided "making" the kids eat things. While my girls are rail thin, the nation as a whole is battling childhood obesity. Studies are coming out warning against the "clean plate" rule explaining that it shuts down a cue to the brain signaling true "fullness." (I know, super watered down version... I've been up since 4am, remember?!) I've got food issues myself- Hi, Food! Meet my emotions! Gasp at my expanding waistline! See me scarf down a brownie 'cause I'm feeling fat! Ok, so I've been avoiding the Sit here! Eat that! At quantities I dictate! Situation.

Well, I had coaxed out of her this particular night that she did, indeed, have room in the party in her tummy for cantaloupe, grapes, and juice box. So clearly, chick wasn't full. She just didn't feel like eating real food. Armed with that knowledge, I set a game plan: She'd sit there until either (a) her bowl was empty, or (b) it was bedtime. I informed her of this, and the fact that I would no longer be entertaining the soap opera drama of tears and desperate pleas. I may have yelled "just eat your dang dinner if you want to get down and play so badly!"from the loft. That was the extent of my lost cool. I was sticking to my post. She needed to eat, or go to bed hungry. Salt was sprinkled in wounds when Bunny, who ate all her dinner, noshed on yogurt and cantaloupe, then got down to play with a cranky baby who'd taken a suspiciously short nap.

It had been a long week (what weeks are not these days?) of The Husband working late, a couple extra heapings of things to do and places to go, and just... stuff. I was staring down my phone, willing The Husband to call and give me the news that he was in his car- on the road- coming home- to deal with this nonsense.

The call came early-ish... as Squirt was screaming in the background... and The Husband assured me he was coming home and I could then get away from the house and procure some much needed deep fried, drive thru comfort. As I was regaling him with tales of large scale tears, Mommy guilt & anguish, The Husband received another call that he needed to answer. Whatever, a friend from work, I will wait... and try to ignore the yelling echoing through the house from the vicinity of the dining room.

The Husband hung up on me. Because call waiting on our new phones is stupid. I can't work it, and neither can he. Stupid, stupid, phones that I loathe. He calls me back and starts off with "don't be mad! I'm really, really sorry." That's always a fantastic way to start a conversation- and of course, I'm going to be mad... we all know that.

Well! The Husband's wallet had been found, and while he may have been seconds away from home, he was turning around to retrieve the wallet he didn't know he was missing. I went from zero to exploding with lava hot rage in no less than two seconds. This was unacceptable. And also the second time his wallet had an out-of-pocket experience within a month. (should I staple gun it to your person?!)

So. I. Lost. It. (I kept up a ruse... you know, for the children. However, I was a stark raving lunatic on the inside- a death row inmate with nothing left to lose!)

With the knowledge that I would be finishing out this battle of wills solo, I gave Squirt an option: (screaming from the table was no longer viable as Little Man's bedtime was upon us) Eat and BE QUIET. Or get down and go straight to bed. STRAIGHT TO BED.

She chose the latter. FINE.

To bed with baby. To bed with Squirt. (who mostly just shrieked of the injustice from under the covers) Cupcake game for Bunny on the couch. Then pacing back and forth plotting my escape and subsequent punishment for The Husband. I would have done anything... but the timeframe limited my options greatly. I had to put on an entire baby shower the next day- one for which I was only half prepared. I could only get so crazy.

I called up The Mom and begged her drop everything and go to a movie with me... like, now. Having other things going on- along with barrels more sanity I possessed at the time- she declined, but told me The Brother had just left to go see a movie himself. It was destined, I tell you. I called Trent up and invited myself on his excursion- luckily it wasn't a date- THAT would have been AWKWARD!

The Husband pulled up the drive and I already had my car in reverse. I saw a crappy, overpriced movie, but had a great time with my brother, and The Husband had really laid down the law with Squirt about food issues. Since then she has resumed consuming acceptable portions from various food groups.

I've made sure everyone got hugs and lovins so I can soothe myself knowing that we tried not to scar her for life on the food front. I'm  happy with the results so far. Who knows how long it will last- that's beside the point, right? I won a battle. (Yes, I'm taking all the credit. Even if I bailed in the last inning to regain sanity)

Never one to rest on my laurels, I am off to attempt a weekday grocery store run with kids in tow. (usually an activity reserved for weekends... by myself. Remember that show 7th Heaven? And the Mom's rule to grocery shop solo? Wise. So very wise) Expect a Facebook post along the lines of "Grocery store, long list, fighting in the cab of car carts... dislike."

And what, ho? A kindred spirit! I just lovelovelove the performance review:

1) How many days has it been since you put your daughter (various children) in time-out? Like, one? If they're good tonight? 
2) Did she (they) eat anything besides cheese today? No. Well, strawberries
3) Does she regularly share her toys? (Yes, even Brobee.) Um, no. If there was sharing, this gig would be a cake walk.
4) If a stranger took a broom to your floors, exactly how much dust would they kick up? Enough to cause an asbestos investigation.
5) On average, how many days a week does your family have clean underwear? Do they have their choice of socks? There's always clean underwear. But that's just because the laundry basket overfloweth every other day. 
6) Rate your toilets’ cleanliness. Are they generally Spotless, Very Clean, Clean, Passably Clean or Not Clean At All? I try not to look anymore. This is especially a problem when I host a shower and totally forget to scrub the "guest bath" that the kids use at their leisure. Dear heavens, I hope it was in the ballpark of clean. I had heart palpitations when someone asked to use the bathroom.