Thankful Thursday Blog Hop

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I have a LOT to be thankful for, so I decided to start just making a list of 10 things every Thursday. That way, on days like today that make me want to scream and shout- and NOT in a good way- I can force myself to calm down and relax and think of at least 10 reasons why I'm actually NOT cursed by God to live in a miserable existence.

I'm kidding! I don't think that.

Usually.

So, here are the rules- well, not RULES, persay. They're more like GUIDELINES:

1. Don't follow me unless you really want to. I don't want this to be purely about getting new followers- I'd really like to see people flooding the internet with "Thankful" posts. If you'd like me to follow YOU, though, let me know.

2. I'd love it if you posted the button. It would give me warm fuzzies.

3. You can link up blogs, facebook and twitter accounts - just be sure to specify what each link is.

4. Hop around and find blogs that you enjoy. Be sure to tell them you are following them from Thankful Thursdays Blog Hop so they can follow you back!

And #5 and most importantly, HAVE FUN.

And now, once again, here it goes- my list of 10.

1. I'm thankful for an 11 year old that -I was told by his teachers last night- isn't working up to his potential. At least they KNOW he's not working up to his potential and they aren't accepting that he's a dolt that enjoys doing the bare minimum to get by. That means there's hope, right? I mean, at least he hasn't hit the maximum amount of intelligence that God allowed him.

2. I'm thankful that Nicholas is screaming. It means he has lungs, and I've read that those are important. I'd say that I heard that was important, but I can't really hear anything other than blaring screams.

3. I'm thankful for an inquisitive 5 year old that wondered what would happen if he threw his tacos on the ground- would they bounce or would they stick? You HAVE to be thankful for a child who loves science.

4. I'm thankful for clean carpets. The fact that those clean carpets are in dirty rooms make the rooms, well, ok, I'm just thankful I don't have to clean carpets along with everything else.

5. I'm thankful I don't have a second car and I have to walk to pick up Jacob from kindergarten- it gives me time to myself and I can listen to music that doesn't make me want to scratch my ears off.

6. I'm thankful I didn't die of heat stroke picking up Jacob from kindergarten today.

7. Have mentioned yet how thankful I am for coffee? Yeah- because I am.

8. I'm thankful that my basil plant has survived as long as it has. If you've read anything about me, you know that I PROBABLY shouldn't be given the permission to care for anything living... well, plants at least. My thumb is black and my plants USUALLY attempt herbicide long before now. Maybe this is a turning point?

9. I'm thankful I have a sense of humor.

10. I'm thankful my husband is thankful for ME, because that means that he hasn't run away and THAT means, in a few hours, I'll have a partner... so I can escape and go to Alli's.

Lists, lists, and...cookies???

Why is it we always have the most amount of stuff to do on the days when we have the least amount of time?

I keep wondering this today as I get ready to add yet another item to my 'to do' list; meanwhile, I'm still knee deep in items I've yet to cross off.

I'll admit, a lot of it is of my own doing. I always joke around that cleaning up after my kiddos is a lot like trying to nail Jell-o to a tree- pointless and impossible- but every day, I find myself stressing out over the laundry, the dishes, the crumbs that seem to multiply before my eyes on the counter...

And I'm not positive, but I BELIEVE that the toys have all called in reinforcements.

It just seems like its a never-ending job.

Oh.

Yeah.

It is.

When I add in all the other things- the eye/doctor appointments to schedule, the play dates that keep me and Jacob sane, the cooking (no matter how much I love cooking, its still one more thing)- looking at my list is a lot like standing at the bottom of the Empire State building and trying to see the top.

And yet...

And yet I keep adding to it. Today I chose to make cookies in addition to my list of “musts”. Why? Well, I thought that if I was going to die from stress, cookies might be a nice accompaniment. Because, if Mary Poppins has taught me nothing its that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down- as well as the stress.

Not to mention, they taste good.

Warm, tasty, chewy stress relievers.

Thank you, Mary, for your flash of brilliance. Sugar- especially in cookie form- really DOES help you deal with the less sweet parts of life.

Living with kids- its not for the weak

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..."

These are the words that keep flowing through my head as I find myself going through the motions today.  Its just another one of those days that has decided to zap the last of whatever it is that keeps me going.  Let me take you on a mental tour of my home right now, shall I?

As you walk though the front door, you're greeted by something that's akin to Hurricane Katrina with just a hint of "God, what's THAT?!"  You check the address outside the door in the hopes that you've made a mistake- this cannot POSSIBLY be the right place.  But it is, so you attempt to trudge on.

Easier said than done.

You wade through the mounds of toys and -God help you- empty boxes that you realize were SUPPOSED to be turned into cars, trucks, playhouses, etc., but have now been broken down into unrecognizable forms.  You look around, wondering where FEMA has disappeared to, because this should most definitely qualify as a state of emergency... and then you realize that if they ARE there, you couldn't find them anyway.  Suddenly, it hits you that you've only made it through the front door, and the rest of the home is waiting for your inspection.  After trying -unsuccessfully- to brush off the shudders that are now coursing through your body, you put one foot in front of the other.

In the dining room, you look under the dinner table and you see crusty breakfast cereal that was never cleaned up and has now permanently attached itself to the carpet.  No need for a baby book, here!  Dynamite will not loosen it!  You'll be able to point out to the kids -once they're grown ups- the ACTUAL food they used to eat.  Astounding!

You walk- well, you shuffle, anyways- into the living room, scream, and search for another room -ANY other room- to run to.  You at once think about attaching yellow caution tape to section off the unnatural disaster, but in the end, all you REALLY want to do is find a safe zone.  Every man for himself- if someone else is crazy enough to enter, that's THEIR problem.  You hurry past the living room, trying desperately to rid your mind of the horrors you just witnessed, as well as trying to find your footing on a floor you cannot see.

You say a small prayer and work your way toward the kitchen- or, what, in an ideal setting, MIGHT be a kitchen.  You know that before this place was inhabited there was a sink.  You look to where you saw it last and gasp- a pile of dishes 50 feet high now engulfs the entire left side of the room.  No wonder you couldn't see the kitchen through the pass-thru- the pass-thru is now a wall consisting of dirty cereal bowls, pots, pans, and the rest of what must surely be all the dishes and utensils the home holds.

What's that smell?  Oh, GROSS- one of the kids must have found a moldy sippy cup and set it on the counter.  Better late than never; and at least it shows that they were cleaning out their room, right?  RIGHT?

To keep from gagging, you hurry on your way to check on the rest of the apartment.  First stop?  The guest bathroom- a.k.a. the Boys' Bathroom.

Upon entering, you pause at the toilet- can males NEVER learn how to aim properly?!?!  You feel a need -an uncontrollable URGE- to get clean, but that's not going to happen in THIS sink.  Somewhere along the line, the middle child felt the need to squeeze out an entire tube of toothpaste into the sink.  The bathroom is smelling minty fresh, though, so you thank God for the little things and back on out.

That's when you feel the need to run.  To run fast and hard and long to escape what -in some distorted definitions- might be described as a room, but OH NO!  Not THIS place!  Much like a 20 car pile up or a nuclear explosion, you want to look away, but can't.  As you gaze from the door -because that's as far as you can make it- you think you see the faintest of outlines of a set of bunk beds and possibly a small table and -HA!- and organizational device that must have been left for comedic purposes because its OBVIOUSLY not in use...

Did something MOVE in there?!?!?!?!?!

You slowly creep away -to avoid being attacked by whatever is currently occupying the space- and turn to head toward the master bedroom.  You want to wash your brain to get rid of the scenes you've just encountered, but you can't.  You realize with a resigned feeling that once you're out of here, you will need to undergo therapy for PTSD.

The master is the only room where you aren't scared.  The bathroom is clean!  The bed is made!  No toys to be found!  Serene music coming from the iPOD set up, and...

-what's that rocking back and forth in the corner over there?

THAT would be me, people.  And, let's be honest now- if you were living in the place I just described, wouldn't you be going a little crazy, too?