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Feb 3, 2013

delusions of grandeur

Every once in a while, a small part of me wishes that my blog was famous, and that I had a following, and that I got paid to sit here and type witty things.  When ever that part of me knocks on the door, the other part of me politely explains that there are many problems with this fame and fortune scenario, and I should just have a bowl of ice cream and go back to sleep.

(1)  Let's get real: I would have to type in a locked room so no small people charged the laptop or had chocolate milk in my vicinity.  And while I was in that locked room, my children would destroy the house.

(2)  Don't you have to know someone or do something notable to be famous?  The most note-worthy event for me last week was not doing bodily harm to my five-year-old.  Is that worthy of mass publication?  Hardly.

(3)  Third of all, the thought of having a following makes me feel insecure, because if I have a followers widget I might get obsessed with the numbers, kind of like I did with the scale there for a while, until the numbers stopped changing, and then I got bored.  But then what if I got bored with the number of followers?  Does that mean nobody likes me?!  What am I, 13?  Clearly I couldn't handle being famous.

(4)  I haven't been paid to do anything since I was 19, when I retired--on the day of Zach's birth--from my magnanimous career as an administrative assistant.  I am pretty sure that despite my Bachelor's degree and super-interesting internship (no really, it was, and I'm not just saying that because my former boss reads this blog), I have no marketable skills. Oh wait!  Piano lessons!  I did teach piano lessons, and the self-employment taxes were horrendous.  Despite my pathetic resume, the thought of receiving a monetary deposit for something I contributed to society is quite appealing.

(4)  I really don't have an original thought in my head.  My children, however, are quite creative, and there is no end to their shenanigans.  Allow me to expound on that thought for a moment.

Lexi fell asleep on Kate's bedroom floor the other day.  I just let her be.  When I heard her wailing I assumed she was just on the sleepy side of awake.  It turns out that Kate SAT ON HER in order to wake her up.  Kate just bounced and bounced until Lexi shrieked.  That little monkey also attempted to climb out of her crib and apparently climbed onto the top bunk unassisted (the ladder is in the closet).  The last report has not been confirmed.




Gavin organizes all kinds of mischief.  This one made me laugh right out loud: Giant stuffed animals (dry) in the bathtub.


Tyler, who is almost nine, and his buddy Carter, who IS nine, raided the dress-up box downstairs.  They squeezed into police uniforms and fireman jackets and Home Depot aprons.  They donned superhero paraphernalia, a Rapunzel brain, and a feather boa.  They were completely thrilled to pose for the camera.  "Boys will be boys" doesn't seem like an applicable catch phrase here.


Kate discovered the pantry.  (Sidebar: This happened while I was sitting at the computer across the room.  I was focused so intently on designing the ward newsletter that I didn't hear a single thing.) Today I bit into a homemade cookie with uncooked rice in it.  I guess I didn't sift the sugar properly when I cleaned up Kate's mess.


In other wardrobe news, Tyler couldn't find the t-shirt I brought for him to wear for his basketball game on Saturday.  He thought it would be just fine for him to wear the shirt he had just worn to a birthday party.  Um....no.


Zach escaped all photos this week, but he contributed a little excitement when he ran away from home on Saturday.  The issue troubling his mind was my polite request (made well in advance) that he clean the bathroom.  He was gone less than 30 minutes, but his exit was dramatic nonetheless.

As it turns out, my corner of the world isn't very grand, and it's probably good that it's small and quiet and far removed from the public eye.


Hahaha!  Did you catch the joke?  This corner of the world is never quiet.  Who needs internet groupies when I've got five crazy wonderful kids who call me Mom?
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