Strange bedfellows

Have I been making beds wrong my whole life?

I mean I know there is a basic way to make a bed. And just to clarify here I mean changing the sheets, not the act of pulling up the covers and straightening out the quilt or comforter. Unless you are one of those people who puts new sheets on their bed every day and in that case I guess I really do mean make the bed. (And I am suppressing a lot of snarky things I want to say right now. "If you don't have something nice to say Sarah, yea, yea, yea, I know ...)

So as I was saying, is it pretty obvious how to make a bed. So unless you are putting your pillows where you feet go or putting the fitted sheet on OVER the regular sheet you are most likely doing right. (And if you don't know what a fitting or regular sheet are, you are probably doing it wrong.)

It ain't rocket science people. Or brain surgery. Or insert-whatever-cliche-phrase-here when describing something that does not take much brain power.

So imagine my surprise when about six months ago I discovered there in fact WAS another way to make a bed. My mattress was totally flipped. (See what I did there? A little bed pun for ya. Although is it still a pun if you explain that it's a pun? Does that fall in the "If a tree falls in the woods" category? Hmmm, interesting ...)

MOVING on ...

You see back when I was young (let's say six or sevenish) I was taught how to put sheets on a bed. I am sure my mom taught me too, but I distinctly remember my grandma teaching me when my older sister and I went to stay with her for the weekend at her cottage. Learned the whole "hospital corners" thing and everything. And to this day whenever I change sheets at my house (don't worry it is a regular occurrence) I think of her.

So I thought I had the basic skills and knowledge down. I even got a handle on how to fold sheets. Even fitted sheets. Although it took an online tutorial and watching Martha Stewart show me on Oprah to really figure it out. And to be honest, I still only do it correctly about 25 percent of the time.

I don't really have any crazy ways of making the bed - I don't iron my sheets. I frankly don't know why anyone would. They are just going to get all wrinkly when you get into bed and they are covered up by a quilt or comforter anyway, so why bother? It would be like ironing a shirt when you are just going to put a sweater over top of it. Useless I say! So unless the Queen of England or Martha Stewart are coming over to stay at my house (the former being a preposterous possibility and I'm not sure I would even WANT the latter) I am not going to iron my sheets. I have WAY more important things to do. Like watching a rerun of "Friends" for the sixth time or obsessively check Facebook. (You laugh, but those are real things that I do.)

So imagine my surprise when I was putting brand new Hello Kitty sheets on my two-year-old brand new "big girl" bed and they appear to be upside down. Quite confusing to say the least. The little pink Hello Kitty faces were upside down when I put the sheet on the bed and so were the words "Hello Kitty" that were written on the end cap thingy of the sheet. (Wait, end cap thingy? Sarah, what is your deal? But you know the top part of the sheet that is folded over and hemmed .... oh, wait I'll just go look it up ... ok, I couldn't find what it is called, but you know what I mean.)

I was perplexed, confused, puzzled, which for any of you who know me, know doesn't take much, but still, how could this be?

The logic did eventually creep in and I realized that the way this sheet was made the pattern side was supposed to be facing down, not up like I had been doing for almost 30 years. Was it this one manufacturer that decided to turn the sheet industry on its ear, or could it be that maybe just maybe there was an alternate way to put sheets on a bed. Because honestly these were the first sheets I had used that had caused me to reevaluate my entire bed making method. (Not that I have purchased THAT many sheets in my day, but enough, ya know?)

So with this new knowledge my mind was a buzz .... Was I supposed be making beds this way (pattern side down) the entire time? Had my grandmother and mom taught me wrong? Were they bed making rebels? Or was it the other way around? Were those who put the pattern side down in the minority? Were we falling into a Yupp and Zupp situation here? (A little shout out from the "Butter Battle Book" for all your Dr. Seuss fans out there.)

Could we all peacefully coexist? Was I supposed to make my youngest daughter's bed differently because the sheets direct me to do so? So far I have not, but am I doing the sheets a disservice? Do sheets have feelings? Do sheets even care? Why do I even care so much? I don't know ... you really don't want to know what goes through my head sometimes ... you would probably think I should be committed. Maybe you think that now. Not that I would blame you.

I know I could probably watch LOTS of "Friends" reruns if I were ...

Oh, and by the way, changing sheets on a toddler's bed with side rails is VERY difficult, but put that bed with side rails five feet in the air (as in the loft bed we just got our six-year-old) and the degree of difficultly goes up by 10. I don't think you are supposed to work up a sweat putting new sheets on a twin bed.

Germ-a-phobe I am not, but come on!

A pox upon your house!

I feel like our family must have seriously ticked of some old wizard or witch from the 1700s (and I don't even watch Game of Thrones) and those words were uttered in our direction, because, whew, it has been weeks since everyone in our house has been healthy. And we are still not totally there.

I for one am completely over it. I feel like every surface of our house is covered in germs and I just want to dip the whole house in a big vat of Lysol. In fact as I look at this keyboard I can almost see the germs accumulating on the "a" button, now the "e" button, now the "n" button .... ahhhh! Stop the madness!

Ok, keyboard and hands have been disinfected so I feel a little better. Still feel like am living in a Petri dish. Although doesn't anyone who lives with or works with kids feel like that. Germs, germs, all the time germs. And they keep passing them back and forth between each other and no matter what you do, you can seem to avoid catching it. Oh man, I am totally grossing myself our right now.

It started weeks ago when my oldest got some sort of bug. Fever, stomach stuff, feeling over all yucky (that is a technical medical term, in case you didn't know). Lots of "getting sick" as we call in our house. Sounds way less gross to us that the other terms you can use when the contents of your stomach head in a northernly direction.

She was babied, as all my kids are when they are sick. It is the most helpless feeling in the world when your kid is sick and there is nothing you can do to make them better. Give them soup, medicine, let them sleep, sure you can do all that stuff, but you can not physically take away the illness. Only time can do that. And my kids look super pathetic when they are sick. It is the saddest looking thing.

We all thought she had kicked by Sunday only to find out in our church's vestibule we were very, very wrong. Oh so embarrassingly wrong.

By Monday she had kicked it, but then the little two got it. Within about a half hour of each other. So when one "got sick" you knew that in thirty minutes or less the other would follow suit (like a really disgusting vintage Domino's commercial).

Then my hubby got some mutant strain of the bug that was less "physical" and more "audible." He never missed any work, but we both missed a lot of sleep due to the coughing. (Sorry hun, but you know it's true.)

Then my oldest got sick AGAIN. And not just sick - the kid got the SWINE FLU. Yea, the bleepity bleepin' SWINE FLU. I still can't quite believe that some medical genius decided to name this strand of flu after a pig, but I am sure there is some explanation out there that I don't really care about right now because I'm still reeling from my kid's diagnosis of the bleepity bleepin' SWINE FLU.

I had been on top of the whole flu shot thing too - that is the ironic part. I know they needed it and my youngest had had hers and my son should have had his (but I wanted one not raised in eggs because of his egg allergy). The only reason my oldest DIDN'T have hers was because she had scouts the day the other two went in to get theirs. I had an appointment set up for her the next week. So of course she gets the bleepity, bleepin' flu five days before her appointment. Of course she does. Sigh ... Curse you witch/wizard person ... what have I ever done to you??

And when you are used your kids going off the school all day and your life is in some sort of routine, having them home really throws everything off. In some ways it is good because you are not running off here, there and everywhere, but now you also have one more demanding child at home and not only demanding, but sick. And I have a hard time saying no to a sick kid. A sick child is my kryptonite. I will do just about anything for them. Even if they have spend more time being sick then well in the last three weeks.

So all these germs have me more than a bit paranoid about my own health, so I decided I too am going to get a flu shot. So naturally what happens? I get sick. And I am telling you I have not felt this awful in a LONG long time. Go to the doctor, have to get that AWFUL throat swabby thing (which I think could possibly used as a form of torture) only to discover - nope I don't have anything. Maybe something viral but no medicine needed. WHAT the what? Come on! I KNOW I can be a bit dramatic (what? shocking I know!), but I HATE admitting I am sick. It is just something about me. I don't like to be sick so I consciously will it away. (Does that really work you ask? I say yes, but my husband may have a different answer.)

So to tell me to just gargle salt water and take some Motrin to make me feel better when I KNOW I am sick - that just ain't gonna cut it folks. The witch or wizard who I seriously offended must have taken some sort of pity on me because just as I was getting ready to walk out the door I was stopped. The stick thingy from the throat swabby test (yes, I am using technical medical terms here) changed and now surprise surprise I really AM sick. Yeah! (Wait, did I just cheer because I am sick?)

Medicine prescribed, medicine taken, feeling better, pox lifted (fingers crossed anyway). Still think dipping the house in Lysol wouldn't be the worst idea. We have all had our shots (now I am making us sound like a bunch of dogs - had our shots, sheesh). Well, all except the captain of our little ship here - my husband. But he has already been told by the two-year-old that he needs to get it done.

And  he really should because I don't need ANOTHER sick kid in the house ... Love ya hun!

(Oh and Happy 10th Anniversary sweetie! Betcha didn't think that ten years ago when we said "I do" I would be telling the world - or at least the 10 people who might read this - about your coughing or needing a flu shot did ya? For better or worse baby, for better or worse.)

It's so absurd you have to laugh

No, I'm not talking about what is happening in Washington D.C. right now ... It's something a little more on my level: - kid-dom.

This is an honest-to-goodness-hand-to-heart conversation I just had with my kids ...

While serving up dinner I asked my oldest what she might want to do after dinner. She thought about it for a bit and then answered that she wanted to play a game. Monopoly Jr. to be precise. She then asked her brother what he wanted to do after dinner and then declared (before he could answer) we would all vote on what each of us wanted to do.

Very typical first child move (or at least very typical MY first child move). It was clearly known that she (the eldest) wanted to play Monopoly Jr. So when her brother's choice of going outside was vetoed (it was about to rain) he decided he to wanted to play a game too. And not just any game, but Monopoly Jr.

Well now that just makes it simple doesn't it? Consensus made, everyone is happy. Monopoly will be played. End of story ....

Nooooooot so fast ....

No, no, no. Instead of being happy that her choice was selected by another one of her siblings, she decided to pitch her own little fit about it. And I quote: "NO, I didn't want him to pick that game! I wanted him to pick something else!" Followed by pouting and quickly tears. Absurd right? You are getting your way child. Why are you wigging out?

I tried to reason with her that she SHOULD be happy her brother wants to play the same game she does. That was my first mistake - reasoning with a six-going-on-fourteen-year-old girl. But patience, calmness etc., etc. Keep your cool mom. So I tried again to explain that it really is a good thing that he picked the game she wanted to play.

I don't know if it was because he kept saying he wanted to play the game (in that little brother taunting kind of voice) or the fact that her little sister was now chiming in with her brother but she obviously was having some kind of moment. It was clear she was torn. She had to be happy that what she wanted to do was what was chosen, but because it wasn't chosen through HER methods (which had to do with poll taking and hand raising) she wasn't happy.

So in the true spirit of my darling oldest daughter she declared "I want to play Legos."

Oy vey!

Trying to stifle a laugh (you know one of those weird creepy laughs of the insane) I attempted to simply move on from the topic. This slowly spiraled downward into "stop repeating me" and "he's looking at me," to the point that now they have to eat in silence or go into time out.

Not my finest parenting moment I'll admit, but desperate times right? They did all eat their dinners so that is something? Let's call it a draw ...

As I reflect on the chaos that was tonight's dinner (tomorrow will be another story I am sure) it occurs to me that maybe this whole debacle is some sort of metaphor for what is happening in D.C. Similarities can be drawn. And maybe there is a lesson to be learned here too. There probably is, but I gotta go clean up dinner, and hopefully play a non-violent game of Monopoly Jr.

But if you figure it out, please let me know.

Giving Mother Earth the cold shoulder

Does anyone else feel guilty when they throw something away that should be recycled? Or is that just me?

I feel like when I put that empty spaghetti noodle box in the trash and not the recycling bin I'm giving Mother Nature a slap in the face. Well, maybe not a SLAP ... that may be a bit extreme ... more like stepping on her foot or bumping her funny bone. It smarts for a minute or two, but then the pain fades and goes away.

Still doesn't feel very good and that is why I have such guilt about it. I mean, it's not Catholic guilt or anything. That I DO have (in droves), but guilt nonetheless.

(On a side note, isn't nonetheless a wonderful word? It seems like it isn't used very much anymore. Like thus, thine or thou ... but I don't really like those words so much. They make me think of literature I don't understand and is boring to read. But nonetheless is so lyrical to me ... so lovely .... But I digress ...)

I do TRY to be Earth conscience and green and all that. I bought the reusable grocery bags, started a compost bin, break down boxes and wash out cans and bottles for what has become not one, but TWO recycling bins we put out every other week for our garbage/recycling company to pick up. So that is something. (Even if my "compost bin" has yet to be anything but a bunch of avocado rinds(is that right?), onion skins and grass clippings. Some sort of disgusting Mother Earth stew that has never really developed into the lovely compost soil is was supposed to.)

It was just that yesterday I had a pots and pans all over the kitchen, and the spaghetti box was empty, and the bin was ALL THE WAY in the garage and I must admit I threw it in the garbage. I know! The SHAME!! I instantly felt guilty. Although not guilty enough to actually reach my hand into the garbage, take the box out and put it in the recycling bin.

To make matters worse I had already chastised my husband earlier in the day for tossing an empty hand soap container in the trash instead of putting it in the recycling bin. But again, I didn't put my hand in the trash can and get the container out to be recycled. (Especially since I had just thrown a banana peel in there. Nobody wants to reach in a garbage can and feel THAT! But now I feel guilty because the banana peel should have gone in the compost bin. Ahhh! The guilt, the crushing guilt!)

I try to justify my "spitting-in-Mother-Nature's-face" actions by telling myself that it will break down in whatever dump it lands in right? Who are you kidding Sarah? It won't. It will rot there for thousands of years and the human race will not be able to continue to exist on this planet and we'll end up in same sort of Wall-E existence, all because I could not bring myself to walk the 15 extra feet to the recycling bin.

I AM KILLING THE EARTH!!

The shame, Sarah, the shame!

I'll take my penance in the form of cold, quick showers to conserve water and energy, reading in dim light and walking to the store instead of driving (up hill, both ways, in four feet of snow). OK, that last one isn't really feasible with kids but I feel like should get a couple of points just for thinking of it.

On an unrelated note, it officially fall weather here so I am in full on Mr. Rogers mode. To explain, it means that I wear a jacket when I go out of the house and when I come home I take off my jacket and then put on some sort of sweater-coat or sweatshirt or something. Because once the nippy weather hits, I am pretty much cold until at least May. Weird I know. I get cold when it's 70 degrees out. Ask my husband. It just happened Saturday.

But I love fall and I would rather be cold than hot so I will look ridiculous wearing a sweater-coat OVER a sweater (it has happened) and getting goose bumps when it is 72 degrees out.

Maybe being cold all the time is Mother Nature's way of getting back at me for those bottles I didn't recycle. Like the whole how-do-you-boil-a-frog-scenario but in reverse.

Maybe not. Either way I think I need to go put on another sweater ...

Take wisdom from Yogi Berra

My husband has a pretty infamous phrase he uses (and now I use) whenever we have to do something we really don't want to do.

"Just do it, and it will be done."

He can't take credit for it, it was something he learned from a professor in college (a university I won't mention because our house bleeds green).

A little Yogi Berra-ish in my opinion, but effective nonetheless. If you do something, then it will be done. Palm to forehead simple right?

So why is it I choose to do ANYTHING else than the thing I really need to do. Right now I have a sink FULL of dishes that need to be washed. I know that it won't take me as long as I think it will take me to wash them, and I know I will feel infinitely better once they are done. Yet there they sit. Hour after hour. I keep passing them by, sometimes adding MORE to the pile and still they sit.

Instead I have elected to rearrange my dresser drawers, organize my closet and well, um, write a blog post. And while all those things ARE productive (well, except maybe the blog post) they still aren't getting done the one thing I really need to do.

Procrastination, you are my Achilles heel. Or you are just a heel ... either way, you kinda suck.

And so I continue to waste time, finding anything else to do beside the dishes (or in last week's case clean the bathroom) and in the time I wasted do other less important things I could have washed, dried and put away the dishes (or cleaned the bathroom ... you know what I mean). Yet I continue to sit here and write words that bather on and on and not really say anything ....

And you continue to read them ...

Maybe you are trying to find anything else to do except the one thing you NEED to do too ...

Except I must say, reading this blog probably doesn't fall in the category of "productive things to do." Maybe you should clean out your keyboard or update you contacts list instead. And your welcome ....

Or you could just "do it and then it would be done" like I should ... sigh ...

I know, I know ... I'm going .... the dishes wait for no one ....

Buuuut ... my inbox IS a mess ... I really SHOULD clean it out ...

Maybe we should just switch to paper and plastic ...

Deep thoughts ... by Sarah Gray

Do hypnotists have to take an oath? You know, like the ones doctor's take? Basically that they have to use their powers only for good?

'Cause if I was a hypnotist, and I had kids, I would definitely being trying to find a loop hole.

These are the kind of random thought that cross my mind - and sometimes pop out of my mouth ... usually only to my husband.

But seriously, do they?

I'm not saying kids should be walking around like zombies obeying our every command, but wouldn't it be nice to just be able to say the word "Cowabunga" or "Pumpernickel" and your kids would just stop what they were doing and start cleaning up their toys, or stop bickering with each other or finish eating  their dinner? (Of course then your kid would never be able to work in a bakery.)

I'm not saying I would use it all the time, but on those nights when you are completely frazzled, the kids have been at each other's throats for hours and all you want is for them to move slightly faster then a snail's pace cleaning up their toys to be able to say something like "purple monkey toes" and they would start actually putting toys away. (And not just moving toys around like they really do, so in a fit of exasperation YOU actually put them away. Don't let their cute little faces fool you, kids are sneaky.)

Of course it would have to be a word that people don't say all the time like "Lindsay Lohan's Oscar" or "delicious liver and onions." If it was something common like "No" or "Stop it" or "Quite hitting your sister," your kid would be making and remaking every bed in Bed, Bath and Beyond.

It would probably be pretty easy to do, too. Once you got your child to sit still long enough to actually look into your eyes or be quiet and concentrate. Wait, what? Get a kid to sit still and concentrate? Only if Spongebob was on ... That must be where they get us. No kid could sit long enough to actually be manipulated that way. Well played kids, well played ....

But maybe we could use it on spouses .... I know it wouldn't break my heart if I didn't have to push my husband's chair in at the table anymore ...

Quick, honey ... look deeeeeep into my eyes ... connnnncentrate .... you are getting sleeeeepy ... wait, no, now I'M getting sleepy ... what was I trying to do again? ... Zzzzzzz ....