Thursday, January 24, 2008

Dang It

There are no coffee filters. None. Nada. We are coffee filterless. Dang it.
It’s not that I drink coffee every day; otherwise I would have noticed that we were out of coffee filters, but when I want a cup of coffee, well, I WANT A CUP OF COFFEE. At this point, I have two choices, go without or run down to the little coffee shop down the street.

I should mention that I’m dressed in a gray, long sleeved shirt, topped by an old, raspberry colored sweatshirt. I’ve got blue sweat pants on and white socks, Paris Hilton, I’m not. Because I live in the country I could probably get away with driving down to the little coffee place, dressed as I am. But I’d have to load up the wee girls, both of which are still in their footy sleepers, one of which has a hole in the toe (just noticed that this morning). Their hair isn’t brushed, neither is mine. Dang it.

There is one other option, since I’ve already had my shower, I could throw on a pair of jeans, brush my hair, brush my teeth (?) and wake up the beasty girl so she could watch the wee girls. On second thought, waking the beasty isn’t all that appealing, especially considering I haven’t had any coffee.

Guess I’ll have to settle for green tea. Yum (not). Dang it.

The Z-Monster has talked NON-STOP since 7:10 this morning. Now, one would think that since they did not get a nap yesterday (at mom’s house for the day) and they got home an hour later than normal (Grandpa goofed up and went to our Saturday night drop off location, instead of our Wednesday night location) that they would sleep in. Nope.

Her sister, The Destroyer, is in fine form this morning. She was up at 6:30, a full 15 minutes later than normal. She’s in the midst of potty training. Let me rephrase that, I’m attempting to make her pee somewhere other than her pants. She, in turn, has decided that she hasn’t the time to pee somewhere other than her breeches. Thus we are in the midst of a battle of wills.

I had decided, since she’s returning to her mother in a matter of months, that I’d let it go. In other words, keep her in a diaper and let her mother deal with the problem. After all, she’ll probably regress once she figures out she’s living with “mom” and not “mama”. However, I am sick and tired of diapers. Sick! Of! Them!
She knows where the potty is. She knows what she’s supposed to do. She just won’t.

The only way I know to cure this problem is to put her in big girl undies, ask her every ten to twenty minutes if she has to go, and clean up the puddles any puddles she leaves around the house. I did this thirteen years ago…my children are both house broken. I like them this way. As time passes, I’m starting to like my nearly adult age children more and more.

If one of them actually drove, I would be in Nirvana. After all, I could send C to the store for coffee filters and croissants.

Dang it.

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