Where oh where has my little mind gone?

Today was rough. This morning started out as normal as any other, except I chose to sleep, rather than bounce around for an hour on the stupid bosu balls, sweating and stinking and chatting with the girls. Dawson kept coming into my room saying he didn't want to be late for school, so I would give him a task, like make your bed, and then told him to come wake me up. We went through teeth, prayers, and the dirty clothes pile, before I could hoist myself out of bed, and he eventually made it on the bus. The poor kid is so dang responsible, and I am just not sure where he gets it.

I got the rest of the kids ready to do our weekly shopping trip with my Gram, and made a stop at the new house, on our way. Dave asked me to pick up a pump, to leave at my Grandma's house for his dad to pick up. Well, I went in the house and looked at the freshly installed hand rail and then headed out to Heber. I got most of the way there when Dave called to remind me about the pump, which I totally forgot and also to remind me that I had to be available to sign for the appliances which were being delivered between 10 and 1. Well, eff.

On the way over to Heber, Dyl and Emma, were watching Annie for the 50 millionth time, and Dylan said to me, "I wish I had a locket." I asked him why and he replied, "So that my real parents will have something to claim me with." I decided not to tell him that his real parents died in a fire, especially since I can still remember fantasizing about my "real" parents. As a side note, neither my son or myself are adopted. I asked him what his ideal parents would be like, and all the attributes he could wish for in the perfect parent. He thought about it for several minutes and finally replied, "They'd be made of sugar." I was a little relieved. I understand a sugar statue, but I would feel really inadequate if he rambled on a list including, but not limited to, great homemaker, chef, super clean freak, or some sort of soft, non-vulgar saintly woman.

We managed to do G-Mizzle's shopping, (which is entirely another blog post) and make it back just in time to watch some seriously burly men haul our new appliances into the house. Hooray! I was really worried when the guys measured our garage door entrance and realized that the fridge was not going to fit. They decided to go around and take it through the front entrance, which meant trudging through 2 feet of snow with a heavy fridge on a dolly. I watched with dread as they started through the snow, stumbling and sweating up a storm. The two men's combined weight had to be close to 700 pounds and with the profuse sweating, I started to look around the house for a barrier in case I needed to initiate CPR. They finally made it in the door, and I said, "Well, that was easy. Hehe." I thought they were going to kill me.

After naps, we took off to Park City for a quick shopping trip and managed to accrue $150 worth of stuff from Wal-Mart and Staples. I was pleased with how quick I had shopped and that we were going to make it home before Dave. On our way out, we drove through Mickey Dee's for an ice cream cone, and as I was licking mine, I told the boys that it made me feel like summer. Dylan immediately said that his ice cream cone made him feel like a Wookie. I just left it alone.

We got home with a few minutes to spare, and went to unload all the bags, when I noticed there weren't any freaking bags! I buckled all the kids in the damn car and left the bags in the cart, in Wal-Mart parking lot. These are the times when it super-sucks to live in the country. A stupid trip to Wally World takes over an hour round-trip. I hurried into the house and called Wal-Mart. The uninterested woman on the phone said nothing had been turned in, so I loaded everyone back up and headed back to the store. Thank goodness for Orphan Annie and her antics, to cover up all the profanity that streamed from my mouth for 35 minutes straight. When we got there, someone had turned in my stuff, so I picked it up and gratefully headed back home.

I don't know if anyone else has ever been surprised by a children's book, but tonight, as we were all cuddled up on the couch with our library books, I felt a little violated. Our library routine consists of me frantically grabbing the allowed number of books, quickly checking the picture to text ratio, and then getting the hell out of there before any of the kids can break something, yell, swear or start any fires. A couple of times I have been burned. Tonight we were reading a book about Abraham Lincoln. I was exhausted so I wasn't really paying attention until I heard myself say, "Negroes." What?? The sentence talked about how sick Honest Abe was when he saw how the Negroes were treated. I bet he wasn't nearly as sick as I felt when Dylie said, "What the hell is a Negro?"
In our house, my kids can hear a million words a day, but the only word that will stick in their spongy little brains is one I don't want them to say. I explained to him, that term was used a long time ago for African Americans, or black people, but that we don't say it now. Sure enough, I turn the page and it shows some slaves all chained up, and Dyl says, "Why'd they tie all the Negroes up?" Well, shizz.

I think it's time to call it a night.