7AM: Kids are up bright and early. We give our blessing on a fruit snack breakfast, along with a warning not to return for 1 hour.
8AM: Dave bolts out of bed, and throws on some clothes, when we hear the first of 10 loads of topsoil being dumped in our yard. I used to think there was nothing worse than buying tires, but $1600 bucks worth of dirt, might be worse than tires.
8-Ten: I try to go back to sleep, but the Hoodlums are taking turns riding each other down the stairs, and I hear Dylan say that it's Emma's turn to be the human sled. I reluctantly roll out of bed and step over the mound of clean laundry that I was going to put away Wednesday.
8-Thirty: The Hoodlums are in a race to see who can eat their omelette's the fastest, because everything has to be a competition. Dawson has put a few too many jalapenos on his eggs, and has to chase every bite with O.J. which is slowing him down considerably, but making it possible for Dyl to be in the running.
0845: Dave pops his head in, to tell me he's running to the neighbors to borrow a back hoe. When you live rurally, you can borrow heavy machinery from your neighbors as easy as a cup of sugar. Who knew?
0900: I have resolved to swallow the bitter Saturday morning chore pill, and just bust through and get it down. There are few things I detest more than cleaning, which is why I only do it every couple of weeks. I decide to tackle the laundry pile at the foot of my bed and separate the towels for Dyl to fold, and the kids clothes for Dawson to take care of. I have to isolate Dylan and his 7 bath towels, in order for him to accomplish the task. He starts bawling about how much he has to do, and "what am I even going to do to help," and the wailing and gnashing of teeth begins.
0930: I look out the window to see Dave at the controls of a huge CAT, moving the mounds of dirt around. He looks totally construction-y and hot, so I press my bare bosoms to the window in a secret hope that he will come in and whisk me away to a special place that doesn't involve cleaning or crying. He looks over, just as I have to put my shirt down as a car passes, and gives me a wink. Oh, goody, a wink to get me through the morning. I reluctantly look back into the living room where Dylan is rolling around on the floor, staring at his hands, in an effort to avoid the 7 freaking towels that he has to fold. He is so, my child.
0945: Dawson comes to report that he has completed everything on his list, and everything but the towels on Dylan's list............He definitely lucked into Dave's determination and drive. I ask him to dust the stairs, and he happily skips off to perform the task. Dylan has scooped all the towels into a pile and is trying to fold them with his toes. I do a little dusting, and look out the window again. Dave is out of the back hoe, looking at some white pipes sticking out of the ground. I lean out the door to say Hi, and he informs me that he just demolished the newly buried sprinkler pipe with the back hoe. I say, maybe we should just borrow sugar from our neighbors.
0950: I go into the bathroom with a new magazine and resolve to just read one article, and then get started on the vacuuming. Dylan is now whining that he is hungry, so I lock the door and turn on the fan, even though I don't even need to use the bathroom.
1020: My legs have fallen asleep and I have consumed half the magazine, but I think it is in everyone's best interest if I don't go out until Dawson is no longer yelling about Emma hitting him with the light saber, and Dylan has untangled himself from the towel pile.
1040: I hear Dave hollering to me, as I stagger out of the bathroom on completely numb feet. I pass the stairs where Emma has positioned herself two steps above Dawson, so that she can put her little feet on his forehead and try to push him backwards down the stairs. Dawson is almost oblivious to anything but his fervent dusting and desperation to finish his jobs. The towels are still strewn around the living room, but Dylan is nowhere to be seen. Dave is lurking sheepishly, in the entry with our camera in pieces. He tried to look back on our camera, at the sprinkler pictures, and in the process, dropped the camera on the concrete where it died. R.I.P. good little camera.
1050: I'm rooting around the boys' backpacks and find this little gem in Dawson's. I can't even imagine what his teacher thinks about us. This is a project called Dawson's Week, please to enjoy.
8AM: Dave bolts out of bed, and throws on some clothes, when we hear the first of 10 loads of topsoil being dumped in our yard. I used to think there was nothing worse than buying tires, but $1600 bucks worth of dirt, might be worse than tires.
8-Ten: I try to go back to sleep, but the Hoodlums are taking turns riding each other down the stairs, and I hear Dylan say that it's Emma's turn to be the human sled. I reluctantly roll out of bed and step over the mound of clean laundry that I was going to put away Wednesday.
8-Thirty: The Hoodlums are in a race to see who can eat their omelette's the fastest, because everything has to be a competition. Dawson has put a few too many jalapenos on his eggs, and has to chase every bite with O.J. which is slowing him down considerably, but making it possible for Dyl to be in the running.
0845: Dave pops his head in, to tell me he's running to the neighbors to borrow a back hoe. When you live rurally, you can borrow heavy machinery from your neighbors as easy as a cup of sugar. Who knew?
0900: I have resolved to swallow the bitter Saturday morning chore pill, and just bust through and get it down. There are few things I detest more than cleaning, which is why I only do it every couple of weeks. I decide to tackle the laundry pile at the foot of my bed and separate the towels for Dyl to fold, and the kids clothes for Dawson to take care of. I have to isolate Dylan and his 7 bath towels, in order for him to accomplish the task. He starts bawling about how much he has to do, and "what am I even going to do to help," and the wailing and gnashing of teeth begins.
0930: I look out the window to see Dave at the controls of a huge CAT, moving the mounds of dirt around. He looks totally construction-y and hot, so I press my bare bosoms to the window in a secret hope that he will come in and whisk me away to a special place that doesn't involve cleaning or crying. He looks over, just as I have to put my shirt down as a car passes, and gives me a wink. Oh, goody, a wink to get me through the morning. I reluctantly look back into the living room where Dylan is rolling around on the floor, staring at his hands, in an effort to avoid the 7 freaking towels that he has to fold. He is so, my child.
0945: Dawson comes to report that he has completed everything on his list, and everything but the towels on Dylan's list............He definitely lucked into Dave's determination and drive. I ask him to dust the stairs, and he happily skips off to perform the task. Dylan has scooped all the towels into a pile and is trying to fold them with his toes. I do a little dusting, and look out the window again. Dave is out of the back hoe, looking at some white pipes sticking out of the ground. I lean out the door to say Hi, and he informs me that he just demolished the newly buried sprinkler pipe with the back hoe. I say, maybe we should just borrow sugar from our neighbors.
0950: I go into the bathroom with a new magazine and resolve to just read one article, and then get started on the vacuuming. Dylan is now whining that he is hungry, so I lock the door and turn on the fan, even though I don't even need to use the bathroom.
1020: My legs have fallen asleep and I have consumed half the magazine, but I think it is in everyone's best interest if I don't go out until Dawson is no longer yelling about Emma hitting him with the light saber, and Dylan has untangled himself from the towel pile.
1040: I hear Dave hollering to me, as I stagger out of the bathroom on completely numb feet. I pass the stairs where Emma has positioned herself two steps above Dawson, so that she can put her little feet on his forehead and try to push him backwards down the stairs. Dawson is almost oblivious to anything but his fervent dusting and desperation to finish his jobs. The towels are still strewn around the living room, but Dylan is nowhere to be seen. Dave is lurking sheepishly, in the entry with our camera in pieces. He tried to look back on our camera, at the sprinkler pictures, and in the process, dropped the camera on the concrete where it died. R.I.P. good little camera.
1050: I'm rooting around the boys' backpacks and find this little gem in Dawson's. I can't even imagine what his teacher thinks about us. This is a project called Dawson's Week, please to enjoy.
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(I called the cops on my mom.)
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(I trashed the yard)
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(I colored a picture for my Dad.)
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(I caught a cat fish.)
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(I eat a taco.)
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(I set a fire.)
(I had a rest.) Thank the Lord!
1100:Grilled Dawson about his project. When I asked him why he would call the cops on me, he just laughed and said, because I get so funny when the cops come around, and then Dad gets mad at me. Nice.
High Noon: Dylan extracted himself from behind the pillows on the couch where he had been hiding, and folded the damn towels. I got burst of energy and did my chores, and we all headed outside to play. It was painful, but our house looks presentable, and the Chitlins are learning to be responsible. Maybe?
We spent the late afternoon watching the Cougs get spanked, and eating lots of delicious whore's dervs with our friends. After everyone left, the kids got ready for bed, and Emma said our family prayer. She thanked the Lord for "the good day, and Fisherman's Friends." That sent the boy's into delirium, as they were already really tired and giggly. I used to use Fishermans Friends, which are nasty cough drops, as the ultimate punishment for potty words. The boys' have both only had them once or twice, and Emma has never had them, but she still is eternally grateful for them. Whatever. Amen.
High Noon: Dylan extracted himself from behind the pillows on the couch where he had been hiding, and folded the damn towels. I got burst of energy and did my chores, and we all headed outside to play. It was painful, but our house looks presentable, and the Chitlins are learning to be responsible. Maybe?
We spent the late afternoon watching the Cougs get spanked, and eating lots of delicious whore's dervs with our friends. After everyone left, the kids got ready for bed, and Emma said our family prayer. She thanked the Lord for "the good day, and Fisherman's Friends." That sent the boy's into delirium, as they were already really tired and giggly. I used to use Fishermans Friends, which are nasty cough drops, as the ultimate punishment for potty words. The boys' have both only had them once or twice, and Emma has never had them, but she still is eternally grateful for them. Whatever. Amen.
yeah, so landscaping is when I realized the saying "dirt cheap" is BS. We spent $2000 on dirt, are you KIDDING me???
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