Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time

I've learned some hard truths about myself recently. Mostly that I talk a big game but when push comes to shove, I will park my butt on the couch after putting the kids to bed to read or play Words With Friends or text with my sister or anything but trying to get a handle on the chaos of the house. That's why it surprised the hell out of me when my best friend was able to successfully browbeat/cajole/trick into participating in a giant local consignment sale with her. Her reasoning? "Well, you have so much stuff and you could make so much money!" And if I'm being honest, it's a hard battle cry to ignore.

So now the basement is in even greater disarray due to the emptying of boxes and wardrobes in the search to determine what will stay and what will go. Most. Most of it will go because I'm now in drooling lust with the thought of Getting It Out.

And it's been relatively easy; the system is completely computerized though I did have to go in search of white card stock that is not carried at Wal-Mart BTW and purchase a crap-ton of kids hangers which I didn't need as I was able to successfully cannibalize enough from the kids' closets and safety pins. I have almost 500 safety pins now which seems to be a bit of overkill. I'm also pretty sure that they won't work on Pinterest. After entering your items into the system, you print tags which you then have to cut and apply to everything you will attempt to sell. But you also have to punch holes in the tags to pin/tape/tie to the item which also requires a hole puncher so this little exercise is starting to add up in cost. But everything is added; all that remains is the matching up of each damnable tag with it's item then figuring out the best way to attach it. Which needs to be done by Wednesday since that is when my drop-off appointment is so can you guess when this has to be worked on? You got it. At night. After the kids are in bed.

And we've come full circle. Headdesk.

I'm a shameless overachiever. For my kids.

We do not believe in doing things halfway at Casa de Lange. (Fine, I don't believe in it.) Nope, we're all-in, all the time as evidenced by this past weekend when in a rush of parental super powered adrenaline, we moved Noah from his crib to a toddler bed and began the introduction of underwear. (For the record, monkey faces on toddler butts are completely adorable.) And fine, the crib to toddler bed transition only entailed removing the front piece with everything else staying the same but still! No more baby jail. *sad trombone* We'll have to do effective discipline and stuff now.

Before: Baby jail in all it's glory

Prison break! Go to DEFCON 2!

But! Noah loves it. He loves that he has a bed he can get into and out of by himself, he is tickled that Buzz Lightyear is on his new underwear, another stroke of genius on our part as we showed the kids the Toy Story trilogy for the first time this past weekend. Also? The final scene of Toy Story 3 absolutely WRECKED me and made even worse by the coincidence that I've been purging toys for a consignment sale. (I am ignoring your cries universe; the need for order in the basement trumps your shameless heartstring tugging.)

Aside, the kids loved the movies and weren't scared by it. In fact, I had a conversation with Noelle this morning on the way to camp about why Sid was such a rat bastard to his toys (my words, not hers. Der) which led into a soliloquy on my part as one can project how a person will treat others by observing the way s/he treats things/animals/others and to stay the hell away from anyone who acts like that. Teachable moment FTMFW, yo!

Now that I've good and what the hell is the word that means going off on a tangent that starts with a 'D' or is it a 'C' and I can't remember, everything's fuzzy and my life is RUIIIIINED. Diverged? Discourse? Deedlebopper?

Crap, the point. Right. The point is this: Noah is loving being a big boy and is adapting so well to the changes. Though scraping the poop out of the underwear on Tuesday was decidedly NOT the highlight of my week.

Monkey Butt!!!!!

And it was time seeing as he's going to be 3 next month. Where did MAH BAYBEE go?

Big Boy bed ain't no thing

Oh, there he is. Stay right there for a while buddy, mkay?

How to sabotage your week in 12 easy steps

Oh HAI. It's Monday and I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. This is either the sign of an awesome weekend (HA) or incredibly poor planning/judgement. Seeing as I have a preschooler and a toddler, the latter is the safe bet. How did it come to this? I'm so glad that you asked.

Step 1: Get new smart phone

Step 2: Decide to be Greatest! Mom! Ever! and load games for kids to play

Step 2A: Decide to load a game or two for yourself because hey, it IS your phone

Step 3: Make one of those games Words With Friends (my user name is 'momofnandn' bee-tee-dubs)

Step 4: Encourage husband to also add games so you can essentially play Scrabble while sitting next to each other on the couch nevermind that the actual Scrabble game is downstairs as that's too plebeian

Step 5: Start first Words With Friends game with husband at 9:30 on a Sunday night

Step 6: Continue play until he resigns from game at 11:30 even though he was crushing you because there was nothing you could do with three 'Gs', a 'H' and an 'E'

Step 7: Go to bed as 5:30 am comes very early. At 5:30 am

Step 8: Be startled out of sound sleep somewhere between 1 and 2 am by said preschooler saying that her tummy hurts and can she sleep with you

Step 8A: Let her on the bed and pray that she doesn't barf in your hair

Step 9: Share your space (including pillow) with her until you are on the edge of the bed leading to a fun new game: Extreme Sleeping!

Step 10: Doze on and off until 4:30 am where husband takes preschooler back to bed.

Step 10A: Immediately flop onto stomach and dream about luggage

Step 10B: Hold out a tiny hope that she actually is sick so you can take a day off and encourage her to sleep, leading by example

Step 11: Awake with a start at 5:30, no vomit in sight damn it all

Step 12: Drag self out of bed; start week off in glorious fashion featuring vats of coffee

Now if anyone needs me today, I'll be hiding under my desk taking a nap. Until a new Words With Friends game starts of course.

Bigger-ish Boy

So. It's come to this. Other than the diapers (which seriously, this kid is messing with me. I know he can use the potty. HE knows he can use the potty. So just...USE THE DAMN POTTY ALREADY) the only remaining thread connecting Noah with babyhood is the baby jail baby containment force-field crib. He doesn't climb out, he doesn't mind it, why mess with what works?

Um. Well, have you MET my son? (Of course you haven't; that was a dumb rhetorical question.) The point of said dumb rhetorical question is that the child is ginormous by any rational standard and let's face it, it's getting hard lifting him into and out of the crib without whacking his head on the ceiling fan. (Thanks Bob Ward builders for the 8-ft ceilings!) The top of his head comes past Noelle's shoulder who is 5 and a half and ridiculously tall herself. And...he's going to be 3 next month, well past the age for jettisoning the crib altogether. AND we're going on vacation in August where he won't be sleeping in a crib as I refuse to pay for a crib for an almost-3 year old so we need to transition him SOMETIME, amirite?

Because I'm all about traumatizing surprising my children, I got the bright idea last night that hey! he's going to a birthday party on Saturday, wouldn't it be cool if he came back from the birthday party to find his very own big boy bed in his room! Dylan was less excited about this plan but I got my way because I have control issues am like a freight train going fully speed ahead once an idea has taken root. We have a conversion kit! This is a lifetime bed! T'will be a cinch!

(If you know me at all, you know that this is called foreshadowing.)

Digging underneath the crap-ton of stuff in the basement on Sunday night, I finally located the conversion kit. It was intact (Huzzah!) however...in our elation of getting the forever bed for Noelle lo these almost 6 years ago, we neglected to read the fine print. Mainly that it went right from a crib to a full size bed. Do not metaphorphasize to toddler bed, do not collect $200. Generally, much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth would commence but oh ho HO! But what to my wondering eyes should appear....but a white toddler bed, and away I wiped a tear.

Yes, my packrattiness laziness forethought saved our butts once again. We had never gotten rid of the toddler bed that Noelle had used and it would return from the dead to save us once more. (Zombie furniture, zombie cars, you name it, in my house it's been resurrected.) But this still leaves the problem of disassembling the crib (which we are totally saving for, well, next year: see pack-rat), moving the toddler bed upstairs and the rocking chair downstairs. (Hey Noah, let me mess with your mind. You don't have nearly enough fodder for therapy.) In come the big guns: my dad is coming up on Saturday to help me with the Extreme Makeover: Nursery Edition while Dylan hides takes Noah to the party. It'll be like clipping toenails or ripping off a bandage (also high on the traumat-o-meter): just do it fast and get it over with

Aw Boo-Boo, isn't growing up great? (I'm thinking that a trip to The Cow will probably end up being in order. It's so important to have an escape plan. Also, I'm not above bribing acceptance with new sheets.)

Hey, SyFy? Are you hiring new writers?

Because the one, the only, MR. ALICE COOPER! had the best idea to beat all the bestest ideas for your new original movie:

Tarantulamb!  

I can imagine the tagline now: His snuggly softness will draw you in...for the KILL.

I'm willing to start a petition; I'm sure that my fellow SyFySaturdaySnarkers would agree that.

We are legion and really, only trying to help you achieve your greatest potential.

(Okay, fine, and give us something to do on Saturday nights but truly, our motives are *mostly* altruistic.)

Sincerely,

Dawn aka momofnandn