Wild One(s)

It's Sunday night, and another weekend is in the can. What a weekend; what a week. I feel lately like I'm biting off much more than I'm capable of chewing, but I'm not at all sure how to, er, spit it back out, once I've committed to the bite. Instead of scaling back and leading that more simple life that everyone seems to be talking about these days, I seem to keep raising the bar higher and higher in my expectations of what I should be able to acheive on any given day. Any stranger who walked into my house off the street and spent about, oh, fifteen minutes in the presence of my wild, feral children would likely just slap me and tell me to snap out of it, a la Cher in Moonstruck. (I watched it again this week -- I never mention it on my favorites lists, but it should be on there.)

Because no matter how I may try to nag, scold, threaten or otherwise take them in hand to civilize them, the kids really seem to be reverting more and more to their natural state of wild beasts these days. (Reverting, ha. That would imply that they had at some point progressed beyond that stage.) You may have gotten the impression from the previous post that Lily is some sort of ethereal fairy-child, when in fact, the above picture is really a much more typical state for her -- wildy jumping around, bounce house or no. She just flat-out refuses to listen to 98% of what we tell her lately, which is usually just 2 phrases, anyway: "calm down" and "stop running." Tucker, as he approaches his second birthday, is really feeling his oats with that willful-adorable-tyrant stage. I sort of cringe when I enter the kitchen to make a meal these days, as usually he'll take that as a sign that mommy has already worked her food-magic-mojo, and he comes running in, yelling "ready? is ready? ready ready ready? Milk! Want milk? I want juice! No milk! Juice! Ready ready ready?" This, before I've managed to re-heat, chop or otherwise come halfway close to producing anything edible.

So, yeah. The weekend is over, and I didn't accomplish anything I'd planned. Which was to decorate the house for Halloween, and do some laundry, and clean, and work on the Halloween craft stuff that arrived this week from Mailorder #4. I don't even want to tackle the subject of me and this crafty business right now -- I have a whole other post I plan to devote entirely to that new weird obsession that's bit me. Suffice it to say that those crafty-blogging women out there are probably half the cause of my feelings of inadequecy these days.

However, I did get to go to Bunco on Friday night -- didn't win any cash, but I looked damn cute in my new Steve Madden red peep-toe flats, and I also found out that if you put salted peanuts and candy corn in your mouth at the same time, it tastes exactly like a Baby Ruth candybar. So I guess the weekend wasn't a total wash after all.