He brought home a box of these things, some super-fancy modular robotics cubes you can stick together in different combinations.
|These are called Cubelets, and this set of 20 costs almost what our minivan is worth.|
Our kids enjoyed playing with them immensely, but I'm not sure that they were absorbing all the educational value promised on the box.
When my son showed me a robot he'd built and I said, "Cool! How do they work?" he explained, "You put them together and they make this noise."
Well, that's $500 I'm glad we didn't spend.
Since Phillip was gone at the Boy Scout thing, I had to bring all 5 kids to my daughter's violin lesson at her teacher's house. It is not a large house.
I brought the iPad to keep them quietly entertained and out of the way, which was working pretty well until I peeked in to see my 7-year-old casually lying on top of their kitchen table propped up on one arm watching a movie.
When the teacher told the kids to "make yourselves at home," I don't think she knew what it's like at our house.
But at least they weren't taking their socks off everywhere and using the toilet without flushing.
If that's not enough of a mental picture of the kind of weekend we had, also consider this scene that took place Saturday morning.
Phillip got up early to go for a run at a local conservation area, and then woke me up by calling home afterward saying he'd locked himself out of his car.
No problem, I could come to the rescue as long as I could wear my pajamas.
I left the older kids with instructions not to kill each other for 10 minutes, grabbed the baby (and a kitchen towel to put in the car seat because his diaper was leaking,) and had just showed up to unlock Phillip's car when the kids called to inform me that their little sister had just thrown up.
Yay for laid-back Saturday mornings!
Every once in a while (okay, all the time) I'll get carried away with an idea that sounds great, but it's only after I get started that I realize I've completely lost my mind.
Phillip's been motivating us all to eat healthier lately; I'll admit that at first I wasn't on board because snickerdoodles are apparently "not good for you," but whatever, I guess it's an alright thing to do.
Anyway, after deciding I was on board I thought it would be a good idea to make a boatload of healthy, homemade, not-processed food for this week.
(Luckily I reigned myself in when I realized I was Googling recipes for making your own ketchup, but I still did some crazy stuff.)
In a move that is so typical for me, I decided that pacing yourself is for losers and when I got home from the grocery store I commenced to make carrot lemonade, healthy blueberry muffins, yogurt-and-fruit popsicles, and the cauliflower rice we were having for dinner — all at the same time.
Needless to say, my kitchen was utterly destroyed and I did nothing but cook all day. And now I'm mad when the kids eat the food I worked so hard to make.
Phillip mentioned he'd ordered something for work and it was being shipped to the house, so when a gigantic box showed up on the doorstep I didn't think much of it.
He was completely perplexed at the size of it but figured out what the problem was when he opened the box.
Under a holy ton of styrofoam packing peanuts were the devices he'd ordered, in ten packs of ten, instead of the single pack of ten he'd wanted. Whoops.
Speaking of which, let's talk about packing peanuts for a minute. What kind of sick, sadistic person invented them? And why did s/he hate humanity so much?
When you open a box full of packing peanuts, kids are immediately drawn to it like moths to a flame and within seconds, their hair, their clothes, the walls, and every other surface in the house are covered with tiny, staticky styrofoam pieces.
In my unscientific observation, every 2 minutes that packing peanuts are present in your house represents another month you'll be vacuuming up those little styrofoam bits of wretchedness.
Those things are like plastic Easter grass on speed.
I may or may not have expressed my feelings about packing peanuts to Phillip in my usual hyperbolic fashion, only to have the 4-year-old overhear and ask me for the rest of the day, "Why did Satan himself mail packing peanuts to our house? Then why did you say he did?"
I get why the fine people of the Interwebs write clickbait titles for their articles, but sometimes they try a little too hard.
|Courtesy of Huffington Post Parents|
I guess it's supposed to mean it's so adorable it'll make me want to have a baby, but since it sounds like reading the thing would be fast-tracking my way to an emergency hysterectomy I steered clear of the article.
(If you're braver than I am and you do read it, let me know if it was as cute as they claimed. And then probably, you know, call your doctor, just in case.)