We've been trying to install anti-tip wall straps on our furniture for weeks now. I saw a viral video of a dresser falling on a toddler that pretty much turned my intestines inside out (even though the toddler was okay,) and thought it would be a good idea to anchor our furniture to the studs in the wall just in case.
But apparently everyone else had already seen the video, and the wall straps were all sold out at the store. I had to order them online.
When they finally arrived, I handed them over to Phillip (the installation guy in our house) and asked "Do you have a stud finder?"
"I married a stud finder," he said, chortling all the way to the basement to go get it.
I guess I set that one up pretty perfectly.
In our house we have only one rule about the food at dinnertime: you have to eat one bite of everything on your plate. After that, you can choose if you want more or if you're done.
We thought we were pretty smart, making this rule.
|One bite = a single atom of zucchini.|
But I think my kids have found a loophole.
Do you have family Valentine's Day traditions? In ours, each family member writes love letters to every other family member. At first this wasn't a big deal, but now that we have a family of 8 it's a major undertaking.
This year I seriously carried around a clipboard with a spreadsheet of who'd already written what so I could help the little kids write theirs.
We need to start writing at least 2 weeks in advance, unless of course you're Phillip. Then you put it off until 1pm on the day of Valentine's Day and do all of them in a single sitting. To each his own.
On the recommendation of my blogger friend Crystal, who has 7 children, we got a Rody horse for our kids. I figure if it survived in her crazy house, it could (maybe) survive in ours.
The funniest part about it is that the kids can't agree on what animal it is.
One calls it a giraffe. One insists it's a llama (and corrects me every time I say 'Rody horse'.) The toddler at first called it a bunny because of its long ears, but now he just sits beside it and reads books.
I guess it's a good companion, regardless of its actual species.
The baby has become terribly wiggly lately whenever he nurses, and on Monday he finally did it. He was flailing around and whacked me right in the eye, scratching my cornea.
I cried twice.
Once when it happened, because it kind of hurt. And again when I realized my vision was distorted and I assumed he'd permanently messed up my eye and now I'd need a scary corrective surgery done by sharks with lasers on their heads for which my insurance would cover about $5.50.
But according to WebMD, scratched corneas should heal on their own and I don't think mine is too bad, so here's hoping.
In the meantime, everyone is greatly amused by the way I use the computer with my bad eye closed so I can read the screen. Like a one-eyed blogging pirate.
When I went to go see the ophthalmologist about my eye, I went with no kids. Zero. This never happens. Even when I leave the kids with a sitter I still take the baby.
Usually in public buildings we take the elevator; it's the only thing to do when we're a veritable caravan with several tiny people, one gigantic stroller, a big diaper bag with who knows what in it.
But since I was alone, I took the stairs to the 3rd floor. At a normal walking pace. I was shocked at how quick this was. Still am.
After my appointment, though, I was sort of starting to miss them, so I decided to take the elevator down and fight with a stranger over who got to push the button.
My son is doing something for cub scouts. I'm not sure what it is. This is his and his dad's thing.
All I know is that they put a sweet potato in one of my flower vases filled with water and now it's sprouting tentacles.
|There's got to be a B-grade sci-fi movie about this.|
We call it "The Hairy Potato" and I keep waiting to have a nightmare about it.