- peanut butter hands
- missing remote controls
- overflowing trash bins
- sticky floors
After just having a conversation about lice my head began to itch. In fact, it itched again just now when I wrote that. The power of the mind eh? I cannot fathom how I would cure Jake of lice should he ever contract it. Even in his sleep he moves pretty fast for a kid with cerebral palsy... dewd you should see him dodge scissors.
I did have hives this morning, and now that the Benedryl is wearing off I am beginning to feel the welt rise up again. Becuase, uhm, you now what I was thinking? If it gets too easy, add hives. HIVES! Really God? Really? Has someone set a plague upon my house? Why? Is it all those times I throw my Diet Coke cans away in the trash can when I'm at the gas station, instead of saving them for when I get home to recycle them? I feel really badly about that.
Peanut butter hands
My sister can't stand banana hands, I don't deal well with peanut butter hands. I don't know many people who actually enjoy this thing, but peanut butter hands lead to peanut butter walls and peanut butter cars and couches, and one of my dads is anaphylactically, deathly allergic to peanut butter, and while he is not in my home often, he is in my car periodically, and that whole CSI thing reminds me that there is transfer, from one place to another, and that's ALL I NEED TO DO is go and CIL my dad. So poor Jake has to be hand fed his sandwich so as to avoid too much PBT (that's peanut butter transfer), which makes him a bit upset because he thinks he's all cool and independent now that he's 9.
Missing remote controls
This only happens in my house when Lucy is crying about "needing" to watch Little Bear. The only other time the remote control goes missing is when we want to change the channel.
Overflowing trash bins
I like to pretend that I don't hang a 33 gallon trash bag off the side of my counter every other day, but it seems there is always a giant black trash bag tucked into a drawer next to the stove. I'm not sure when I started this habit, but I hate emptying the 10 gallon trash can under the sink every five minutes, and going to the large bin outside on the deck seems too dauting for every scrap. Oh and I have a brown paper sack kicking around the kitchen floor too.. for the paper recycling.
It's not secret that Jake is a messy eater, and he loves to do drive-by snacking, where he picks food off the counter and marches off throughout the upstairs, and backyard if he can. If he is really hungry, and I am not paying attention for 3 minutes he has been known to grab a piece of fruit out of the fruit bowl to eat. This is generally fine. Messy-ish, but fine. Unless he gets a home-grown and surprisingly not-sweet tangelo. He took one the other day, and when I saw his puckery face from across the room I knew exactly what he had tasted. When I went into the hall, I saw the first bite, small, to get through the rind, on the ground. Next there was the actual bite he took which made him pucker. It was spat out on the ground and stepped on with his precious little shoe. Finally there was the rest of the tangelo, lightly clipped by his gigantor foot, the innards of the citrus splayed out across the hardwood like an image from Wheels of Tragedy.
I cannot get the sticky off the floor. Or maybe it's just now on every shoe in the house.
Did I already say hives? Okay, must go itch now.