Playroom Psychosis

You know, I am NOT going to add to this blog thing everyday--I promise! I am sure it will end up like all those prettily covered journals from Deseret Book conversing with the dust bunnies under the bed; started with gusto but ending up filled with entries like "Today nothing happened..again" and forgotten. So no worries this will be a daily thing.

Today was cleaning the playroom day. I dread this day. It is on the same level as was going to the family dentist as a kid when you knew that not only were you not flossing but had a couple cavities. Our playroom has a lot of nooks and crannies so you never know what lurks waiting for you to discover it. I have found: levels of rotting food from just getting a tinge of mold to a dried-up- can't-identify-it mass, loads of underwear (some of it even clean), bags containing random items like dried up worms or rainbow PlayDoh creations and once a sealed jar of fruit flies (still alive)! But mostly, I find broken crayons. My girls love to draw. LOVE to draw. In fact, once a year we bulk up on crayons (back to school time price:25 cents a box). You should see the cashier's expression when we bring up a cart full of over 50 boxes of crayons every September. She always asks, "Do you own a daycare or something?" No, but it sure feels like it. Sad thing is, 50 boxes will only last to Easter. But I am too embarrassed to buy more than that. Maybe I can order direct from Crayola next year.

That's Not Pudding Folks!

This is the reason why the fainthearted should not become mothers. Adreana--my 18 month old--decided to repaint her walls and crib and self with her own...um..."paint" the other day. I discovered her masterpiece by the wafting stench sliding under her closed door while she was supposed to be napping. After donning a hazmat suit, I carried her to the bathtub. Three bathes, a shower and two loads of laundry later, she emerged sweet smelling again. Unfortunately, she loved the whole experience. She giggled at my gagging the whole time. My budding artist has repeated her "art" twice a day for almost a week now. ARRRGHHH!!! Did Michaelango's mother ever go through this?

Why am I doing this again?

You know, I never dreamed I would ever be a "blogger". I was one of those who when someone said "Go to my blog sometime" my teeth and lips would form a polite "Sure" while my brain would laugh in derision. But I do enjoy writing those Christmas letters every year and--even more shocking--people actually LOOK FORWARD to reading them. So, I decided to join the lemmings on their journey towards the cliff. And you all know the ending to that saying. So let the blogging begin!