Notes from the Blue House

I struggled with the trays of food, I dug through my massive bag brimming with diapers, board books and sippy cups, searching for my wallet. I glanced around in a panic hissing "where is he? where is he?!" Someone touched my shoulder and said "Don't worry, he's right behind you". Whew, I didn't lose Simon. That's a step in the right direction. Owen was fiddling with the zipper on my bag while I searched for my wallet "Stop it! Get off my bag right now!" We made it to the table and the anticipation of lunch was too much for a hungry toddler to bear. Simon begins screaming. "MAAAAAAAA!" In Simon's world, "MAAAAAAAA!!" means "Give it me. NOW. I'm not f***ing around here, woman." His screaming is high pitched and intense and I feel my hands start to shake as I frantically start spooning rice onto a Styrofoam plate for him. I'm so rushed by his thrashing and screaming that I abandon utensils in favour

 Last month, I flooded my basement while Tim was at work. I tossed a pair of soiled Hot Wheels undies into the big, deep laundry sink, turned on the water and then answered the phone. I strolled outside to the deck, plopped down on the chair and chatted for almost an hour. Then I came back inside and, while farting around on facebook for a few minutes, thought "What am I hearing? what's that soft and steady noise?" I walked down the hall to investigate and fell flat on my ass in a large pool of water. We've got main floor laundry so, of course, the water went through to the basement turning my neat boxes of folded baby clothes into mushy cardboard piles. Drip drip drip. Boxes of high school yearbooks and childhood photos in imminent danger! I tore around the storage room, heaving as many boxes as I could to safety before I caved in and called Tim to fess up. I was so mad at myself that I wished I could give myself a noogie, a wedgie and a wet willy. The schoolyard bul