I’m a roofer, a baker, and a candlestick maker. Well, almost. The past two days have been a whirlwind of activity. The kind of activity that makes you fall asleep standing up and forces you to invent games like “I’m only resting my eyes” as you watch TV while your head bobs up and down and you drool all over the remote.
Saturday night Tiny-Small and I drove 90 miles to Grandma’s house so we could color Easter eggs with the family on Sunday and to engage in a slightly competitive family Easter egg hunt following the dye fest. When my sister and I were kids, we always had an easter egg hunt the minute after we woke up on Easter Sunday morning. We especially liked finding the plastic eggs filled with quarters and would sometimes rehide the eggs for each other to find. It was our way to prolong the festivities. The Easter Bunny would even hide the real eggs that we had dyed (usually the night before). That stopped after the year a few of the real eggs went missing and mom found them months later hidden behind the couch or on a book shelf or something. Yeah, thanks a lot, Easter Bunny (gross). So, Saturday night I packed the car with every item Tiny-Small might need or wear over the next couple of days, cupcakes that needed to be decorated, two dogs, and a bunch of food. We drove and drove and I had to stop twice on the way due to a lost binky emergency and screaming that drowned out the radio.
Once we arrived I realized I had forgotten to bring a few of the things I needed to turn my cupcakes into little chickens so we went to a new store in town. Tiny-Small got a free balloon. She was ecstatic because she had never had a balloon before (I know, she is SO deprived). We tied it around her waist because she kept letting it go. Then she just rolled on top of it and popped it. She was sure surprised. I kept looking around to make sure she didn’t just facilitate a heart attack or a call to the police, but nobody seemed to be in a panic accept for me and Tiny-Small. A popped balloon is the quickest way to break the heart of a 22 month old baby and possibly the best way to give said baby a phobia for life.
Finally we collapsed onto my mom’s couch and of course Tiny-Small stayed up until almost 10pm because she is at her Grandma’s house and the movie Annie is on. What kind of heartless wretch would I be if I yanked her away from the television, put her pajamas on her and forced her to bed all while the little girls are singing “It’s a hard knock life…?” I justified my indulgence by assuming Mrs. Hannigan was a walking public service announcement for why alcohol consumption was dangerous and not something to fool around with. Annie was educational. Yeah, that’s it! Plus, I know all of the songs by heart and the sooner Tiny-Small does too the stronger our alliance will be against her father who is already considering banning the singing of Christmas carols outside of the month of December.
At last, it was Sunday. We woke up all happy and hungry because brisket was in the crockpot all night. My mom started getting things ready. I started decorating the cupcakes. We were looking forward to the party-time that was coming. Then, my sister calls and can’t make it. I’m staring at the 24 cupcakes I just decorated and hoping I don’t eat most of them myself because my pants are already too tight. Jim is running late because, well, he’s always running late. Tiny-Small is in full melt-down mode because she stayed up half the night and mom and I are looking at each other and shrugging. What are we going to do? Well, I’ll tell you what we did. First we put Tiny down for a nap. Then we hid what felt like 50 plastic eggs filled with farm animals, candy and hair bows. Then we did other things that are gray and fuzzy in my memory at this point. Jim arrived, Tiny woke up and voila! The Egg hunt was on. The only problem was Tiny-Small lost interest after finding two or three eggs and then only seemed to care about the ones with chocolate inside. She carried one piece of candy around for 20 minutes until it melted into a slimy-foiled pile of goo. She couldn’t pick up more eggs because she wouldn’t put down the candy. In short, we colored eggs, we hid eggs, we found eggs, we ate eggs. It was a long, strange trip or something to that effect. More like a rainbow day of food coloring, candy, crying, and eating. Oh yeah, and when Tiny-Small went to bed she had blue lips and she still has no idea what all the excitement was about or who the Easter Bunny is or why we forced her to look around the house for little plastic eggs filled with treasure. I’m certain every day of the rest of the week will pale in comparison. Especially when she isn’t allowed to eat candy at her whim.
|Even Rosie got tired of looking for eggs!|
Monday I was not on one, but two roofs repairing damaged shingles and metal roofing. Wind, wind, wind. It’s the worst enemy of roofs in New Mexico. It was even windy while I was on the roof and I am sure to the neighbors it looked like Cousin It from the Adams Family was up on the roof hammering away. Then I dug up Iris’s so I could transplant them, packed up the car, and drove like crazy to get back home before the snow started falling and froze my squash plants. The snowflakes started hitting my winshield about ten minutes before I arrived home and we dug out canvas and tarps to cover the plants with. Then I made pork with a date, rosemary, and apple dipping sauce. Tiny-Small cried for broccoli, rubbed potato in her hair and then took a bath.
Here I am, wine glass in hand, writing my blog (finally) after two days of blogcation. The dishes are washed, Tiny-Small is in bed, and I am ready to settle in for a long winter’s nap or whatever you do when it is supposed to be spring, but snowing outside. To those who ask Stay-At-Home-Moms, “What do you do all day?” I counter with, what don’t we do all day? Someday I am going to learn to make candlesticks even if it kills me. Right now I’ll just have to settle for roofing and baking. So, that’s why I disappeared from the blogosphere.