Pondering the Complexities of Urine Puddles

Today I'm going to totally be on it. It's true. I've wrote out a list of everything that I'm going to do. It ranges from going to the post office to folding laundry. I've already drank two mugs of mojito mint green tea, but I feel that might not be enough for what I have planned today. Seeing as we don't have any Diet Pepsi left in the house, I might just have to make an emergency run to the Burger King down the street and get a large one. I know, the price of buying a soda at a fast food joint is enough to buy me a liter at the grocery store. Well let me tell you something--you can get off of your six pack of budgetary lectures, because I have The Husband to tell me those things.

Anywhoo, I've put in a load of laundry, loaded and run the dishwasher, made my bed, and put the Soft Scrub in the toilets for a very-near-future scrubbing. Which brings me to the question that keeps plaguing me: Why, why, why must there be little drips and dribbles of urine somewhere on each toilet? I guess I could blame it on Carter--he just barely turned four and his urinary skills are sub-par. However, my instincts tell me that there are three more older contributors to this bodily fluid phenomenon. I am not one of them. My fluids are contained-yo!

From my previous post you would know that we had a party at my house. Previous to the party, I cleaned the place up pretty good. After all the excitement, I cleaned up as well. The toilets were pee free as of last week. Sadly, I know it's time for a deep clean when the earthy scent of urine starts to mingle with the exotic aroma of my Island Paradise Air Wick. That is the perfume that greeted my nostrils this morning as I used the hall bathroom. It was the smell of a housewife called to action!

To be honest, I don't really mind a good deep clean every couple of weeks. It is time for me to turn on, tune in, and take out the trash. I think what bothers me most is the obliviousness, whether authentic or faked, to my efforts. Why wouldn't my loved ones want to make my work a little easier? Why can't the men of my home control their aim better for their dear mother, and beloved wife? If they did, the toilet would do it's awesome job and just flush the pee away leaving no trace of "eu de hobo" in the bathroom . Is it laziness? Is it a physical problem they should see a professional about? Am I being insensitive because it's so easy for me to make the excretory target?

As the Soft Scrub slowly makes its journey down the three toilet bowls of our house, the question forever remains:

Why is it that certain males just can't get all of their urine into the toilet bowl? And, if a puddle or drip does happen, how hard is it for them to just clean up after themselves so I don't have to?

Now that I got that out of my system, it's onward and upward!

[Charise holds scrub brush directly into the air as if holding the glowing flame of Lady Liberty]

The Newest Threat

For kicks lately, Cody and Colton have started telling Carter that they are going to "bite his head open". This, of course, terrifies Carter and he will either scream bloody murder or cry, or alternately do both. In response to this, my blood pressure rises, boils, and probably thins...a little. This pisses me off. So, I calmly tell the boys to leave Carter alone, 99 percent of the time they don't listen and keep tormenting Carter. This pisses me off even more. So, then I yell at them to, "knock it off!" If they don't stop after this, I scream some more incoherent rants and take an Ativan. Then, everything is okay.

The End.

Snap, Crackle...Not.

Some evenings I get motivated and bake treats for the kids--all housewifey and shi*. Well, tonight I decided would be one of those nights. Since it was later in the evening, I decided I would make something simple--your ordinary, everyday, all-around-loved cereal snack, rice krispy treats.

While I was gathering up my ingredients, Colton came in the kitchen and told me he wanted to make brownies. When I told him what I was making instead he replied, "Rice crispy treats suck!"

What. The. Eff?

Was I hearing correctly? A child that didn't enjoy the sticky sweet seduction of a square made from just three simple ingredients? My mind reeled, and I got a little dizzy. I somehow managed to walk out of the kitchen without throwing the large blue box of ricey goodness at my child's sweet, 13-year-old noggin. Lucky for him, because those boxes have sharp corners!

After I gave myself a minute or two to settle down, and I was thinking rationally again, I realized Colton's reply was a good thing. Follow me here...all kids love rice crispy treats, right? And Colton seems to think rice crispy treats "suck". Being the intelligent mother I am, I realize what this means. It means that Colton officially isn't a kid. He's an adult and it happened so fast I wasn't aware of it. Well sir, I am aware now.

So, after I type this up I'm going to go in to Colton's room to help him pack his stuff. Hopefully tomorrow he can find a place to live, get a job, and once he's all settled in to his new life--he can even make his own brownies!