How in God's name was I not clear???

I'm sorry. You are right. My bad. I don't know what I was thinking. I apologize for being intentionally unclear and misleading. I admit that I said "You need a sweatshirt this morning since its only 38 degrees." What was I thinking? Your choice was completely appropriate, given the complete lack of direction I offered in the situation. I see, now, how you could clearly have misconstrued my intentions. I only said you needed it, not what you needed to DO with it once you had it. Because it makes so much sense to use a sweatshirt to combat cold temperatures by putting it in your backpack instead of ON YOUR FRIGGIN' BODY. Good. God. Help. Me.

This seems to be a recurring theme in my house. My complete lack of clarity. I have apparently struggled with this disorder for at least 13 years that I have been made aware of. I'm starting to think that its something that I was exposed to during my first pregnancy that seems to be incurable. I'm calling it Non-Sequitor Directional Speech Disorder. I call it this because when I'm giving directions, I may as well be throwing out a complete non-sequitor into the conversation for all the apparent sense my directions make to the intended listener. For example, "Put your shoes away" seems to come across in the moment with as much relevance as "There is a frog in the back yard". See? Complete non-sequitor. 

I used to think that the problem was more directly related to language. Like maybe I was randomly lapsing into speaking French, or German, or Italian, or Russian, or Latvian when I was giving instruction or direction to the kids. Because this would clearly account for my children not being able to clearly understand what I was saying and the directions I was giving. Several things have dissuaded me from this position, however. One, I have thoroughly checked my own background and education, and I now know for a FACT that I don't speak French (sorry, Madame Marr!), or German, or Italian, or Russian, or Latvian, or any other foreign language for that matter. Two, my children have clearly shown the ability to understand at least PART of what I am saying. I know this because when I say things like "I just told you to put your shoes away! Why are they still sitting here in front of the door?!", a typical response is "Yeah, but you didn't tell me where to put them." Clearly it was me that dropped the ball on this one.

I wasn't aware of this affliction before I had kids, and I'm guessing that it is relatively unknown in the medical field. All I know is none of my doctors ever warned me about exposure to this disorder, or how to avoid getting it, or what treatment options are available to those who become tragically afflicted. And ironically enough, my limited research has given me the distinct impression that the group most afflicted with this disorder is parents, although any adult who comes in regular contact with children is at high risk. High risk. Like "Oh, you have the plague and didn't tell me until after you hugged me, coughed in my face, and threw up on my shoes" kind of high risk.

I can't even tell you the wide variety of ways in which my NSDSD has hurt my children. I have realized the error of my ways in retrospect, and to some degree this has helped me to make sure not to repeat my past NSDSD episodes. Such as...

"Do not aim your airsoft gun at your brother in the house." 
What I clearly should have said... 
"Do not shoot your brother with an airsoft gun in the house." 
My bad.

"I need you to sweep the kitchen floor."
What I clearly should have said...

"I need you to sweep the kitchen floor, thus removing the dirt currently there from the kitchen by putting it into a dust pan with the broom and then placing the dirt in the garbage can."

See how I failed?

"You need to take your shower now."

What I clearly should have said...

"You need to use soap, while in the shower with the water running, to clean the dirt off of your entire body, and yes this includes your face, feet and hands, and use shampoo to wash the mud and dirt out of your hair."

Clearly my fault.

"Your backpack doesn't belong there in front of the door."

What I should have said...

"Your backpack doesn't belong there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there, or there. Oh for the love of God! Just put your damn back pack in your damn room!!!"

You see the pattern, here.

"The garbage needs to be taken out."

What I should have said...

"The garbage needs to be taken out of the house."

Not sure what I was thinking.

"Go do your homework."

What I should have said...

"Go do your homework correctly."

Its the little things, I guess.

"Turn off the television."

What I should have said...

"Turn off the television now, not in a second or a minute or after this commercial which is so funny you just have to watch it or when the show is over. Now. As in right now. Right. The. Eff. Now."

Gotta work on getting specific.

"Its time to set the table for dinner."

What I should have said...

"Its time to set the table for dinner, and since we use more than butter and ketchup during dinner, I need you to include plates, napkins, cups, and silverware to your 'table setting' repertoire."

Its so obvious how I was trying to mislead.

I am going to keep working on this issue and hope to one day master my affliction. I continue to try and find new, better ways to improve my directional communications with my offspring. As you can see from my sweatshirt conversation with Little Dude this morning, I am continuing to fail. If anyone has any suggestions from their own experiences with NSDSD that might help me improve the situation here, I am all ears because what I am doing obviously ain't working. And my poor children just don't know what to do with my muddled and vague attempts at giving instructions and guidance on a daily basis. So its really their futures, their lives you would be helping with your advice and input. Think of the poor children.

Abnormality is NOT an excuse!!!

I am very well aware that there is nothing "normal" about the way we have been living in the past 5 weeks. Shit. Ok, I admit there has been nothing "normal" about me for about 42 years, but for the sake of argument, let's just focus on the last 5 months, shall we? Having the kitchen out-of-order has created a giant clusterfuck in a wide variety of ways...no running water, no access to stove or oven, eating wherever you can find a chair and a clear surface... I've had to close my eyes and breathe deeply sooooo many times as things that are so very wrong became so very necessary. Straining food in a bathroom sink, anyone? 

So given how "off routine" things have been, I've been willing to be quite a bit flexible in how we've done things around here. The normal job chart as been tabled temporarily, as doing many of the kitchen chores over a carpeted surface means Mom is a little bit less willing to stand back and let the minions learn the hard way how to take out the trash without dumping it all over the floor, or how to clear the table without dropping 86% of the dirty silverware on the floor on the way to the sink (especially since the sink in question is now at the complete other end of the house and in the basement!). So its not like I am flying off the handle at the first sign of discombobulation. We've been living in a state of discombobulation for 5 weeks now, and I'm kinda thinking we should all be used to it by now. It's kinda our "new normal". As such, I don't think its asking too much for the minions around here to get their shit together and get with the friggin' program already!

I know for a fact that tonight was NOT the first night anyone shorter than 5 feet tall in this family was asked to help out with washing dishes. I'm pretty sure the basics have been covered plenty of times. You know, hot water, soap, a cleansing cloth of some sort...the basics. Therefore, merely changing the location of the dishwashing experience, from the kitchen sink to the basement sink, doesn't really change the actual PROCESS of the dish washing itself. Since there is still access to the required hot water, soap, and cleansing cloth in the new location, I just don't believe that the new location itself is enough to create such a degree of confusion as to make the act of dish washing too difficult to be completed. And not to break my arm patting myself on the back or anything, but its not like I am asking for the complete sterilization process that I was taught to follow when I worked at a preschool - soapy water so hot you couldn't retrieve the silverware from the bottom of the sink without risking the loss of an arm, followed by the scalding hot rinse and the burning bleach water that seared off the top layer of skin from both hands. No. I'm perfectly happy with hot water, soap, and a cleansing cloth. Not too much to ask, I'm thinking.

Therefore, I've come to the conclusion that from now on, the next person who is asked to do the dishes and who then assures me, without a doubt, that they are absolutely 100% done with the dishes and that they have, in fact, been washed thoroughly, that person will be eating their next meal off of those exact same dishes. If those dishes are "clean" enough for you to step away from the sink and call it "done", then those dishes are "clean" enough for YOU to eat off of. Cuz there ain't no fucking way I am eating off any of them! Cuz that shit ain't fucking clean! And I'm gonna give you a little cheat sheet to use when trying to determine if dishes are or are not, in fact, clean yet.

If the "clean" knife handle has a dried glob of peanut butter on it that can't even be chiseled off with another knife, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" frying pan has a layer of grease on it that turns a paper towel brown when said paper towel is wiped over the surface of said pan, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" spoon that was once a solid color now has a polka dot pattern of  dried, red spaghetti sauce spots on it, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" cereal bowl has a white ring dried in the bottom in the exact shape and pattern of the milk left over from the cereal you had for breakfast, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" colander has a 50% blockage of all its drainage holes from tiny bits of pasta that have dried into place, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" fork no longer has separate tines, but instead has dried shit in between them, thus creating a smooth eating surface, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" cups still retain the ability to have the last liquid consumed from them easily and readily identified, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" spatula still has enough dried egg on it to provide a child in a 3rd world nation a healthy breakfast, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

If the "clean" silverware bin, that is supposed to be clear, is now opaque (that means NOT see through anymore!) as a result of all the left over food crap dried on it, SHIT AIN'T CLEAN!

Do I need to keep going? I kinda feel like I've made my point but if not, I'd be happy to continue making my way through the "clean" dishes to point out additional examples. And the irony of it all is that merely using the 3 basic tools of appropriate dish washing mentioned before, the hot water, soap, and cleansing cloth, would easily have prevented these items from merely being "clean" and helped them actually to be fucking CLEAN!! So if you feel like being lazy and doing a half-assed job of washing dishes, understand that it will be you, and NOT me, who will be getting Ecoli, or Botulism, or Salmonella, or Listeria, or the Plague, or whatever disgusting diarrhea-and-vomit-inducing illness comes with eating off of filthy dishes. Because I will be eating off of dishes that I wash myself. You will not be going anywhere near MY dishes. Back those grubby little paws the hell away. NOW!

And as an added bonus, I'm willing to offer a few more pointers that can make our existence here more mutually beneficial (and just overall more positive)...It might, just might, not be a good time to make me ask you FOUR times to bring me your mother effing dirty clothes off your bed room floor. Cuz I don't know if you can tell, but the shrill harpy-like voice, bugged-out eyes, and 360 degree head-spin are all signs that I've about had it, and your help in meeting some basic minimums around here would be greatly the fuck appreciated. And the bonus to the bonus tip? When I am in the basement up to my armpits with your stankified clothing, with prune hands from washing all of your "clean" dishes, you might - just MIGHT - NOT want to try and tell me that the dog whining at the back door shouldn't fall on you because you aren't currently "in that room". Cuz guess what? Neither the hell am I! And it would be a really, really, REALLY bad idea to try and tell me that I should come upstairs and do that so that you can avoid having to get up from that comfortable chair. Like, really, really bad. 

But its really only a bad idea if you think you might want to keep living in this house. Or if you think you might want to maintain the use of your arms as something other than clubs. Or if you think you like being able walk without a permanent limp. Or if you kinda like the look of going out in public without my foot permanently embedded up your ass. But really, its up to you. Your call.

Morning Person I Am NOT!

I like my sleep. I mean, I really like my sleep. REALLY. I wish the hours of the day were reversed and that it would be acceptable to spend 8 hours a day awake and spend the rest of my time out cold. I truly hate waking up. No matter what time I wake up, I would advise people not to speak to me until at least - at LEAST - 10:30am and not until I have had at least - at LEAST - 2 Diet Cokes. Even my kids know that they should tread lightly around me in the mornings and anything I do or say should be verified with Dad before being taken too seriously. I've stopped making apologies for it too. It is what it is and I am what I am. Which is not a morning person.

This problem is often compounded by the fact that I am a Mom. Which means that I haven't had a solid sleep-through-the-night night of sleep in the past 12 years. And if you are a Mom, you know what I mean. All it takes is a whimper, a bed spring sproinging, a floor board creaking, a light switch clicking, or let's face it, the sound of a child's breathing that gets any closer to my ear than their bed. And I'm awake. On full alert. Wondering why the child is awake, up, moving. And this is directly followed by wondering what sort of mayhem will ensue that I will discover in the morning and have to rectify. And what's really weird is I can tell from my bed which child it is that is awake. Little Diva has a delicate, barely detectable pitter-pat and always closes her bedroom door behind her when she leaves her room in the middle of the night, lest the dog escape and dare to try and sleep somewhere other than her room. Big Dude has your standard, basic 12 year old foot fall. Little Dude, however, is my stomper. He doesn't mean to. In fact, he's still asleep 98.54% time when he gets up in the middle of the night and has no clue that he is plodding down the hallway in a manner that would make Bigfoot look like a dainty, ballerina. And I KNOW he's asleep because of the things he does and has no memory of. Like trying to shower...with his clothes on. Or attempting to leave the house out the front door, or through the garage. Or perhaps trying to pee...with his eyes closed...while still dreaming about being someplace other than a bathroom...and actually peeing all over all 4 walls of the bathroom and the underside of the toilet. Yes, the underside of the toilet.

So its pretty easy to know which kid is up and moving, and intercede accordingly as necessary. With Little Diva, I'm pretty sure its gonna be something along the lines of helping her retrieve some stuffed animal that has fallen off the bed or is wedged between the bed and the wall. Thank GOD we are out of the "You need to help me go to the bathroom." phase, which always involved me standing in the doorway of the bathroom watching her go to the bathroom and walking her back to her room where I turned off the light and shut the door. Yes, I'm pretty sure my assistance was invaluable and absolutely necessary! With Big Dude, I can just roll over because unless he has had a bad dream and comes to the side of my bed for some reassurances, he can handle his own shiznit. With Little Dude, all bets are off. He might simply use the bathroom and return to bed, which is the best possible outcome for all of us. He may leave a bunch of lights on, in which case, I just have to turn them off (including the one in his room). Or, he could need to be forcibly removed from the shower, or redirected back to his bedroom from whatever quest he might be on (to escape the house, to watch TV in the living room, to do...something...in the basement, to pee in the corner of the dining room that he thinks is a public urinal, etc). But my biggest fear is that he will need me to stand next to him gently tapping his cheek, poking his shoulder, and screaming at him to "Wake up! Open your eyes! Watch what you are doing! AIM! Get it in the toilet!" while he is sleep-peeing, and then spending an hour or 2 in the middle of the night cleaning and disinfecting the bathroom. This shit definitely puts a damper on the smooth-nights-sleep thing.

Of course, it doesn't help to sleep next to a snore-er-er-er. Its not his fault and I have never even one time told him he needed to sleep on the couch. If it gets to be too much, I'll go to the couch. But the fact of the matter is that I can't sleep with snoring. So I try really, really, REALLY hard to fall asleep in the 46 seconds between me asking him to roll over because he's snoring, and the beginning of his next round of snoring. This very rarely happens. So I do a bit of tossing and turning until there is a long enough break for me to actually fall asleep. And you add an uncooperative mattress to the equation, and Mama ain't gonna be a'smilin' when the sun comes up. I realize I am probably in the smallest minority of all mattress-owners when I say this, but Tempurpedic has done me NO favors for the last 2.5 years. I know, I know...they are the greatest thing since sliced bread, and they solve every sleep issue known to man, and they will cure all aches and pains associated with sleeping discomfort. Except for me. Because I NEVER had back pain, or hip pain, or trouble getting comfortable, or issues tossing and turning through the night, until we got this mattress. I was told "You have to give it awhile to get used to it. It'll take some time but once your body is used to it, you are gonna love it!" Um, yeah, not so much. I am not sure, but I really don't think it should take 2 years and 4 months (and counting...) to get "used to" sleeping on a new mattress before you can expect a good nights sleep. Usually I sleep on one side until that shoulder and hip are numb or aching. Then I roll over to the other side until the same thing happens. Sometimes at this point I will try to sleep on my back, but I grind my teeth and this position results in me waking up with a raging jaw ache. So then its back to side #1 again. Lather, rinse and repeat, as the shampoo bottle says. All night long. And don't even get me started on how my crazy, whacky dreaming can mess with a good nights sleep........

So I think today will be a nap day. Although I know this will only make it harder to fall asleep tonight. Which means I really should just make everyone suffer right along with me, and deal with my cranky, overtired ass all friggin' day and then I should make all the little minions go to bed early (bitch at me for making you go to bed early tonight...go ahead, I dare you.) And hope to fall asleep early. It would really be in everyone's best interest if this could happen. Cuz if it doesn't, there won't even be anything Diet Coke can do to help. And that's saying a lot. Because I think an ice cold Diet Coke can pretty much solve anything. Especially if it has some Jack in it.