32 Hours

This may not be as exciting, sad or cringe-worthy as '127 Hours' but  that's only part of what my weeks have started consisting of. 32 hours minimum of study + house stuff + looking after the kids = one CRAZY busy week, every week, for the next 2.5 years. I am really excited about it though and it's going surprisingly well! Some how I have managed to keep on top of my studies whilst not neglecting the house or letting the kids form their own government with the sole mission of overthrowing mine. How do I do it you ask? Well, I'll tell you. You know that spare 2 minutes you have in the morning to drink a cup of coffee? Gone. You know that extra 30 minutes of sleep you can get if the kids don't wake you up? Yep, gone too. You know those 3 hours after the kids FINALLY fall asleep when you force yourself to stay awake to have some semblance of an evening? Yep, you guessed it, gone (well, for the most part). But it'll all be worth it in the end. If I can manage to keep mutinous plans under control and still feed everyone before the cat starts dancing around looking like a delicious steak as in the movie 'Madagascar'.

Balance really is key. People are always telling me that you can get everything done if you keep to a routine and stay on top of things. Like yesterday how I achieved just that. As I was immersed in learning all about the biology behind how nerves actually work (don't worry I won't bore you with the details but the term 'action potential' comes up a lot), I heard a curious noise from the other room. I looked up and realized that I was completely and utterly on my own. You know that this is NEVER a good sign. So I went to investigate. I felt a bit like if Sherlock Holmes decided in an out-of-character moment to surround himself with tiny humans (if that happens in any of the books don't spoil it for me. I've been 2 chapters into the Hound of Baskerville for over a year now but I'll finish it someday). Donning my imaginary hat and using my invisible magnifying glass, I followed the clues. And it wasn't long before I found the source of the noise. Standing on the dump freezer with the cupboard open, was Brannon.... and Whiskers. I was quickly informed by Brannon that he was after cake, which is the word he uses to refer to  not only actual cake but also rice cakes and crackers. This time, he meant crackers, and, stacked in a pile on top of the tuna can was a neat little pile of them. I think Whiskers might have even tried a bite as he was now halfway inside said cupboard.

Faced with the dilemma of being fresh out of cupboard locks, I had an idea only a parent would have........ secure the cupboard and it's contents by fastening a brightly colored pipe cleaner between the two knobs. Now, not only does my home look like an advertisement for safety locks, it would also appear that I have let the children loose with the craft materials. There was that time when I was studying and Brannon picked up my orange highlighter and decided to decorate our cream colored sofa (which we were given. I would never make such a rookie mistake when buying furniture for a home with small mischief makers). And then there was that time when the children sneakily ran off with a crayon and made beautiful artwork on the wall in Brannon's room (I can't remember what I was doing at the time but it was a weekend so I'm going to kindly share equal blame with my husband). Or the time more recently when my mom was visiting and I got off the phone call to the bank only to discover that Brannon had taken his plastic garden spade (a gift from my mother) and used it to dig in the sandbox,conveniently located in our bathroom, that the cat frequents. It seems to me that Lynnea has been doing an even better job at teaching her little brother the 'ways to make mom do that funny face' than she could have ever dreamt of.

Even now whilst I'm writing this I can hear some commotion coming from the other room. I'm sure it's fine.......... ugh I'd better go check. Hang on a second, I'll be right back.









........ So....... hypothetically...... does anyone know how to keep a cat out of a pedal bin? Or should I just get rid of it and start dumping trash all over the floor?  I mean, should *a person* do that? I'm asking for a friend. The first person to come up with the best answer wins a free, adorable, calm, loving, non-mischievous little kitten! Phone lines are now open.