When we moved into this house in 1998, the building inspector required we have lights at every exterior door. We put in the outlets and had them working into the switch, but for some reason we never actually installed the lights. We have a mercury light, so we didn’t really need them. And I think when we were doing the vinyl siding, we didn’t have the proper light box.
But we bought it within days. Still, we never installed the lights, because by that time the siding was up and we were in a “hurry up and make do” mode.
Yesterday, Steve installed the light. When we made our garage door smaller, we removed a lot of siding, so it was oh-so-close to being undone where the light outlet is at. So I suggested. And when I came home last night, our mercury light wasn’t on. But as I got out of my vehicle, my exterior light flipped on. I have light! So now the second switch in the mudroom actually has a purpose.
It took him a bit to locate the special vinyl siding light box, and the outside light. After all, we’ve been moving them around for the last 6 years. There is still, however, that switch in my office that doesn’t do anything. But that’s from when my office used to be a foyer and had an exterior door that required a light. Now that light would just light up the side of the house because there isn’t a door there anymore. Not that I’m complaining. I have light, after all.
The siding still isn’t up on the garage, but that’s because I had a meeting last night. Steve did get the Tyvec up, so hopefully tonight, I can help him put up the siding.
Last night the kids went to a magic show. It was family night at their school and usually we don’t go to family night because I always seem to have meetings on the same night, and Steve doesn’t relish the idea of taking all four kids by himself to something he suspects he will be the only dad present.
But last night the kids really wanted to go. So they suggested Grandma Sherwood would take them. I called and asked, and she agreed. But it was a pajama party family night and any adult not wearing pajamas had to pay $1 to get in. Grandma opted to pay the $1. But the neighbor lady, Sue, went too and she wore her pajamas. The kids all wore their pajamas too. And they got disappearing ink and a plastic whistle shaped like a bird that you fill with water to use. Autumn tried to dump the disappearing ink on me this morning, but I stopped her just in time.
Getting four kids out the door in time for the bus is about all the magic I can muster in the morning.
In the midst of all of this home improvement I’ve been slacking in my duty as Children Homework Monitor. Amanda missed the deadline for an assignment to do a brochure on Houghton Lake. It was due last Friday. I found out about the project when I went through Amanda’s bookbag on Tuesday. It was a wadded up note in the bottom of her bag saying, “Dear parents.” It told everything about the project except the DUE DATE! Amanda didn’t know it. (Why am I not suprised?)
But Amanda’s friend’s mother knew. And Amanda missed it. We live in Merritt, just 13 miles west of Houghton Lake. She claims she doesn’t know anything about it. Yeah. The thing is, she thinks because the due date has passed, she doesn’t have to do the project. Enter me. As soon as I have time in between home improvement and work requirements, I swear the CHM is going to woop some child into doing her duty!
In the “I’m such a bad mother” category (as if my neglecting CHM duties aren’t bad mother habits) I managed to maim a child yesterday. Justin is now sporting two, make that three, scratches on his face, thanks to my fingernails. We were in his room, and he was sitting on his knees on the floor with pajama bottoms on and no shirt. I was standing above him. I had him hand me his pajama top so I could turn it right side out. As I handed it back to him, he popped up, and his face met my outstretched fingernails. Tears and guilt flowed freely.
Later, after the children went to bed, I managed to stab Steve at least three times in less than 10 minutes. This is the number one reason why I liked fake nails. They looked nice and when I stabbed someone they didn’t hurt them. But my real nails are sharp dangerous weapons. This morning I clipped them back to fingerlength. It’s not like they were lethal length to begin with, because I type a lot and that tends to break them off. But still. My poor family.
Now, I’m off to work. Later Dude.
