Following the Rules

My youngest cannot tell time, though she wears a watch as if she can.  She repeatedly looks at her wrist and says things like, "My watch says 10 minutes".  Yesterday I was cleaning the kitchen, muddy paw prints covered my floor, dishes needed to go in the dishwasher, and the usual counter clutter accumulation needed to be addressed.  I had been working in there for about a half an hour when my youngest stalks into the kitchen and looks at her watch.  She announced in her sternest voice, "My watch says 12 minutes.   If you are not done cleaning when it says 30 minutes then I am going to have to give you a time out!"  With that she exited the room.  I cleaned a bit longer, and about 15 minutes later she says, "time is up."  I put my mop away, and held my hands up as if defeated, "I'm done.   No more cleaning."  I am always looking for an excuse to avoid housework and a time out from my child was as good as any I could fabricate.

Not Your Way at Subway

Today I went to Subway.  The only reason I selected this place to eat is that I can eat relatively healthy there, and usually I can find something for both my kids now that they serve a pizza.  My youngest will not eat any kind of sandwich but grilled cheese, so pizza is the option that suits her best.  However, on this particular day, at this particular Subway we encountered the only one in the area that does not serve pizza.  The reason being, there is a small pizza place two doors down from them, and there is some sort of legal ramifications for Subway if they sell their pizza at this location.  Great.  I asked for just a small section of bread instead.  That would tide her over until we got home where she would eat.  The man starts to ring up my order, and charges me $3.50 for a six inch piece of bread.  I said, "Excuse me.  I don't think so.  That is more than an entire kids meal."  He said, "Sorry, we can't just sell bread.  We have to charge you the equivalent of a veggie sub."  This really irritated me, and I said, "I can buy more than a loaf of bread at the store for that.  I am not paying $3.50 for a piece of bread.  Make it a kids meal then with nothing on the bread, and I will pay that."  At least then I could get a drink and a side for my daughter.  He said, "Nope.  I can't do that either.  This is six inches of bread, and a kid's meal sandwich has only four inches bread."  I don't know if he was trying to be a turd or what, so I answered back, "Then cut two inches off."  Really, it wasn't like they weren't winning out of the deal, because they were getting to keep the meat.  But again he wouldn't comply.  I seriously felt like just walking out and leaving the entire order right there at the cash register.  I don't TRY to be difficult, but I guess I am.  At any rate, my youngest ended up with a cookie and a chocolate milk for lunch.  I was chagrined about this unhealthy turn of eating events, but my youngest was ecstatic.  At least for awhile Subway has lost my business.

My Literal Child

My kids are preparing to sing a song with the children's choir for our church's Easter musical.  We have a conflict with the actual choir practice time, so they are to learn the song on their own, and they will attend the rehearsals when or if they can.  Today, I played the song for the first time, "Sing Hosanna".  My kids liked the upbeat song, but when it was over my eldest said, "Mom?  Who is Hosanna and why are we telling him to sing?" 

Ridiculous Rebates

Most of the time I avoid rebate items like the plague, unless it is an instant in-store rebate.  However, in November my husband needed a new phone, and we were buying it, regardless of the fact that there was a rebate being offered on it.  The rebate was for $100, and it just seemed as though it were an added bonus to get $100 off the phone we wanted.  I put everything we needed together in a bag, and decided to look at it closely when I got home.  Well, the catch was the phone needed to be activated for three months before you could send in the rebate.  So, I put everything back in the bag, and it has sat on my counter for three months.  Most people probably would have tossed it, I am sure that is what the company offering the rebate was hoping, but not I.  It became a mission to send in that rebate information. Today I pulled out the paperwork because the deadline is looming; it must be postmarked by the last day of February.  I completed the forms with ease, attached the upc code and receipt, made copies, and then I notice the fine print.  Please do not expect your rebate for at least 15 weeks.  15 weeks!  Sometime in June we should be enjoying that $100 rebate.  All the wait and the work it hardly seems worth the money.   Really I don't know why companies even bother.  It is obvious that they don't want to pay the rebates by how difficult they make it to even get them in the first place.  A less anal retentive person would, I am sure, never receive the benefit of a rebate, but I shall prevail!

When Imaginary Friends Go Bad

Earlier today, while I was in the kitchen, I heard my youngest howling.  My eldest was working on schoolwork at the kitchen table, so I knew she was not the cause.  Rushing down the hall, I fling open the playroom door to find my little one sobbing.  "What happened?"  I asked.  She was crying so hard that she couldn't speak.  I picked her up and asked again, "What happened?  Did you hurt yourself?"  Through her sobs she manages to utter, "Rosie hit me."  I was a little bit exasperated.  Rosie is her imaginary friend, and not a nice one at that.  I said, "You tell Rosie that she is not welcome at our house anymore."  Really.  I have enough to worry about with my two real children getting along.  I don't need to throw an imaginary one into the mix.  She seemed to perk up at my demand, and I thought maybe, just maybe, we could get rid of Rosie once and for all.  Then a couple of hours later I hear her talking to Rosie again.  I said, "I thought I told you that Rosie wasn't allowed to come over here anymore."  My youngest looks at me as though I am the dumbest person in the world.  "Mom.  That Rosie was the Rosie with ORANGE hair.  This Rosie has blue hair."  Oh.  My bad.  

Don't Mess With Me

Today has been one of those days where everything has kind of made me feel edgy.  My children have not been able to keep their hands off one another, and we are not talking hugs.  My youngest has an offensive spitting habit, that she thinks is cute, but is rude and annoying.  We have been preparing for the world's longest Valentine's party that we have to attend tomorrow...3 hours!  When we signed up to attend I thought it would be to exchange some cards, have some cupcakes, and be done.  After all, I want my kids to be able to enjoy these types of things, but 3 hours seems a bit extreme.  We spent this afternoon decorating shoe boxes as Valentine themed mailboxes, and my eldest carefully selected which cards she wanted to give to 40 different people.  After a couple of hours, I was losing my mind. I resorted to helping her fold the cards and place the stickers on them to keep them closed, so that I could eventually have my kitchen table back.  It did amuse me however, that she chose to give a Snow White card to one little girl, because she was still mad at this girl for tearing her shirt (accidentally) the last time she saw her. The little girl won't have a clue, but my eldest does not like Snow White, so in her mind, it is payback at its finest.  I needed to run to the grocery after my husband got home, and the grocery never seems to go well as of late.  Our local store was running a sale on half gallons of milk for $1, but the kind we drink was all out.  The man working in the back said to just tell them up front and they would give me the same price for a regular gallon.  I grabbed two gallons, and headed for checkout.  I was three feet from entering a line, I had 11 items, when an older man with a cart overflowing darted in front of me.  He just stared at me.  I so badly, wanted to say something, but I bit my tongue and got in a different line.  Then the twerp ringing up my order, said that he could not give me the same price on the milk, because they just don't do substitutions.  I explained that the man working in the back had been telling a lot of people that they did in fact do substitutions, and they needed to get their stories straight.  He offered me a RAIN CHECK for milk.  I said, "I don't want a rain check for milk that I need today."  He informed me that I could pay full price.  To the annoyance of everyone in line behind me I said, "You need to call a manager over."  So what does the twerp do?  He calls the manager over, and says, "Oh, and bring a raincheck with you."  The associate manager came to the lane, and I explained the situation.  She told him to ring it up at the discounted price, and she would go have a word with the guy working in the back to set him straight.  I couldn't help but feel slightly triumphant. as the cashier looked annoyed that he didn't win this argument.  I probably would have backed down if I had not been told by a store employee that I would not be charged the higher price.  I am still a bit on edge, and my husband has sent me to bed, which was probably wise.  Hopefully, tomorrow I will feel more like myself, but maybe not, I have the world's longest Valentine's party to endure.