This year, Valentine’s Day means so much more than it has in past years. My marriage is better than it has ever been, my oldest son is in school, my youngest son crammed so much chocolate into his mouth that he couldn’t breathe… oh wait – that’s not different!Brody and I spent our evening creating Valentine bags for his class mates. He carefully counted all the chocolates into each separate bag, put 1 pencil and bottle of bubbles in each one. Recalling that Ethan loves blue – so he’ll get 3 blue Starbursts and yes, Isabella is still his girlfriend and she LOVES pink. He made all the decisions on the bags – right down to how I should tie the ribbon. He did ask where his bag was and could he make one for his brother. Evan on the other hand cried when I made him play with his dad and demanded bubbles from me. Such a big difference between a 3 yr old and a 4 yr old.
Honestly, Evan isn’t all that terrible – but there are certain conditions that need to be met if he is to be a good boy.
Number 1: he must be fed (a hungry boy will rip your head off and throw it on the ground).
Number 2: he absolutely cannot be tired (all heck brakes loose).
Number 3: Life is better if he’s watching Blue’s Clues or Sesame Street. Even better if it’s Teletubbies. Brody can be reasoned with (most times) – Evan is a screaming lunatic. I do love them so… sigh
I almost feel as though Evan is a 15 year old teenage girl. The way he acts and reacts is pointing me more and more to this direction. He painted his fingernails the other day – right up to the first knuckle (best to be sure the nail is actually painted). He was so proud!!
We got the furniture professionally cleaned on Saturday. I can’t really tell a difference other than it turned Michael into a maniac with shoes, water, sippee cups, snacks, etc… No one can do anything worthwhile on that furniture anymore. Movies with popcorn? ha! good one. Eating dinner at a TV tray? Gone. I’ve had to tell him to chill out for goodness sakes! We have one room that we “live” in… the best we can hope for is that our children don’t rip the cushions to shreds with scissors. Scissors that I have personally taken from them 15 times already this week.
My husbands crazy idea: We have decided to sell our house so that Michael can become the next Donald Trump. I am scared, worried, hopeful, and excited all at once! I trust him with our living conditions. He assures me that we will be fine. Even if we are living in a van down by the river. Hopefully this will lead to us owning a bigger home at some point. In the meantime, we can rent a bigger house than the one we have now, probably for less money per month and my husband can fulfill a lifelong dream. Of course I’m freaking out. Like you even needed to ask. My mantra is “i trust my husband.” Secretly, inside, I’m freaked out.