every now and then . . .

. . . I am reminded of why I named this blog paying for my raising.

Today has been one of those days.

Let's begin at the beginning ... there were two things that most often frustrated Mama and Daddy about me.

One ... not paying attention to what I was doing ... I think I've mentioned this one before.

Two ... talking too much ... those of you who know me well are probably not surprised by this one.

Okay, Mama and Daddy, you can add these two things to the list of difficulties that I think I've sufficiently paid for by now.

I'll spare you the stories of my clumsiness since there aren't any really interesting ones, just lots of examples of things that would have been better if my mind and my hands were working together.  Instead, I'll share my story about my own kids.

Over the course of the last two days, my children have managed to spill at least three glasses of water on school books and dump an entire canister of sugar into my kitchen floor.  They have now been banned from having a glass of water on the table while they are doing school work.  (JW was sure that I was banning them from having anything to drink at the table ever again, even during meals ... or maybe he was just being obnoxious, I'm not sure.)  And, keep in mind, I've only counted the times school books were involved.

I am considering returning to sippy cups for all of them!

____________________________

Mama still tells the story of when I was about 3 years old and Daddy needed to run to the store and took me with him.  He claims that I started talking the moment he put me in the car and didn't stop until we got home.  His question to Mama, upon our return home, is now part of our family history ... Isn't there any way to shut her up? 

Ummm, apparently not.

And, apparently, the same is true for my youngest child.  Seriously, the kid is like the Energizer Bunny ... he never stops moving and he never stops talking.  Sometimes I realize that he is waiting on a response from me and I don't even have clue what he was talking about.  Why?  Because, I do not possess the brain cells necessary to constantly focus on the musings of his four-year-old mind.

Sorry Daddy ... I feel your pain!