The allen wrench that ruined my life.

I remember The Girl’s nutritionist saying I could switch from formula to whole milk when she was at least 9 months old and eating at least a cup of food every day. We made the switch at about 10 months. The Boy? He’s 6 months old now, and eating almost two full cups of food. Everyday. He also drinks 45 oz of formula. Every day. I wonder what’s wrong with his stomach. Is it a boy thing? His sour stomach has calmed down quite a bit, and thank goodness — because cleaning up pureed peas is a little higher on the disgusting scale than cleaning up formula.

He’s also a little more mobile. He can roll over on to his side — and now and then to his tummy — and sort of.. spin.. on his back.. so I decided it was time to lower the mattress in his crib. He’s managed to wedge his big ol’ fat thighs (he gets those from me!) into the slats of the crib, so I put up the bumper pads. When the mattress was at its highest level, he was almost able to swing his legs over, so it was time.

I took off the bumper pads, and hoisted the mattress out of the crib to find the allen wrench that is always, always under the mattress. I needed the wrench to loosen the bolt thingies so I could lower the bottom of the crib (essentially a heavy, flat board separate from the sides). Except the allen wrench wasn’t there. I checked under the crib. No allen wrench. Night table, dresser, baby’s memory box. No allen wrench. I checked the kitchen cupboard where I hide things of value. Then the cutlery drawer (really, at that point, who knows). No allen wrench. I checked the toolbox! Nothing. I checked under the kitchen table, where the wrench for the table and chairs is always, always taped. No allen wrench.

I went downstairs. Checked the coffee tables, and even the disassembled coffee table where the allen wrenches — you guessed it — are always, always together with the bolt thingies. Found the bag of bolts n’ wing nuts n’ such. NO ALLEN WRENCHES.

I did eventually find two allen wrenches through my frantic flipping-the-house-upside-down. Of course, they didn’t fit the crib. Now, I was obsessed.

I went to the grocery store and picked up some milk. They had lightbulbs, hammers, duct tape.. Hmm.. No allen wrenches.

I stopped by the dollar store, where I KNOW I’ve seen allen wrenches before. The dollar store is normally a SEA of allen wrenches, just waiting to be scooped up. You normally can’t walk through the aisles without tripping over them. And you know? I think that particular dollar store was actually officially an Allen Wrench store, until people without cribs in their houses complained and they started introducting crappy toys and witty coffee mugs. They had lightbulbs, hammers, duct tape, screwdrivers in all the colours of the rainbow. No allen wrenches. I announced to some poor lady passing by with her child that I was on the verge of a meltdown. She didn’t have an allen wrench either.

I considered swinging by a furniture store. And buying a wooden chair or table just to get the allen wrench out of the box. Instead, I headed to one more dollar store. They had allen wrenches in packages of 8! I bought two packages, and went home.

Now, there are a few things in life that are easier with more than two hands. Lowering the mattress on a crib is one of them. I loosened one bolt thingy, then the other on the same side. I let the board slide to the ground. Now, I was working outside the crib, but using the wrench on the inside. I loosened the third bolt thingy. And off it flew. If I’d paid more attention in physics, I could have calculated trajectory and all those fancy x, y coordinates. I found it eventually, and approached the fourth bolt thingy. It wasn’t easy to loosen, as the other 3 corners of this ~ 60lb board were now dangling precariously toward the floor. And.. you don’t need to be a physics major to guess what happened next.

Mommy. Broke. The. Crib.

 

CLEAR!

I’m trying to keep this blog alive. Really. I realize that my three daily readers must be distraught that there haven’t been new posts lately, but this is unfortunately one-more-thing-I-don’t-have-time-for. It’s been BUSY here, in the Survivor house. I have midterms stacked on top of finals. I have labs and assignments I constantly have to ask for extensions on. I have laundry piling up, friends I haven’t called in forever, and I swear I haven’t been out just to have fun in months. The Boy is being baptized on Sunday, so there have been baptism classes and preparations to attend to. The Girl is all done preschool and is busy preparing for kindergarten. We are having a wall constructed in the house (and I LOVE it), so the hysteria doesn’t end when we come home.

But… my night class is officially over. One of my labs is ending tomorrow. Finals are in two weeks, and I will have two less classes to worry about. I have made the diffucult decision to stop breastfeeding The Boy, so I suppose a few more minutes of the day are freed up.

I finally found some time last week to sort through the kids’ clothes. I put away The Girl’s fall clothes for next year, hauled out her summer stuff, and took whatever didn’t or won’t fit to the daycare, where apparently there’s some sort of swapping program for families who need it. I received two full black garbage bags of hand-me-downs for The Girl, and I couldn’t be happier. As a bargain hunter, these are the best kinds of deals (although much less hunting, but that’s ok too). When I was little, my sister and I would get boxes of clothes now and then sent to us from a second cousin in Ontario. It was so exciting to rip open that box and find clothes we’d never seen before in different patterns and colours. My sister would get the clothes first, naturally, and then they would be passed to me, but I always loved those boxes.

The Boy is in 12 month clothes. Already. At five months old. So there was more and more sorting through hand-me-downs and borrowed clothes and the odd clearance rack outfits that I knew would fit “eventually.”

It’s been cold here. Really, really cold. I’m not sure that this is “spring”.. or just that-inbetween-where-mother-nature-switches-from-really-friggin-cold-to-unbearably-hot. Yay, the prairies. We are 8 degrees Celcius away from snow, and in June, that almost warrants a formal complaint to Environment Canada. My furnace is on, for crying out loud. And we spend more time rummaging through the “fall” clothes bags than what it’s worth. It’s been rainy and windy and cold for the good part of a week, and I’m always amused to see people running from the pellets. It’s just water. And you shower everyday. (Granted, not fully clothed.. but you shower everyday, no?) I suppose if you were on your way to your own wedding, getting caught in the rain might be troublesome. But I never hardly ever see a woman in a long flowing white dress and veil taking cover.

Ok, I rambled. No pictures today. Mommy needs to sleep. Oh, and I should add: I don’t stare at the stairs anymore

Clean up, clean up.

When I was five, I was finally old enough to change the sheets on my own bed. I would take all the blankets off, then play for a bit. Flip through a book, pick up a doll. Then I’d take the sheets off, spin around, look out the window. Then put the bottom sheet on, try on my shoes, etc etc. I knew I couldn’t leave my room til it was done, and what should have taken seven minutes at most turned into a weekly hour-and-a-half marathon.

The Girl is the same way. I’m not a good housekeeper a slob, but I asked her to clean her room. Because it looked like this:

 

… and I would have nightmares about a fire breaking out in the night and me not being able to even FIND her through all that crap. She spent probably four hours in her room today. Trying on hats and shoes, playing with dolls, laughing at imaginary friends. Kept running out to give me a hug and tell me I’m the bestest Mommy ever. (How do you get mad at that?) Eventually, the clothes got picked up, at least.

Um, and incidentally, if you have any tips on how to get hot pink Silly Putty out of bed linen, I’d really appreciate it.