Wednesday, January 25, 2012

High Gear

There is nothing that strikes fear into the hearts of many like a TIT with a list in company mode. (And that's not a typo for twit. I'll explain later. My mom, sisters, and dad will get it. O.K. Almost all of the people who read this will get it. Aunt Marti, you can FB Miqui for an explanation if you just can't wait.)

So anyway, I'm blasting, BLASTING Roxette this morning. Toy Story 3 is on repeat, and I am armed with  my list and dangerous. My home visit from the midwives is tomorrow. And so is Scrunch's birthday, and my parents will be here on Friday. So here's what I've got...

15 minutes cleaning out the car (especially the middle seat) because the car seats are out.
Wash 3, THREE! carseats. Crazy. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this. But I will turn one of them into a booster. My baby girl can be in a booster per the state of California and the National Institute of Highway Safety as of tomorrow. Boo! Sniff! Whatever.
This is going to tell me if the carseats will fit three across the middle. I've haul too much crap in the back to lose it to the third seat.
15 minutes in my closet. 27 thing fling. This will also tell me if there's room enough for a baby in there. Probably the quietest, safest spot in the house, so that's where it'll stay.
Bump the laundry up to 3, maybe 4, loads. Carseat covers, then whites, then the kids' bedding, and a
load of gender neutral baby clothes. Husband hauled the bins down from the attic this morning.
15 minutes in the kids' room.
Caulk the (new AND free to me) toy chest. This will make it so I can move it out of the middle of the kitchen floor.
15 minutes in the garage. Sweeping up the crumbs from the seats and loading the crap for Goodwill.
This should bring me to this afternoon.
Drop off at Goodwill on the way to Husband's work.
Swap cars and the kids.
Haircut and brows waxed.
Pick up flowers. She always gets flowers on her birthday.
Home Depot for grout cleaner and black spray paint.
Home again.
Caramel popcorn, print the birthday baggies, blow up balloons.
Schedule Email to Birthmom.

Up early for donuts and pink milk.
Drop K and Papa (the parent volunteer for the day! haha) off at preschool.
Crisis clean.
1030 Home visit.
Pick up Scrunch and Papa at noon.
Birthday Date
Home again.
Bedtime, Husband heads to Stake Training, and I will work.

Finish cleaning the grout
Clean sheets on guest bed.
Run through the house.
By midafternoon my parents will show up (with strawberry cupcakes ???) and my house will be sparkly and we'll be out front planting bulbs in a skirt and pearls doing the parade wave while my kids don't fight over whose turn it is to go down the hill in the bike trailer.

I will collapse into bed. My parents will help roll me into a wheelbarrow haul my sorry butt to breakfast where I will feast on cinnamon rolls and Eggs Benedict.

A TIT with a list in company mode. Fear! Fear, I tell you!

Or maybe fear a 5'4", badass, highschool teach in heels.

Happy Birthday Goose!

Don't let the nickname Goose or the heels fool you. She can make gansta's cry. That's how we roll, us TITs.

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