We have had a very interesting week at the Allbritton residence. If I don't talk about it now, I'll forget all the good shit and it will be chronological nonsense when I try to tell you about it later.
I do not do publicity for Lily White on this blog. Much. Except for putting her picture over there in "Meet the Mess." She's an ornery old fool, but she's purdy, purdy. She will try to be your friend and then try to bleed you. She got Em through a pant leg once and Girlfriend hates to be in the house with her and sleeps with the bedroom door closed so Lily cannot get in and ravage her face in the night. She yelled at Jake once to leave her alone behind a chair, but curiousity got the better of him and he came downstairs with a bleeding forehead. We can't be mad at her. Children and visitors know to leave her the hell alone or she will put a hurtin' on you something fierce. So you can imagine her delight when we introduced a dog into the family.
Murphy loves his sister. He tries to share his toys with her, tries to climb up the stairs after her, eats her food, cries when she hides from him under the bed. She scratches and hisses at him every chance she gets and she is slowly, slooooooowly, learning to ignore his constant advances. However, one day last week she walked up to him and touched her nose to his. Murphy was FROZEN in fear, and I was on the phone at the time and stopped talking. Murphy and I didn't know what would happen next. Murphy blinked first and lunged at her and she hauled ass, but still. The connection had been made. Where we go from here peeps, I just don't know.
On Friday, I treated myself to a housecleaning. I believe in being humble. There is a limit to my narcissim. I can cook, accessorize and bargain shop. I'm a good friend. I have a good eye for decorating. I'm a responsible pet owner. I am a good driver. I have enviable hair. I'm wicked smart and sometimes I'm funny. I am not, I repeat, NOT a desirable housecleaner. I clean the TV when the layers of dust cloud the picture. The spots on my bathroom mirrors are so thick it looks like the bottoms are frosted glass. I do vacuum, cause I don't like the bottoms of my feet to get yucky shit on them. I decided to admit defeat on house cleaning. You can't do everything right. And I hired Heaven Scent Cleaning Services upon the recommendation of a friend.
When I got home on Friday, I was amazed. All reflective surfaces - even picture frames - were free of dust and prints. The bathtub smelled like Comet. The floors were mopped. The front of my black dishwasher was clean. The windowsill in my kitchen was clean. It was so bright and sanitary and refreshing. I sat on my couch in awe and called to share this with my mother, who kept saying "well YEAH" in response to my list of things that should be clean of which I was completely unaware. Since then, the boys are tired of hearing "Don't do that! I just paid someone to clean our house!" It's amazing the things that fly freely from my mouth now that I reacted poorly to back when my mother deigned to direct similar statements at me.
I made brisket. I cooked it for 10 hours in the crockpot. It fell apart into tender strands at 6 PM. I have served this to my family before. Corey loves it. The boys have devoured it. However, on this particularly unspecial evening, they didn't like brisket anymore. All attempts to remind them that they once cleaned their plates of it were denied and dismissed. "I'm not so hungry." I threatened to call their Pawpaw if they didn't try the meat. Landen swallowed one and only bite. Jake spit his back out on his plate. I had promised them that if they cooperated with their Mawmaw and did their homework when they got home from school, I would take them swimming for 45 minutes.
Dad's rules are the rules no matter where they are. Their dad, perhaps overcompensating for his fear that I will let them eat whatever they want and make them special food and they will end up finicky eaters like the Sisters Wilson, (Baby Sister has expanded her palate. I am still very finicky. I have Landen convinced we're allergic to onions.) has rules about eating. You WILL try everything on your plate. If you don't like it, we won't give it to you again. If neither of you like it, we won't make it again. (Or, more accurately, I won't make it again.) If you don't feel like eating, or you suddenly decide you don't like something, you'll be hungry. And we won't fix you anything else. Everybody eats the same thing.
Upon their refusal to eat my brisket, which is to die for and their father would knock them unconscious if it meant he could come home and eat some, I reduced pool time to 30 minutes. That we went to the pool at all was dependent on whether they ate their side - mashed potatoes or corn. Landen ate his mashed potatoes. He's a carb child. Jake ate his corn. He's a veggie child. I warned them that swimming makes you hungry and there would be no cookies or cereal or brownies or chocolate milk for them. This was IT. We went swimming. Actually, they swam in the shallow end and I sat on a lounge chair drinking white wine out of a china coffee cup (people would judge me if they knew I DRANK while my children swam.) Before anybody gets offended and calls OCS, Cydney's BF Justin was supervising with me, and he didn't have a coffee cup of wine. He was also happy to eat plenty of brisket for them. I do love a grateful stomach.
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