Progress?

I got an email from a (traitor) ham friend who retired and deserted us by moving to Alabama two years ago.  He reads this blather-blog  from time to time and has given me thunder because, he says, the word "fun" seems to have disappeared from my vocabulary.  Fun?  FUN???  What's that?  He also complained that my summer was being taken up by the house project.  Well...let me tell you, Dave: I knew before I was even out of school in May that the entire summer was likely to go to the house project because of the nature of what we needed to do.  It isn't easy for four people--two of them little ones--to live in a (tiny) house that is being remodeled and redecorated, one room at a time, because there just isn't anyplace to stash stuff that is displaced around the place.  (Did I place those words correctly?)  My dream is that, before the snow flies, we will finally have a place for everything.  So there!

A friend came over today (who has asked not to be named because he's afraid other people are going to ask him for project help, and he is stretched pretty thin already) to work on the problematic bedroom walls in what will be Robin's room.  He is doing a modified version of a "skim coat" of joint compound on the walls, then sanding.  Of course, there is white dust everywhere.  (He left here looking like an albino!)  BUT...it is working!  The walls look horrible but feel smooth.  I believe we are going to be able to get it painted without disastrous results--and soon!  Then the next dreaded task will be to move furniture from Meg's storage unit to the bedrooms.  Ugh!

Dear little Ryan had some issues tonight.  He wouldn't follow instructions...blah, blah...threw tantrums...blah, blah.  At one point, he got mad at his mother and kicked her.  Oops!  I don't have to mention that's a no-no.  I'm sorry...I'm sure there are people reading this who believe that spanking is wrong, but a simple "time out" just wouldn't cut it in this case.  He lost his dessert privilege, got three swats on his bottom, and got sent to bed.  (It was bedtime, anyway.)  He needs to learn, although it hasn't sunk in so far, that "if I do this, this is what will happen".  I never raised a boy so I'm not much help, but I'm pretty sure that kicking one's parent is grounds for corporal punishment.  Interestingly, the worse he behaves, the better Robin is.  The halo over her head fairly gleams as she smiles sweetly.  'Tis a game we all played!

I am reminded of my own daughter's behavior in her early years.  When she was sick, the doc prescribed a decongestant called Naldecon.  It caused her to go nuts.  The first time I gave it to her, I didn't understand that she was under the influence.  The next time it was prescribed, I made the connection.  I do remember calling my mother and telling her to come get my daughter before I killed her!  On another occasion, Meg wanted a drink but wouldn't ask for it politely.  I refused to get it for her until she did.  She threw a fit, at which point I removed myself to my bedroom and locked the door.  On the other side, she screamed and cried and kicked at the door for at least twenty minutes.  "I want a drink!  Come out!  Etc."  Finally, I was hearing, "Make me stop!  Make me stop!"  She was out of control and she knew it.  I opened the door.  "Megan, what do you WANT?"  "I want a drink."  "Can you ask for it nicely?"  "May I have a drink please?"  She got the drink.  End of story.  But at what price glory?!

Nightie-night.