This is week is going to be hard.  Starting tomorrow, there’s going to be a therapist in my house every evening at 5:00 p.m. to train Dylan to eat.  Now that I’m done crying about it, I’ve started to think about what it’s going to be like to have a semi-permanent dinner guest.   I’m going to have to keep the house clean, and I should probably try a little harder to put the laundry away instead of leaving it folded on the dining room table until it eventually disappears from use.  I’ll have to go through the mail on a more regular basis, too (sigh), and I’ll need to make sure the left side of the sink is clear of dirty, smelly dishes.  Most importantly, I’ve been wondering if it would be awkward to pour myself a glass of wine like I normally do around 5:00 p.m. each day.  (At least I’ve found my sense of humor.  Grateful Mama!)

But food therapy isn’t the only hard thing I have to do this week.  On Tuesday, I have to take Riley to the lab for blood work.  From a teeny-tiny vein in his teeny-tiny arm.  (We’re testing for allergies.  I’ll share more on this when I have more to report and more energy to report it.)  I’m counting on him to be a good patient like he usually is, but I’m also preparing for other less desirable scenarios.  (For a long time, I had one singular rule of parenting: Expect the unexpected.  I added a second rule after Dylan started sleeping with a portable DVD player in his bed: Never say never.)

As food training and blood work aren’t going to be hard enough, I also have to sharpen 48 pencils by 9:00 a.m. on Friday morning.

Note to self:

Sharpen these guys (or gals):

This no easy task when your pencil sharpener looks like this.

Oh stop.  Thank you.  [Cue blushing.]  Yes, you’re absolutely right.  This is the coolest pencil sharpener on the planet.  I really don’t like to brag.  It’s so hard to take a compliment.  But, well, thank you.

Yes, it’s a pencil sharpener.  I swear.  It requires no electricity, batteries, or apps.  All that’s needed is strength, sweat, and time.  It’s a Boston Champion manual pencil sharpener.  I doubt this antique is worth much money (although you can buy one on eBay for as much as $69.99!), but for me it’s personal.  Sorry to burst your bubble, my friends, but there’s no Runaway Mama giveaway here.  This Boston Champion is not for sale.  Not now, not ever.  I love it!  And here’s why:

  • My dad gave it to me.
  • It says “Boston” on the side and that’s wicked awesome.
  • It vaguely resembles a mini meat grinder.  Or a really clever spaghetti maker.  Or an owl.  (Okay, maybe not an owl.)
  • It’s manual!  Remember when we had to roll up and down windows in the car with a handle?  (I’m old.)
  • It makes my arm sore.  (I’ll take any exercise I can get these days.)
  • Dylan and Riley marvel at it.  They rarely see a piece of equipment in our house that isn’t a touch screen vessel for watching “Transformers Prime” on Netflix, and that’s exactly why they love it.  It’s a novelty and it’s mine, which makes it priceless to them, like my ill-fated heart-shaped crystal paperweight.

Per Dylan’s Kindergarten supply list, I not only had to buy 48 #2 pencils (and 12 glue sticks, six-eight pink erasers, two eight-count packs of Crayola markers, four 24-count packs of Crayola crayons, and I won’t bore you with the rest), but I’m also responsible for sharpening them.  With the Boston Champion.  It’s a lengthy process that requires motivation, drive, and some serious fine motor skills as dramatized in still photography here.




Sharpen! (Keep going!  You can do it!  Hang in there!  Don’t give up!  You only have to do this 47 more times!  You’re a rock star!)


And voila:

What did you say?  Office Depot is having an electric pencil sharpener sale?  There’s tax-free back to school shopping this week?  You have an electric sharpener I can borrow?  Thanks, but no thanks.   I’m all set.  Between Dylan’s dinners, Riley’s blood work, and the sharpening of the pencils, it’s going to be rough week, but it’s also going to be a labor of love.

Do you have a hard week ahead?

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Filed under food issues, Grateful Mama, owls, school, sensory processing disorder

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