In Which I Get Mushy

And the year closes. I did it. I blogged every dinking day of 2008. Sure I had to punt a couple of times. But the Blog 365 rules say that is okay, so I'm claiming my victory, spiking the ball and mooning the referee.

I'm not committing to Blog 365 next year. I'll most likely post every day because I'm a loud mouth and I like to write. But the pressure of having to get a post up is too much. The guilt over missing a day, then going back and back-dating the post is soul-crushing. Okay, that was a bit of an over-statement. But it's sucky.

But I'm not doing it again. The good news is I did it. I posted an entry for every bloody day this year, even when my computer died (twice). There was some fairly lame crap in there, but there were some great posts as well. My "voice" has become more solid and best of all, I've met some amazing people.

I have to say, my correspondence with all of you has been a massive blessing in my life. This is possibly the best part of blogging. Being heard, putting it out there and having people respond. You responses enable me to come find you. I get to read about life in New York, working through grief, raising two, three, even thirteen kids. Thank you for sharing with me. For allowing me to share with you.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Breathe, Y'all

True to my word, I cut the pieces for Missy's nightgown last night. And I took pictures, because, hey, I live to serve you people, ya know?

Behold! A Nightgown!

No, really, I swear! Simplicity promised me that is was "easy to sew" and would look something like this when completed.

I've already gleaned a few lessons. For instance, a cut edge should look like this.

Not this:

Apparently, you need to be pretty careful when you pin the pattern, avoiding the frayed edges of the material. Who knew? So I'll be heading back to the Walmart to buy another half yard of death by spontaneous combustion flannel. Awesome.

Seriously, how adorable is this fabric? You should see the other stuff. What? You really, really want to see it now? Oh, all right, if you insist.

Yeah, the penguins. My best guess is that we had just watched Happy Feet at the time or something. She really wanted the penguins. But the moons and stars? That is going to be such a cute little nightgown! I can't wait!

This Thursday, I'm scooting up to mom's to sew it up. We'll see if I can manage without bungling it too badly. I'm pretty excited, just to see one of my children wear something I made. If it goes well, I may actually take my sewing machine in to be repaired. I know I'm not asking for one for my birthday in April. It's going to be all about Guitar Hero. Unless they make a sewing game for the Wii.

Sew or shred? That is the eternal question, children.

Reservations At The ER

I am learning to sew. This should probably scare you, since my lack of coordination does not make it wise for me to be anywhere near a large machine with a rapidly moving needle. Many of my first efforts will be a bit blood-stained, I am sure.

My first project is flannel nightgowns for Missy Hoohaw. She is becoming quite the girly-girl and frankly, it is too cold for her to be sleeping in undies or her summer nighties. I took her to the heart of evil the WalMart and let her pick out some fabric. Of course, when I got it home, I saw the printing on the edge that says "not intended for sleepwear." Well, hell. This of course means it isn't flame-retardant. Do you know how hard it is to find flame retardant flannel? DANG HARD!

So I'm making the nightgowns out of the death trap fabric. I also run with scissors and frequently swallow gum. Just call me Rebel. I've been putting this little project off for approximately three months and it occurs to me that if she's to get any use out of them this year, I must get going on it. So tonight, I'll cut the first one and later this week, saunter on up to my mom's to actually put it together. There are many reasons to do this at Mom's house:

1) She has a working sewing machine.
2) She knows how to sew.
3) My children don't live there.

We'll see how the first one turns out. I just pulled the fabric out of the washing machine and am a little peeved to see it already pilling. This doesn't bode well for the endurance of these gowns. Do any of you lovely people know of a good online fabric store? I can't see myself buying any more fabric at the WalMart.

And yes, I will post pictures. I'm sure you're all just breathless with anticipation.

Time In A Box

Last week, a co-worker of Mr. Clairol's brought in two large boxes of boys clothes, thinking we might be able to use them. They are all far too large for Red now, but in the inevitable way that little boys seem to have, he will grow. So we're keeping them.

Last night, I was sorting the clothes into bins and as I pulled out jeans and shirts, it seemed that Red, my tenacious and temperamental toddler, would never be a size 10, 12 or 14. But he will. While I am greatly looking forward to the end of diapers and tantrums, the idea that he will one day be too large to cradle in my lap, too busy to sing songs to, too impatient to allow me to read to him, well, it makes me a little sad.

What a timely reminder for me to savor this time. Even now, as I am struggling to be patient, to be loving with these little monsters, the sure knowledge that this time doesn't last is gnawing at me. Very soon, Good Night Moon and our beloved Animal Book will be replaced. Board books will be put away once and for all. I'm already listing toddler toys on Ebay and tagging the last of the 18-24 month clothes for a consignment sale.

So, if you'll please excuse me, I have a couple of babies on the couch that need some snuggling.

Getting Our Wii On

Used to be, after the kids went to bed in the evening, Mr. Clairol and I would pop some popcorn and sit to watch whatever appealed to us on the DVR. Some nights, we'd shake it up and watch a movie, if we were in the mood for whatever Netflix was providing. Things change though.

Now, we're playing Wii in the evenings. We bowl, play tennis and do our nightly body test and balance games. It's pretty cool. I don't even want to sit and read while waiting for my turn. It's way more fun to heckle my husband. Last night, it reached a new level.

The Wii Fit has several games designed to improve your balance. Mr. Clairol and I have been informed that we are both woefully unbalanced and have even been asked if we trip when we walk. The Wii is a bit of a smart-ass. Our new favorite balance game is one that requires you to shift your weight, so your avatar can hit soccer balls with it's head. You get points for every ball you successfully "head". Does that sound dirty to anyone else?

After the first few balls, the game ramps up and players start kicking things like soccer cleats at you. If you don't dodge the cleat, you lose a point. As a bonus, you're treated to the sound of your avatar getting it's face bashed. I am a middle-schooler at heart and oh my hades, I find this hilarious. Especially when it is happening to my husband. I can maintain for the first few shoes to the face, but after two or three, I start losing it. Last night, I laughed so hard that I snorted seltzer water out my nose. Quite the turn-on, let me tell ya. Good thing we're already married.

He takes it in good grace. He also laughs himself silly when it's happening to me. To be honest, it's funny to me as well. The upside is we're cutting our popcorn consumption. We're also up and moving. But now, we have a computer game to tell us just what big losers we are. When I pointed this out, he said, in perfect seriousness, "I'll never be a loser as long as I have you." I love my husband. And our Wii. Even if it is an abusive piece of techno-crap.

Alone, Not Lonely

It's Saturday. My day. Mr. Clairol is off running a couple of errands this morning and I'm lazing around, thinking about doing some laundry. Maybe if I think hard enough, it will do itself.

I'll have this afternoon and I know I should call my friend, the one I haven't seen in months, and see if she's got some free time today. I'm not going to though. I'm going to run around, check out the Christmas clearances, do the grocery shopping, and buy myself lunch. I'm going to read my book, uninterrupted and only talk to other people when I absolutely have to.

My husband wanted to snuggle and run errands with the kids and I'm just not there today. I feel terrible. Isn't that my job? To hang out with him, enjoying his company? Isn't that what love is? Not today, it isn't. Tonight, we'll snuggle, watch a movie, maybe play a Wii bowling, but first, I need some time to myself.

I've been reviewing and I have not been alone once since Christmas Eve. Not even in the freakin' bathroom, children. And I'm going a wee bit bonkers. I need a break. Ideally, this break would be at home, the kids and husband gone, but those of you who are parents know how rare and precious that kind of time is. So I'm off into the world. And I'm not going to feel guilty anymore. Because Mommy is happier when Mommy has had a little off-time. This is a good thing. Mommy likes to be happy. Mommy doesn't like to be unhappy. And when Mommy's unhappy, everyone's unhappy.

So it's not selfish. Not at all. It's actually an investment in my family! And I am so committed to this investment that I am putting something in the crock pot for dinner, just so I won't shortchange my family by cutting the break short. I am such a giver.

I think I deserve a reward.

Wii-steria

Happy Morning After! Did you all survive the carnage?

I did, beautifully. After what seemed like a solid decade of cooking, it was lovely to just sit and watch my kids frolic. A glass of good wine, my lovely mother and father to visit with, my darling husband close by...paradise.

There was very little for me to help with. Christmas dinner, like Thanksgiving, is a tightly wound clock that my mother has tuned to near-automation. We had a lovely prime rib dinner with my brother's girlfriend K and her family, who are lovely and fit right in with our crazy brood.

Then, children, came the highlight of Christmas for me. My mom branched out from the standard deserts and made a sour cream lemon pie that was miraculous. I am not joking when I say that pie was the best part of Christmas for me. I just had a slice for breakfast and I am trying to keep myself from eating the second slice I brought home.

Saying this was the best part of Christmas is no small thing, because my mom went totally overboard and got me a WII FOR CHRISTMAS! A WII! A WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! Mr. Clairol took his customer service points from VW and ordered a Wii Fit for me. WannaBen and K bought me the Nerf sports kit.I am hooked up! You know that the moment we got home and unloaded, those kids went to bed and my Wii got connected.

After I made out with it for awhile set up my avatar, my sweet husband set up the Fit board and we got our profiles together. It is a little disconcerting to have the TV tell you you are obese and puff out your avatar so that it matches you. But okay, that's gonna change. After I stop having pie for breakfast.

We bowled and did the ski jump and slalom, laughing our heads off, because apparently we are severely unbalanced. And not just mentally. I smoked him in the ski jump, but he kicked my hips in bowling and slalom. Then he shares with me that his mother bowled a 300 game while 8 months pregnant with him. To which I say, damn dude, that is hardcore. Eventually, we fell into bed and dreamed our Wii dreams.

This morning, I'm going to try some yoga and aerobics and then bust open one of the games my mom threw in. Let me just say, I don't miss getting a stocking this year. There is nothing that could top this, at least gift wise.

Holiday In My Heart

I did it. Six meals in two days. None of the half-a$$, cream o' something stuff either. I even made three loaves of bread and a really, really lovely bread pudding for our desert tonight. It was so good, we left Santa a hunk, smothered in vanilla sauce.

I am NEVER cooking again. Or at least for the next 12 hours.

Have a fantastic holiday, everyone. You all are such an enormous blessing in my life!

'Twas The Day Before Christmas

Well it's Christmas Eve and guess where I will be for the majority of the day? If you said kitchen, you win! YAY!

I don't really mind. I do love to cook and cooking for other people is fun. That could be the numbness speaking, though.

I'm looking forward to tonight. During my first Christmas with Mr. Clairol, we started a tradition of opening family gifts on Christmas Eve. It was born out of necessity, since Christmas morning was a flurry of stockings, dressing and traveling to my parent's house.We would order takeout, I'd make a special desert and we'd unwrap presents with Drama Queen, then just seven years old. It was a nice way to spend the evening and it definitely made things move a little smoother on Christmas.

So tonight will be for our family and we'll get to enjoy the looks on the kids faces as they open what we've picked for them. We'll leave cookies for Santa and sprinkle reindeer food (oatmeal and glitter) on the lawn. The kids will go to bed and then the real fun commences.

Stockings have always been my favorite part of Christmas. I loved getting a stocking from Santa when I was a kid. My brother would run into my room at the barest hint of dawn and we'd root through our stockings together on the floor. It was the most magical time, one where the constant fighting between us would cease.

That joy has continued as I stuff the stockings. I love choosing fun little gifts for my children and watching them pull item after item out, their eyes aglow. Santa leaves a couple of wrapped presents as well. I can't wait. It's the best part of Christmas, for me.

What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Vodka, Diapers and Rebellion, Not Necessarily In That Order

Yes, I'm sick, again. The bug has surged again and this time, Big Red is caught in the crossfire. So not only am I dealing with my own "fall out" but his as well. 5 dirty diapers today and he cannot have any juice or apples. This is the ultimate in deprivation for my son.

But on the upside, I finally figured out what to get my brother's girlfriend. I just can't decide if it's tacky to give vodka. What if it's fun, flavored vodka (not Smirnoff) and I dress it up with some martini glasses and cocktail picks? Is it still tacky?

Truth by told, I don't care. I bought it, I wrapped it, I'm giving it. So there.

I Will Die In My Kitchen

Remember when I declared myself "cooked out" and basically expressed my desire to never prepare food again? Yeah, that's not working out so well. In addition to my family's completely unreasonable desire to eat, I am still preparing gifts.

Today I made double batches of cassoulet, meatloaf and shepherd's pie. My shepherd's pie is delicious, if I may toot my own horn here. Beef simmered in Cabernet and Guinness stout, fresh carrots, onions and peas in a sage and marjoram flavored gravy and topped with cheddar cheese mashed potatoes. My kitchen smells so good right now, it's criminal.

Tomorrow, I'll make chicken and dumplings, green chicken enchiladas and lasagna. For real. Why this glut of culinary preparation? Well, I got the bright idea to give my brother several meals for his freezer. He's a bachelor, renovating what will become a gorgeous house, but is currently a step below the pit of despair. So he'll have some home-cooked meals he doesn't need to whip up on his own. Cool gift, huh?

Like I said before, he's a bachelor, so he doesn't eat a lot. Occasionally, his girlfriend and her son eat at his place, so I made enough for four helpings and a leftover or two. But I cook in large batches, and hell, if you're doing one, might as well do two, right? Right. So I divvied the dishes up and will give my folks the second half. I seriously thought about just keeping them for my freezer, but I was a numb skull and mentioned it to my mom. I'm committed now.

Add to that, a third batch of marmalade and three loaves of homemade oatmeal bread to go out to grandparents, etc, and I'll be in the kitchen until Santa wiggles his fat patootie down my chimney. If there were any justice in the world, Santa would send Vin Diesel in his stead, with instructions to give a massage and foot rub. But I'm not holding my breath. I suppose if I'm really nice, Mr. Clairol might rub me down and I'd rather have him than any ol' stinky Vin.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

And now that I'm done talking about food, let me report that the stomach bug seems to be declining and I can actually go places without a box of matches. I still get some severe cramping when I eat, but nothing is "coming down the chute." Nice euphemism, that one. I'm just glad to be spending time in other rooms of my house. Like the garage/laundry room. And the kitchen.

Pass the Toilet Paper

I've been afflicted with a nice little intestinal bug. It's awesome. Ten minutes after I eat anything, I'm running for the toilet. Try being twenty miles from home and needing to use a bathroom. I ran into a grocery store, locked myself in a stall and Let. It. Rip. To say I was pretty embarrassed when I heard someone in the neighboring stall, well, that's probably a massive understatement. That poor, poor woman. It was loud and it was stinky. Way stinky. I wore my hood and sunglasses out of the bathroom, because oh my hades, was I mortified.

I know, you're probably asking why I'm sharing this with you, my readers. Well, if I'm going to share it with random grocery shoppers, why not with you? You're welcome and happy holidays. May your tp roll always be full and the Glade within reach.

My Man

In honor of my husband's birthday today, I'd like to show you a long string of pictures featuring him over the years. I have been expressly forbidden from doing this, so I will just blow a kiss and say to the Internet:

I LOVE MY MAN!

Cooked Out

There are rules for giving gifts to teachers. No mugs. No apple items. No food. I'm breaking the third rule, because frankly, I'm too dang poor to buy gift cards for 9 teachers. Yeah, middle school is a bitch.

So Drama Queen's teachers are getting tins of cookies.

The sexy stuff is on top, of course. Have to make a good first impression, you know? Chocolate dipped shortbread, coated in pecans. This would be courtesy of my mother, who rocks and rocks hard.

Next up are some very yummy oatmeal raisin cookies. I stumbled upon this recipe while surfing RecipeZaar and oh my heavens, they are divine. A bit crispy, a bit chewy...oh the perfect oatmeal cookie. You should make some.

The bottom layer of the tin are my sad, primitive sugar cookies. I'm hoping that by the time they work their way down that far, they'll be too full, perhaps even in a sugar coma. Here's hoping!

Preschool teachers rate slightly higher than the middle school varieties. Mostly because there are only three of them and twice that many of the middle school variety. Missy's teacher is a picky-eating, beautiful twig of a woman, so she's getting a scarf. But Red's teachers are getting baskets full of goodies. They are more "cuddly."


There's eggnog bread, the oatmeal and shortbread cookies, and some miniature blueberry pies. There's also spiced pecans and candied almonds...
and some homemade apple butter orange marmalade, which turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself.

I have another batch of marmalade to make, but after that, I'm done with the holiday baking. I've even held back a few cookies for the big guy in red. The light at the end of the tunnel is brilliant, children.

And before you ask, I spent about $27 on the gifts. The baskets and wrapping materials I have had for years. The oranges were a gift from my grandmother. The jars for the nuts are recycled. They once held chili sauce and pesto. The fabric I had. The ribbon I had. The baking supplies were bought in the bulk aisle at Winco. Of course, there's my time to figure into the equation, but honestly, I can afford time more than money right now.

And yes, I probably overdid it a bit. I can see that in hindsight. Perhaps next year, I'll simplify down to one type of cookie and perhaps some jam for friends and family. Or maybe I could make artisan cheeses! I'd have to get a cow. And I could make my own wine! Yes! And perhaps some crackers to go with it...

Under The Influence *with 80% more swear words!*

Lights flashing in my rear view mirror. Shit, shit, fuck, fuck, damn, damn, damn! I'm late picking up Drama Queen. The truck is registered, I wasn't speeding, what the fucking hades does this cop want?!?

Officer: Ma'am. How are you today?

Me: I'm okay. How are...Big Red, do NOT open that window again...you today? (Thinking, hello Officer Hot Papi!)

Officer: I'm doing all right. Can I have you step out of the truck?

Me: Um, okay...Missy Hoohaw, give Red the dinosaur back right now. RED! Do not open the win...argh! *shut the window, get out of the car* I'm right out here guys. No, it's okay, you'll see me the entire time, I promise. This is a police man and he's very nice and he just needs to talk to me for a little minute, then we'll go pick up DQ.

Officer: *huge smile on his face* I was actually going to ask you if you had been drinking today, but I can see that probably isn't the case.

Me: *laughing* No, I'm just under the influence of kids! My two year old son has learned to open the truck window and I'm trying to keep it closed!

Officer: Yeah, you were swerving pretty good back there. Okay, just try to stay between the lines and go get DQ. *laughs* Happy Holidays.

Me: You too! *gets back in the car* You kids are SO dead when we get home! RED! Do not open that! ARGH!

I could see the officer cracking up as he pulled away. He totally has kids and if he doesn't, he oughta. And no, David, I didn't get his number for you. I suck as a friend.

Sugar Cookie: Fail

You remember a few days ago, when I was complaining about how people made a big deal about my baking and how self conscious it made me feel and why do we feel the need to make it a competition, blahbity, blahbity, boo?

Yes, well, here I go.

Sugar cookies are very, very, super-duper, extra awful hard! I am a proficient baker. I make kick-ass cookies on a regular basis. Sugar cookies, not so much. They seem to be a different beast than the average cookie. A snarling, raging beast that bears an unfortunate resemblance to a bunny. I am not kidding. It's like picking up a cuddly warm rabbit rabbit and getting your jugular torn out!

Andrea bakes gorgeous sugar cookies. Yummy cookies that are perfectly shaped and decorated. Sugar cookies from heaven, y'all. So I thought I'd give it a whirl this year. A tilt-a-whirl. At the demon carnival. In Hell.

The dough came together well and tasted good. I put it in to chill and accomplished some other things. Then I tried to roll a portion of the dough out. Oh my hades! Sugar cookie dough makes pie crust look like a cinch. Many colorful swear words later, I got it rolled out and tried my lovely new snowflake cookie cutter. And botched the entire thing. I couldn't get the excess dough up! The three cookies I managed to get to the cookie sheet resembled not so much delicate snowflakes as Patrick the Starfish. Not the look I was shooting for, you know?

So I scrapped it. The dough was rolled into tubes, wrapped in plastic and this morning, I sliced and baked. I got festive and dipped the dough in colored sugar, but they are very lo-fi cookies, if you get my drift. And I am giving all kinds of props to my girl Andrea, because that girl has MAD cookie skills. I'm okay with that. I am also never, ever baking sugar cookies again.

And for those of you wondering, the crock pot has left the building. Carbonized apples proved too much for the poor thing. Services will be held tomorrow. I'm punting and making orange marmalade instead of apple butter. Wish me luck!

Check back later

No time to post. I am in a frickin' baking frenzy!

Apple Butter: FAIL

In keeping with my image as a domestic goddess, I'd like to share a little tip with you all: Cooking apple butter in a crockpot for 18 hours is a bad idea.

Yesterday, I finally got my apple butter going. I peeled and cored 23 apples, chopped them up, stuck them in the crockpot with sugar, cinnamon and cloves. All day, my house smelled delectable. I had my jars all ready for the dishwasher and canning this morning. Last night, I checked the butter and it was pretty loose and not very dark, so I turned the pot to warm for an hour or two. Guess who forgot to turn it off?

This morning, I woke to the delightful aroma of burnt apples. Mmm mmm good. My batch of apple butter had become coal. I'm looking on the bright side. Something to put in the kids stocking! Yay!

Here's hoping I haven't ruined my crockpot. Of course, there would be a bright side to that as well. I've had my eye on this sexy little thing for a few months. One might even suspect me of deliberately sabotaging my current crockpot, in order to have an excuse to purchase her. I believe I'd rather have this failure thought of in those terms. Sounds better than, "Cripes, what kind of idiot burns stuff in her crockpot?"

I'm Raising A Polar Bear

Yesterday morning, Missy got out of bed and put on her bathing suit. The bathing suit that her idiot of a mother had neglected to put away with the summer clothes. She wanted to swim. The high temperature yesterday was 43 degrees.


The news that it was too cold to swim and she would not be able to was not taken well. She crossed her arms, stuck out her lip and announced, "This is TOO BAD!" She then flounced to her room and slammed the door.


I cannot wait for the teenage years.


My parents found this very funny. They both felt that we should have let her try it out. I have to admit I was tempted and it turns out the same thought crossed my husband's mind as well. The general consensus is that the next time this comes up, we're going to let her get in the pool. Cruel? Probably. Funny as hell? Definitely. And the pictures? (because there will be pictures.)
Priceless.

A Crazy Even Zoloft Can't Cure

We got all crazyambitious today and took Missy Hoohaw to a puppet show. This wasn't the first time that particular hair got itself wedged in our family butt. Last month, we packed up both children and took the light rail all the way downtown to the central branch of our public library. They have free children's entertainment there in the winters and we get preschool hour credit for taking our children. I checked and they're pretty unreasonable about just the adults going. Apparently the point is to spend time with your child, form family memories, blah, blah, blah.

There was a low budget marionette show that time, with some ugly handmade puppets and a mix cd for a music track. I was unimpressed, but Missy thought it was the best thing ever. Especially the train ride. This month, we opted out of public transportation. Yeah, we were all fancy and drove the car. Whoo!

It's raining here and about 43 degrees, which I'm sure, to you Northerners, is positively balmy, but to a Californian, is arctic. Luckily, there was parking nearby, possibly because not many people insane enough to go out into the cold and rain, have cars. It wound up being worth it. This show was far better, with great singing and much better puppets. (Is my fear of marionettes showing?) Missy had a great time, and surprisingly, keeping track of one child is far easier than wrangling two. Go figure. Red and Drama Queen had a fine time at home and enjoyed their bonding experience. You can call it slavery if you want, but enforced babysitting strikes me as an excellent addendum to sex education.

We're home now and Mr. Clairol has a roaring fire built. I am slowly defrosting and thanking the Little Baby Jesus that I live in a relatively warm climate. Though I plan on making a pitch for Phoenix in the near future. Wish me luck.

You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday

Last week, I had nothing for You Might Be A SAHM. Nothing. I was dry. So I put out the invitation and got some pretty funny stuff. If you have one, email me or leave it in the comments. I'll feature them here and link to your site. This week's You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom comes from frogponder.



You might be a Stay At Home Mom if you find yourself administering first aid to random kids on the block.



I was the only stay at home mom on the block so the tribe spent a lot of time at our house after school. I was also the go-to mom for emergencies. And I got some interesting 'cases'.- boys who used safety pins to pierce their ears.- boys who thought it would be fun to sneak up on earth moving equipment.- boys who tried to ride a skateboard behind a car.- boys who thought it would be fun to jump on a moving car of a friend.- boys who dove their cars into snowbanks.- boys who made a macho test out of grabbing an electric fence.- boys who thought it would be interesting to juggle knives.Do we see a theme here? BOYS! And also I realized that all the above incidents happened during the middle school and high school years. What can I tell you - it will only get stranger and weirder...

Zoological Lessons With Missy

This morning, Missy Hoohaw was "reading" a book to Big Red. She was naming the animals and came to one she didn't know.

Missy: Mama? What's this one?

Me: That's an antelope.

Missy: No, it's a cantaloupe.

Me: No, honey. A cantaloupe is a fruit, you eat it. The animal is an antelope.

Missy: No, silly!!! That's stinky! A cantaloupe is a guy in the zoo. You don't eat it! Silly.

Apparently I've had it wrong all this time.

ARGH!

Why is it that the day you are planning a night time activity and need well-rested children is the day they decide sleep is the surest route to painful, horrible death? Big Red even asked to wear a shirt and pants, just to postpone nap time!

On My List

I have found a fellow list lover. Like me, Heather loves to make lists but also to read other's lists. This makes me love her even more. Because I love me some lists. Yesterday, she posted about her grocery lists and her love of the site, grocery lists.org. She also invited her readers to post their lists and link. My love of the list is so great, I must share.


Groceries (12/6 - 12/12)

Produce

Carrots
Leek (not take a)
broccoli (check price, frozen?)
Apples
Apples
Apples (butter, sauce, pie and eating)
bananas (duh)


Deli
Ghetto Cheese
sliced ham
cojack (block, who loves ya baby?)


Bulk
macaroni
jasmine (white)
short grain (brown)
yeast
Flour- all purpose, whole wheat, bread
gluten


Snack
tortilla chips (lime favored, of course)
light salt chips (get DQ off your back)

Booze
bourbon


Canned
corn
tomatoes (crushed, sauce, paste)


Meat


Dairy
eggs (one million and six)
yogurt (baby and momma)
whipping cream (yum)
creamer (Walmart)
milk (2 gallons)


Frozen
spinach
broccoli?
LCs


Ethnic
refried beans (gettin' cracky tonight)
salsa


MOUNTAIN DEW!!!!!!!


Bread
tortillas


That's my grocery list for last week. I actually wanted to scan it, since it was written on a pad that says "Put on your big girl panties and get on with it," but I couldn't make that happen today. The stuff in the parethesis is actually on my list. I was feeling saucy when I wrote it.


You can see that Big Red's love of the apple hasn't waned. I was making apple sauce last week and apple butter plus a pie for Mr. Clairol this week, so I bought a metric butt-load of apples and the checker looked at me a little funny. "You really like apples in your house, huh?" she said.


I just looked at her and said, "No, I'm allergic. Why?" Because that's how I roll, yo. She's actually my favorite checker and she knows me, so she laughed, thank goodness. You really don't want a Winco checker mad at you. Total cost for the week? $94.36. Gak. Apples get expensive by the butt-load. And bourbon ain't cheap.


So there you have it. If you, like me, are a giant dork or just looking for blog material, go on over to Heather and link to her site. I wanna see your list.

Lesbian For The Day

In solidarity with my gay friends, I am calling in Gay today! Learn more here.

One More Reason Why My Mom Is The Coolest Woman Ever

My mom. Oh, my mom. She's unique. I inherited my take no crap outlook on life from her. Also the butt, hips and boobs. But there are some things that are all her. Only her. Forever and ever, amen.

Like her Christmas trees. When I moved out, she decided that she was done with the mish-mash family trees. She invested in gorgeous trimmings and decorated a tree to make Martha Stewart weep. Over the decade and a half that I have been out of the house, she has collected lovely ornaments and honed her tree into a thing of art. The color scheme changes from time to time, but it is always amazing. For a time, she used fresh trees, but four years ago, she found a killer deal on a top quality artificial tree. Large bulb lights. All plastic needles. None of that papery filler crap. No, this tree was as real as artificial gets and it was gorgeous.

This year, she took down her Christmas tree and found that the top portion was missing. She searched the entire garage and house. The top to her tree was gone. G.O.N.E. This pissed her off to no end. She's called my brother and me, her friends, everyone she can think of. No one knows where the top has gone. Her tree is...wait for it...topless. *tee hee*

She looked around, but being a frugal sort, she refuses to pay top dollar for a similar tree. Especially when she knows there will be good deals to be had in January. Another woman might bow to the pressure and throw away money on a fresh tree. Or *shudder* go without a tree. Not my mom. No. She decorated the two thirds of a tree she had. That's right, children. She decked out that topless tree and decked it out proud! And I have the pictures to prove it.

Yes, she even put the angel on. Because my mom is freakin' awesome! I am so proud to be her daughter right now.

Not Going For The Gold

Suddenly, I'm realizing that school is actually a euphemism for the Mommy Olympics. You're automatically signed up for all the events. No picking what you're good at. And oh yeah, it's not summer and winter, it's every season, every year, every damn day! Picture Micheal Phelps, strapping on a snowboard. Or maybe trying some vaulting. He doesn't have to. No one expects him to be good at everything. Because he's not a mommy.

So on the Friday from HELL, I brought gingerbread bundt cake for the parents to eat with their coffee. It was not pretty, but it was tasty. I make it for myself once or twice a year and I was in the mood for it. I wasn't trying to get all Martha on anyone. But for the love of Betty Crocker, you would have thought I milled the freakin' flour and grew the ginger for the fuss these women made. Though I did whip the cream. Because I hate Cool Whip. Anyway...

I got a lot of, "Oh I could never do this" and "You're raising the bar for snack!" Which I know is supposed to be a compliment but let's not make bringing snack become a competitive event. 'Cause I'll wipe the floor with you bitches. Because that's not what it's about. I do it because a) I have time and b) it's what I want to eat. I don't plan to impress anyone. I was thrilled when only half the cake got eaten, because whoo! Leftovers.

It did remind me of a few weeks ago, when I inquired about some planter boxes on the campus and mentioned that it might be fun to let the kids plant some things in one, if we had irrigation and interest. The teacher asked if I gardened and I said yes and laughed a little about my grandiose and doomed plans for a winter garden. She said, "Wow, you're like the perfect mom." Last year's teacher said the same thing. And I just died a little each time.

I don't want to come off as a show-off. How obnoxious. I've been around those women and they make my teeth hurt. I dress my kids in old clothes for school, drive a beater and laugh about my many and varied flaws. I like dirty jokes, Kathy Griffin and housewife porn. I'm up for American cheese on white bread with a side of Heinz ketchup. But I do make my own bread most of the time and yeah, I make my cakes from scratch, because that's what I like. If you are all about the Pillsbury, there's no judgement here. In fact, they make a damn good crescent roll. I make my own stock, not because I'm a purist but because I am cheap. Those are perfectly good bones! Don't throw them away! (My mom is laughing her head off right now.) Frankly, I think Martha makes it harder than it needs to be, but that's just me. I'm the middle ground between the Big M and Rachel Ray. Only I don't make money from it. Dang it!

I can see how I give people that impression though. When I hear people wrestling with a problem, and I have an idea, I share it. If I've found a good deal, I talk about it. Because I want people to do the same. I'm all about the community, the village, the entourage, whatever. But that can get a little know-it-all. So I think I need to scale back. Shut up a little more, skip a parent snack next time, or maybe buy it instead. I have to do something, because nothing is more vicious than a mommy that is being made to feel inadequate. I want these women to like me, not be plotting my demise behind my back. I have enough people doing that these days.

On the other hand, I don't want to feel guilty because I can roast a chicken and grow a mean tomato. What is it about motherhood that makes us look around and find exactly where we don't measure up? What the hell do we need to measure up to? If my kids get through the day without a concussion and have eaten three things that somewhat resemble meals, well then the day is a victory. I don't want to look around and say, Oh, her daughter can write her name and wears matching socks every day! And her son plays with other kids instead of spazzing out about a relay race! I want to enjoy what I can do and not stress about what I can't. I want to enjoy my kids for who they are, not for what I push them into being. I want to relax with a group of women, share our frustrations and victories, laugh about the ridiculous and maybe get some advice. Or maybe not. Dads seem to have this down. What the hell is wrong with us Moms?

Sunday's Money

It is really hard for me to be frugal around the holidays. I want to buy lavish presents for my kids, every toy they could possibly desire, every darling outfit I see, every wonderful book that might fire their imagination. I need a reminder that Christmas is not about the gifts!

This has been the focus of my devotional time lately. Our church is doing a series on Advent and for the first time, I understand it as a vigil of sorts. A preparing of our hearts to celebrate the momentous gift God sent in His Son. All of the other trappings are lovely, but they seem to be obscuring my view of what God wants me to see.

Which leads me to wonder, is our current financial crisis His way of removing my blinders? I can't go overboard this Christmas. The money isn't there to spend. I've been a little sad about it, but I'm realizing this is a blessing. An opportunity, if you will. I have a chance to reverse our current mindset and create a different sort of Christmas mentality.

Less gifts. No new decorations. We've even opted to not put up outside lights this year, in order to keep our electric bill reasonable. This kills me, by the way. Christmas lights are about my favorite thing in the world. But I'm finding I'm not as stressed. Okay, I'm still stressed, but the holiday preparations seem to be an oasis in the stress, not the cause. And I'm not forgetting that Christ chose to come here. For me. For you. He chose to live a life that would start insignificantly, become hard and full of deprivation and end early, all so that I might be restored to my Creator. So that my sin wouldn't separate me from my Loving Father any more.

So pray for us, if you're of that predilection. This will be hard on Drama Queen, but I'm hoping she can find some joy in less as well. And tell me, where are you at this Christmas? Are you skimping? Is it hard, or are you finding it easier than you thought?

You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday

I'm dry this week. I have no You Might Be A Sahm ideas. Anybody?

May I Please Have Another Life?

Oh Hades, the day today has become. Despite the inordinate amount of help and support I have received, it is still lying in shambles at my feet.

Wednesday, my car died. I was on my way to my mom's house, pushing the poor thing as hard as I dared, because I was behind schedule and had to pick up Tyler (Andrea's youngest) at preschool. You know, since Andrea is wonderful and traded work days with me, even though it meant she had to make a giant gingerbread man with the preschool class. So yes, the car died. And I had to call Andrea and let her know I wouldn't be there after all and oh, by the way, could she please bring in some molasses, since I had signed up to donate that?

Why yes, I am a giant loser. But hold on, because it gets So. Much. Better!

I called Mr Clairol and then my mom, who came and rescued me, so she would have some help with my children because she is wonderful. Eventually we all got home and Mr. Clairol went back to try to determine what was wrong. He is still trying to determine what is wrong. Last night, it became apparent that I would not have a car today. So I called in some favors and incurred some new debts. A parent of DQ's friend picked her up to take her to school today and will be bringing her home. This was wonderful, since today was a field trip to the Exploratorium in San Francisco and they were leaving at 6:45. A.M. Like, in the morning. Before dawn.



Andrea picked up the small fry and me for preschool. (No, her awesomeness knows no bounds.) This was no small feat, since I was snack mom at Parent-Toddler and had a metric ass-load of shit to carry. Thank heavens her Vanagon runs!

We got to preschool and I realized I had left the whipped cream for the gingerbread bundt cake at home. A quick call to Mr. Clairol ensured cream delivery to Parent-Toddler. As we were walking into Parent-Toddler, Big Red took a major header on the sidewalk and cut the inside of his lip. Awesome. Blood everywhere. Yay! Such a great day!

Got Red cleaned up, saw that Andrea had brought my snack stuff in and soldiered on with the day. Tried to get snack prepared and could not find the coffee. At all. After seeking help, realized the coffee was right in front of my face and had it been the proverbial snake, my ass woulda been grass. Got snack around, finished the school day with little incident and sighed with relief when I got back into Andrea's van.

Relief abruptly fled when I realized I had neglected to bring a garage door opener and could not get into my house. (Insert many colorful and creative swear words here.) Mr. Clairol wasn't answering, so guess what? Andrea gets to bring us to her house and feed my children! She is so lucky to be my friend. I tell ya, that girl must be livin' right. She stopped and ran a quick errand and I stayed in the car with the kids. Her phone rang (what? Didn't I mention I had left my purse and phone at home, sure I wouldn't need it?) and it was Mr. Clairol! He was on his way home! And he was close.

I have never been so thankful to not have to go to someone's house in my life. I love Andrea to death, but there comes a point when the bonds of friendship start to fray and I never want her to be sorry she met me.

So here I sit, wishing I could order pizza and eat this stress away. It's a very good thing I am dead broke, because I would be in a friggin' Arby coma by now. Of course, even if I had money, I couldn't drive there! This is the universe's way of telling me to lose some weight!

Musing On A Train-Wreck

Is it just me or does it seem that Miss Brit hasn't really learned anything from her detour into Crazy Town?

I don't usually talk about celebrities. While I love a good gossip item, in general, I believe you can never know what's happening in another's life. What seems crazy to the world at large, might actually be the sanest decision available. But there's no doubt that Britney Spears had some major issues.

I confess, I've prayed for her. I've felt real sorrow for her life and the derailment of her career. But now that she's giving interviews, it seems that she has no clue that she was a wreck. She's trashing her ex-husband and claiming she's a great mother.

Um, no. I'm reluctant to pass judgement, because I don't know what all has gone on and what is happening now. But it would seem to me that a person who had been on such a destructive streak might want to say, "Okay. I had a bad, bad time there but I'm trying to get things fixed and I appreciate that my kids had some stability when I wasn't able to give it to them. I'm getting a second chance in an unforgiving industry and holy heck, I'm grateful and I want to make this happen."

The more I hear from this child, the less I sympathize. At some point, you need to make the decision to take control of yourself. Assuming the role of victim is easy, because you're never asked to take responsibilty for the horrible things that have happened. But then, you never have the power. You give the power away. The simple act of saying, "I made a mistake and it was my fault and this is how I'm going to make amends," is so empowering. I know, because I was there. I derailed myself for three long years. When I grew up enough to see what was happening, I was in a terrible marriage, a college drop-out and pregnant. And I let myself play the victim for another two years. People felt sorry for me. They desperately wanted to lend a shoulder. Some because they loved me and hated what had become of my life. Looking at you Jenny. Others, because the ruins of my life made them smug about their own. They fed on my bad choices because it was a great story and fun to disect behind my back. And I served it to them a silver fucking platter. (Can you tell I'm still angry with myself about that?)

Poor me, my husband cheats on me. Poor me, my husband won't hold down a job. Poor me, my life is a wreck and my boss verbally abuses me and his boss ignores it. It wasn't until I said "No more," that I was able to get it together and start fixing things. I moved. I started divorce proceedings. I went back to school. It was hard. Very, very hard. It was lonely and humiliating. I still shudder when I think about using that first book of food stamps. But I emerged from it, stronger than I knew I was capable of being. Smarter than I had been. In short, a better, more mature version of Jennie.

I'll be honest, I have no idea why I'm compelled to write about it, except that it bothers me to see her refuse responsibilty. Without taking that on, you'll never grow, never change. The next derailment is right around the corner. It bugs me. A lot. More than it should.

And underneath it all is the idea that you never really know what is actually going on.

His Mother's Son

It doesn't pay to be distracted while mothering. I've been trying to catch up on blog reading and Big Red came out to share his after breakfast treat with me.




Yes, that is a half a stick butter, with a giant bite out of it. Apparently oatmeal, milk, and banana just isn't enough for a growing boy. The best part was the nummy noises he was making. Oh, and the fact that he wanted to share with me. And I can't lie. I was tempted.

Remember How I Was Talking About Changing Names?

I know. I teased you with an epic, soap opera teaser like DQ planning on telling her father she's dropping his name and then I don't follow through with the synopsis? I'm such a tease!

It was anti-climactic, since he broke his promise to call. She called him and was told (by him) that he was in the middle of something and he'd call her right back. Which he didn't. I'm starting to think the surprise of being served with court papers would be just what he deserves. I don't know. Can you be served if your head is always up your ass? How does the processor find you? By now, I'm sure he's had a doorbell installed on his left cheek. Probably likes the acoustics.

*extremely long and curse word filled rant redacted* He's getting what he richly deserves. I really cannot wait for DQ to get married and see my jack-ass ex watch another man walk her down the aisle. That's gonna be worth the price of admission.

Heavy Duty

I have an obscene amount of food in my house right now. Not healthy, let's get fit, yay swimsuit season will be here soon, food. No...fatty, carby food that says, "swimsuit, shwimsuit, have a muffin."

I thought I might have escaped it, having not hosted Thanksgiving, but my mom loaded us down with leftover ham, muffins, sweet potatoes, bread, spinach dip, etc. And a friend made a turkey and brought some over for us, as thanks for my guidance in the bird cooking. Plus, I made Chris's bean crack and hot hula skirts, that stuff erases whatever will power I might have had.

I'm pretty sure I've gained back whatever I lost and probably added some more on. Which means it's back to work. Gah.

I didn't even bother stepping on the scale this morning. I was too afraid. I know I need to, just to see what damage I've done. But oh man, I don't want to. Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. When I can forget about the numbers while rocking out to Angus and Co.