Thanksgiving (My feet are killing me.)

Well, for you Americans out there, Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Which means that you are going to be spending the next day cooking your ass off. I never worry about the calories that are associated with Thanksgiving because I have spent every waking moment of the week before preparing the house for the holiday. Cleaning is a must. The house certainly cannot be a pigsty on Thanksgiving. No that is damned un-American.

I have been to the grocery store every day this week. It is incomprehensible. I could have sworn that I purchased everything for the Thanksgiving meal a week ago. Oh, I was so smug and self satisfied. I was completely ready. I did not realize that the powers that be were going to get their last laugh. SERIOUSLY I HAVE BEEN TO THE GROCERY STORE EVERY DAY THIS WEEK. Do you even know how fantastic that is? Because everyone in the entire town has gone to the grocery store every day this week. It is like they are conspiring against me. Do they know when I am headed that way? Is there some kind of internal alarm that tells everyone to go to the grocery store? And why does everyone have to walk SO DAMN SLOW? It isn't as if they rearranged every thing in the store the week before a major holiday. They especially wouldn't when that holiday is dedicated to seeing if you really can shoot a pants button across the room if you eat too much.

And do people not know how the aisles work? One side is for going down the aisle and the other is for, you guessed it, going up. But there is always that one guy. The guy that apparently has never shopped for his own food before. I appreciate your attempts to fly little bird. BUT STAY IN YOUR LANE. Talk to that person that you haven't seen since last Thanksgiving on your own time. I am guessing if they have to fill you in on a year's worth of gossip; y'all probably aren't that close anyway. Save everyone some time and stalk them on Facebook.

Can I tell all of you parents that had the Thanksgiving gift of their children being in school until Wednesday something? You are the luckiest damn bastards ever. I was once like you. I had three blissful days to prepare for the holidays without the children in the house. But oh no, not this year. The school district decided that a whole week off for Thanksgiving was the way it was going to be. Like Sisyphus, I am damned to hell. The time I should have had to clean the house and get everything just so is gone. In its place has been: separating my girls for the thousandth time, trying to figure out who made Charlotte cry this time, constantly reminding Adelyn to feed her lizard, yelling at Paige for the 653rd time to put her shoes in her room, telling the girls that it is November and they can't wear shorts and sandals, shoveling out the family room every day, looking for the remote (AGAIN), doing approximately 9000 loads of dishes and laundry, and. . .oh yes. . .GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE. Not that I mind having more time with my children. They are my kids and I love them (most of the time).

But every errand is a circus. "No, you can't get a candy." "No, you can't have a beef jerky." "I'm not buying marshmallows today." "Excuse us, sir. She wasn't watching where she was going." "WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING." "Where is your sister? No, not that one. The other one." "Oh, there you are." "Don't touch that." "I said don't touch stuff." "DO NOT TOUCH THAT." "No, I don't want cash back. Because I don't need any cash back. What do you need $20 for? No, that's not happening." "Hold onto the cart, please." "Hold onto the cart, Charlotte." "CHARLIE, hold onto the cart NOW." "Just get in the car." "Get in the car." "GET IN THE CAR." "Stop touching your sister." "Stop 'not touching' your sister." "No, that does not mean that you can touch her." "I swear. I made you. I can unmake you." "Go to your rooms." "Because I said so." "Your dad is NOT the boss." "In the hierarchy of this family it goes: mom, dad, the dog, the cat, and then you." "Yes, the dog is above you." "BECAUSE IT  ACTUALLY LISTENS TO ME." "GO TO YOUR ROOM."

I know there are some of you that actually really enjoy your children. You love every second with them and would never look fondly towards the days that you can just show up on their doorstep for the holiday and have to do nothing. You never look forward to having them FaceTime with you and hearing your grandchildren giving them the kind of hell you experienced. I think you are all big, fat liars. But for the rest of us out there we get to look forward to Thanksgiving. We get to eat our fill of food. We can drink large amounts of alcoholic beverages in the afternoon on a Thursday and not have people surreptitiously mention AA meetings. Then we get to go beat the snot out of our kids in a no holds barred game of football or soccer in the front yard. And maybe, maybe you just trip the one who can't EVER seem to put their damned shoes away. (And sometimes that one is your husband.)

Halloween Horror

It is that time of year again. I remember looking forward to Halloween when I was a child. It was so much fun. The costumes, the candy, and the general loosening of the rules were just the best. It was the one time of the year when it is entirely appropriate to knock on a stranger's door and demand free stuff. Who doesn't love that?

I will tell you who. Grownups. Halloween is just another holiday that is destined to end in exhaustion, my pocketbook being empty, and the large potential of me yelling at some asshole teenager that doesn't have the common sense to realize that he is just too old to be trick or treating and if he rushes ahead of my kid for the candy bowl ONE MORE DAMN TIME I WILL NOT HESITATE TO CUT A BITCH. There is also the high possibility that my episode of nearly psychotic rage will send me straight to my wine fridge to "calm my nerves". 

When did Halloween stop being fun and start being a burden? I like to blame parenthood. (I don't blame my kids. I blame parenthood. There's a difference.) I remember a party that my newly wedded husband and I threw for Halloween. It was a blast. Everyone came in costume. We collected keys at the door because people were going to get trashed. (We were young, and most importantly not parents.) The old guy next door threatened to call in a noise complaint. Good times were had. 

Fast forward ten years and I find myself looking at one of my favorite holidays with dread. These days you can't throw a sheet over your kid and say he is a ghost. Toilet paper mummies are a thing of the past. Now it is about who has the best costume. Who spent the most. Was your costume hand made? Did blind nuns make the lace for your daughter's Elsa costume? Does your yard look like a movie set from a horror flick? No. Well, maybe next year you will do better.  (Did you see the Johnson's yard this year? It is like they didn't even TRY.) 

Halloween has become a contest of the super moms. Last year I was up at midnight the night before Halloween trying to finish up costumes (Because yes I am the mom the makes all my kids' costume, but it is mostly because I can make them better for less than the bullshit ones at the store. I'm crafty but I am also cheap as hell.) and trying to make themed snacks and party favors for Charlotte's kindergarten class's party. (Because OF COURSE I WAS THE STUPID ROOM MOTHER TOO.) By the time we were ready to go trick or treating I was exhausted and absolutely did not want to walk around in the dark. Seriously, the thought of pilfering peanut butter cups didn't even brighten my time. (That's when you know things are just bad.) 

This year I am taking a different approach to Halloween. Yes, we decorated the yard. BUT we decorated it as a family because we enjoy it. We did not wait to see what the neighbors put up so we could rush out and get better decorations. What is up, is up. I am not putting anymore effort into that. (Until I have to take it down....even then meh.) Yes, I am making my kids costumes. BUT I am making them because it is something special that I do for my kids every year. Am I going to freak out if the costume isn't exactly like what the character wore in the movie? No. This isn't comic con. My girls aren't going to care if the costume was perfect. They are going to care that their mom made it for them and that they got a shitload of candy. 

I have decided to stop making Halloween into a contest with everyone around me. This year I just want to have some fun with my kids. (And steal some peanut butter cups.) This year I am rising above. When I get that inevitable snarky comment from another parent, I am just going to smile and move on. (And be stabbing them in my mind.) 

But... that damn teenager better watch it. Some things you just can't rise above. (Better make a trip to the liquor store.) 

School Supplies

Hello, dear friends. It has been a couple of weeks. My kids were at their grandparents' house, and I felt no blog posts were necessary. They are back now and I shall resume. It has been a busy first week of August. Our oldest daughter turned eight yesterday. Sometimes they grow so fast, you wish you had a remote that could rewind back to the baby days. Sometimes you think, ten more years until college.

School starts next Wednesday. Which means that school supplies must be purchased. How is it that I am always buying a new backpack every year? The only thing wrong with the old one is a little dirt. They need a new backpack or the elementary school gods will smite them. Although, I remember the fun of getting school supplies. I remember the new smell of crayons and notebooks, and how they could somehow dull the sting of the knowledge that summer was over.

The list wasn't as long as I remember them being. The items on it threw me for a bit of a loop. Why am I buying copier paper for the school? Has the funding for the educational system sunk so low? As Whitney Houston said, "I believe that children are our future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way." Not to get into a political rant, but our children will someday be running this country. We have to stop stealing from our children to fund our frivolity.

Their backpacks, loaded to the seams with supplies, are waiting by the door for the start of the new school year. I can't help but feel a little melancholy. Another summer is gone. Did they have fun? Did I spend enough time doing the things they wanted to do? Or did I use the words, "Not right now, I'm busy" too much?

Yet, as I sit here and watch them fly up and down the sidewalk on their scooters, I know they won't remember the times I had refused to leave the house due to high temperatures. This summer will be the summer of scooters and days at the pool. The summer they got a trampoline they rarely jump on. The summer they spent almost three weeks with their cousins. I will remember it as the summer when we got back on track. The summer we found an even keel again as a family. The summer Adelyn informed me she was entirely too old for Hello Kitty and wants her clothes to come from Justice.

It was the summer they started to really grow up. It makes me proud and sad at the same time.

Hairbands, Headaches, and Hell on Wheels

My head is killing me today. I probably should have put off this post until tomorrow, but I find that if I put it off one day nothing will stop me from putting it off tomorrow either. (And the next day... and the next day... you get the idea.) I am trying very hard to stick to a weekly posting schedule. (Look, at me!) I can't promise this will last. I procrastinate.... a lot.

The kids have been out of school for a week. God, help me. Today was/still is one of those days. I have a blazingly bad headache and the girls feel the need to run, squeal, fight, cry, and generally make as much noise as they can. As a result I have banished the little darlings upstairs. I can still hear them but the noise they are emitting is blissfully muffled. (Sometimes.) I love my children. (This has been my mantra today.) Do you ever want to say to your kids "If you loved mommy, you'd stuff a sock in it and take a nap"? Oh, this is me today.

It is like children have a way to detect when their parents are stressed or feeling ill. Beep. Beep. Beep. "Look, the MIOHLN (Mom Is On Her Last Nerve) sensor is going off. You know what we have to do, troops. Paige, play the cymbals with the lids to the pots. Charlotte, you run in circles and giggle incessantly. I will sing a Katy Perry song at the top of my lungs. Let's move, move, move." I swear this has to be the explanation.

I need some Tylenol. Since this means moving from the couch, it is probably not going to happen. I would go take a hot bath to help relax but this means two things would happen. One, I would have to get up. Two, I would get settled in the tub and someone will need to go potty. Then, someone will have pulled someone's hair. Then, I will have to settle a dispute about who gets to play with what toy and whether they should play library or Barbies. The end result would be that I will get frustrated by the gross lack of privacy in my home. I will get out of the bathtub more tense and cranky than when I got in.

It is on days like this that I am thankful for my husband. Once he gets home I will say, "Your turn" and head of the rest and get a better grasp on my patience and sanity. These are the days that I NEED my husband. These are the days that I have great respect for the single moms out there. I can barely hold it together some days by the time Brian gets home. Single moms don't (necessarily) get that break everyday. So even though I am having a "Poor, Pitiful Me" day, I am really one of the lucky ones.

All I want for Christmas...

Hello, my dear friends! It has been a hectic week for me. I had to finish my Christmas shopping, bake cookies, clean the house, break up the first Christmas Break fight, and generally just wishing that I could hit the eggnog and drink myself into a stupor. It has been a hard week for us. The kids were a little afraid to go to school on Monday due to the events of last Friday. We don't shelter our children from news like that. We discuss it, and do our best to explain things and answer their questions. Our girls understand that not all people are good people. We feel knowledge is power. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. So my first All I Want for Christmas is: I wish that the Sandy Hook event hadn't happened. In lieu of that, I wish that the families of Newtown find peace.

All I want for Christmas is for these &#%*#^#*@^ Christmas cookies to be done. I like to bake, but I absolutely detest Christmas baking. There is so much baking and decorating and dishes. Oh my God, the dishes! I hate these Pinterest moms with their perfect snowman cookies and reindeer cupcakes. The odds are that the cut out cookies will get made but those suckers are most likely not going to be frosted. I am certainly not going to take hours to pipe a smile on each one. Most of the time I can barely handle my rage against the cookies long enough to finish baking them. That's right. I feed my kids rage-laced cookies. I am told it doesn't affect the flavor.

All I want for Christmas is for my house to stay clean. When I pick up a room, I do not want to walk in five minutes later to find a bunch of junk on the floor. Heaven forbid that I find cookie crumbs all over. Heads will roll if I find a half-eaten cookie. (I worked hard on those damn things.) Newsflash family members! We have a trash can, toy boxes, laundry baskets, and lots of other places to put things. The only thing I should see on my floor is the rug.

All I want for Christmas is some peace and quiet. I want absolute silence. No television noise, no Christmas music, no fighting children (more on this later). I just want quiet. I want to be able to lay on the couch for fifteen minutes without anyone talking to me. I want to be able to hear my heartbeat. I can dream, can't I?

All I want for Christmas is for the kids to be in school again. They have been out for break since yesterday. I have already broken up fights, sent kids to their room, and locked myself in the bathroom. I have come to cherish that wonderful time of day when the house is quiet and peaceful. I can get things done. I can take a shower without anyone knocking on the door and telling me that they need something. Those hours are blissful. I need them. It is the only way I hang onto my sanity.

All I want for Christmas is a happy Christmas. I want to snuggle up with my girls and watch Christmas movies. I want to see their eyes light up when they open their gifts. I want to have an awesome dinner with my family, even if it means that I have to cook it. I want all of you to have a very happy holiday with your families. Thank you to everyone who reads my blog. I appreciate you sharing a bit of your time with me. I hope that I have made you laugh and made you think. I hope that I am one of the highlights of your week. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Shooting Stars

Sometimes I worry about the influences my daughters have in their life. They watch things on television, have different kids around them at school, hear things in songs on the radio, and of course they are influenced by me (the poor things). How do I know that the small amount of time that I have with them each day is being spent the right way? I am busy. They are busy. When they come home from school there is homework and chores, and before too long I have to begin supper preparations. I worry, and I know that a lot of other mothers have this worry too.

I don't want to take away television (I watched television when I was little, and I am okay, sort of.). I don't want to home school them because I would go insane and I want them to have social interaction with kids their age. (Not that I am saying anything negative about home schooling. I have great respect for parents who take on the responsibility of educating their kids.) I can control what they listen to on the radio, and I do for the most part. I can only listen to The Dirty Sock Funtime Band for so long before my ears start to bleed. As for my influence, I can only do my best and hope it is good enough.

Once in a blue moon, my daughters will do something that makes me feel like I am getting it right. Those are the days that every hard day feels worth the effort. I had one of those days yesterday. The girls decided not to watch their hour of television after school. Instead, they decided to play upstairs. I listened at the bottom of the stairs to make sure they were playing together and not excluding someone. The pretend game that they decided to play was "Library". They took turns being the librarian. They checked out books, and returned them on time. I felt so proud. We LOVE to read in our house. The kids deciding to play "Library" showed me that my husband and I are passing along our deep love of the written word.

We also watched the meteor shower last night. It was truly spectacular. The best part was getting to hear the astonishment in the girls' voices when they saw their first shooting stars. They didn't complain that they were cold or that they would rather be inside watching television. They laid next to me on the deck and giggled with glee at the light show.

Sometimes the best things in life are the little things. I would never trade the experience of hearing the girls play "Library" or being with them for their first meteor shower. Those are the little moments that I can hold in my heart for years to come. No matter where the girls go or what the future has in store for us I can pull those moments out and savor them. It is at those moments that I am truly blessed.

Creative Creativity Genes

Today I was out shopping (God I love shopping.) for Christmas decorations. I walked around Hobby Lobby, Big Lots, Target, and even (the dreaded) Walmart. I wasn't looking for anything too specific. I wanted a couple of big bows for the pillars by our front door, a wreath, and maybe some lights to string around for some sparkle. I couldn't find any lights that made me think, "I must have you!". So a no go on the lights. I scored the bows at half price. (Dadadadadadadada dum BARGAIN HUNTER!) But the item that frustrated me the most was the over abundance of ugly, ugly, UGLY wreaths. They weren't only UGLY but they were expensive as well. I am not going to pay fifty bucks for a wreath that looks like an elf threw up on it. Call me cheap. It's not going to happen.

Luckily, I am the daughter of a very creative and talented woman. (Yes, I might be sucking up a little. It is the gift giving season. Sue me.) My mom was one of THOSE moms. I can remember her making her own wreaths. She hung her own wallpaper and did weird stuff with paint on the walls. She could make a slipcover for a couch. She sewed me a new Christmas dress every year. I think she made my sister a dress for homecoming once. My mom could wire electrical sockets, fix the garbage disposal, and still found time to play with us. My mom was Martha Stewart before Martha Stewart made it cool.

If my mom hadn't been the way she was, I might not have the courage or creative ability to do half of the things that I do. Anyway, back to my wreath. I decided since the other wreaths I had seen were really, really, really ugly that I would make one myself. I did steal the basis of my idea from a wreath I saw on Pinterest, but the color scheme and accessories are all me. Ok foam forms for wreaths are expensive! (I am a major cheapo, just so you know.) Hobby Lobby wanted eight dollars for a small wreath form. So I went into the needle point area and found an embroidery frame. It was eighteen inches in diameter and cost me five dollars. HA! I got lucky and tulle was on sale. 50% off to be exact. So I got 200 yards of white tulle and 12 yards of sparkly red tulle. The white cost me nine dollars and the red was two dollars. At Walmart I got a twelve pack of glittery red ornaments shaped like candies for 3 dollars. I also got a giant, silver, sparkly ornament of the word joy for two dollars.

So I got all the items for my wreath for twenty-one dollars which equals roughly half of what the UGLY wreaths were. I finished it in about two hours. It is so pretty and very girly. Girly works at our house. My husband approves of it also. (Not that he has a choice. It is a done deal.) I am also pleased with the wreath because I realized something while I was making it. I am influencing a new generation of creative, independent women. My girls watch (and sometimes help) me do things like knitting a sweater or rewiring a light switch. I hope that I am showing them that it is okay to do things yourself. Sometimes doing a project yourself instead of buying one doesn't turn out exactly the way you want. Sometimes it comes out even better. You get to have that feeling of pride when you look at what you have accomplished it because YOU accomplished it. It is better than the rush of buying something any day.

High Heels and Glitter.

I worry a little bit about that title. It may attract the wrong sort of "surfers" to my blog. Oh well, I'm going with what works the best. Last Saturday our family was able to attend my brother's wedding reception. We were more than happy to travel and celebrate with them. It was a beautiful reception. (Plus, it was open bar. Hehehehe.)

All of the women in our household needed new dresses for the party. Adelyn, our oldest daughter, needed new shoes as well. She decided that she was old enough for her first pair of high heels. While I was supportive, I did try to talk her out of them. (Her father was VERY unsure about the idea. That's his BABY.) I love high heels. I admit it. I have a weakness for a pretty pair of shoes. Adelyn (much like her mother) would not be swayed from the shoes. She is only seven. I guess we start the shoe fetish young around here.

At the party, we stood for pictures and to talk to friends and family that we hadn't seen in a while. The kids ran and played with their cousins while they waited (IMPATIENTLY) for the music to start and for the cake to be cut. It wasn't long before Addy came up to me complaining that her feet hurt. I got to say one of the favorite phrases of parenthood. "I told you so." Or as I usually phrase it: "I tried to tell you." Sometimes I am so much like my mother it scares me. Sometimes Addy is so much like me it terrifies me. (Karma, thou art a heartless bitch.) Luckily for my obstinate little one, I had stuffed an extra pair of socks into my purse before leaving for the party. I had a feeling that she would need them. (Sometimes I'm so awesome, I am surprised that I don't glow.)

After dinner, the tables and chairs were moved off the dance floor. Charlotte came running up to me. "Mom, they're gonna start the music! And then Phil and Flip are gonna dance!" She giggled and then ran away. Once the music had started, there were more little girls on the dance floor than adults. They jumped, spun circles, and shook their tail feathers. I think I even saw one doing the "Dougie". I couldn't help watching them and wondering how they could jump up and down like that without having to pee. If that had been me, I would have needed to pee.

The girls danced the night away. Adelyn would periodically put her heels back on, but they never stayed on for too long. She is getting so grown up. It is hard to imagine that she is seven already. This will be our seventh Christmas with her. Before too long she will be leaving for college and to start her own family. Eventually my brother's children will dance at Adelyn's wedding. It is easy to forget how quickly time can slip by and how temporary our time with our loved ones really is. Our children can't stay children forever nor would we want them to. All parents wish for the bittersweet time when our children spread their wings and experience life. We don't wish for it because we want them to leave. We want our kids to have the enjoyment (and frustration) of having their own families and making their own memories. We want the joys of discovering life again with a new generation. For now, my girls can take their time growing up.