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.) 

Yoga Pants Mom

We've all seen them. The moms that seem to rock yoga pants every day. It seems like they wear yoga pants for everything but doing yoga. In a world where your worth as a mother seems to be measured by the clothes you wear, the clothes your kids wear, the lunches you pack them, your weight, your hairstyle, your shoes, your kid's shoes.... I was going some where with this...

I want to tell you that I see you, Yoga Pants Mom. I see you. I know that your choice of clothing has nothing to do with your skills as a parent. Some days in my house I am lucky to take a shower and feed the kids. Let's not even talk about doing my hair or putting on makeup. There are days that it is 4:45 in the afternoon. My house is a mess. I haven't showered. The only concession that I have made to being a functioning member of society is putting a bra on. (And to be honest once I know that no one is coming over and we aren't going anywhere I might ditch that too.) Today is one of those days. It is Saturday. I just want to relax. I'm an adult. I do what I want. I can be a functioning member of society tomorrow.

Moms, we are judged so harshly by society, the media, and even each other. I have got to tell you. It is exhausting. I am so busy with my own life, why would I and why do I take the time to speculate about yours? Maybe you aren't feeling well. Maybe you have been deep cleaning your home and just took a break to get a coffee. Maybe you are chasing a toddler around and jeans just are NOT conducive to that. Maybe you feel your best when you are in yoga pants or sweat pants. Maybe you are dealing with issues within your home. Maybe you just didn't feel like the whole process of getting dressed, doing your hair, and plastering on some makeup was worth it today. Maybe you are battling depression and this is just the best you could do today. Or maybe you are actually on your way to the gym.

Maybe it is none of my business. And it isn't. Your reasons for anything you do are yours alone. You are the only one you have to answer to. Hold your head high, Yoga Pants Mom. You are rocking this today.

I see you, Yoga Pants Mom. And I promise that the next time I see you I will smile and nod. Because you are rocking this motherhood, wife, life partner, step-motherhood, life. Life is a hard road sometimes. And sometimes it calls for some damn yoga pants.

Kill It! Kill It With Fire!

There are few things that mothers fear more than lice infestations. The mere thought of one can send us running for the shower to scald the image out of our brains. Some of you have been lucky enough to never have to deal with creepy crawlies on your precious progeny. You might look down on the mothers that have been in the trenches battling the demon scourge plaguing their wee ones. "She must not keep her house very clean." "Don't they ever bathe." "I mean, it isn't that hard to avoid something like that."

I was once like you. I looked down on those poor mothers, who are now my comrades in arms. I would like to apologize for every snide comment, every disgusted look, and every eye roll. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I was living in a fool's paradise. And to those mothers who are reading this and thinking that it won't or can't happen to them, you are wrong. Lice can happen to anyone, any where, any time. I should know. It just happened to me.

Say you are wrestling with your youngest daughter on the couch. Suddenly you pull back in horror as you see something moving in her golden locks. No! It can't be. As you pick her up and take her to the kitchen (holding her at arm's length because ew) you pray to every deity that you have ever heard of that this isn't really happening. But your prayers have been in vain. There are lice in your daughter's hair. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK. (Pardon the language. As I am sure the other veterans of the lice war can attest, there is really no other appropriate response.)

Let me tell you, the first thoughts you have are swear words, then the heeby jeebies, and then you just want to shave your head and set yourself on fire. But the best part is calling anyone your children had contact with recently to tell them of their impending doom. "Oh hi, this is Addy's mom. I have to come get her from the sleepover early. Yes, right now. Why? We have lice in the house. . . You might want to get yourself checked out." Or my personal favorite was getting to call my sister (who always seems to have her shit more together than me) because she had been up to visit the week before.

You have just got to be patient and tenacious. Eradicating the demon scourge of lice takes time, determination, and a fine toothed comb. If you find the little bastards on a weekday you can go to the doctor to get some prescription lice medicine. If you find them on a weekend, get thee to the nearest drug store and pick up some lice shampoo and one of the more expensive fine tooth combs. Make sure it has stainless steel teeth.

Once you get home CHECK EVERYONE AND THEN TREAT EVERYONE REGARDLESS OF THE PRESENCE OF LICE. They can be unbelievably hard to see. Comb through every person's hair with the comb. If you want to be super crazy you could do what I did and boil the comb between people. Then recheck and re-comb everyone every day for a week. If you don't see anymore of the little assholes, retreat according to the directions on your package. If you find a live one, RETREAT EVERYONE IMMEDIATELY. Boil your hairbrushes and combs. Wash everything with hot water regardless of color and care guidelines. Dry everything that can be dried without issue. (Don't dry your wool or silk items. Just don't.)

It really can happen to everyone. Lice can get transmitted through a friendly hug, sharing hair brushes, sharing a pillow or blanket, etc. Lice don't discriminate. They aren't choosy. You have hair and delicious blood pumping through your veins? Newsflash! You are a lice smorgasbord!

As to those suspicious looks you are giving to the parents have dealt with this, they are looking at you the same way. As far as they know your kid might have given the lice to their child. There is a healthy dose of paranoia that comes with lice. Where did they come from?!?!? Who is responsible for this?!?!? Assigning blame won't help though. Your kid still has lice no matter where they got it from. Odds are that parent and child are just as grossed out and embarrassed as you are. Since lice can't materialize out of thin air, someone had to have given it to the person that your kid got lice from.

The main thing I didn't expect from this particular parenting battle was the emotional issues that rise from it. My youngest daughter thought I didn't love her anymore because she had bugs in her hair. My middle daughter was in tears because she prides herself on her appearance. Her image of herself got shattered. My oldest daughter thought her best friend wasn't going to like her anymore because of the lice. There were a lot of tears. Some of them were mine. I felt like I had failed them somehow. I had failed the motherhood mission. I couldn't protect my children from this. Worse, I almost didn't want to hug or snuggle with my girls because I didn't want lice. (From what I understand that is pretty normal.)

Just remember that this too shall pass. There's going to be a lot of laundry, work, and tears. You aren't lepers. You just had something bad happen to you. You aren't a bad parent because lice happened. It is part of parenting. Everyone has had a lice scare at some point in their life. Hopefully, it is just a scare. But if it is not, it is going to be ok. You will get through this. I promise.

Here is a helpful link from the CDC on lice.

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.

Snarky Gandhi Cat

I am not good at this whole blogging thing. I'm just not. I am cool with that. The last time I blogged my mother told me that it seemed like I was angry with the world. Well, that got me down. I quit blogging (Which I really enjoyed. Sorry, Mom, it is true.) and tried to figure out why I was so pissed at the world (if I was in fact pissed at the world). I have come to a few conclusions.

1. I am not pissed at the world. I simply suffer from a lot of extra time and I am EASILY irritated. If something annoys me, I have been known to fly off the handle and rant about it. Like ombre, for example. I hate it. That stuff is everywhere. Hair, clothing, shoes, makeup, FOOD. Who has time to dye twelve hundred shades of blue frosting for one freaking cake? Well, actually I probably would, but why in God's name would I want to?

2. This kind of goes hand in hand with being easily irritated. I'm cranky. I am like a cat. I am happy for short bursts of time. During these times, I bounce around and pounce on various things. I play and make things. The rest of the time I like to nap in a sunbeam and I will bite you if you bother me. I also can't be bothered to pretend that I am in a good mood. I am who I am. And who I am is cranky. Sometimes. Let's not forget the spontaneous bursts of incandescent happiness and joy. I think my husband lives in fear of these moments of glee because anything can happen. ANYTHING.

3. While I am cranky and easily irritated, I am really non-confrontational. I am like a snarky Gandhi. My basic domestic policy is "You all annoy me. Why can't we all just get along?".  I dislike it when the kids fight because they are loud and fighting makes me nervous. I came from a big family. Big families have lots of disagreements because there are just so many people. Everyone is shouting and the parents are trying to keep people from killing each other. I just wanted to go to my room and read a book. I am still like this.

4. While I love my children, for the most part I just want some peace and quiet. Kids are so loud. Actually after spending some time at the pool with my girls this summer I have come to realize my kids aren't so bad. Kids are just loud, evil minions in general. I thank my lucky stars we didn't have three boys instead of three girls. My girls might be loud, but most of the boys I have met are loud and destructive. At least this is how I feel now. I will probably change my tone in about ten years. Three teenage girls will probably send me the rest of the way into psychosis. Won't those blog posts be fun?

5. If I see myself as a snarky Gandhi cat, imagine how other people see me. My husband and my girls spend a lot of time with me so they are used to my .... issues. Yeah, let's call them issues. I am pretty sure that most people think I am bat crap crazy. My mom must be like, "What have I loosed upon this earth?" And my siblings are probably thinking, "Kill it! Kill it with fire!!" I don't blame them for it. I blame me. I spend most of my time trying to fly under the radar, and then I get pissed when no one notices me except for when I show my snarky Gandhi catness.

6. I have a dark sense of humor. 70% of the things I say are sarcastic. They are specifically engineered to try and make someone laugh. Unfortunately, most people think I am being serious and a snarky pain in the rear. Sigh.... it is a real problem.

The whole thing has made me realize that people don't see you how you see yourself. I might not think I am that weird. Clearly, I am. I am cool with it. It took me almost seven months, but I am finally cool with it. I am sure there are more snarky Gandhi cats out there. I am sure they will read this and think, "Yes, yes, YES! That is it exactly!" Just like I am sure that there are some people who will get offended. (Probably my family.) I don't mean to offend you guys. Most of the time I don't get you either. That's okay. We're family. I don't have to get you. I love you despite your bat crap crazy ways. Just like I know you love me.

Sincerely,
Snarky Ghandi Cat

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.

Mom's Don't Get Sick Days!

Look at me! Two posts in two weeks, I'm setting a record here. If I was thinking straight, I would postpone this post so as not to give anyone unrealistic expectations of my posting talents. I blame the stomach bug that has been plaguing me for the past couple of days. I hate being sick. Well, really, who likes to be sick? Maybe super models that have eaten too much salt and need to de-bloat. But back to me. (I am narcissistic when I am sick.) I am ill. The world SHOULD revolve around me.

Unfortunately, moms don't get to wallow in bed like a Victorian lady. My ladies maid will not bring me tea and crumpets or sugared oranges. The nanny will not see to the children for me. The household staff will not make sure the house is dust free. The cook won't prepare supper for my family. It is depressing. I can't even read historical fiction whilst I am sick because it ticks me off.

Moms have to get up. We have to get the kids ready for school. Inspect toothbrushes to verify that the morning brushes did in fact happen. Make sure that shoes are on the right feet and tied in the necessary double knot. We have to feed them. Some moms are lucky enough to have all their children in school at the same time. (Unfortunately NOT the case for me.) When they are all gone, you might get a few blissful hours of decongestant laced, uninterrupted sleep. If you still have little ones at home, you are doomed to making lunch, entertaining, and generally keeping your child alive. Normally this isn't the most difficult aspect of your day, but when you are sick it feels like you are competing in the decathlon while crawling over hot coals half dead. (Trust me. Not an exaggeration.)

I don't know about you, but it always seems like I get sick when my husband absolutely cannot take time off from work to help with the kids or (Heaven forbid.) take care of me. I often wonder if the work emergency is a ruse to get away from my germ infested self. (Yeah, I know you are fibbing sometimes. Never mind the fact that when you are sick, my dear husband, I make you homemade chicken soup. AHEM.) Until your hubby gets home, you are on your own.

I caught myself actually playing fetch with my youngest daughter today. I laid in bed and surreptitiously prayed to my maker for death. Charlotte wants to be entertained. I grabbed the little ball we have for the dog and tossed it into the next room. Charlotte retrieved it and brought it back. Once she seemed to lose interest in the game and I whistled at her to get her attention. (Hangs head in shame.) Desperation is the mother of invention.

The best advice I can give you moms is get your flu shot. Take your vitamins. Air out the house once a week. Buy Lysol and Clorox wipes in bulk. Check your stock of tissues and any preferred cold and flu medications. Here's to hoping that you survive the cold and flu season.

Christmas Shopping...MEH

I have been suffering from writer's block. I would like to say that is because my delightful daughters have been behaving impeccably lately. (Bahahahahahah.....gasp....gasp.....hahahahahaha) The lack of posts lately hasn't been due to lack of material. The lack is clearly within me. I have not had the energy or will to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, if you will) as of late. We have recently relocated. (AGAIN) This time we were blessed to have the assistance of professional movers. Thank the Lord for them.

It is that time again. Black Friday is looming over us. Toy commercials send our children into a toy-lust frenzy. My girls will run about the room shouting, "I want that! I want that!" and occasionally "No, Paige I already called that one! Ha ha!". My favorite quote this season has been, "Mom, I want that! But you have to be eighteen or older to order!" (Yeah, I have that age thing covered. Don't worry.) Then they fight over who should get that particular toy for Christmas. (Dear God, the fighting.) Sometimes I think it would be easier to make the same list for each child and just buy three of everything. I guess that lacks imagination. When you add in nieces, nephews, parents, grandparents, and siblings the list becomes bigger and bigger with each person.

Every year I say that I will be done with my shopping before Thanksgiving. Every year I fail. (EPICALLY) I haven't even started so far this year. I could blame the move and other various reasons. The truth is that I can't bear the thought of starting. I am a normal woman. I love to shop. Christmas shopping has become a chore. Christmas itself has become more of a chore and less of a holiday.

So I have been trying to think of things to make it more fun. The truth is that once you grow up and become an adult and a parent Christmas becomes work. You have to make Christmas cookies, buy presents, wrap the presents, decorate the house, etc. As adults we have to WORK to make the holidays fun. We have to plan adventures for ourselves. We have to chose to have the holiday be fun.

Here are some things we do (as a family) every year to make Christmas more fun:

• Each child chooses an ornament from the Toys for Tots tree. We then have fun picking out a gift. 
• We make a colossal amount of Christmas cookies. I let the kids decorate them. (They might not be perfect, but the kids have fun and that is all that matters.) 
• Whenever we have a delivery, we have cookie bags made up and we hand them out to the delivery men as a thank you. (The looks on their faces are great, and they always remember you after that.) 
• Each child gets a special set of Christmas jammies to wear on Christmas Eve. 
• We have our go-to holiday movies. In the week before Christmas, we pick one each night to watch as a family. 
• Every Christmas Eve, my husband reads our kids "The Night Before Christmas". I keep a log on the inside of the cover where I note each year that we have followed the tradition. 
• The kids write letters to Santa (and he writes one back). They also go to visit him at the shopping mall. 
• A few days before Christmas, Santa sends each of the kids a video email.
• Every year we hire an "Elf on the Shelf". 
• Every year we go to a store called Tannenbaum's and the girls each pick out a blown glass ornament. I write the year purchased and the child's name on the bottom of each ornament. When we decorate the tree, we have fun pulling out the ornaments and remembering why that ornament was picked and what good things had happened that Christmas. Some day when the girls move out and start their own families, I will pack up their ornaments for them to have. 
• My husband and I pick out an ornament for ourselves as well. We try to pick something that means something to our family for that year. 
• If it snows we build a snow family. We also go sledding. 

It is true that there are some aspects of the holiday season that are just loathsome. Hopefully, you can find a way to outweigh the loathsome with the fun and heartwarming. Plus, though it is loud and ear-piercing the screams from your kids when they get that present they have been hoping for makes it all worth it. 

Spring Break (Batten Down the Hatches!)

This week is one of those idyllic times for school-aged children. And hell on earth for their parents. That's right it is spring break. School had unleashed our children for a week of non-stop fun... and fighting... and whining... and tearing up the house... and fighting (Trust me, 'fighting' needs to be listed twice.). Luckily for me, spring break coincided with some really amazing weather for March. It is currently 80 degrees outside, and I am sitting in shorts and a tank top. The windows are open to catch the breeze. It is beautiful. It would be more beautiful if my table wasn't covered in Cocoa Pebbles and there weren't toys strewn about my home. But I digress.

I have said the words, "Go outside and play", "Stop fighting", "Don't slam the door", and also "Shut the door, you weren't born in a barn" about a billion times in the last few days. (I have also said, "I need a drink" more times than I can count.) It has been a very long week. It is only Tuesday. (Oh God.) I never realized how much my kids eat throughout the day. It is like having Hoovers instead of children (or maybe Dysons because I haven't noticed any loss of suction). They can really put food away.

Isn't it funny how we dread the day that our children start school? We see it as independence from us and it breaks our hearts a little bit. Once we get used to them being gone for the afternoon, however, it is not easy to adjust to them being home. I had gotten used to the silence during the afternoon when the older two are in school. It is blissful, and I can get so much done. But today (after only one whole day of the kids being home) it looks as though a bomb has gone off. One with toys for its shrapnel.  Just when I have finished with the bomb squad and cleaned up the carnage, the little terrorists have detonated another bomb. It's a never ending cycle.

I think I understand that method behind the madness of spring break. The school administration realizes that classes will be let out for the summer in a little over two months. They do this to prepare the parents of their students for summer vacation. It is a little like the rumble of a volcano before a major eruption. We need time to prepare ourselves for our kids to be home full time. We have to build up our stockpiles of food. There a contingency plans to instigate. Activities to plan. Reservations with grandparents to make (for when you either get them out of the house completely or turn into a raving lunatic).

Prepare yourselves for the onslaught of summer. Your kids are going to want to be entertained. You will be their entertainment. Unless you are going to sit them in front of the television, of course. Use spring break to train yourself. I have trouble with letting myself roll with the punches. I'm getting better. Having kids has helped me realize that I can't always control everything. Oh, I can try. I only end up stressing myself out and annoying my husband. (Oh yes, my darling husband. I know I annoy you. I can see you when you roll your eyes at me.) The house will get messy. The kids will FIGHT. Accept it. It's inevitable. It's life. Don't sweat the small stuff. Spring break and summer vacation can be fun if you let it be. I intend to.