NYE

Another Christmas has come and gone. It's been busy and full of family events, pretending to be Santa and an over-abundance of gifts. Tomorrow will be New Years Eve, the end of the year - again. A year in which I accomplished nothing except for keeping my children clothed and fed. C'est la vie.

We'll spend New Year's Eve with my family in North Carolina this year, which will be fun. We always spend NYE with the kids, doing kid's things. My vote is go to sleep early, but I will try to make it until midnight.

I will regale you with a story of one of my favorite New Year's Eves. On New Years Eve in 2003, we were moving to Dallas, Texas. We decided that we wanted to move to Dallas because it "seemed like a cool city." We left New Jersey the day after Christmas, after an extended stay, and made the trip to Texas. It took us 2 days to get to Oklahoma, where we spent a few days visiting with friends.

On December 31st, we woke up at 5:30 am and loaded in the car and made the four and a half hour drive to Dallas. We couldn't have been more excited. We were embarking on a new adventure. We had $2,400 in our bank account, no jobs...I was 19 and pregnant but we believed that everything would work out. We would live off of love and that $2,400 until we secured employment. Then, we would live happily ever after. The world seemed like it was filled with unlimited opportunities and possibilities. We didn't care that we didn't know a SOUL in Texas (our closest friends were over 300 miles away and our families over 1,400 miles away). We had each other.

We watched the sun come up over the Texas plains and admired the beauty of our new home state. After what seemed like forever, we could see the city in the horizon. It was like a mirage, a huge city in the middle of no where. We were on the yellow brick road on the way to Oz.

Our pre-printed MapQuest directions led us to our apartment that we had picked almost 8 months prior. We signed all the paperwork and they led us to our new apartment. It was not the apartment we had looked at or put a deposit down on. This apartment was 375 square feet and the living room wall was a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror that was riddled with water stains. It was a dump. "This is not the apartment we were shown...." We went back to the office where we got everything straitened out. The office manager was very apologetic and told us that we could move into the apartment we wanted....as soon as one became available.

The dumpy apartment with the hideous mirror would have to do in the meantime. I was upset, but resigned. The ARMY movers showed up a short while later and began to unload our things into our temporary apartment. Our possessions had been in storage for 4 months and I was excited have all my stuff back.

After what seemed like a short time, they declared that they were done. Boxes were missing, our table and chairs were missing, half of our entertainment center was gone, our desk was in splinters. We didn't have a couch, but we did have a futon. The frame was bent and the cushion never arrived. Our bed frame was bent and not salvageable. I made a fuss to the moving guy and he was uninterested. He handed me a stack of claim forms and told me that the ARMY would have to deal with it. He even slammed the door when he left.

We stood in the middle of the apartment and I looked around and realized that we had no furniture. Everything we had struggled to acquire in our first year of marriage was gone. The grief was too much for my pregnancy hormones, I sat down and wept. My husband rubbed my back and tried to be helpful.

I realized that we had just been playing house. There was no more safety net of a military paycheck being deposited every 1st and 15th, we were on the verge of becoming parents in 7 months, we made horrible decisions.

After my outburst, I sucked it up and began to unpack the boxes that had come. I loaded the plates and forks into the dishwasher and unloaded the linens. We worked until the evening and then decided to have dinner at Subway because it was the only restaurant close to our apartment. We ordered our sandwiches and I asked the manager if they were hiring. He said he was and he gave me a job on the spot and told me to come in on Monday. That was the highlight of the day, getting a job at Subway. That might be the saddest sentence ever written.

We went back to the dumpy apartment and my husband pulled out a bottle of wine he had purchased during our visit to Oklahoma. "It's New Years Eve, I'm drinking this wine." The only problem is, we didn't own a corkscrew. We were not legally old enough to drink during our first year of marriage. He declared that surely there was somewhere that we could get a corkscrew and that we should explore a bit.

We headed into the car and went to pull out of the apartment. This was the days before GPS, so we had no idea where we were going. "Let's make a left. It looks like we might find a place that sells cork screws if we make a left." We made the left, then a right, then a few more lefts. We didn't find anywhere that sold a cork screw, but we did find ourselves terribly lost and driving through the ghetto. I was scared. My husband had to ask a man at a convenience store who sat behind bullet proof glass how to get directions back to our apartment.

We made it back to our apartment alive and I sat on the living room floor. My husband walked over to the wine bottle and then rummaged through the dishwasher. I watched in amazement as he pulled out a steak knife and began to stab the cork over and over again. He was pretending to be Jack the Ripper. The cork began to crumble and was all over the counter and in the bottle itself. He poured a generous amount into a mug and sat next to me and began to pick the cork particles out that were floating on the surface.

He took a sip and declared, "This wine tastes like shit." He continued to drink it anyway. We both sat there, silently, in our dimly lit apartment while a cloud of disappointment that hung over us rained down. It weighed heavy upon us.

At 9:20 we decided to go to bed. We slept on our mattress on the floor, with just a blanket covering it because I couldn't find the sheets. I welcomed sleep, anything to escape from this new horrible reality. Our day that started with excitement and hope had dissolved into utter despair.

I was awoken in the middle of my sleep by my husband nudging me. "Honey, honey. It's 2004. Happy New Year." I looked up at the alarm clock that rested clumsily in the middle of the floor. The big, red, glowing numbers read 12:05. Yea, Happy New Year.

The next day was the first day in the New Year. Things started to come together. A new apartment was ready in 3 days. It had a balcony and a small fireplace and a built in for my knick knacks. We found jobs and brought a new cherry red sofa, a table, a new desk. It was a fine apartment for a young family. We made enough money to pay the rent, eat, and have just enough left over for our poverty to be bearable.

Our oldest daughter was born that summer and the month after she was born, I received a check from the ARMY. It was in the amount of $1,200 to replace our lost items. I chuckled when it came.

It is my favorite New Years Eve, because it is a reminder that no matter how bleak and horrible things can seem - there is always tomorrow. You can always start again. A reminder that God has always made provisions for us. It reminds me to count my blessings.

Here is to a wonderful, prosperous, and blessed New Year...and a New Years Eve that is less crappy than the one in 2003!

I'm Ill

                                   

It's 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve and I'm not asleep. I did all the laundry, moved the stupid Elf (and wrote a letter on his behalf to my children), I plucked my eyebrows, and surfed Buzzfeed for an hour and a half.

Why did I do all those things? Because of the Sudafed. Holy Hell, no wonder they regulate that stuff. It's my husband's fault. I got sick this weekend and he went out and purchased soup, orange juice and two HUGE bottles of Sudafed. You opening a meth lab or something? I thought.

It started on Friday. I was feeling a little congested and had a tickle in my throat. I chalked it up to allergies. On Saturday, my throat was a little sore and I was feeling run down but I still shrugged it off. I woke up Sunday morning and I was sure I was dying.

I had a fever and it felt like every single bone in my body was broken. I felt like someone took me out of bed in the middle of the night, ran me over with their car, and then tucked me back in. I had a sinus headache that felt like an ice pick in my head. "I'm dying," I moaned to my husband. He rolled his eyes at me, "You are not dying." I moaned, "Yes, yes I am. Please help me."

I parked my aching body on the couch with a comforter and pillow and demanded somebody put on something "nice that I can listen too." That's when my husband left to get the lifetime supply of Sudafed.

I realized how awesome it is to have older children. I was on the couch moaning and groaning and the kids were very helpful. My youngest got a damp cloth and applied it to my forehead. They made tea, brought me cold water and food. They let me rest.

Good mothers don't get sick. They can't. Who will do the dishes and the laundry? I could do nothing. I was so glad I don't have young children. You can't be sick when you have young kids. I recall being deathly ill at home alone with my two year old and fencing her into the living room with snacks and toys. I let her watch 8 straight hours of Strawberry Shortcake while I counted the minutes for my husband to come home.

Little kids don't give a shit if you are sick. They are selfish people. They still want you to make them mac and cheese, sing along to the Wiggles, and go outside to blow bubbles. You can be blowing chunks, laying on your death bed, racked with fever and they'll be like:

                                                   

I'll take that back. My kids are mostly helpful and caring. They were good on the first day. They gave me 24 hours to rest. After that, all bets were off.

My husband had to go to work on Monday morning and I was alone, sick, with the kids. I was completely neglectful and horrible. I was on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep, only rising occasionally to hack up some green stuff.

My ten year old patted me, "Mom, can I make some Ramen noodles?" It was 8 am, but I did not care. "Sure, just don't bother me for the next 2 hours."

After a nap, I was still feeling horrible. My body hurt, my face hurt. I decided to take some Sudameth and then soak in a hot bath. I checked on the kids to make sure they were still alive and then headed for the bathroom.

I sunk down in the bathtub and the hot water felt so nice on my aching bones. I closed my eyes to relax and a few minutes later there was a bang at the door. My oldest daughter was yelling through the door.
"MOM, is my phone in there?"
"No."
"Can you check?"
"It's not in here."
"MOM- YES IT IS!"
"Seriously, it's not!"
"I'm coming in."
"The door is locked."
"I have a key."
"I'm NAKED."
"I don't care."
"Well, I'm not going to pay for your therapy."
"MOM, YOU'RE HORRIBLE!!!!!"

She gave up, defeated, and I closed my eyes again. I do want to mention that her phone was later located in her closet. BOO-YA!

I was up all night last night hacking and in the morning I was halfway dreaming in a feverish haze. My husband got up for work and I said to him, over and over again, "Tell Pa that he can have the oxen." He ignored me for a while and then finally said, "Ok, I'll tell him. Now go to sleep." He was probably thinking, I need to call Ancora and see if they have a bed for this crazy lady.

I fell into a deep glorious sleep and when I woke up it was 10 am. The kids were watching a movie and eating cheese doodles. Bad Mom Award. I felt soooo much better. I'm still a little congested but I'm on the mend.

Thank goodness! It is Christmas, after all. There are meals to be cooked and stockings to be stuffed. First, I think I am going to take a hot bath....in peace! Merry Christmas, y'all!

Boy Problems

                                               
I had to have a parent-teacher conference with my 5th grade daughter's teachers a few weeks ago. I understood why, she has had a few low test grades that are bring her average down in some subjects. I must follow that by stating that the way they do grades there is that an 84-93 is a B and a 94-100 is an A so if you have an 80 you pretty much are failing at life. That's a whole other post for a different day.

We've been working on it. My daughter is honest with me. She day dreams in class, she doesn't ask questions when she doesn't understand. She's lazy sometimes. Her teachers told me they think she is distracted....by a boy.

I know the boy, it's the boy that asked her to the dance at the beginning of the year. I thought he would cut his losses and move on after she gave him the rejection notice. Nope, he is relentless. She was having a bad day a few months ago and he said to her, "You shouldn't be sad. You're the smartest, prettiest, most awesome girl in the entire world." I mean, I agree with him but he is only 11 and he lives in the suburbs in South Carolina so I think he needs to hold onto his hormones and slow down a little bit. They have been separated in class but he will walk ALL the way around the room to go to the trash can or sharpen his pencil just so he can walk past her. They hang out at recess and lunch. They have puppy love. *vomit*

She likes him but he is not her "boyfriend." Other kids have offical "boy friends" and "girlfriends", I have discovered. The best friend of the boy that likes her is the "boyfriend" of one of her friends, but SHE secretly likes the boy that likes my daughter. I'm telling you - it is more juicy than the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I am pretty neutral about these things so I told her to do what she needs to do at school and get her quiz grades up. I think things are pretty innocent at this point, but not forever. It's all going to go to hell sooner or later with the boy situation. Pray for me. Pray HARD.

I was discussing the situation with my mother and she said, "You always liked a lot of boys. You had a boyfriend in 5th grade didn't you?" I looked at her like she was crazy. "No mom, no I didn't.... because no one ever liked me back."

                              


When I was in fifth grade it was just me and JTT, planning our future together...in my head.
                                            
We would have been a great couple, but alas, it was not meant to be.


I was a little surprised because my oldest daughter is not my boy-crazy child. She doesn't talk about boys, text boys, own a One Direction poster. Now, my youngest daughter is a different story. *Big Surprise*

She came to me at the end of last year - my sweet 7 year old and asked, "How do you get a boy to like you?" I spit out my water and sat up in bed. My first thought was, How the hell am I supposed to know? When you find out, let me know and I'll try to see if it works on your father. I told her that 7 year old boys don't usually like girls. She insisted that I give her something. "I don't know, just be yourself. See if you have any common interests?" The next day she said they played Pokemon together, just the 2 of them. Then when he left - wait for it - he gave her a HIGH FIVE and didn't give anyone else a high five. Based on that, she came to the conclusion that he was in love with her and they were going to have a Disney wedding.

Thankfully, the next day was the last day of school and that was the end of that. She talked about him all summer and was sad he wasn't in her class this year. She still holds onto hope, however. Some afternoons I'll pick her up and she will tell me that she walked by him while they were on bathroom break and he waved and smiled at her. She thrives on these romantic exchanges outside of the elementary school lavatories.

So yeah, we have boy problems. Probably now and for the next 15 years. And just think, this is the easy part! Somebody pass me a bottle of wine.

I Work Out

                                           

You may remember that I once had aspirations to get into shape. To get really toned and learn to break things with my butt. Yeah, that's not exactly turning out as planned. Mostly because I hate working out. I HATE it. I would rather starve myself than work out. The problem is, I don't starve myself. I think. I should probably work out. Nah, let me go eat a block of cheese instead.

People that work out are always like, "After that run/job/weight lifting session, it just makes you feel so good. You just have to get yourself motivated to do it." No. Not me. I workout and I'm like, That was TERRIBLE. I have to do this everyday? I'm going to go eat some cheese now.

The other week, I decided I would stop being lazy and just go to the gym. My dad has a gym membership and I asked if I could tag along. He is a gym rat and he was glad to have some company. So we met every morning at 8 am after I dropped the kids off. In my head, I thought it wouldn't be that bad. I could just run on the treadmill for 45 minutes and listen to Sir-Mix-A-Lot.

We get to the gym and I'm 40 minutes into my run and my dad taps me on the shoulder. "You ready to do abs?" I never told him I was doing abs. I had no desire to go to the ab area, but apparently when I told him I was going to accompany him to the gym he made the assumption that I was asking him to be my personal trainer.

It's my dad, so I gave in and let him show me how to use the ab machines that looked like torture devices. I was doing this one thing and this random guy came up to me and was like, "If you turn to the side you will work your obliques." I was so irritated by him for some reason. He acted as if he was the wizard of Planet Fitness, imparting his eternal wisdom to me. I wanted to punch him. I hated the ab area.

Then we did squats. My dad was said, "Okay, now I want you to do that twice a day at home." I was like:
                                         
DAD!!!! I am a grown woman, with my own home and family. I don't have to listen to you anymore.
I didn't say that though, I told him I would. I lied....to his face.

The next day, we went through the same thing. I ran on the treadmill and then I felt the tap on my shoulder. It was my father, my wannabe personal trainer. "Come on, ab time."

I groaned and reluctantly went over to the ab area. I looked around and the Planet Fitness wizard was nowhere to be seen. I was glad. He showed me how to use a crunch machine thing. "Okay, your turn. Do 30." I got on the stupid machine and and crossed my arms. I pulled myself up with all the force I had in my body. Then it happened.....

                                 

I peed my pants. True story.

That happens sometimes since I've had kids. It's not a typical thing but rarely if there is an unexpected sneeze, cough, or laugh it could happen. It's a pee pee pants algorithm: degree of bladder fullness x level of body exertion divided by the time of day equals likelihood of pee pee pants.

I did my 30 crunches and then I was like, "Dad, I am beat. I need to go home." He was just oblivious. "What? C'mon, we need to do squats and weights." I just started walking toward the door. I was filled with shame and discouragement. I need to find the kegel machine. It wasn't noticeable, but I noticed and that was enough.

The next day my dad was like, "You didn't meet me at the gym this morning. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm just doing my squats at home." I haven't been back since. That was 11 days ago. Screw it, I'm just going to eat less cheese. I'll tell people I just had a baby....8 and a half years ago. Seems legit.

Country Parade

                    

This weekend my daughter was in a parade for gymnastics. It was a little bit out in the country, about 15 miles from our house. I hadn't been to this parade before, so I was excited to see what was going down.

We drove for what seemed like forever to find out where to drop off our daughter. The floats were all lining up and we found where she needed to be and we let her off. My husband was having a hell of a time getting back to the main road. He was mumbling and cursing under his breath. People were just walking in front of the car and not letting him in. Finally he exploded, "What the hell!?!? They are letting kids ride in this parade in their big wheels?" I laughed my butt off. "Ummm....honey, they are shriners."

                        
I couldn't contain myself. He thought they were little children in baby cars.

We finally found a spot toward the end of the parade and waited for what seemed like forever for it to start. In the meantime, I spotted a lady with a baby next to us. I remarked that her baby was cute. Well, that opened a door that I never should have opened. She had the baby on her hip and was smoking a cigarette. She talked in a thick, thick country accent. "She ain't cute at 2 in the morning." She pointed to her other children. "I have a 1 year old, 2 year old, and 3 year old. The doctor told me I shouldn't have any more 'cause they were all born early." Well, smoking and getting pregnant at 3 months postpartum might be why. I didn't say that though, because I didn't want to be judgmental.

She could have ended it there - but no. Of course not. She nudged her boyfriend, husband, baby-daddy guy. He was wearing jeans, a camo jacket, and had a star tattoo on his neck. He looked like the lead singer of Crazy Town. haha
                                   
 "I told him he needs to keep his hands off of me. I always get pregnant on birth control." She took a puff of her cigarette. "I should have named this baby Mirena." I'm a complete stranger and she's just out there, telling me all her business.

I think that I am just one of those people. People that I barely know tell me EVERYTHING. Maybe it's because I look like I'm non-judgmental or because I listen with fascination. I don't mind it, I just don't want to have images in my head that can't be erased. I need a reality show because I come across the most ridiculous people.

I am not making fun of country people. If there is a zombie Apocalypse, I am teaming up with them. They are going to survive. They have guns and trucks and MREs and sheet.

The parade finally came and it was actually pretty good. However, in the middle of the parade a train came through. You know you are at a country-ass parade when everything has to stop when the train comes through. It was carrying coal. We were partying like it was 1889.

Then the shiners came by and I made fun of my husband again.

Our daughter came at the end and she was smiling and waving and then her float trailed off into the distance. We bid farewell to the people sitting next to us. They were both holding kid and the 3 year old was trailing behind. I hope they don't go home to make any more babies, I thought to myself. I'm terrible.

I liked the country parade, I'm going to that one every year. It's much easier to find a spot at the country parade and every time I see the shriners, I will laugh out loud.

I Hate Elf on the Shelf

I volunteer in my third grader's classroom on Mondays. Last Monday, I was sitting there doing flash cards with the kids when there was a knock at the door. The assistant principal walked in and handed a box to the teacher. "This just showed up by the front door. I didn't see who brought it." Her teacher grabbed the box and said, "Oh, I know what this is." She passed the box around to show the children that it was ice cold. It was wrapped in brown paper with bright NORTH POLE stickers all over it. She unwrapped the box to reveal the class Elf on A Shelf.

She sat the kids on the rug and read the Elf on the Shelf book. Then she told the story of how 3 years ago her class visited a kindergarten class that had an elf and asked the elf if they could have one too and the next day the elf just showed up, icy at the front of the school. That's how it happens every year now. She talked about traditions and other holidays and beliefs and turned it into a social studies lesson of sorts. Then she asked who had an Elf on A Shelf a home. Almost all of the hands went up, except for my daughter. Bad Mom Award.

We have not participated in Elf on the Shelf. They didn't REALLY become popular until 3-4 years ago and by that time I felt like we had established our holiday routine. We have a TON of Christmas traditions; the kids open the Advent Calender every day, we do the light show every year, the living nativity, various parades and events. I never felt like we needed an Elf. I am not an Elf on the Shelf kind of mother. The Elf seems like an extra chore for me which is not what I need at the holiday time. The kids never bothered me about it and I have made it this far without an Elf.

That afternoon, I picked her up and she declared, "Guess what, mom? We are getting an Elf on the Shelf." In my head I thought, Oh HELL NAH we're not. "Oh, really?" "Yeah, I told all my friend's that we don't have an Elf and they are all going to go home and ask their elves if they can tell Santa to bring us an elf, just like our class elf." I stewed over this. I dropped her off at gymnastics and then went home to make dinner.

When my husband walked through the door, I said, "We need to go get a f*&$ing elf." I dropped the F-bomb about the Elf. He groaned. "Look, we have no options. Our daughter believes in the magic of the elf and she asked her friends to ask their elves. So, if we don't get the stupid elf not only will we be destroying her magic but her friend's too. We will ruin the elf magic for all." My 10 year old was just laughing her butt off. "You have to move the elf EVERY NIGHT." I gave her the stink eye.

So I went out to go buy a stupid Elf on A Shelf. I hated every minute of it. He cost $30. He is made out of felt and cheap plastic, what a crap rip off. I did not have joy in my heart about it. I paid for the over-priced crappy Elf and I sat in the car and opened the flap. He smiled at me with his stupid elf grin.
                            
"I hate you," I said out loud to the elf. Then I hid him in the back seat.

I picked up my daughter from gymnastics and when she went in to get dressed, I snuck back to the car and got the elf, laid it on the door mat and sprinkled it with glitter. Special magical North Pole Elf Dust. *Sigh*

She came down and started her homework. I knocked on the wall and then instructed my 10 year old to answer the door. She did and then said, "MOM, come here." I walked over and my little one followed. When she saw the Elf on the Shelf she jumped for joy. "It worked, mom. It worked! The Elf magic is REAL!"

I thought, How can she possibly believe this crap? I smiled. "It sure does." We brought in the Elf and she read the book to me and they argued over what to name it. They decided on Green Peppermint.

Now, every night we have to move the stupid elf. I dislike it so much. We have very limited options because he has to be high and out of reach of the dog. Most of the time, I just get up early to move him. Every time I say mean things to the elf. I tell him that he's annoying and that I don't like him. I am an elf bully.

I refuse to stage elaborate scenarios for the elf. You see people on Pinterest and Facebook with this kind of stuff:

   

             

Are you kidding me? I'm like, I moved the Elf from the tree to the bookshelf.... I feel horrible that I'm not into the Elf. I feel like the worst mom EVER. That is not fair. Parenting is hard enough. Normally I'd be working full time. You have to make sure the kids get to school, pack lunch, clean house, shuttle back and forth to extra curricular activities, make meals, supervise homework, grocery shop and everything else....and now a days you have to feel guilty for not giving Elf on the Shelf your all?

The only good part about him is that when my daughter is bad, I threaten to touch the Elf. If you touch him, he will lose his magic. That makes her so mad but it straightens her right up. I'm earning the Bad Mom Award one day at a time.

Do They Know It's Christmastime?

                                                 

Christmas time is in full swing at our house. We got home from our trip this weekend and got started right away on decorating. I decided that we would make do with what we have already, this year. I unpacked carefully and took inventory of everything. The house is covered in garland and bows and ornaments galore. It is our favorite time of year. The only thing we needed was a Christmas tree and garland for the tree.

I always would string popcorn garland with fresh cranberries. For YEARS. After Christmas, I would hang it off of the fence so the birds could feast on it. A few years ago, we were getting ready for Christmas and my husband came to me and told me he hated the popcorn garland. He was very emphatic about it. I didn't know that someone could feel so strongly about garland, but he did. So we just use tinsel garland now instead. I LOVE beaded cranberry garland.
                                                                 

The problem is that it would be $100 bucks to buy enough to cover the tree, plus I always forget to order it ahead of time. One day, I will buy my 90 yards of wood cranberry bead garland, but not this year.

We decorated the house Saturday and that night we planned to sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate and watch a Muppet Christmas Carol. I also planned to try some stained glass cookies that I found on Pinterest.
                             

Well, that turned out to be a comedy of errors. I found a cream cheese sugar cookie dough recipe. I made the dough and froze it ahead of time. I followed the directions. They looked promising. I popped them in the oven and walked away.

A few minutes later, I smelled smoke. It was weird because they weren't in there long enough to burn. I open the oven door and smoke comes pouring out. The smoke alarm is going off and my husband followed me into the kitchen. Something must have spilled in the bottom of the oven and now there was a fire in the oven. I pulled out the cookies. My husband just stood next to me and did nothing. He just watched the flames like:
                                        
I grabbed a bag of flour and threw it on the fire to put it out. I saw my dad put out a toaster fire that way once -  in his underwear on a cold January morning. I still need therapy after witnessing that.

Anyway, the fire was out. I finished baking cookies and all was right with the world. They looked great when they came out. Except that the middle stuck to the parchment paper and I couldn't get it all off. I figured a TINY little bit of wax paper never killed anyone, but I googled it just to make sure. We built the fire and I proudly gave the stained glass/wax paper cookies to the kids. I didn't tell them about the wax paper part. Bad Mom Award.

They bit into them. "Mom, these are the worst cookies I ever tasted. They aren't even sweet. Gross." Whatever. I ate them all. Theirs and mine. With the wax paper. Like a fat woman with some killer PMS. They were good, my kids were just being haters. We watched our movie and had a nice time together.

The next day we went out to get a Christmas tree. We still get a live tree and I remember Lowes having good prices on them. So we went to Lowes and they had 2 trees for $50 and no garland. Home Depot had a tent out and we went over there. We picked out a decent one for $40 and I went in to get some garland. They had all kinds of ornaments, stars, lights for the tree but no garland. I went to a store associate. "Do you have any garland for the tree?" She shook her head. "Any tinsel? Beads? Angel Air? Angel Dust? Crack Cocaine?" Just kidding, I didn't ask for crack. She said, "No, we don't have any of that." I pointed to the shelves which were decorated in red and green shiny garland. "But you decorated the Christmas section with it and you don't sell it?" I wasn't trying to be rude. I was just confused. She said, "No, we don't have any in the store." I was like:
                                      

I finally found some garland at the dollar store and we went home and my husband had the tree up in 5 minutes. I don't know how he does it. When I was a kid we had this crappy metal tree stand from 1967, that was all bent up.

                                       
It took 3 hours, books to balance it at the bottom, "Pass me the Bible and The Pokey Little Puppy..." , and a rope to finally nail it to the wall to get the tree up. I know I tell that story every year, I can't help it. It's my favorite. My parents should have just not fed one of us for a little while and invested in a new tree stand.

My husband strung the lights and we had family over for dinner and to help us decorate it. We told the story of our oven fire over dinner and my sister was like. "You don't own a fire extinguisher?" "No, is that a thing that people have?" She looked at me like I had 8 heads. "Yes, I have one, everyone has one." Really? I don't see fire extinguishers for sale ANYWHERE. "They sell them every where." I felt like a horrible, non-fire-extinguisher-having, negligent a-hole.

Then we went to decorate the tree and a strand of lights went out. "I'm not getting new lights. Jesus was born in a stable, the world is not perfect." So, the tree is not as shiny as I want it to be, but it looks nice with the ornaments on it.

We bid our family good bye but before we did I handed my sister our Christmas card. "You can't even mail it? Are you trying to save on the stamp?" I am stingy, I don't try to hide it. I smiled at her, "No, I just wanted you to be the first one to have it." She examined it. "OMG! You guys are in bathing suits. Your husband is wearing a BATMAN tee shirt. Really?" My husband peered over her shoulder and pointed to the card, "You like my sweat stain here?" I protested, "It's not a sweat stain - it's water from a WATER RIDE. Don't you see what I am trying to do there? I am going for the laid back, beachy kind of Christmas card this year." She rolled her eyes at me. I love her. I dish it right back to her. We diss each other all the time, in a non-threatening sister kind of way. I don't mind at all.

I do not stress about the holidays at all. I do what I can and then I spend time with the family and count our blessings. Well, I should say I didn't stress about the holidays until I was FORCED to get an damn Elf on the Shelf. But that's another REALLY long story for another time....

And That Was Our Weekend....

   

We were invited by some of our favorite people in the universe to celebrate Thanksgiving in Virginia this year. We decided to make the trip and to take the kids to Christmas Town at Busch Gardens to kick off the holiday season. The trip up was pretty easy. We didn't run into any traffic on I-95, which was really strange for the day before Thanksgiving. The kids were at their usual level of horribleness, they weren't UNUSUALLY horrible, so that was good. Just the usual arguing that the other is looking at them, they weren't sharing the chips....we tuned them out.

We had a really nice Thanksgiving day with family. The food was delicious, the kids played with their cousins, we got to visit with everyone. It was a great day. On Black Friday, we headed to Busch Gardens in Williamsburg. It was cold as hell but we were bundled up. I could not find my coat ANYWHERE before we left so I was in long johns, a sweater, and a North Face jacket and gloves, so it was fine.

The park was amazing. It was like Christmas threw up. There were lights and trees and wreaths everywhere. There was Christmas music blasting through the speakers throughout the park. We rode rides, we watched shows, we drank hot chocolate and had a nice time. Until dinner.

I bought all-you-can-eat buffet tickets where they were showing the most popular show at the park. I had to purchase an adult ticket for my 10 year old. The adult tickets were $39 and the kid tickets were under 20, but I figured that she could eat a few plates. She's a big kid. So we get there, and the place was huge. It was full of people. Off to the side was the buffet and there was a ton of food. Salad, soup, chili, brats, ham, turkey, fresh sliced prime rib, vegetables, potatoes, chicken nuggets, cobbler, cookies, red velvet cake, chocolate fudge cake, a variety of sodas and drinks.... We got our plates together and my 8 year old was loving it. She wanted to try everything. My 10 year old, who had been pleasant and was having a great time up until this point scowled. "I'm not hungry."

I didn't understand. We had lunch 4.5 hours prior and she hadn't eaten anything since then. There was food that she  liked. "I just want to sit down." We had reserved front row seats in the middle of the restaurant. She sat down and pouted. "Is something wrong? Do you feel sick? Do you want a drink at least?" She laid her head down. "No. Leave me alone. I'm tired." I tried to encourage her to eat something and I told her if she chose not to eat that I wasn't buying her anything else. She looked at me defiantly and said, "That's fine." Then the show started. There were life sized gingerbread men dancing around us, there were tap dancers in shiny green fur-trimmed outfits, there was a large Christmas tree that descended from the 20 foot ceiling and my daughter sat with her head in her hand, looking bored as she ate NOT.ONE.BITE of the $39 dinner that I had purchased for her. This is how I felt on the inside:

                                         

This is becoming our lives now. Her mood swings are just the worst. One moment she is totally fine and the next she is a raging lunatic. She must get that from her mother. Seriously though, I don't know if we are going to survive this. It's horrible.

So we are sitting there and I heard the voice of one of my friends in my head (okay, I didn't actually HEAR it in my head. I'm a little nuts, but I'm not crazy). She used to talk a lot about grace and how it is undeserved favor and instead of getting angry I told myself over and over again: Just have grace with her, just have grace with her, just have grace with her. Your sweet daughter is inside of her. She doesn't really want to act this way, she has a hard time controlling her mood swings, just have grace right now. That's what I did. I stopped being mad and upset and I watched the show. I can only control myself. I cannot force feed my 10 year old daughter and I cannot make her have a happy attitude. I left her alone and I enjoyed my dinner and made sure we ate enough food to account for the fact that I paid for a dinner that wasn't going to be used.

Oddly enough, she was fine a short time afterwards. She said she liked the show. She didn't look like she enjoyed it but that must have been a front. It was getting dark now and we walked through the park admiring the lights and decorations, stopping only periodically by the heaters to warm our cold cheeks. We went to the candy store and got some goodies and then we rode the train to the front of the park. There were Clydesdale horses with green and red plaid blankets and carriages filled with presents and fake snow that fell gently over us. It was a very magical time.

Even though it was late, almost 8 o'clock, we decided we would make the 6 hour drive home. We loaded up the car and my husband jacked up the heater, so we could thaw out. I was getting warm so I decided to take off my jacket. The zipper was broken and I could not zip it down. I tried to get my kids to do it, they couldn't get it. I was started to get freaked out. I was entombed by this North Face jacket and I could not get it off. I was feeling claustrophobic in it. I needed it off NOW. So I did what any rational grown woman would do, I began to cry and scream out, "GET IT OFF OF ME. THIS SWEATER IS A STRAIGHT JACKET. I AM TRAPPED IN HERE." Everyone in the car began to laugh but it was not funny. I felt like this damn jacket was going to eat me alive. I was feeling very irrational about it.

My husband started screaming. "JUST RIP IT OFF. RIP THE ZIPPER." He knows me well enough to recognize the sheer panic in my voice. I tried. I took both hands and pulled as hard as I could. But alas, I am not Hulk Hogan.
                                

I was able to stretch the collar enough to get my head through it. I was frantically trying to pull it off but the rest of my clothes were coming with it. "GET IT OFF OF ME." I finally wiggled myself out of the North Face Jacket. Then I was okay. I took a deep breath. My family looked at me like I nuts. "What? That jacket was a tomb."

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We got home at 3 am and crawled into bed and enjoyed a blissful sleep. Then we woke on Saturday to deck the halls and get the Christmas season started.

Stay tuned, later I will tell you about how I lit my oven on fire and why I had to google, "Will my kids die if they eat wax paper?"

The Charade is Up

                      
Where the heck have I been? I find that I am not really less busy. I just fill my days with different things. The kids have had many school events and we have 3 birthday parties to attend today. I feel like I've spent my week buying birthday gifts for other people's kids. I spend more money on other people's children than my own.

Then there are Christmas preparations which are in full swing. I got my Christmas cards in this week. Absolutely NO thought went into them at all. I just picked any random picture that had my whole family in it. A picture from Sea World. We are in bathing suits and my husband is wearing a Batman shirt and looks like he just smelled a fart. I did choose an aqua blue background so it could have a "beachy" Christmas feel. It's fine. I am the Queen of Good Enough, not the Queen of Perfect.

All the gifts have been purchased for the girls. I always do my Christmas shopping online, so it was quick and easy. My youngest daughter wanted a massage chair this year. I have no idea why but she has been talking about it for months. I purchased a massage mat that can fit to any seat. Those massage CHAIRS are expensive. I am not a baller. My oldest daughter asked for a sewing machine. She hand sews all kinds of amazing things and she want to make clothes and purses and not spend days hand-sewing them. I got her a gift card to Hancocks so she can get fabric and embellishments. I am going to make her make me some curtains. They will get books. My little one wanted a Minecraft construction book and my oldest Hunger Games. They got clothes and roller blades. The freaking UPS man dropped off ALL of my gifts at 5 pm EVERY TIME. It was so annoying. Hello, UPS man, my kids believe in Santa so can you drop the sh*t off while they are at school?

Except they don't believe in Santa. At least not all of them, I was having lunch with my husband earlier this week and he told my that our oldest daughter disclosed to him that she doesn't believe in Santa anymore. I shed a tear when he told me that. She hadn't mentioned anything to me. She was probably afraid I would cry. I decided to talk to her about it when I picked her up from school and it was just the two of us.

She got in the car and I turned to her and told her I wanted to talk to her about something. She got all freaked out. "What did I do?" Calm down Miss Paranoia...... "Nothing, dad told me you don't believe in Santa anymore." She shrugged, "Yeah." "Why not?" She got ready to break my heart. "Well, last year we watched a movie at school about the legend of Santa Claus and then I was on Pinterest looking at Christmas stuff and they had things on there about how to get your kid to believe in Santa and I kind of put 2 and 2 together. Plus, I know it must be you and dad because I don't always get EVERYTHING I ask for and if Santa was real, he would get it for me." Bad Mom Award. I admitted it to her but swore her to secrecy. "Don't you EVER tell your sister. Let her believe in the magic of Santa for a little while longer." She agreed. "I also know you guys aren't the tooth fairy anymore because I found our teeth."

Yes, I am a creepy tooth collector. I don't have them all but I do have their first ones. My grandmother died when I was 5 years old, but I remember one day that she showed me that she had a small jewelry box in her dresser that was full children's teeth. I liked to go in there and shake the box of teeth, I liked the sound of them clinking together. It was like teeth maracas. So you can't really blame me, my creepy tooth collecting is hereditary.

Again, I admitted that we are the tooth fairy. She was excited with herself. "I knew it!" I was visibly sad. "What's wrong,mom?"  "It's just sad that you don't believe anymore." She tried to make me feel better, "Well, I still believe in pirates and mermaids and the Illuminati." BWHAHAHA. She is a conspiracy theorist now, apparently.

The next day I picked her up and she turned to me, "Mom, are you and dad the Easter Bunny too?"
I didn't even respond. I just lowered my head in shame.
                        
"I knew it! How did you get the big rabbit prints on the floor?" I told her about how I made mud and painted them on every Easter eve. She laughed, "That's cool. I'll do that for my kids too."

I knew this day would come but it is sad. Being a kid is so fun and magical. She is growing up and that's hard. I know I'm just a few years away from having to wake my children up on Christmas morning, Maybe 5 years from now? I can see my husband and I sitting in front of the tree with the presents at 9 am on Christmas morning, debating if we should wake up our ungrateful teenagers. Uggh.

At least I have a few years left with my little one believing. We'll try to make it count. When it ends for her, I might need therapy. I mean, I need therapy now - I just will need more of it then. :)

Happy Birthday!

                                    
My hubby's 32nd birthday is tomorrow. I am still in denial that we are in our 30's. I don't know when that happened. I always tell him he's an old man. Of course, I don't really think that but in my head we are both still teenagers and so to the teenage girl in my head, he really is an old man.

This will be the 15th birthday we've celebrated together, except for 19. On his 18th birthday we went out to eat at Wendy's on Main Street in Millville and he was talking excitedly about going to Phila to a BT concert that night and how he was going to get his grey WaWa apron that weekend and was going to learn to slice lunch meat. He was finally an adult- he could buy cigarettes, lottery tickets and dirty magazines. He could vote. He could join the military. He was entering a whole new world.

His 19th birthday is the only one we didn't get to spend together. He was away in training in the ARMY then. I was watching TV that evening and the phone rang. My mother answered it and came into the living room. I can see her now, standing in the doorway with a smile on her face as told me he was on the phone. There was such a sense of relief and I leaned against the kitchen wall and played with the phone cord as he told me about training and life at Fort Jackson and about how life would be different when he came home the following month and how he wanted to marry me. My heart skipped a beat. His voice sounded so strange to me, I hadn't heard it in 2 months. It was a short call, they only allowed a few minutes. I wished him a happy birthday and hung up the phone. I was euphoric in the days that followed that birthday phone call. The sound of his voice sustained me and was a ray of sunshine in the grey world that had become my existence in his absence.

We spent his 20th birthday in Oklahoma. We were newlyweds and we went out for every meal that day and I begrudgingly went to watch Harry Potter with him. I was happy and we were together.

We were in New Jersey for his 21st birthday and his cousin took him out to show him a good time. I worked the 3rd shift at WaWa that night and the two of them came in to get sandwiches when the bar closed. My husband stumbled in drunk, like one should be on their 21st birthday. He came to the counter and kissed me. "I was drinking some crazy chicken." His cousin laughed, 'He means, Wild Turkey." I still tease him about that.

I found out I was pregnant just a few days after that. I also don't remember anymore birthdays. I remember 30 for him, but none of them in between. After the kids came, life was a blur. We probably went out to dinner and I'm sure I purchased him necessities instead of fun things. Underwear and new socks and a beard trimmer. After 21, he wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man. We purchased our first home, he started working for the Department of Defense that year, he became a father. Our days of spontaneity and carefree days were over.

I will probably forget 32. He'll go to work. He wanted to go to dinner at China Buffet. I don't think he really wants to go to China Buffet, but he knows that the girls LOVE China Buffet so I am pretty sure he picked it so they would be happy. He is so hard to shop for because he just buys what he wants so I got him some craft brew refill kit because he brews at home. Welcome to 32 - go to work, here's some Chinese food - make yourself some beer. Poor guy, we do the best that we can.

He might be an old man, but inside there is still the boy who was excited to get his grey apron. I hope I still feel that way when we are 80 and pooping our pants together. That birthday is going to be HOT. I'm going to put on something sensual for that birthday.
                                                          
                                                           
I am a good wife, and I figured I'd give him something to look forward to. I mean, 80 will be here before we know it. :)

Mom's Taxi Service

                               

It'd been almost a month since I became a full time mom again and I have not been as relaxed as I thought. There are a lot of things that I neglected for a long time and I am slowly beginning to catch up. I scrubbed my baseboards, and my laundry pile no longer exists. The house is clean every day. I feel like I am on vacation kind of. It will take a while for things to settle in. I spend most of my days shuttling children here and there. I have become an unpaid chauffeur.

I wake up at 5, make lunches and breakfast and we are out the door by 7. Then I drop the youngest at the elementary school, then drive to the middle school to drop off the oldest. Then back home by 8. Leave at 1:30, pick up the youngest then drive to the middle school to pick up the oldest. The bad part about the afternoons is that there is an hour difference between when my youngest and oldest child get out of school. I thought this is a great time for my youngest daughter to do her math homework and get in her 1/2 hour of reading. I can make my grocery list, play candy crush, nap. No. It didn't go like that. A few weeks ago, I had it. My daughter did her math homework but instead of reading decided she would just annoy me for 40 minutes. She rolled down the window and hung out of it. "Mom, I think I can climb onto the roof. Can I climb onto the roof?" Why? "No, you cannot climb on the roof." She whined for 5 minutes about not being able to climb on the roof. Then she threw her body on top of mine and started playing with my hair. Then she passed gas. On me. Not in my direction, literally on me. I had enough.

My 5th grader got into the car and I announced, "You are both taking the bus home." They freaked out, the bus was going to be a problem. My oldest daughter convinced me to let her go home with the next door neighbors. That seemed reasonable. I just needed to avoid being in the car with my 8 year old for longer than 15 minutes. This seemed like a good solution. Well, it lasted 10 days.

On Monday my daughter told me she wanted me to pick her up. My 8 year old looked at me with big eyes. "We can do it, mom. I will be good. I promise." Okay, we'll try again. Monday, I picked up my youngest and we drive to the middle school. She was good. She pulled out her math homework and began to do it quietly. She got stuck on question 3. "Mom, I don't understand. Can you help me with this?" I looked at the question and began to give her instruction. "No, mom. We have to make an organizational list." "We are going to get there, just listen..." I continued to give her instruction to help solve the problem. She didn't even let me finish when all hell broke loose. I could see it build up in her.

"I TOLD YOU I HAD TO MAKE AN ORGANIZATIONAL LIST! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING!!!!" She slammed her folder down and threw her pencil against the dash board. "I AM GOING TO FAIL AT MATH BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!" Then she began to sob. She has a 95 in math, by the way. I was done with her stressing out about the homework. I said nothing to her. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND MOM!?!?" I didn't even look at her. "I am not going to talk to you right now, until you calm down." She sobbed some more. "Why are you so mean to me?" Someone.kill.me. 

On Tuesdays, I don't have to wait with her because she has chorus practice. On those days, I pick up my daughter at the middle school and then we pick up my youngest. Yesterday, I picked up my daughter and I asked her about her day. She told me about how everything went and then she asked, "Mom, can I walk home to Z's house from now on? She needs someone to walk with her." "No, that doesn't make sense. I would be happy to drive her home since she lives near the school. Do you want me to call her dad and ask?" She rolled her eyes. "No." Then I remembered something. "Wait a minute, she has a 13 year old brother that goes to school here too. Can't they just walk home together?" She shrugged. "I don't know." I was feeling skeptical about this. Something wasn't fitting together. "I don't know what plans you have, but the answer is No. You cannot walk home unsupervised." She was annoyed at me and crossed her arms and pouted. "Just take me home." "We have to get your sister." She looked at me meanly. "No, take me home first and then go get her." Excuse me? "She needs to be picked up in 5 minutes, so no." That's when the whining started, "But my ankle hurts." "Well, it's a good thing you don't have to get out of the car." She sighed and gave me another dirty look.

I ignored her. I am not dealing with it. Then, my favorite Rusted Root song came on. I turned it up slightly and started humming along. My daughter turned the volume down to 8. I turned it back to 15. She turned it back to 8. So I left it there and started dancing. Bobbing my head, and shaking my shoulders. She gave me the death stare. 

"Stop.Dancing. NOW!" I like how my kids think they can tell me what to do. I am fair, and I am a negotiator. I said, "I'll make a deal with you. We can keep it at 8 with me dancing, or at 15 with no dancing." She turned the volume back to 15, annoyed. "I hate you. You are the worst." Right back at ya, grumpy pants. Geez.

This morning wasn't much better. We were getting ready to leave and it was 7 o'clock and her shoes weren't on and her teeth weren't brushed. The rest of us were ready to walk out the door. "Why aren't you ready?" Do you know what she said to me? "I didn't know what time we were leaving." We have left the house every morning at the same time for the past 5 years. You can tell time. What a load of crap. So I tell her to get done what she needs to get done - QUICKLY. "I'll just have dad take me." No. "You're dad works hard. You will not inconvenience him with making him have to make another stop before work this morning. Get it together." She yelled something at me and went to get her shoes. I waited for her in the car and she got in and slammed the door. She pouted and said not a word the entire ride to school. I pulled up and turned around, "I love you no matter what and I hope you have a great day." She gave me this face:

Then she left the car without saying a word to me. Not even a fist bump. I see how it is.

After she left the dog jumped in the front seat. The Dog Days came on and I laughed and said, "They wrote this song about you, Summer." She looked at me happily and wagged her tail. I scratched behind her ears. "You are the only female in the house that likes me." True story.

                                            

Mixing it Up

                                               
My husband called me last week in the middle of the day and was like, "So, one of my co-workers invited us to this singles mixer next Thursday so see if your dad can watch the kids." "Ummm....I don't know if you remember this, but we're not single." I knew this friend was starting a social club and he organized the event and needed more people to come to fill it up, so I said okay.

Then, I find out a few days later that we are not only going to go to this mixer but we have to pretend that we are single people. I was intrigued by this and a little skeptical. "This better not be one of those parties where you put your car keys in a fish bowl. I saw The Ice Storm, and I know it won't end well." He laughed. "We are pretending to be single for a few hours. Not be swingers." I am a God fearing woman and I'm not into any weirdo things.

I am often teased by my family members about being a traditional. straight laced person. My sisters call me a prude. My brother in law told me a few weeks ago that I was "vanilla" and "square." You know, "but not in a bad way." Whatever. I told him he was square for using the word square.

So, I decided I would go to the singles mixer and embrace it. I am not vanilla, at all. If I was going to be a single person for the night, I was going to need a new persona. I was going to be Samantha, a 27 year old Nurse Practitioner. A hot 27 year old nurse practitioner. Of course, there was nothing in my closet that Samantha would wear. So I went shopping. I picked out 10 dresses that were absolutely ridiculous. Dresses that I would never, ever in a million years wear. I am a knee-length dress kind of girl. The first one had cut outs on the side and I looked like a cylinder of dough being popped open.
                                          
I tried on a few more and then I tried on a little black number that was very short in the back and mesh at the top. It was very skanktastic. It was REALLY tight at the top. I stood in front of the mirror and then realized that something was wrong. One of the girls was in the right place but the other one looked like it was hanging at belly button level. I tried to get my arm down this dress so I could rearrange myself and I almost got trapped in it. Then I felt sad that I am so stretched and saggy that I had to physically take my body and put the parts back to where they were supposed to be originally. That's a problem. I am officially at Humpty Dumpty status. Once everything was in place, I knew that was it. I found some skanky ankle boots to complete the skank ensemble. It was Samantha time.

My husband got home and we got ready to go. There was just one last thing. Our rings. I never, ever, ever take off my wedding ring. I need to have it cleaned. If you cultured my ring you would probably find E. Coli and small pox. My fingers are so fat that I used Crisco to get them off. My finger is deformed where my wedding ring is.

No, you can't tell I wear a ring on my left hand at all. Haha. After the rings were off and the skank outfit was on, we headed out the door.

On the way, we were laughing so hard. We were practicing pick up lines. Pathetic. My husband got a $50 gift card and he flashed it and was like, "Baby, you can have whatever you like....on this $50 gift card." Yeah, that's hawt. Keep talking. He really knows how to impress the chicks. 

We finally got to the bar downtown and we walked in separately.  There was a private loft for the event and you had to check in. "What is your name?" "Samantha." The lady scrawled Samantha on a name tag and I stuck it on my dress and hoped it stayed there and not find it's way near my belly button as the night wore on. 

I was officially Samantha and I was fierce. I was having a little too much fun. We mingled and flirted. Which was funny because it was mostly people in their early to mid 20s. We were the oldest people there. I talked to this young man who was 26 and and was he was like, "Yeah, I can't drink every night like I used to. Now it's only 1 or 2 nights a week." I commiserated. "I know what you mean, I've really being trying to cut down on my partying too this year." This guy reminded me of one of my little brother's childhood friends. I wanted to find a nice girl for him. One of my husband's co-workers who was working the event was telling me about how his wife was about to have a baby and I was like, "I'm sorry. I hear that kids are horrible. I don't ever want any." Samantha hates kids. haha.

My husband and I worked the room and would exchange flirty glances with each other. At one point he sent me over a margarita. I introduced myself to him. I held out my hand and he shook it. "I'm Samantha. It's nice to meet you. Thanks for the drink." He smiled, "You're welcome. It's nice to meet you." That's when things got out of control. I licked the salt off the rim of my glass in a way that should be illegal. I could not help it. Samantha is a fast woman. We sat across from each other and made small talk like we were getting to know each other. Then, I began eating the appetizers that were in front of us in a very over-the-top and seductive manner. My husband was horrified and embarrassed. 

                                  
He gave me a look that said, If you don't stop fellating that egg roll in public, I may murder you.

It's his fault. It was the margarita. I RARELY drink. So, one drink just does me in. The tequila hit me hard. I walked past him and whispered, "I think you are trying to get me drunk so I'll go home with you tonight." He laughed.

I started to blow our cover because I kept trying to kiss him. "We're supposed to be single." "Yes, but we are a success story of the night. We found each other at the mixer." By 9:20 pm, I was ready to go home. The tequila had worn off. People said, "Bye, Samantha. Nice to meet you," as we walked out which made me laugh in my head.

We left together and as we walked back, he remarked that he felt bad for all the single people that were going home alone that night. I laughed. "Ummm, they are 24. They don't care. They probably feel bad for you. You have to do the in-and-out with the same woman for the next 45 years, and you already have 13 years behind you. You go to Chuck E Cheese birthday parties at 10:30 am. The most excitement you've had in the past 6 months is going to a mixer and pretending to be single and picking up your wife whose boobs don't even stay in place anymore." We both could not contain ourselves. It was so funny. We are sad.

On the ride home he asked if I thought the kids would still be up when we got home. I told him yes, that he wasted his drink buying on the wrong woman. The kids are always awake. They are always around.

I was right. When we walked through the door, the kids were still up and my 8 year old was crying about a toe injury. We went upstairs and I taped it up, still in my stupid skank boots.

I took off Samatha's dress and slipped into my Jaclyn Smith Kmart pajamas and put my wedding ring back on. I was back to my "square" world. I missed it. It was how it should be. I crawled into bed with him and curled up and rested my head on his shoulder. Like I have so many times before. He is home to me. I am safe there and beautiful. I don't care if we are vanilla - we aren't boring and we have fun. At least we're vanilla together.

Middle School Adventures

                                     
Last Tuesday was a special day for my daughter, so I decided I would surprise her with her favorite lunch at school. I went to Moes and got her a burrito, chips and queso, soda and all kind of yummy, unhealthy treats. I walked in and headed to the cafeteria. I am still not down with the middle school protocol. I would have lunch with both kids once a semester at the elementary school, but I haven't been to have lunch at the middle school. It's not a thing that you do when your kids get to that age.

On a side note, I never remembered parents coming to school to have lunch with their kids when I was in school. NEVER. Is it a new thing? A southern thing?

Anyway, I played out a few scenarios of how this would go in my head. She would be embarrassed and shun me, she would be shy about it and give me a wave and take the food, or she would be excited to see me. The third scenario didn't seem likely so I tried not to get my hopes up.

I stood in the corner and waited for a few minutes. I came at the end of 8th grade lunch. Whoa. Those are huge kids. I was a little afraid. I stared at the floor and felt awkward and out of place. Basically, how I felt the whole time I actually was in 8th grade. haha. Then they got up and left and it was 5th grade lunch time. I was trying to be incognito. I saw my daughter walk in and her teacher leaned in and pointed out to her that I was there. She looked up at me with big eyes and shouted, "Mom" and then she ran over and hugged me. In front of groups of her peers. A lingering hug. I was very excited about it. Being a mom - I'm winning at it.

I asked if she wanted me to stay and she said, "Yes!" I was happy. I asked her teacher if we could sit at a special table and she was like, "Come sit with me and my friends." This was going to be an adventure. She led me to her table and I sat at the end. We unpacked our Moes and the kids started to fill in. It was interesting because all the girls sat on one side of the table and all the boys sat on the opposite side. I leaned into my daughter and whispered, "Do they make you do that?" She shook her head. "No." That's weird. I observed some more. The boy in front of me ate his food in silence, while leaning his head on his hand. He looked really sad. I leaned in again, "Does that kid ever smile? Is he sad or something?" She shrugged, " He is always that way." Well, okay. Then this other kid was talking about Spanish class. "But what I really want is to learn German." He motioned to the kid next to him, "Because this guy reminds me of Adolf Hilter." The kid looked up. A tiny, little blue eyed child. I leaned into my daughter again, "Why did he say that kid reminds him of Hilter?" "Because he wants to take over the world." "How do you know that?" She whispered back, "Because he always talks about how he wants to take over the world." Fair enough. I was very entertained. Get these kids a TV show. I began to pack up the trash and the security officer came up to me and told me he thought I was a 5th grader for a minute. Yes, it's my anti-aging cream. I'm going for 11. I thought 11 might be a good look for me. Maybe it was my One Direction T-shirt. I laughed and then hugged my daughter and went on my merry way.

Alas, she was back to her normal self this week. It has been cold as hell this week. Yesterday there was frost on the ground. I heated up the car before we headed to school. I pulled out our coats and scarves. It was 40 degrees. That's like sub zero temps down here in the deep south. The girls bundled up and off we went. I dropped my youngest off first. She walked in looking so cute with her little pea coat, scarf and hat. As we drove to the middle school, my oldest daughter began to remove her scarf and coat. "What are you doing? You have to get out of the car in a few minutes and will have to put all that back on." "No, I don't." "Ummm....yes you do. It's freezing outside." She shrugged. "It's not that cold. I have a sweater." She didn't have a sweater. She had a cotton zip up hoodie. Not her fleece Columbia jacket or wool sweater. A wanna-be tee shirt that just happens to have sleeves. We had an argument about it. Then I said, "I bet all the other kids will be wearing coats." I pulled up behind the line of cars and watched the kids get out of the cars. I was going to show her. I saw not one coat. Not one. I did see a kid in shorts and another in flip flops. I saw a few sweatshirts. Not a scarf, not a hat. I was like:

                        
I there some tween/teen conspiracy about coats and dressing weather appropriately? Do they just like to be cold? Do their raging hormones act like a personal internal heater? I didn't understand. I was confused. My daughter gave me a look that said, "I win." I watched her walk up to the school shivering. It made me crazy.

My mother is reading this with a smug look on her face right now, because I remember this fight. I never wanted to wear my coat. I used to walk home from school, in New Jersey. In snow. I was 80 pounds, in a short skirt and heels with a 50 pound book bag on my back, not wearing a coat. Shaking like a chihuahua that just got out of a bath. I'd be like, I'm not cold. Wearing coats - Uncool since 1994. I wish I could go back in time and talk to myself. I'd say. "Listen up! First of all, put on some pants before you show your hoo-ha to the neighborhood. Have some self-respect for God's sake. Secondly, maybe the heels aren't a good idea. You are walking home in ice. Trust me, it's not going to be sexy when you are 19 in a podiatrists office getting cortizone shots in between your toes because you caused nerve damage in your feet. Also, what's with the book bag? Stop killing yourself with the homework. You aren't going to go to Harvard. C's get degrees. Eat a hamburger once in a while, you are too thin. Oh, and wear a coat, because believe it or not, you are going to have a daughter one day who will refuse to wear a coat and scarf and watching her shiver in the cold will kill your soul. Wear a coat so your adult-mom self won't feel like a hypocrite." That's what I would say. I don't think my tween self would listen to my adult self though. She would go home and weep while listening to a Tori Amos cassette and write angst-y poems about how grown ups don't "understand." They say you get it back 3 times. I'm in for it and this is just the beginning.

My Exhausting Child

                                              

I can't be 100% sure but I think my 8 year old daughter may be the most exhausting person on the planet. She really gave me a run for my money this weekend. I was awoken on Saturday morning at approximately 5:23 a.m. by my little one. I was sleeping in my oldest daughter's bed and was not quite sure how I had gotten there. We must have been playing musical beds.

She was jumping up and down in front of me. "Mom, mom - dad wants you to take out the dog." I opened one eye and looked at her and thought Uggg....who put him in charge? I dragged myself out of bed and my daughter and the dog followed me down the stairs. I felt like a zombie. I let the dog out and filled up her bowl. My daughter was tugging me. "Mom, will you make me hot chocolate, PLEASE?" I fixed her a hot chocolate and a bowl of oatmeal and then laid my tired bones on the couch. She came in. "Mom, can I watch Flea Market Flip?" "Sure." She loves this Flea Market Flip show, she is weird. I tried closing my eyes and she began to practice her cartwheels and handstands and then talk to me. "Mom, in school this week, my friend....." Does she really expect me to listen to this? I thought to myself. Then she said that she was going to wake up her sister and dad. "Don't you dare. It's 5:50 in the morning. Let them sleep." She was very angry. "They are so lazy. They are just wasting their day. Why doesn't anyone want to play with me?" Good question. So exhausting. Then she rolled up my living room rug and put on some socks to ice skate on the hardwoods.

The next day she just about lost her mind. She got mad at her sister, threw her iphone on the ground, and kicked a hole in the wall. I was downstairs doing dishes when my 10 year old came down crying. Her screen was blank. Damnit. I just paid $80 to replace the cracked screen not 10 days ago. Normally, I would just be like, "Whatever, we'll go get it fixed."
                                          

But now that I'm a stay at home mom, I'm like:

                 


I was so pissed. I went up to yell at my daughter and discovered the hole in the wall, which she put a box in front of to cover. She was already in her room. She knew what was coming.

She was sobbing. "But mom, she was being mean to me and she told me she wished I wasn't her sister and that I was the worst person in the world." She burst into tears again. "I didn't mean to." I went into my "disappointed" speech and told her she needed to spend the rest of the afternoon in her room and that she wasn't going to a special dinner and trunk or treat with her grandmother. She was heart broken, but she did deserve it.

We have worked very extensively with our daughter and getting her to control her temper. She has done much better but there is still much more work to be done. She has always been that way though. Since she was a young baby. If she didn't like something or get her way - all hell would break loose. She is an explosive child who is easily frustrated and chronically inflexible. I know, I read the book. She tries so hard. I've discussed the possibility of ADD, OCD, ODD and everything else with her physician. She doesn't fit the profile of anything exactly. Amazingly, she is a perfect angel in school. Cooperates, isn't chatty, does what she is supposed to do. I know this requires an incredible amount of self control for her.

She reminds me so much of my baby sister. My brother used to call her Fidel Hitler Mussolini. She wanted things a certain way. If you made fun of her at the dinner table, she would throw a fork directly at you. She is incredibly smart, just like my daughter and I think that has something to do with it. In her head, she thinks she is a grown up person but she's not. I've always had the challenge. Like she doesn't understand why we get to stay up and she has to go to bed. "Because you are a child, and you have school in the morning." It makes her so mad, "BUT I AM STILL A PERSON." I mean, to be beautiful, extremely intelligent, and well behaved? That just wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world.

The hardest part of living with my exhausting child is hearing input from everyone else. Mostly, that I should just beat her. Believe me, I want to. Often. But if that the precedent, the child would be receiving perpetual beatings. It's just not an effective way to deal with her. She needs a lot of re-direction, a lot of love, an incredible amount of patience and I really need to pick my battles. I tell my husband that God gave her to us because he knew we could deal with her.

Because she is an explosive child I feel like I am on the bomb squad. If I have to tell her something that I know she doesn't want to hear, I get a little nervous. It's like disabling a bomb. You do it and then have that second where you think, "Okay, everything is going to either be okay or this thing is going to explode and kill me." I am more likely to get an explosion if she is hungry or tired but you never know. It's a crap shoot.

Yesterday morning, for instance, my daughter told me it was team day so you had to wear a shirt from your favorite sports team. We don't own sports team shirts. "Why don't you wear your Hawks shirt?" You would have thought I suggested that she bathe herself in urine. I could see the frustration building and then the all-out freak out. "NOOOOO. I HAVE TO WEAR MY HAWKS SHIRT ON SPIRIT DAY ON FRIDAY. GOD, MOM!"
                          
Good Lord. I told her to wear whatever, but she kept pestering me because for some reason, she thinks I can materialize things out of thin air. Then, I had an idea. I ran upstairs and grabbed my high school gym shirt. I freaking love that shirt. It is so comfortable. I wear it at least once a week. It is a magical shirt because it has always fit me, no matter how fat or thin I was. It doesn't have any holes. The color held up great. They just don't make things like they used to. I went to the living room where my daughter was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, pouting. I held the shirt up, "What do you think about the Millville Thunderbolts?" She didn't say anything but I could see the wheels turning. She began to ask questions. "What exactly is a thunderbolt?" "It is the simultaneous occurrence of lightning with a clap of thunder." What kind of crap is that? Can you think of a more obscure mascot? A bull dog, a wild cat might be good. But this?
                                         
She continued to question me. "Are the thunderbolts still around?" "Ummm....yes. I was in high school in the 90s, not 1857." She continued to think about it. I knew it required more selling. So I held the shirt up and did a little dance and began to sing, "Da, da, da da, HEY GO BOLTS!" She shrugged. "Okay." Crisis avoided.

When I picked her up from school she was so excited. "Guess what mom? I was the only kid supporting the Millville Thunderbolts. I am very unique." Yes, that is an understatement.

Raising a spirited child has certainly been (and will continue to be) a challenge. I blamed myself for a long time. That there was something I had done wrong to make her be the way that she is. I often felt like a failure as a mother. Especially when she was younger and would have full on melt downs in public. Yes, I was that mom. Raising her has been a lesson on loving the child you have and letting go of the idea of how you want your child to be. It's a hard lesson. She's gotten much better as she has gotten older and she is much more manageable now than she was just a few years ago. Thank goodness. The 3-6 years were especially rough, but as you can tell, she still has her moments. When she is having her episodes, I tell her that I love her and that I will never give up on her. Never. We are in this together. Even though she can be incredibly difficult and exhausting she is a very sweet child. She is caring. She is funny. I wouldn't trade her for the world. I'll take every piece of her, because that's what unconditional love is all about. I just need her to stop breaking iphones. That'd be great.