Christmas Time Again

            

It's been a crazy month. Today is the first day in weeks that I am home with no quests and no plans. Last night I finally finished unpacking from our trip. I haven't been to the grocery store since the beginning of November. I'm going to go today. It'll cost me a small fortune to re-stock.

I was going to go yesterday but I wound up having to work all day and came home with a wicked headache. When it was time to make dinner, I was a little concerned because I didn't have a lot to work with. I thought this would be an excellent time to eat up what was left in the house.

I had 1/2 a dozen eggs, 4 slices of cheese, some clementines, 1 pear, 4 frozen pancakes, 1 frozen chocolate chip waffle. I decided that I would make breakfast for dinner. I scrambled some eggs, heated up the pancakes, peeled the clementines, cut the waffle into fourths and threw a random slice of cheese on there for calcium. I used the last packet of Crystal Light pink lemonade, poured the drinks and laid the plates on the table. Not the healthiest dinner, or the fanciest, but we had some of the food groups represented. It was adequate.

I called the kids down to eat. They sat down at the table and looked at their plates.
                                    
You have to remember that for the past 3 weeks we have either been on a cruise ship or with family celebrating Thanksgiving. They have been eating filet, shrimp, pizza, fresh baked cookies, turkey and mashed potato. They basically have been living the good life. The dinner in front of them was a reminder that we are back to our middle class living.

My youngest said, "What is this?" My oldest said, "Gross, mom. You need to go to the grocery store." Thank you, Captain Obvious. "This would be a feast to a lot of kids in the world. Now be grateful and eat your dinner." They ate their dinner and didn't say another word because I gave them *that* look. The look that said, if you keep busting my balls - I won't buy you anything for Christmas.

Growing up, my parents were beast mode at clearing out the cabinets. My dad would take everything in the house and make stew of leftover whatever. We'd have 2 hot dogs left and he'd chop them up, throw them in with a big can of baked beans that was collecting dust in the back of the cabinet, pour in the potato chip crumbs from the almost empty bag that one of us a**hole kids put back, throw the last slice of American cheese in there. "It's like a hash," he'd say. He would eat it like it actually tasted good.

You never complained that there was no food in the house. "Dad, there is nothing to eat!" He would look at you seriously and say, "We have ketchup, mayo, and mustard in the fridge. Make a condiment sandwich."
                             
Good times.

In other news, our elf made an appearance after Thanksgiving. We have been home for 2 nights and I have forgotten to move him approximately 2 times. Every morning, it's been the race downstairs to put him somewhere before my 9 year old comes down.

I am really limited by what I can do with the elf because I have to keep him up high or the dog will eat him. I have half a mind to let her. That damn dog will eat anything. She chewed the corner of my daughter's passport the other day. What a b**ch. It runs in the family.

Well, I better get off my ass and to the grocery store before there is a mutiny. All we have left to eat is condiment sandwiches.

Back to Reality

     

I am officially back from vacation and tomorrow I will go back to work and the children will return to school. *Sigh* It was good while it lasted.

We had a wonderful time. It was so great that it is almost indescribable. The children were well behaved and pleasant to be around (you never know with my kids what you are going to get). We had so much fun. I had to pinch myself to make sure it was real. I felt like I got a glimpse into how the other half lives. I didn't want it to end. But alas, nothing lasts forever. Friday morning, I stepped off the Disney Dream deflated.

"Man, when we get home, I'm going to walk into the house and be like, 'This place is a dump!'" I told my husband when I settled into into the front seat for the drive home. That is exactly what happened. My house will never be as clean as a Disney cruise ship....or anything that is remotely clean.

The reality of being back hit me hard. There is so much to catch up on. Laundry, grocery shopping...I have to cook meals again. Damnit!
                             
My husband loves it. Whenever I'm in the kitchen slaving away over the stove he comes up behind me, slides his arms around my waist and says, "I love to see a woman in her natural habitat." He's the worst.

I feel like MONTHS have passed since we were home, even though it's only been a week. When we left it was warm outside and it was still fall. We come home and it's cold, there is Christmas music playing on the radio, and Christmas trees being sold all over the city. Suddenly - the holidays are here.

We have so much to do over the next 5 weeks that I cannot even think about it. Besides work and school, the kids both have concerts, we have 3 dance performances to attend, 2 choral performances, a gymnastic competition, 3 Christmas parties, PTA meetings, shopping, remembering to move that damn elf around every night.....

I'm going to let some things go. Probably the laundry and most definitely my sanity. My Christmas cards will be shitty this year - if I even remember to send them out. I am too blessed to be stressed. I'm not going to be stressed. I refuse. I'm just going to do the best I can and enjoy the holidays.

If that doesn't work, plan B is to eat my feelings and drink margaritas out of my Santa mug.

Veteran's Day

                                
My husband left for ARMY basic training 13 days before 9/11. There were no phone calls home. Only letters that trickled in every few days. The world was a dreary place without him in it. His absence was unbearable, a crushing weight on my chest every day. I counted the months until we could be together again. That hope, that light at the end of the tunnel is what kept me going.

At the first opportunity, I packed up my things and drove cross country to Fort Sill, Oklahoma. We were together again. I couldn't have been happier. Life as an ARMY wife was new and exciting. It was this different world that I never knew existed.

The Iraq War started 9 months into our marriage. We knew it was coming for months. The sound of artillery boomed through the day and night, shaking the glass in the window panes. In the early mornings we could see the units in formation; they would be deploying soon.

There were talks of his unit deploying. It seemed unlikely, he worked in finance but they did field training to keep their combat skills fresh. His rucksack and kevlar sat in our hall closet, waiting to be used. I was afraid. The idea of him going off to this new war terrified me.

One night as we laid in bed, I curled up into him and listened to the artillery shells being fired. "Do you think you'll be deployed?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"But what if you do?"
"Then I'll go." He said it with such nonchalance that I was taken back.
"But you could die."
"I know."
"What do you mean? What about me?"
"I love you but if the ARMY tells me that I have to go-then I'll go and if I die then it will be okay. It will be for a good cause. I knew this when I signed up. I made a commitment."

I hated him for feeling that way. I resented the ARMY too. He made a commitment to ME. I couldn't bear the thought of losing him again. I was 19 and I needed him with me. I didn't understand.

I worked at a Subway right outside the gate to Fort Sill that summer. One afternoon I was at work enjoying the peace and quiet after the lunch rush. There was a nursing home and a dry cleaner right across the street and I saw people starting to gather along the street in front of the nursing home. They were in wheel chairs and some had pulled out folding chairs. Our parking lot soon filled with cars and people got up and stood along the road. Some held signs.

I left my post behind the counter to go outside and find out what was going on. I asked a woman and she told me that one of the units was coming home. I stood out on the sidewalk, the hot Oklahoma sun shone down as I watched and waited with the group.

Before long, buses began to pass by. There were camouflaged arms hanging from the windows. Their hands waving as the crowd that lined the streets clapped and whistled. On the other side of the road, an old man in a wheel chair had raised his hand in a full salute.

In that moment, I understood. My husband was part of something that was bigger than I was. He believed in this country, in this brothers who served. I wiped a tear from my eye. My heart swelled with pride. I've carried that moment with me ever since.

My husband got out of the ARMY just a few months later. He was spared a deployment to Iraq. He transitioned back into the civilian world very easily. Soon his time in the military seemed like a distant memory. When people find out that he served they always thank him for his service. He used to hate it. I asked him once why it makes him uncomfortable. "I didn't really do anything. I didn't have to go overseas or anything...."

He felt like he is not deserving when many have given their lives, have come back injured, have seen war and it's atrocities. God had different plans for him but I tell him that he IS deserving. He was willing to go. If he would have gotten the call he would have given his life for this country. How many people can say that? He is brave and honorable. He has gotten much better about it. Now when people thank him he smiles and says a soft "thank you" in response. He is humble and I respect him so much.

Happy Veteran's Day to all who served - especially my own veteran who showed me what it means to live with a patriotic spirit. I love you!

The Boy

                                 

I came home from work the other day and my daughter asked to go to a boy's house. "We're doing a school project and he's filming a PSA and his mom is going to help. Can I go?"
It was E. I'll call him E-man. She wanted to go to E-man's house. "I have to call his mom."
I called her to make sure everything was legit. I know about being sneaky. I was in 6th grade once. "Hey! This is C's mom. So, E-man is filming something for a project and my daughter is supposed to help?"
"Yeah. I work in media so I'm helping. She can come over around 5:30."
"Ok. I'll see you then!"

I loaded her in the car and I drove her over to the boy's house in the neighborhood next to ours. Uggh. I pulled into the driveway and his mom was on the porch setting up the camera. I introduced myself and we chatted for a while. She invited me in her home so I could ensure that they weren't serial killers. Seemed legit. "I'll be back in an hour and a half."

When I picked her up they were eating pizza.They showed me the script and I tousled the hair of E-man's two year old brother.

The boy has been showing up at my house every evening now. E-man has been showing up and asking to see my daughter. It's a little disconcerting. He's a nice looking kid and I think he really likes my daughter. This afternoon I went up the street to pick my glasses that had just come in. I was on my way home when I got a text from my neighbor. "E-man is in your front yard." Good looking out.

I pulled up and they were standing in my driveway. "Hey E-man. You want to come in?" He shrugged, "Sure." The kids followed me inside. "C's dad is bringing home pizza. Do you want to stay for dinner?"
He shook his head, "No, ma'am."
My daughter spoke up. "He's afraid of dad."
"Are you afraid of my husband?" I asked.
"No." he replied. "Well, kind of."
"He's really not that scary." I did not convince him.

They went back outside while I straightened the house. My husband pulled up and E-man immediately got on his bike and waved good bye. He is petrified of my husband. He got out of the car. "What's wrong with that kid."
"He's afraid of you."
"Good."
"Be nice. I told him he could stay for pizza."
"You are encouraging this?"
"Encouraging what?"
"Boys."
                       
I don't encourage boys but E-man is not a bad kid. His text messages to my daughter are appropriate. He's a cute kid. He gets good grades. They are in middle school. Boys and girls are going to want to hang out with each other. It's not an abnormal thing. If I were to forbid that she have no friends who are boys it will only make her want to have more boyfriends. I know. I was there once. That's how I became a child bride. haha.

My husband is just exasperated, "I just remember being a 12 year old boy." Yeah and a 13,14,15,16, 18, 26, 30 year old boy. It's all the same. If he has a problem now just imagine in 3 years when she is in high school with 18 year old men.

                  
That's going to be a f**king nightmare. We'll get through it though.

Between work, keeping the house and E-man, I'm feeling a little stressed. I had a terrible headache this evening. I felt tense. I popped a few Excedrin and ran a hot bath. I lit some candles and played the classical piano station on Pandora. I slid my tired body into the tub and rested my head again the edge. The hot water felt so good. I laid there and meditated. I closed my eyes and pretended I had not a care in the world. I love baths. They are so relaxing. Until I get out.

Whenever I get out of the bathtub, I think of my 7th grade study hall teacher. He was a morbidly obese man and he always fell asleep in class. He had narcolepsy or something. He was terribly mean. One day we were sitting in study hall and he asked, "How many of you in here like to take baths? Raise your hand." I wasn't sure why he was asking this but he always asked weird questions before he went into a tirade about something.

I raised my hand, a few other kids did too. "Did you see the people that raised their hands? They like sitting in a pool of their own filth," he said. All the kids laughed and I slunk into my chair. I was a self conscious 12 year old. OMG. Everyone thinks I like sitting in a pool of my own filth. I thought. I hated myself. I felt stupid and dirty. Why did he do that? Just to be mean.

I think about that event every time I take a bath. He kind of ruined baths for me. What a jack hole. I own taking baths now. Yes. I enjoy laying in a pool of my own filth. It's filth that was on my body all day and it didn't bother me that much. I enjoy my own filth so much that I would drink bath-water martinis.

I'm rambling now. Off to pay attention to my poor, neglected husband.

Halloween Hell

                                      
I had a vision of what Halloween would be like. I would wake up early to get my grocery shopping out of the way. I would light a pumpkin candle and listen to the Monster Mash as I carved pumpkins with the children who would laugh and be in good spirits. After dinner they would get into their costumes and run excited out the door, pillowcases in hand for a night of trick or treating. I would smile to myself and feel like an awesome, amazing mother.

Reality gave me a bitch slap on Halloween. I woke up and realized that the house was a mess. I cleaned it and then went to the grocery store. I came home and unloaded the groceries and was still feeling confident that the day would go as planned.

I set two large pumpkins on the dining room table and told the kids to put on their costumes for a trunk or treat that we were attending in the afternoon. They ran off and I prepared lunch. My 9 year old came down in her costume with a frown in her face. "I hate this costume and I don't want to wear it!" she declared.

What the hell. "What's wrong with it?"
She started to cry, "I just hate it. I wanted you to get me the other one we saw online."
She wanted me to buy her a $75 costume and she settled on the $40. Big problem.
She cried for 20 minutes. I told her to get out of my face. I was so irritated. I told her to find another costume. I purchased a pirate costume for the Disney cruise I'm taking these ungrateful kids on in a few weeks and she refused, declaring, "I hate that costume too." Lord give me strength.

Finally I got down to her level to reason with her. "Why do you hate your costume so much?"
She sniffled, "I hate the wig. It gets in my face, the sleeves are itchy and it's Monster High and everyone is going to laugh at me because Monster High is so childish."
Yes, it is. You are a 9 year old CHILD.

Before I knew it I was CUTTING the sleeves off of this expensive-ass costume and stripping it of all of it's Monster High paraphernalia. On Halloween. The day of. I told her not to wear the wig. Finally, the costume was acceptable. Trunk or treating wound up getting canceled after the whole ordeal. Whatever.

We carved the pumpkins to settle down. My oldest daughter had a friend over who helped. They scooped and got their hands all gooey and helped me sort out the seeds for roasting. That's when there was a knock at the door.
I went over and there were two boys on my front stoop, their bikes were parked in the driveway. "Is C here?" I was like:

                  
I didn't say hell though. I said, "You know my daughter?"
The tall boy nodded. "Yes ma'am."
"What's your name?"
"E."
"You're in 6th grade?"
"I am, he's in seventh," he replied, pointing at his friend.
I looked at him sideways.

"You behave yourself?"
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

I yelled for my daughter who emerged with her friend. "You have someone here to see you. Stay in the front yard."

The four of them stood in the yard. Talking. I sat on the couch and glanced out the window every other second. I turned to my husband. "Boys showed up to the house to see our daughter. Boys taller than me."
He laughed, "It's the worst."

She came in a little while later. "Can E come trick or treating with us?"
"Sure."
"Can you call his mom?"
So I called his mom and told her the more the merrier. I will always let the kids have their friends with us. That's how I keep an eye on them.

Soon it was time to get ready for trick or treating. I did my 9 year old's makeup. Another 11 year old came over and the 3 girls went upstairs to get ready. After awhile my 11 year old came downstairs. She was wearing a dress, sneakers and make up on her face. Like, normal makeup.

"Where's your costume?"
She smiled to reveal fangs. "I'm a vampire."
"You need to put blood on your face and dark under your eyes or something. If you are trick or treating you need to wear an actual costume."

She pouted and went back upstairs. She came down a short time later and looked exactly the same.
"Where is your costume?"
She brushed her hair aside to show me two small black dots on her neck. "I have bite marks."

I lost my shit. "IF YOU ARE TRICK OR TREATING YOU NEED TO PUT SOMETHING ON YOUR FACE!!!! IT'S HALLOWEEN. YOU NEED TO WEAR A COSTUME!"
She gave me a dirty look and said -actually said- "I don't like you."
"The feeling is mutual," I yelled as she stomped up the stairs.

She came back down and had drawn what looked like stitches around her lips and cheeks. I was so pissed at her I was red. I growled at her through clenched teeth, "I hope people deny you candy for your half-assed costume." Bad Mom Award. I also refused to take her picture by herself. Terrible.

The three boys showed up and we met up with our group. It started off great. We were hitting every house and people had gone all out. Haunted houses, people chasing kids with chainsaws. It was epic. By the end of the night we were walking around with 6 sixth graders, a seventh grader and my fourth grader. The older kids were being loud and obnoxious. We constantly had to remind them to walk on the sidewalk and not the street.

My husband and I were under the impression that the kids just wanted to be hit by cars. Once you hit puberty your self preservation side of your brain just goes to shit. That's the only explanation.

By the time we got home, I was so done. My jack-hole kids REFUSED to give up ONE piece of candy. Not one. My husband ran to the store to get us drinks. I had a margarita and plopped my tired butt on the couch to watch Beetlejuice. I feel asleep before it was over. You know, because yelling at kids is exhausting. Happy Halloween!

Showers

                                
I went out of town for work yesterday. Just one night. I used to travel frequently for work and I forgot how amazing it is.

I'm just kidding. It sucks to be away from the kids and people look at you like you are sad when you eat alone in the restaurant but it is nice to have a little break and not have to worry about the dishes and packing lunches. I just left that up to my husband.
                         
I checked in this evening and they acted like I was special because I still have my Diamond status until the end of the year. Soon, I will become a nobody in the eyes of Hilton but for now I still get free bottles of water.

I laid down for a while, worked out and then took a hot shower. I stood in the shower and thought, "This is rare."

I never get a good shower. I always get a cold shower after someone else has taken a shower. My youngest daughter takes a shower in the morning and my husband right after so I take a shower at night. I fight with my oldest daughter about it. Like, every night. I'll go to walk into the shower and she always beats me to it. My husband is always in the other bathroom for years.

I try to lay down the law like a legit parent but she always feeds me some bullshit line like, "But I still have to read and it's getting late and I feel so gross."
I relent, "OK, but make it quick."
"OK," she says.

But she never makes it quick. She makes it the opposite of quick. She stays in the shower forever. I don't know what she does in there. After 15 minutes I'll knock on the door. She screams, "I'm almost done. I'm washing my hair." By almost done, she means 10 more minutes.

If I knock on the door at 15 minutes in and she screams, "I'm shaving my legs!" I know to just give up. I might as well sponge bathe in the kitchen sink. She always comes out with a towel on her head and one around her body. The last clean towels in the house. Every time.

"You took too long," I scowl. She rolls her eyes. Punching urges happen. Then I get to take a shower. It's always lukewarm for 2 minutes before the water gets cold. I rinse my hair in cold water. Then I step out and dry myself off with whatever token damp towel is hanging on the hook. I guess this towel is dry enough.

The sad thing is that it doesn't even bother me anymore. I've accepted it. This is what my life is. But last night I took a LONG hot hotel shower. No one interrupted me. It was glorious. Then I pulled the towel from the rack. It was so dry. I know 28 strangers probably used it before me but screw it. Hotels are so gross. I think everything is covered in invisible jizzle and e.coli poop particles.

Yesterday was a nice vacation from my regular routine. Speaking of vacations, we are going on our cruise in less than 3 weeks. I feel a little overwhelmed with it. I printed packing lists, am working on getting all the kid's homework they need to turn in and need to get a ton of stuff in order at work for when I'm gone. I need a vacation to recover from getting ready from this vacation. First world problems.

The 9 Year Old

    
As you know, I have instituted no-lunch making Friday. Friday morning I handed my 4th grader a few singles and my 6th grader came downstairs with a frown and begrudgingly made her own lunch. I was glad it was Friday. The week was long and trying.

That afternoon I ran into my 4th grader's teacher. She said, "You'll never believe what your daughter did today." Those word instill fear inside of me. Whatever it was, I was not going to be surprised. Nothing she does or says is shocking anymore.

She leaned down to my daughter and said, "Show your mom what you did with your lunch money today." She grinned and said, "I was making it rain."
                          
In front of the class. Her teacher just laughed and laughed. C'mon. Really? I can't imagine what she thinks happens in our house. We are really thug living. Sitting around listening to Petey Pablo, wearing our pinky rings, making it rain.
                                     
That night, I didn't sleep well. I tossed and turned, my ever-growing to-do list ran through my head. I had to get up early to help run an event at the school. When the alarm went off at 5:30 am on Saturday, I groaned and hit SNOOZE. I did this twice before getting up. I sat at the edge of the bed, half asleep, my bones ached. My arthritis has been flaring up bad. I envisioned sitting in an empty kitchen sipping on a hot mug of coffee to get my day started. I finally got up to let the dog out. The minute my feet hit the floor - my 9 year old appeared. Wide awake.

"Good morning, mom!" she said cheerfully. Why?
"Good morning. It's not even 6. Go back to bed, we have a long day in front of us. You need to rest."
"I'm not tired." Of course not.

I went downstairs to let the dog out, put the water on the kettle and then used the bathroom. I am literally sitting on the toilet and I could see my daughters eye through the crack of the door. She wanted to talk to me. It was 6 in the morning and I just wanted to pee alone. "Mom, you need to let the dog in."
"I'm using the bathroom. You let the dog in."
"But it's dark outside and scary."
"Ok."
"Don't forget to let the dog in, mom. The water is boiling too."
"Ok."

I shuffled out of the bathroom to let the dog in. My daughter followed behind, blabbing about something. My brain was not working enough to process. "Honey, I'm a little grumpy this morning. Give me a minute to just have a cup of coffee and then we can talk." No. No such luck.

I was bent over scooping food into the dog's down and she kept tapping me on the back. "Mom, mom - look at my imitation. Mom, watch me. Mom, mom, mom...." I just couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't want to see it right now!" I snapped. Her face totally changed.
                                    
She turned around and walked upstairs. I immediately felt like the worst person in the universe. She loves me. She only wanted to show me her imitation. I thought about the parents who have lost children, or have kids who are sick, or the people who can't have children themselves, and my future self in 10 years. They wouldn't be mean and grumpy to their nine year old. They would be grateful to have a beautiful, healthy child who wants to spend time with them early in the morning.

I made a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table and thought self loathing thoughts for 15 minutes. I am an asshole. Not a nice person. Ungrateful. I hurt my own child's feelings. I rejected her. Bad Mom Award. Afterwards, I did the walk of shame upstairs. I called her over and pulled her onto my lap. Her long legs dangled over me.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn't mean to. I'd like to see your impression." Her eyes brightened. She jumped off my lap, put her hands on her head and ran towards me at full speed. "That was my bull impression," she said proudly.

We went to the school carnival and worked the whole day. The kids played with their friends. My 6th grader got into the dunk tank. It was a beautiful day.

We came home in the afternoon, took a quick shower and then went out to Chinese and then attended the ghost walk - another annual tradition. By the time we got home that evening, I was beat. My body was sore and I was barely keeping my eyes open. I fixed hot chocolate for the kids and went straight to bed. I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow.

This morning I woke up at 6:30. I was sore all over but grateful that there was not much to do today. The house was quiet. My 9 year old had a friend sleep over so I expected her to sleep for a little while longer. I let the dog out and put on a put on a kettle of water. I exhaled. Finally, I have the house to myself, I thought. That's when I heard footsteps on the staircase. Oh God. No.

My nine year old jumped out from the hallway into the kitchen, "I'm here!" she declared. Jazz hands and the whole thing.
                               
Her friend stood behind her, wide eyed. "Can you make us pancakes?" I was like:
               
I made the pancakes. I set them down on the table as my 9 year old flipped through Southern Living magazine. She pointed to the cover.
"Mom, you need to make this turkey on Thanksgiving."
"I don't think I'm making the turkey."
"YES, you are. You are making this one. And make sure there is no celery in the stuffing. I hate celery."

I glanced over at the microwave. It read 6:52. I wondered if it was too early to drink. I remembered the previous morning and I bit my tongue. I walked over and kissed her on the top of the head. "I'll make sure there is no celery."