Mousey Christmas To All.

So last night we're engaging in some holiday chicanery - you know: baking, talking, watching socio-politically aware movies (Blood Diamond was very good, if not very Cheer-inducing).

Not a creature was stirring....

When what to our wondering eyes should appear? But a mouse, which we noticed just as he scurried under the oven.

Chloe the cat noticed, too. She took up a post in the nearest corner of the room and waited. And waited. And then, being a cat, was distracted by something shiny - perhaps a puff of tinsel, or perhaps the sushi we were eating for dinner.

Whatever the reason, be it tinsel or fish, I believe we all wished the same holiday wish: for that little grey mouse to be gone.

But holidays are crazy, there's just so much to do, so we all shrugged our shoulders with nary a clue how to handle this unwelcome guest.

Until this morning, you see, when I was preparing to roll out the dough we mixed up before bed. I opened the drawer that's under the oven, where we keep all the pans for cookies and muffins, just in time to see the top of his head.

Our mouse had taken up residence in the drawer.

At the first sight of me, of course, he disappeared beneath the pans. I was left wondering what I was going to do about a mouse in the drawer. Also, I wondered how I would remove the pan I needed without crushing the little vermin. Because the last thing you want to remember when you are baking is that this is the drawer where you had to sterilize out the smashed remains of a possibly diseased rodent.

I removed the pans, one at a time, and found the mouse - stunned into a lifeless lump - at the bottom. I covered him with a tupperware and scooped him up. Then I stared at him. Did I accidentally crush him with one of the pans after all? He seemed to be breathing. Was that a twitch of the whiskers? I stared at him, wondering what to do, until several minutes had passed.
I puzzled puzz'd (yes, till my puzzler was sore) when something happened I hadn't expected before. The little mouse sat up, revived. So I thought a bit more, then opened the door, and behind the fence set him free, still alive.

It must be that Christmas is practically here. I can think of no reason except "time of year" that I felt such concern for a mouse. Especially one that caused such great stress (not to mention a big heap ofpoop, er, I mean "mess") in venturing into our house...

So Merry Christmas to all, the tall and the small, and be sure to show how much you care....
Share smiles with abandon, show kindness at random, and from further terrible mouse poetry may you be spared.

Rest, Relaxation, and Return to Reality

The Inn was everything we hoped and more. Today, I actually feel almost human. Also, I am no longer experiencing one giant anxiety attack in regard to Christmas and everything that still needs to be finished before Tuesday morning.

Here are a few of the high points of the evening and morning at our B&B retreat. WARNING: I may wax romantic and poetic and whatnot. Old houses and unbridled pampering will do that to a girl.

The Inn opens with a tavern, complete with incredible antique furniture, paneled walls and a grand piano beckoning for a passer-by to make themselves at home and coax the music from its aging ivories.

The passageways in the main house are impossibly tiny, built to suit smaller bodies of a bygone era. Exposed beams along the high ceilings had the delicious, velvety patina that comes with the aging of hard wood under rich lacquer.

Dinner in front of the fireplace served on antique tableware. Seven courses of pure bliss. A filet mignon so tender, she wasn't kidding when she handed me the butter knife and said "you really won't need this."

The "Winter Cottage" welcomed us with a giant, antique bed perched on Tuscan-tile floors. The jacuzzi tub was deep enough for the swirling bubbles to reach my chin. The gas fireplace cast dancing lights on the hand-painted walls and vaulted ceiling. The crisp, embroidered linens felt clean and cool on the skin.

Morning brought a cascade of heavenly, scalding water in the giant, tiled shower. Coffee and muffins by the fire, Pellegrino and fresh fruit. A view of the Manor house and the stream, emerging like spectres from the fog as the hazy clouds lifted in the warmth of the morning sun.

Returning home was surreal. Waving goodbye to T as he drove off, alone, into the rest of the day. Wandering from the cold and the quiet into the bustling warmth of our chaotic life. My taste of luxury was traded back in for our modest home, with its messy kitchen, the piles of dirty laundry waiting to be washed and clean laundry to be folded.

Then two tiny pairs of arms grabbed hold of my legs, sticky kisses were planted on my cheeks, and I found that - though I enjoyed every minute of our brief getaway- when it comes to my messy, chaotic life... I am already spoiled beyond what I deserve. The rest is just icing.

Of Sisters and (Not-So) Secrets.

My sister has a blog! Did I mention that before?

Well, I mention it now because the buyer who was supposed to close on their Utah house just lost financing. SO they are still stuck with 2 houses, and she's having a bad day. Also? Apparently someone in our faux-prudish family busted her for telling the story of how the Angel came to sit atop the Christmas tree. (Personally, I laughed the first time I read it a few years ago... and again when she posted it.)

SO I felt the urge to write her a poem. Because I am just the sort of sister who is helpful that way. I mean, really, what ills exist in life that a silly poem cannot cure? Well, a poem or a bazillion dollars. Since spiders are now nesting in my empty wallet and the bank card audibly whimpered when I paid for gas yesterday (Thank You Christmas) I opted to go the poem route.

For your reading pleasure:

A Poem.

So sorry to hear that your buyer fell through
That sucks more than a Christmas tree up the wazoo
It may be that your humor's a little askew,
But I'm your sister, and mine is, too.
When it comes to warped humor there's one thing that's true
It's not far from the oak tree that we acorns grew.

*******************************************

And now for something completely different!

For weeks I have been planning a surprise getaway with T for tonight. Before the Spinal Injections of Doom, before the Great Appendix Crisis of 2007. I have been telling him I am taking him out to dinner at a surprise location.

In truth, I arranged with the owner of a local B&B (who also happens to be another mom from Jack's preschool class) to get a room at the Inn for an incredible price, as well as have a lovely dinner and breakfast for the 2 of us there.

Now, given that he is my most avid reader, you may be saying "But how is it a surprise if you're writing about it here?" And to that, my friend, I say "Exactly."

You see for the last several months T has always worked from home on Fridays. Like clockwork. Without deviation. But, due to the aforementioned Appendix Crisis and yesterday's Christmas program at Jack's school, he has been working from home a lot lately. And so, yesterday, he announced he would be going into the office tomorrow.

I argued with as much feigned disinterest as possible. I attempted to dissuade him, to cajole him, to be insistent to the point of obnoxious -- all without divulging the secret reason for my objection.

Finally, after losing the argument and starting to panic, I spilled the beans. For which, incidentally, T is very happy. Now he can look forward to our getaway all day today, and has also made arrangements to make his schedule fit for tomorrow. So, while I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to totally blindside him (this time) (2 surprise birthday parties and 1 very arduously-attained signed copy of his favorite childhood novel having been sprung on him without a hitch) I am glad that it doesn't change the fact that we have an entire evening to look forward to. Alone. Together. With our Scrabble board.

That's not a euphemism, by the way. We always play scrabble when we have a night alone. Also, we put together puzzles. Of course we also engage in activities befitting two consenting adults with a king-size bed and a jacuzzi at our disposal, but seriously - we can do that at home. Me? I'm looking forward to the Scrabble and the trash talk over a bottle of Cabernet. That, my friends, is something much more difficult to accomplish with any peace and success at home.

May you all have a romantical-type evening (or at least a relaxing one). 'Tis the season to lose your mind in the whirlwind, after all, and we all deserve a little R&R at a B&B once in a while - or at least a reasonable facsimile.

I mean, you haven't really lived until you've played Strip Scrabble, baby.

Jingle with Joy for Jesus

You know, Mormons in general are pretty sedate about religion. What I mean is, they generally speak about all things religious in relatively hushed, reverent tones. I didn't get a lot of exposure to the "Jesus Rocks!" brand of religion that's so popular these days with Evangelicals. Now that Jack attends a Methodist preschool, though, I'm finally getting a first-hand look at exuberant religion.

The school does have the best curriculum in town. For the time being we don't address the religion issue and simply let him enjoy being part of the class and belting out "My God Is So Big" with the other kids.

There are times, though, when the sedate nature of our own household's non-religious-ness (unless you count the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Jack's getting a "Pastafarian" t-shirt in his stocking.) gets a little shaken up by this situation. I was reminded of this today, when the above title was pasted in 2-foot lettering on the message board in the hallway today.

Jingle With Joy For Jesus, indeed.

Then there's Jack's habit of praying before bed each night. It started as a desire to tell me about his school closing prayer one night at bedtime, and turned into a nightly ritual. After a few nights, I realized that - while I don't actually pray myself anymore - the prayer itself could just as easily be considered a humanist mantra of sorts.

"Dear God. Help us to do the things we should: To always be kind and good. To do and work and play. To grow more loving every day. Amen"

Given that these are all noble aspirations that we are trying to teach him, it seems good enough to let him be self-directed in this little ritual for as long as he chooses. T and I were both taken aback at first, but we are both determined to allow him to just learn as he goes for now and, as the questions start to come, answer them as best we can. For now, it's just fun for him to be part of the class.

As a kid who never quite felt like I belonged, myself, I have to admit that it does my heart good to see how easily Jack navigates his way through the class. Everyone is his friend, and he is friends with everyone. I hope that stays at least mostly true his whole life -- I want him to be able to appreciate and get along with all kinds of people. Evangelicals are everywhere, so I guess it's as good a place as any to start.

Plus, once they got past the tattoo and the nose piercing, the other parents have been pretty cool to me, too. So maybe Jack's not the only one learning to play well with others....

Good Morning To You.

I wake to the touch of a pair of small, damp lips on my cheek.

"Good morning, Mommy."

"Good morning to you, Jack."

He climbs half over me to lean down and give his father the same treatment, then retreats back to the side of our bed.

"You want to get in the middle and snuggle, Buddy?"

"No thank you. I just wanted to come kiss you good morning. I'm going back to bed now."

Luck Is All Perspective.

Since we're leaving tomorrow for a early Fun Family Christmas Weekend with T's family in Virginia, I thought I ought to at least check in before we head out. You know - give you the Reader's Digest version of How Crazy My Life Is Today.

Case in point: It is becoming distressingly evident that I react to personal crises in a very particular way: Baked Goods. The Moms from my Moms Club group brought dinner in for 4 days, and it was all I could do to sit down and enjoy a lovely meal (okay, so it's possible I was curled up in the recliner in front of the television and howling for another percocet while enjoying my dinner) and not simply shove my face directly into the containers of Desserts!

Chocolate cake. White cake with chocolate AND vanilla icing. Christmas cookies. And the evil, evil chocolate cookies with peppermint hershey kisses in the center.

But was this enough, you ask, to satiate my craving for comfort sweets? Oh, No, my friends.

So it was that I found myself in the kitchen this morning.... up to my armpits in 3 different varieties of fudge (chocolate, butterscotch rum, and peppermint with little bits of soft candy cane), spiced sugar cookies, and the last batch of fresh pumpkin pies from this year's pumpkin baking frenzy.

I'll be lucky to fit in my seat when I fly to Utah in a few weeks.

Of course, I thought our days of dining in on meals not made from creatively altered macaroni and cheese were over... And then came The Box. A large, white, styrofoam box from Omaha Steaks arrived on our porch with enough food to keep us dining like royalty for days. Turns out T's friend and his wife were worried about us, what with me being poked and prodded and surgically repaired, and wanted to make sure we didn't revert to a diet of Ramen Noodles.

Soon thereafter I also received a lovely bouqet of flowers from T's office. I think it might have made them feel a little guilty, him having to jump a plane from Singapore and arriving home 24 hours too late to hold my hand while the hospital people cut me open to remove body parts. But they did hustle him home, to be fair, and let him work from home this entire week so that he could cater to my every whim.

Mostly he listened to me whine and brought me my pain meds. Well, "mostly" meaning "in between doing work-work, school-work, and caring entirely for the children and animals".

Have I mentioned I married a fairly saintly fellow? Because honestly... Why he ever thought he was getting the good end of this deal when we got married is beyond me. (He is currently assuring me it was something to do with the sex. Also possibly the Christmas cookies, but mosty it was the pumpkin pies.)

At the end of the day, I am adding up my good fortune. In the past 10 days I have had my appendix nearly rupture and be surgically removed and had needles stuck into my back to alleviate a six-month battle with a herniated spinal disc and nerve damage to my right leg... But I didn't have to focus on anything but the healing process. The boys were constantly cared for, first by an incredibly awesome neighbor and then by their incredibly awesome Dad. T's Mom made sure I didn't have to be alone in the hospital through that terrifying ordeal, and even held it together when I was writhing in agony, puking up stomach acid and CT scan contrast. T kept the house from falling down around our ears and kept me comfortably medicated and swaddled in blankets.

And so it is that, today, I got to spend the day cutting out cookies with the boys, stirring cauldrons of candy until the "soft ball" stage, and rolling out pie crusts to fill with fresh-baked goodness. The Christmas shopping is done, the house is decorated, the goodies are baked, and there's nothing left to do but settle in to enjoy all the festivities and wait for that magic day to come. I get to end this day exhausted, mostly pain-free, and coated in sweat and flour.

My friends, I lead a charmed life. Mostly.

Christmas Survey

Still convalescing, in case you were wondering. But I am at least eating now, mostly cake. Moms have brought us lots of cake. Which is why moms are awesome, and also why my sweat smells vaguely of sugar and crisco. And you're welcome.

Dr. Allie sent me this meme in an email, and because I am still blaming the percocet for my stifled creativity you are now the benefactors of my inability to navigate my email client while heavily medicated. And you're welcome, again. The stitches come out Saturday. My back gets injected on Thursday. If I'm lucky, I might get to poop by Friday.

Once more, with feeling now.... You're Welcome!

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?

Wrapping paper. Typically with ridiculously anal-retentive creases and coordinating bows. Everyone has a talent, y'all.

2. REAL OR FAKE TREE?

Love the smell of real trees, but hate the whole care and feeding portion of the activity. We have a fake one for now; I figure it will tide us over until the boys are old enough to demand authenticity. It's also pre-lit, because I am incapable of correctly wrapping lights.

3. When do you put up the tree?

Typically the weekend after Thanksgiving. There was a brief delay this year, because of my Gram passing over Thanksgiving weekend. I just wasn't up for it when we got back from Ohio, but a few days of respite and I was ready to gear up for some holiday spirit.

4. When do you take the tree down?

The weekend after New Years.

5. Do you like eggnog?

My left butt cheek is entirely attributed to egg nog. In recent years I began cutting it with milk, because the hard stuff was noticeably hardening my arteries.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?

Cabbage Patch Doll. I wanted that sucker for so many months, I think I actually had a small apoplexy when I opened it.

7. Do you have a nativity scene?

Yes, but I don't think we remembered to put it up this year. I should probably dig it out before I pack the rest of the boxes away in the basement...

8. Hardest person to buy for?

Honestly? Myself. I never know what I want for Christmas, and T always gets me something creative, but I never really have any good ideas for him. In recent years, though, I think I've gotten easier. A gift card for clothes or lingerie, and anything from Bath and Body Works pretty much fills in the cracks.

9. Easiest person to buy for?

T. Because he tells me what he wants starting in about March, and wages a campaign from there until December. This year was easiest, though, because he's not getting what he asked for until later in the spring, so I got him exactly what he needed instead of what he pined for. He'll still love it.

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever got?

No idea. Maybe the year that "Santa's Little Helper" gave everyone gag gifts from the Goodwill store? I think I got an oven mitt. I was 12.

11. Mail or email Christmas cards?

Mail! We've only got one so far this year (Thanks to Dr. Allie and the Amazing Wonder Steve!). Then again, I have not yet mailed OUR cards out. I'm still working on getting a decent photo of the boys to include with our Christmas letter. We'll try again this week, I guess.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?

It's a Wonderful Life. I try to watch it every Christmas Eve, though I am forced to compete with T's everlasting worship of Bill Murray and Scrooged. I admit, Scrooged is a great movie... but when it gets down to true holiday spirit, nothing compares with Zuzu and her petals, baby.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?

Typically in November. I would lie and say earlier, but the truth is I keep ahead of things about 10 minutes at a time. I keep trying to get on the ball, but I think it's a losing battle at this point in my life. I'll try again when I have grandkids. Maybe.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?

Honestly, No.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?

Fudge, cookies... and of course Christmas Dinner - Standing rib roast, Yorkshire pudding, red cabbage....

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?

Clear.

17. Favorite Christmas song?

The Christmas Song.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?

Stay at home for Christmas Eve/Morning. It's all good to go to family for Christmas Dinner, though. Makes the day feel like 2 days of celebrating.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?

Sadly, yes. Don't forget Rudolph.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?

Star.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?

Morning! Though I like the idea of everyone getting a new pair of PJ's and opening just that gift on Christmas Eve. Might have to start that tradition this year.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?

People who absolutely miss out on the holiday spirit and can't even, at this time of year, just for a few weeks, put on a smile and be a little bit kinder to the world. Seriously, some old guy in a car full of family and kids cursed me out the other day because he didn't like T's parking job and I happened to be waiting in the passenger seat of the car. What is that about?

23. What I love most about Christmas?

Every. Single. Thing. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes. Being together with family and friends, wrapping carefully selected gifts, getting covered in flour and chocolate while making cookies and fudge. It's all so good, I can hardly hold it in.

Now if I can just get back on my feet, I can dive back in to all the Christmas preparation and maybe get back a little of the holiday spirit that I'm lacking all propped up in my recliner with my stitches and my pain meds for company.

I'm too tired to figure out who to tag with this sucker so, if you're reading this, you may officially consider yourself tagged. Ready, steady, GO!

The Better Part Of Valor, Part Deux

Sometimes you have to laugh at life. Which I would, but the laughing causes pain beyond what the percocet can control.

That stomach pain that crashed in on me on Thursday? It got worse... before it got MUCH worse. Finally, I dropped the boys off with a friend and drove myself over to ye olde small towne Emergency Room.

Approximately 6 hours later I was strapped to an operating table with my abdomen laid open.

Needless to say, I missed my appointment with the spine center for my injection. I was too busy having my appendix removed.

It wasn't all doom and gloom, though. T's Mom came to the hospital and looked after me while I did my best not to scream obscenities in several different languages in response to the incredible pain. The boys were incredibly well cared for, had their first sleep-over at a friend's, and made me the cutest Get Well cards ever.

Big Daddy T, himself, hopped the next plane home from Singapore and arrived late yesterday to take over the care and feeding of one groggy and whimpering Me. My Moms Club is bringing in dinner for the next few days.

So, I'm loopy from the pain meds and generally feeling like I've been put through the spin cycle a few times. But! I'm alive and mostly none the worse for wear. We got the appendix out in time (the surgeon says another 12 hours and it would have burst, which I've been told is Really Not Good) and I'm settling in to take a nap in front of a movie with T and the boys.

All in all, after a scary and painful couple of days, it's quiet now and all is just about right with the world.

More later - though probably not until after I am done with pain meds. This attempting to think and put together sentences through the fuzzy cloud is making me nauseous.

The Better Part of Valor...

I fully expected to be spending this afternoon curled into the fetal position and cursing humanity, but I expected it to be because I had just had a rather large needle inserted into my back, rather than because I can't take ibuprofen for another 48 hours prior to the procedure, which has been rescheduled to Friday afternoon due to snow.

That was a really awesome run-on sentennce, by the way.

So the snow?? We have several inches of it. The dog is ecstatic, at least. He runs outside and hurtles his body around the yard in apoplectic leaps and bounds, smashing into the fence as he attempts to navigate the corners on slick paws. It reminds me of the last time I mopped the kitchen floor, when Toby discovered the slick wetness made for perfect kitchen-slalom conditions. I swear that kid's gonna be an X-Games contender some day.

But really, who wants to talk about that when we can laugh at my Lucy-esque pratfalls?

Let's take, for example, my brilliant idea to decorate the house with exterior holiday lights. Oh, it all started out innocently enough -- light nets on the bushes, lights and garlands on a garden arch across the porch. Add a few plastic candy cane lights, some multi-functional blinking snowflakes. I even hung icicle lights along the lower portion of the front roof.

Then came the grand misunderestimation... Conveniently forgetting (or ignoring if you prefer) my well-documented Fear of the Heights and the Death By Falling, I decided I could make it up onto the top of the roof to attach the plastic clips along the edge of the (incredibly high) shingles and hang the rest of the icicles.

I made it exactly two paces onto the roof before the panic attack set in, and I was flat on my belly, drenched in sweat, and cursing fate that my children would be left motherless when the neighbors found me face down in the azaleas. After a few moments of pondering my circumstances, with Toby asleep in his crib and Jack parked in front of The Polar Express, I started the excrutiating process of talking myself down. Mostly this involved a lot of self-flagellation ("You are an exceptionally gifted moron. You do realize you have to get down from here? So c'mon, genius. Baby steps. You can't stay up here all day, you pansy!")

After several excrutiating minutes (spent hugging the roof for dear life and praying to several deities) my foot found the top rung of the ladder and I shimmied my way down. Then, I hung the rest of the icicles on the bottom of the bump out under the upper level of the house... about 4 feet off the ground.

Today it appears that the stress of the recent past has finally caught up with me. I think I might be ready to die. Please send chocolate and morphine. On top of the unmedicated back pain, my stomach finally joined my body's open rebellion with gusto. Either that, or a few of Santa's elves have gone rogue and are making gift bows OUT OF MY INTESTINES.

Did I mention we are also out of diapers? And that Toby is wearing pull-ups that are 2 sizes too big? Because that is going to be completely fantastic when he decides to transact some business.

In summary, my friends, I think it is a very good day to put the Christmas movies on repeat and snuggle with the children between trips to the bathroom and occasional breaks to moan pitifully while rocking in the fetal position.

Happy Thursday!

Tie-eye-eym... Why you punish me?

I'm just checking in, really. Mostly because it will kill 10 minutes that I should actually be spending on household chores.

We were gone all day while I ran around, picking up and dropping off kids and attending various doctor appointments. The short version of the recap is that I am going in on Wednesday morning to have a needle inserted into my spine. I will be injected with steroids - thereby putting the final nail in the coffin of my hopes for a career as a professional athlete. No?

Okay, well that and my total lack of coordination or ability. And the boobs. The boobs pretty much rule out any sort of for-pay contact sport unless we move to Nevada and I change my name to "Ginger" or "Peaches". Also there would probably need to be some sort of traumatic brain injury involved to convince me to go along with that plan. But now this is sounding suspiciously like a Lindsey Lohan movie, and that's just wrong on so many levels.

What were we talking about again?

Oh. Yes. The Big Sharp Thing that will be puncturing my spinal column on Wednesday. Well, the good news is that this has a good chance of alleviating the pain within a short time. It might take more than one injection - which would suck, but would suck substantially less than surgery... which is the next option if this doesn't work.

Also, we won't be able to start trying again for baby #3 for at least 3 months after I am pain free, during which time I am supposed to, like, tone muscles and stuff. To support the weight I will undoubtedly gain with another pregnancy. Also this might just be the very nice Pain Specialist's roundabout way of saying "Lose some baggage Fatso" but I like to think he'd say it to a thinner woman, too. Especially if she also tended to gain upwards of 50 pounds with each pregnancy and give birth to ten pound babies. Then again, if she does all that and is still somehow svelte afterwards I really need to find her and kick her. (If my sister is reading this, I'll give her a reprieve. Because she DOES gain all the weight, AND have huge babies, AND still manages to be a size 3. But I love her anyway, because she is my sister, and also I hope she remembers this when she makes her first million.) (Unlike my other sister, who has probably already made her first million and totally reneged on her promise to buy me a pony.)

So, yeah, stream-of-consciousness rantings aside, finally there is hope in my future. I'm terrified of having the shot, but it's so preferable to the other options at this point that I'm almost disappointed it's not happening tomorrow. At least T's Mama will be there for moral support - as well as to watch the boys and give me a ride home afterwards. But mostly to hold my hand, because T is in Singapore and I'm terrified something bad will happen to me and he'll be on the other side of the planet. Literally - other side of the planet. Sure they have great shopping but what if I suddenly burst into flames?

SO that totally killed about 20 minutes, and now I can go watch Chuck with the delay on the TiVO to skip over the commercials. Let's recap : Shots - bad. Stoppage of the pain - good. Possible paralysis if things go wrong - bad. Possibility that I won't need a metric butt-load of prescription narcotics just to survive the 5-hour flight to Salt Lake City in a few weeks - good.

It's a dead heat, methinks. Hopefully I'll let you know the final verdict after Wednesday.
(Or I'll blink my eyes to dictate the message in Morse Code after it all goes horribly wrong and I end up in a persistent vegetative state.)
(In which case: someone please prop me up in front of the TV and let me watch the rest of my fall television line-up before pulling the plug. You know, just in case.)

Happy Monday!

So Long, Farewell... NaBloPoMo

What a long, strange month it has been.

Big Daddy T has been absent for most of the month and, as it turns out, he will be leaving us again on Sunday. 10 more days in Singapore. The month of December is now defiled with this incessant business travel, but at least he'll be back in time for Jack's preschool Christmas Program.

Looking back over this year's NaBlo, I realize how much faster it has gone by. It's a different year, and life is getting busier with each one that passes. I had high hopes for 2007 and, while it wasn't the worst year or even a bad one, really, it certainly has not lived up to some of my high expectations.

We'll pretend, for argument (and sanity) sake that this is the fault of the year and not any fault of my own. Because we don't want to sully NaBloPoMo with accusations of "fault" or "blame", now, do we?

Besides, by the time I finish this post, pop a few ibuprofen for my back, and climb under the covers for a little Dr. Mario to put myself to sleep (Nintendo DS plays Game Boy Advance games. I can kill candy-colored germs with multicolored Panatol to my geeky little heart's content) it will officially be December.

I shall celebrate by taking the weekend off from Blogging, and returning to you on Monday - hopefully refreshed and raring to go.

I leave you with a little game we like to call "5 things you didn't (want to) know about me."

1) I used to have my belly button pierced. When I got pregnant with Jack, I took out the ring. I got stretch marks all over my belly, but around the hole from the piercing the stretch marks formed in the shape of a star. I spent the last part of my pregnancies looking like a stretch-mark-star-bellied sneetch. Which I thought was awesome. (Still do.)

2) I cannot abide the taste of eggplant. I have tried it baked, boiled, steamed, grilled, and fried. Also as part of parmigiana, mashed with garlic, and on pizza. I hated it in every case. This continues to mystify many of my relatives, as they absolutely love the stuff. I find the texture snot-like, and it tastes like I imagine boiled cardboard would. I am subsequently a target of suspiscion and disbelief, as they are mystified that anyone could possibly harbor such a vile opinion of poor, innocent eggplant.

3) When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in my blankets at night, cover myself up entirely, and pretend I lived in the hollow top of a mountain. There was a hinged lid which I could open to gather supplies -- usually snow to melt for water and maybe some wild berries or a rabbit to skin and eat. All of this was, of course, entirely imaginary. I may have read a few too many Laura Ingalls Wilder stories at around the same time.

4) I often sleep in a t-shirt that my niece, Victoria, made for me when she was 10 years old. She is now 15. It has a tracing of her 11-year-old hand print and drawings of flowers and sunshine. She made it when she was still a little girl, all stick-figure drawings and knobby knees. Now she's turning into a teenage girl - chasing boys, weighing invitations to the prom, looking forward to getting her learner's permit. But I have this t-shirt that proves that she wasn't always the adolescent heartbreaker; once she was just a little girl who made a t-shirt for her aunt because I was the epitome of cool. You know, before I got old and, like, totally lame and whatever.

5) I got my first spray-on tan today. I no longer have the remnants of my Summer farmer tan to ruin the lines of my pretty party dress. Also, it did not turn me orange, for which I will give thanks to the Artificial Sun Gods. It was a risk, but it turned out well. Thankyouverymuch, Amen.

Plastic Ghosts of Christmas Past

I was shopping for toys at WalMart the other day, and I saw a whole row of Cabbage Patch Dolls. Apparently they are still as wildly popular as they were in my childhood of the 80's. I am still undecided as to bringing a lawsuit against the toy company for stealing my face and putting it on the dolls. Honestly, am I the only one who sees it??

Alas, there are no little girls in my house begging for dolls this year. I'd buy one for the boys, but so far any doll which has reached their hands becomes a top-heavy weapon, good for swinging or as a surface-to-air missile. Somehow I think this would fail to fulfill my desire to see a child of mine nurture a baby doll with the tender care I lavished on my own.

Maybe 2008 will be our year to add a baby girl to the melee around here. My back should be better by Spring. Then again, having another girl in the house would be an entirely alien experience at this point. Who will teach her to be a girl? Certainly not her mother. *burp*

Christmas 1986.
I was 7 years old.
21 years have since passed.

Good grief, Charlie Brown... where did the time go? And how did I not notice that I had freakishly large feet???

As Promised, On the Lighter Side

Things I Am Loving About Today:

* The smell of fresh-cut potatoes on my hands

I love making my mom's pot roast recipe - with baby carrots and cut potatoes. It cooks all day, and the house smells like Sunday afternoons when I was growing up. I love the way my hands smell after I get it prepared. All day long, no matter how many times I wash them, they carry that faint, starchy scent from the potatoes. It smells fresh and earthy. This might be weird? But it makes me feel normal. Plus, this is one of Big Daddy T's favorite dinners.

* Fresh flowers

The bouquet my neighbor brought over last night is full of white daisies and red carnations. I love daisies - the most easy-going of all flowers. Lovely in their casual beauty. That's a phrase I would love to hear applied to me.

* Being a Girl

My friend, Molly, and her husband have offered to watch the boys on Saturday night while Big Daddy T takes me to his office Christmas party in Reston. This means we have secured an actual Night. Out. We will go to a nice Steakhouse. I will be in a red party dress and fab black heels. I will get to carry a tiny purse, with absolutely no diapers, wipes, toy cars, crayons, tylenol, or emergency candy. I can wear dangly earrings, put sparkly things in my hair, and wear lipstick with abandon. I will get to talk to grown-ups for a whole evening. I am giddy with anticipation.

* Sunshine

'Tis a beautiful day outside, my friends. There's a crisp wind, but the sun is shining and the air is fresh. After preschool pick-up, the boys and I will be hanging the exterior decorations. Mine will be the house with the groovy light-up snowflakes that cycle through blinky patterns, and the kitschy candy cane poles framing the porch. It's total cheese, yes... but it's Christmas. What can ya do?

* Spitting Distance To The Finish Line

After I press "Publish Post" there will officially only be 2 more posts required of me to complete NaBloPoMo. It went by so much faster than I expected - and with so much less pain than I remember last year. I'm sure there's a lot of filler and crap in what I've put out this month, but maybe there's a gem or two in there, as well. You never can be sure, and since I have not yet gone back to re-read any of the posts, I'll have to reserve judgment until it's over.

And last, but not least,

* YOU, dear internets.

Thank you from the bottom of my weepy, bleeding heart for all the kind thoughts. The emails and comments of support about my Gram were incredibly sweet, and made it just a little easier to put that photo up on the shelf last night. I keep thinking of Oh The Joys, and how funny it is that ended up - so quickly - in the position of being the one who wants to think that maybe, just maybe, those people really are looking out at me from that photo. Telling me that they love me, and that everything is just as it should be.

It's Oh So Quiet, It's Oh So Still

Today was a rough day. I thought about my Gram most of the day, thought about not being at the funeral, and pondering what that means to me.

Fortunately, I suppose, I had my second session with the new therapist today. She wants to see me again in a week, instead of our usual two week interim. Apparently I have a lot to say. Who knew?

But some good things happened today, too.

The checkout girl at the 7-11 (who looked at least 40) was surprised that I'm older than she is. She looks old for her age (which is less than my age, but I don't know the exact age) and it appears I look young for my age. She thought I was 19. I was irrationally pleased by this. I'll be 29 in April, by the way.

My neighbor/friend (with whom things have been somewhat tense since we butted heads over the HOA and various and sundries) stopped by tonight with flowers and treats to cheer me up when she heard my Gram died. I cried. And I realized I am maybe ready to see if at leaset a modicum of the friendship can't be salvaged. She opened the door, and I'm tentatively ready to walk through it. A girl can never have too many friends.

I got most of the rest of the interior Christmas decorations up today. The house looks frickin' awesome, if I do say so myself.... and as I sit here in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, pondering pain medication for this stupid back and stupid leg, I can't help but wonder if maybe the holiday spirit will creep up on my in spite of myself. I could use a little holiday cheer.

Also? Apparently I could use more therapy.

You know you're in a bad way when your analyst gently suggests you should come back... like.. sooner rather than later. But with Toby asleep on my lap through the session today, I felt like I finally started opening up. Finally started letting loose all the miscellaneous "stuff" that I have to address before I can really figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

I'm venturing into deep waters here, y'all. And I better hurry and post this sucker, because it's one minute to midnight. Rest assured, I'll be back tomorrow with something witty and lighthearted.

Like a gentle belch to let you know my frothy spirit is still intact.

Try and keep your excitement under control.

A Really Awful NaBlo Haiku... or Two

I got distracted
Decking the halls with holly
I went up to bed

I nearly forgot
With only five days to go
This counts for today

Will You Light My Candle?

After the supremely somber mood of yesterday's post, I had it in mind to make today's a more lighthearted affair.

I'm sorry to say that I am failing miserably in the attempt. My back has been killing me all day, and it took continual doses of ibuprofen and finally a prescription painkiller to knock it down to "tolerably painful" instead of "Sweet-Niblets-Just-Kill-Me-Now".

The kids and their dad enjoyed a mostly restful day of playing video games, watching the tee vee, and eating pizza. The house is a bit of a disaster, and we didn't actually manage to get the Christmas decorating done as we had planned.

But we'll make tomorrow a Family Night and decorate the tree then. With egg nog and Christmas tunes. And hopefully a much better prognosis for my back, after my doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon.

Until then, dear readers, Big Daddy and I are pouring the cabernet and heading downstairs so he can watch the movie version of Rent. I've seen it once before, and this will be his first time.

Someday? I'll make him take me to New York to see it all live and in person. Until then, this quiet evening at home will do quite nicely.

Fare Thee Well.

We had a fantastic weekend with my big sis and her family. I'm sure I'll have more to say about it all later, but right now I am exhausted. I miss my sister; it was hard to say goodbye. She and I bond so easily. We laugh at each others' jokes. We slap each others' behinds. We adore each others' kids. We shopped together for 9 hours and could have kept going for 9 more.

The five-hour drive home, after an emotional farewell, gave me some time to begin to process my headspace. There were too many thoughts in my head. There are still too many.

When I woke up this morning, my sister gave me the news that my Grandmother passed away last night.

She passed peacefully. She was ready to go. She lived a long, full life and she was anxious to follow after her husband. My grandfather passed away a few years ago after a long battle with Alzheimer's Disease, and she hadn't really enjoyed living since his death - really, not since he left the home they had shared for so many years to enter a full-time Alzheimer's care facility.

I had not seen her or talked to her since our visit when I was pregnant with Toby. Today, though, I am acutely aware of her absence in this world. She was ready to go, but I don't think we're ever really ready for our grandparents to leave us.

Five hours was not enough; I need more time to process. But I am okay; I will be okay.

I am reminded how valuable life is. How precious and fleeting. How much I want to hold on to it - hold on to this husband of mine and these little boys we have made. Hold on to this life we have built together, and the things we want for ourselves and the kids.

The funeral is Tuesday. I won't be able to go. I'll be here - remembering my Grandma. Remembering quiet afternoons at her condo in Salt Lake City. Remembering Grandpa and the way he always mixed all the dry cereal together so you had kix and cheerios and rice crispies and everything else all in one. Remembering Grandma, and the way she always had the college basketball and football games on the radio. You never would have guessed that quiet, gentle, intensely spiritual woman had such an enduring love for her college sports.

Grandpa and Grandma - around the time of their wedding - 1941

Visiting with Grandma, July 2005. I was 6 months pregnant with Tobin.

Grandma and Grandpa - LDS Mission - Riding the London Underground
(Sometime in the 1980's).

This is how I will always remember them. Last week, before we left for Ohio, I ordered a 5x7 print of this photo to hang on our wall. Now, it seems like serendipity. Hanging it will be my act of remembrance - my own, personal eulogy to my grandparents. I love them. I miss them.

Oh-Hi-Oh, A-Shopping We Did Go.

Black Friday, people. Let me just say, it was my first experience venturing into the wilds of the day-after-Thanksgiving jungle. It was something of a bloodbath but, fortunately for me, my sister and I had no actual goals for our shopping - with few exceptions.

Because of this, we were able to observe the milling throngs with something of a clinical eye. Teenage girls searching for the "secret shopper" to get free gift cards from a local radio station. Mothers, drunk on the power of shopping without their children, filling their carts and baskets with all sorts of impulse toy buys. Elderly couples strolling hand in hand, obviously just enjoying the crush of the crowd and the abundant Christmas decor.

I escaped with bank account relatively unscathed (save for sandwiches at Subway and a soft pretzel at Walmert). The beginning of holiday excitement building in my guts. 50 different scents on my skin from a joyous frolic through Bath and Body Works. I love that store with an unholy passion - surpassing even my passion for scented candles and those sugar-coated gummy fruit slices.

Tomorrow we fight the raging traffic and head back towards home - comfortably full of turkey, pie, and familial affection. Entirely ready for the Christmas season. Ready to decorate the tree. I might even be sufficiently filled with holiday cheer to start the roll-out cookies and make the Christmas fudge.

Time to break out the Yule Log DVD, people. The holidays are here.

Happy Turkey Da-zzzzzzzzzzzz

Too much tryptophan. Turkey is good.

Flag is now officially planted for the day.

More tomorrow, after the shopping frenzy. The plan is to leave by 6am to score some good deals.

My credit card is already whimpering.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.

This Will Be Short

...because we're packing up to head out to Ohio. It's going to be a 5-hour-drive that will likely take closer to 8 hours, what with all the other yokels driving to somewhere or other. Like us.

Still need to dig up the Pack 'n play (which may or may not be full of basement spiders. Fun!) Still need to figure out if I have enough clean underwear and diapers to get us all through the next few days. Still need to figure out how to make the dog's crate fit in the back of the van properly with all the luggage.

It's going to be a long day but, assuming I survive the trip, I will be sure to continue my NaBlo duties from the K&A homestead.

Asta Lasagna! Don't get any on ya.

Under The Wire, But Who Can Sleep Anyway?

Do you want to know how close I came to going up to bed, and forgetting to post today? Because it was really, really close.

BUT here I am, in under the wire. This post may be totally pathetic, but the beauty of NaBlo is that it still counts.

So, here's a quick recap of the past 12 hours:

The house - still a mess.
The husband - finally home.
The children - abed.
The pumpkin pies - baked.

And as for me? Well, tragically, I am not baked. I am simply exhausted and ready for a nice long slumber in my bed. You know - that bed over there. The one that has no sheets on it because I didn't actually get around to pulling them from the dryer and putting them on.

It has been a long, tortured month. But my husband is finally home. And - tomorrow? Well, tomorrow - when Jack comes bouncing into our bedroom at 6am demanding crepes and cartoons - I can finally say two of the most spectacular words in the English Language:

Daddy's Turn!

At least until around 7am, when I'll have to get up anyway to get us all packed for the trip to Ohio. I'm beginning to feel a serious empathy with the Energizer Bunney. This is not easy, this going, and going, and going, and going......

Still. The going gets easier with a buddy. Even if I did manage to forget just how horrifically loud he snores.

For a few minutes there I thought the dog had somehow snarfed down a chainsaw, or perhaps a wounded grizzly had wandered into our bedroom by mistake. Imagine my conflicted emotions when I realized that, no, that sound is just what I will be sharing a bed with for the rest of my life.

Then again, after the many weeks of trying to live this life without Big Daddy T giving me the occasional pep talk or slap to my backside? I guess I can re-learn to live with the snoring. And maybe invest in some breathe-right strips... After all, we need to show some compassion for the moose.

The ones making the trek from Canada to answer the mating call.

The Internet Ate My Baby.

The internet did not actually eat my baby. But he is now on streaming internet video.

This morning I got Toby up. I changed his soggy diaper. I dressed him.

And then? He saw a toy bird and began flapping like it was a nervous tick, all the while screaming "FIE! FIE!" Which, while it sounded quite Shakespearean at the time, is actually just toddler-speak for "fly".

I don't know why this bowled me over, except it's the first time I've actually seen him put a physical concept (birds. they fly.) with an inanimate representation of an object (hello fake parrot from the pirate costume!) and attempted to demonstrate to his mother, who is clearly too thick in the head to realize this on her own. Honestly, he was all "Like this, woman - Have you not been paying attention?"

Of course, I had to attempt to recreate it on film. And quickly, so as to get it online for his father to view before he gets onto an airplane in 8 hours. (8 hours!) It definitely lost something in the translation, as he lost all toddler superiority the second the camera came out and immediately became a very tiny circus performer.

(Sidebar: For instant circus-related giggles, check out Alice's post at finslippy last night. I'm still snorting into my latte.)

And 22 hours after Big Daddy T's flight takes off, he will be home, and there shall be much rejoicing. Oh but fie, FIE!, that the house should be such a disaster - and me but a slave to the machinations of my own mind, which will torment unceasingly with the slings and arrows of wifely guilt should I not but bend to the cleaning of it.**

**Quite possibly the worst attempt to complain about housecleaning in Elizabethan tongue ever. But hey, how many people can even say that they have tried? Also, it allowed me to use the whole "fie, fie" thing and bring it back in, full circle. At least when I go off the reservation I commit to it, people. As evidenced by my incredibly dry, pubescent-boy-like voice on this video clip. What can I say - it was before my coffee. The dry air is not kind to my vocal cords.

Just be glad I did not sing.

And now, with no further ado, behold and adieu....
(Weird mood today. Honestly.)

Fly Away Little Bird from Melkist on Vimeo.

A Sudden Quiet.

I should probably have a sense of foreboding. After all, it has been a quiet and uneventful Sunday here in the hills.

Toby woke up from his nap about half an hour ago, and Jack is now quietly entertaining him while Toby contentedly remains in the crib.

Jack and I snuggled in one of the big leather recliners and watched an episode of SpongeBob while Toby napped, after the boys both actually ate their PB&J's at lunch.

Chloe the cat is sound asleep in a furry lump on my lap, while Gizmo the dog snores noisily in his favorite wing chair. Cassie the cat is in her spot-of-choice on Jack's bed, snoozing.

Pumpkins are roasting in the oven, soon to be mashed and baked into pie for Thursday's feast in Ohio.

It's a rare, perfect Sunday.

*********************************************

Update: This entry was started earlier this afternoon. Before the dog threw up again. Before the boys got into UFC Deathmatch mode. Before I was elbow deep in pumpkin puree and screaming "assistants".

Still? A rare, perfect Sunday.

Yet More Useless Information.

It's time again for another installment of Things You Didn't Need To Know! With your host...
uh... that would be me. Hi!

I had all these great ideas for a post on deep, thoughtful observations on parenthood. After all, I am still in hot pursuit of the whole Zen Parenting thing. Well, maybe not so much hot pursuit as, say, lukewarm. After all, the sink is full of dirty dishes, the dog threw up in his bed again last night, and I have yet to convince Jack that running around the house in the nude is not a great idea - especially when the outside temperature is in the 40's. But hey - mox nix. I'm still looking for the Zen in our Zoo, however slow the going may be.

So, instead of poignant navel-gazing, allow me to share yet more useless personal trivia!

* I once ran for student government. And lost. Spectacularly. I try to remember that experience when I am afraid to try something new for fear of failure. (Which happens often.) I lost, I survived the embarrassment, and in the end it really wasn't such a big deal. One of these days I'll be brave enough to jump into things without so much fear. I could learn a lot from Toby -- 2-year-olds are spectacularly fearless.

* I took the van to get the oil changed and the exterior washed this week. The inside, however, remains reminiscent of a third-world disaster scenario. I'm half-convinced there may be a family of raccoons hiding somewhere among the rubble. And perhaps a midget.

* Monday owes me. OH, how Monday owes me. Big Daddy T has informed us he will be returning on Tuesday afternoon -- just in time to leave for us to drive to Ohio 24 hours later. Want to guess who will be doing the driving? I'll give you a clue -- NOT the one who will be so screwy with jet lag that we would end up plowed into a tree in the middle of a field somewhere in Pennsylvania. Nope, just the one who will be so screwy with the CRAZIES that we might end up in Camden, Maine. Because Camden is beautiful this time of year.

* I'm actually getting a real domain for this little burg. It will take a few days to be fully in-effect, but by the end of the weekend AumMom dot com should be completely operational. Don't get too excited, as nothing else is actually changing yet. I may get around to another site redesign in another 5 years or so, but let's not make any promises we can't keep, okay?

* She's intelligent, beautiful, insightful... and, incidentally, recently awarded me a prize! The fab-tastic Mocha Momma is feeling under the weather right now. Be sure to drop by and tell her to get well soon. You can tell her that Mel sent you as you bask in her glow. Just try not to stare at her wings.

Easy As Falling Off A Vlog

I continue to ponder this idea of the mythical Vlog, but when they say the camera adds 10 pounds it is a horrid, horrid LIE. Unless I really do look that much like Roseanne Barr pre-surgery... in which case I may as well give up and live on raw cookie dough. Mmm, cookie dough....

I'm sorry, what were we discussing? Oh, yes.

I'm finally working up the nerve to begin work on the first official video broadcast from these here hills. Feel free to email suggestions or requests to melkist at gmail dot com. It may or may not include such gems as an interview with Jack, answers to reader questions, and Toby's rendition of the word Turtle. Because I am still not over the cuteness of the whole "Tuh-tull" thing. Prepare to be tortured with it repeatedly in the future. Should you find you don't enjoy the experience? You can rest easy in the knowledge that you have no soul.

Resistance is futile
but cookies are awesome.

What it will almost-definitely not include: My face or a guided tour of my house - that is unless it would secure me some FEMA disaster relief funds to pay for a cleaning crew and a stylist.

When All Else Fails....

Today was the Thanksgiving Feast for Jack's class at school.

We enjoyed a feast of turkey, homemade macaroni and cheese, rolls, and of course my fancy contribution - Stove Top Stuffing. Obviously, after slaving away to make this delicacy, I am spent.

Okay, so it's also possible that my inability to fall asleep before midnight any night this past week could be to blame for my exhaustion.

Either way? This is a sad, sad excuse for a post, but it's all my sleepy brain can muster.

BUT! When all else fails? Cuteness saves the day. Allow me to distract you from my lameness with the following adorable images.




See. You've forgiven me already, haven't you. Oh, internet. So quickly distracted, it's almost too eas--- OOH! Look! The kids are watching Ratatouille again! I think I'll go join them...

Santa Ain't The Only One In Red This Season

Thanks to my awesomely spectacular friend Molly, who kept the boys - and fed them dinner - and did not let them kill each other - while I went shopping ALL ALONE, I was able to locate and secure a fabulous, frilly frock (ooOOoo alliteration abounds!) for T's upcoming Company Christmas soiree, as well as my sister's New Years' Eve wedding.

It's red, and strappy, and has a little black tulle just peeking out from under the flouncing skirt. There are tiny black dots on the fabric. There's a dangly black sashy-type-deal in the front that secures with a sparkly broach.

In light of the fact that my wardrobe of late has involved suspicious levels of denim and sweat pants, it was a bit of a rush to try on floaty, swirly, feminine duds. I even splurged on a necklace to complete the ensemble. It felt decadent. (Which, by the way, is incredibly sad, as the dress was on sale for $32.95 and the necklace was a whopping $10. Plus I had a gift card for $10 off, so even with the yummy, chunky, plum-colored sweater-coat I couldn't resist, my grand total was only about sixty bucks. "Let them eat cake!" etc. etc. etc.)

So I am all ready for holiday season. Except for the actual holidays... Those? I am entirely unprepared for. Fabulous dress for formal occasions? Check. Gifts for the kids? umm... Gifts for the husband? Ohh, wouldn't YOU like to know.***

***(As T is my most devoted reader, I will not be able to disclose the details of his gifts here. Suffice it to say that I have one particular item up my sleeve that will go down in our history book. And NO, Baby, it's not the xbox 360... so you can go and take a cold shower now.)

Since I had kids, I find that the pressure to be done with holiday shopping seems to start earlier each year. By the first of November, people are telling me they've been finished since June while I quietly begin to freak out.

But that, my friends, is why Al Gore invented the internets. After half an hour on Amazon.com, I think I have at least figured out what the major gifts will be this year. I got a few things ordered, and put the rest on my "wait" list to catch in the After Thanksgiving specials. I may be cutting it close, but I think I might just get Christmas together in time to avoid last year's debacle. Staying up till 4am to put together and wrap kid toys is not recommended. Especially when your kid will be up at 6am to rip the paper off while you attempt to scrounge up some enthusiasm and snort enough coffee grounds to stay awake until dinner.

Okay, so chances are we'll probably end up in the same situation this year. And chances are that, in the long run, it's a key part of this whole parenting experience. In fact, if watching "It's A Wonderful Life" on the midnight movie (or whatever the tradition may be for your particular flavor of holiday) while trying to read the over-complicated assembly directions for a child's toy with bleary eyes is not already a required right of passage for parenting -- well, it definitely should be. There's a clarity that comes with smashing your thumb for the fourth time while attempting to assemble an item meant for 2-year-olds.

We are but the simple slaves to our tiny masters. And, when it comes to holidays, any pain and frustration is dissolved in the untempered joy on their little faces. At least until the spending hangover kicks in sometime around mid-January, that is.

But hey. At least the Season of Insanity also gives me an excuse to wear something pretty.

As I sit here in my seriously shabby pajama pants (the ones from Old Navy with the whales on them, oh irony) and my Beatles "Let It Be" t-shirt (Toby keeps pointing at John Lennon and saying "Dada!" Yeah, I have no clue what that's about.) I realize.....

I am really, really looking forward to a night out in a pretty dress.

Hola! Soy Mama.

With all the travel in his father's life these days, I suppose it's no surprise that Jack would begin to think of going to exotic places himself. I mean, we keep talking about how Daddy is at the Castles (Prague), Daddy is in "Singaport", or Daddy is at Big City (NYC).

The sister of my next door neighbor, and our sometime babysitter, just returned to Mexico. The kids absolutely adore her, and we were all very sad to see her go.

Then, one of his classmates from preschool apparently went on a week-long family vacation to Mexico.

So I really should not have been totally surprised that Jack would eventually decide that he, himself, ought to be headed out on some globe-trotting adventures. But none of these things prepared me for the note on his school report card today.

"Jack told us during opening exercises that he is going to Mexico this weekend - AND that his teachers are invited to come, too! YEAH!"

Thank goodness his teacher has the sense of humor to handle these situations. I didn't even have to explain that, no, we're not really headed to Mexico. At least, not yet.

On the car ride home, I felt like I should discuss the topic with Jack. Of course, he was dead certain that, oh YES, we ARE, in fact, going to Mexico this weekend. I explained about buying plane tickets, arranging a place to stay, the time and expense of such an adventure. I said maybe, maybe in a year or two we can take a cruise that stops in Mexico. Wouldn't that be fun? On a big boat?

Jack: Yes, Mommy. But we're going to Mexico this weekend.

Me: No, we're not.

Jack: Yes, we are.

Me: Tell you what? How about we get Taco Bell for dinner tonight instead? That's.. uh... sort of like Mexican food.

Jack: Can I have a quesadilla?

Me: SURE!

If only every parenting dilemma could be solved so easily. And come complete with an assortment of delicious hot sauces.

NaBloPoMo Day 12: When Mondays Attack

So this morning, as per usual, I came stumbling down the stairs in search of coffee before I started breakfast. I got the kids settled in front of a cartoon with their milk so could have a fair chance at making the scrambled eggs without small bodies between me and the stove.

While getting the boys tucked into their la-z-boy recliners, I noticed that one of the cats had chewed on their favorite catnip-laced fabric mouse toy and then, of course, yakked on the carpet. Beautiful start to the day.

Because I have developed a strict "No Cleaning Of Cat Vomit Before Coffee" policy, I trudged back upstairs to gulp down a cuppa and got the scrambled eggs cooked. Then I called the boys up for breakfast and got them set up at the table with their plates.

Finally, it was the moment of truth. Paper towels in-hand, I bravely marched down to face the inevitable. Oh how full of tragic bravado was I; Napolean facing my own personal Waterloo, with no inkling of the impending Doom.

I found myself standing over mouse toy and vomit puddle thinking "I really need to ask for a raise". Then, I kneeled down and prepared to face the task at hand.

Oh, my friends. There is nothing quite like the slow-motion realization that what you are looking at is not at all what you first assumed. That it is, in fact, much much worse.

You see, it was not, in fact, the well-loved mouse toy there on the ground. Oh no, it was not.

Instead, I came face to face with the half-eaten corpose of an honest-to-god rodent. The feet were entirely chewed away, and one dead eye stared pitifully up at me below the gorey hole where once the poor creature's brain resided.

Yes, apparently one of my cats is a zombie; it had consumed the mouse's brain with surgical accuracy.

Oh! But wait! What is this? Here - just visible in the mess of regurgitated cat kibble? Why, it's a bit of recognizable brain matter. Mouse brains a la vomit, right here on my family room carpet. Isn't that just lovely.

There are many reasons I got married. Today, the top of the list is having someone else around to cope with partially-digested brain matter. This is so not in my job description.

Why, Yes, I AM a big pansy, and thank you for noticing.

Monday? Oh, it is SO on. You can meet my at the bike racks after school, because I am going to kick you into next Friday - and Friday is big and burly and grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. Friday is going to do things to you that they haven't even thought of at Gitmo yet, things that would make Dick Cheney shudder with horror.

What's that, Monday? Oh, you're sorry about the mouse brains? Yeah. Right. Sure you are. You're just saying that now because you know your hours are numbered. Wait, what now? You'll bring my husband home the next time you roll around? Don't toy with me Monday. I will cut you.

Okay, stop crying. Sersiously, STOP, you're giving me a migraine.

You swear you'll get Big Daddy T home next time? Next Monday will bring him home, in time for a few days of quiet before Thanksgiving? You're willing to swear it?

Okay, Monday. I'll give you one chance to make this right. You get him back here to me and the boys, and we'll forget this whole dead mouse/mouse brains in the kitty vomit incident. Like it never happened.

Oh, and Monday? Just remember - you screw me on this? It won't be just Friday who's got my back. There are 5 other days of the week, and you don't wanna know why they call Wednesday"Hump Day".

Truth In Advertising

As I was going through some old photos the other day - presumably preparing to someday put the mountainous pile of snapshots into some sort of album - I came across some photos from our wedding. (August 16, 2002.)

I didn't remember these photos. I vaguely have a sense that my brother Scott took them, and gave them to us at some later date.

Most of them are actually far superior to the professional shots taken by the photographer.

A few of them are the kind of priceless, spontaneous, totally honest moments that you come to treasure the most. It is among the photos fitting this category that we find undeniable evidence that - my husband? - He totally knew what he was getting himself into when he married me.

Any claims to the contrary? Mere spin, Baby.

Not so much "blushing bride" as "thppppbbbbt!"

C'mere and give ush a kish...

This Is Your Brain On Motherhood.

We had a great time yesterday and today, visiting Grandmommy last night and going to two very different birthday parties today.

The first was a kid's party - my niece turned 2. It was cuteness and sweetness and light-hearted adult conversation. It was pink cupcakes and mini quiches. It was... restful.

The second was a grown-up's party - an old co-worker friend of mine. It was raucous and sometimes loud (as people kept playing with the volume on the iPod) and I had a chance to catch up with a lot of people I worked with in another lifetime. It was strange, and made me a bit nostalgic for that old life - the life where I worked and laughed and had working lunches and inside-office-jokes. I was called "Bubbles" (An old office nickname. after Bubbles the Power Puff Girl. It's a long story) for the first time in nearly 6 years. People who knew me when I was single and carefree and putting toys all over my cubicle got to see me again -- married and chasing after the boys and generally being responsible and grown-up and whatnot.

One of the young office guys (one I would not have expected) has grown up nicely, married a lovely woman, and now has a spectacularly gorgeous 5-month-old baby boy who I very nearly smuggled out to my minivan to take home. He was THAT cute, people.

And, in case you can't tell from the rambling, half-coherent nature of this posting, I have driven somewhere between 250 and 300 miles in the past 30 hours. 6 hours of driving since yesterday afternoon. My leg is killing me and my head is swimming.

Add to this the fact that the boys took turns not sleeping last night (alternately taking the opportunity to scream bloody murder as I trudged up and down the stairs from guest room to downstairs recliner) and I am fried. I am literally oozing around my house, staring vacantly at chores I will need to do tomorrow. Realizing the dog will have to be picked up from the kennel in the morning. Bargaining Jack into his bed with promises of a special breakfast tomorrow.

Cheerios are "special"... Right?

Will Be Busy. With Visits. And Shopping.

The rest of the day promises to be.... well, more than a little bit hectic. So, as I have just finished tidying up from the meeting this morning. (At least, as much as I intend to tidy up. The food is put away, the chairs are straightened, and there are toys all over the place, but today? The toys can wait. I'll get them on Sunday.)

The parade planning went well -- and I didn't even curl up into the fetal position in the corner ONE time! Well, at least not until after it was over, but that was mostly due to my inability to coherently list the rest of my tasks for the day and get us packed for an overnight with Grandmommy.

Now I'm busily googling directions for our destinations over the next 2 days (Road Trip! With kids! By myself! Should be awesome. I'm expecting to have an aneurysm by Sunday.)

At the moment, though, it's a relief to be getting out of the house. Left to my own devices, the kids and I spend entirely too much time at home.

And I frickin' miss my husband, y'all.

So we're hitting up T's Mom's house, dropping in on his niece's birthday party tomorrow morning down in Southern Virginia, and stopping off at the birthday party of an old coworker friend of mine on the way home. Also? I just discovered that there is a Steve & Barry's en route to home as well.

Fabulous houndstooth coat? You are SOOO mine.

Everybody Loves A Parade.

We've lived here in Country Town, USA for just over 3 years now, and I have yet to attend the annual Christmas Parade. Every year, though, (except last year - the slackers like me were apparently in control last year) the local mothers' club puts together a float and the moms and their kiddies walk and/or ride in the parade and toss out candy to the onlookers.

This will be my first year participating.

Tomorrow, I am hosting the official Planning Meeting for the float --- which basically means I am providing a room and some munchies for the group of mothers to brainstorm ideas while our offspring entertain themselves in the toy room.

And coffee, of course. Most of the mothers I know would go ahead and just hook up a caffeine IV drip if such a thing were available or advisable.

Now, usually I attempt to be a Super Awesome Hostess. I figure it helps cover the fact that I am really not much of a joiner and.. well, that I am about as socially able in these situations as a walrus on the subway.

This time, however, I put down the Martha Stewart guidebook and slowly backed away. Muffins from the store bakery, some Rold Gold pretzels, and some candy corn were procured. I spent my time, instead, running the vacuum cleaner and folding 2 weeks worth of clean laundry.

Also? I came up with an idea for our float. It involves foam board, masking tape, and textured spray paint. I know, screams genius, right? (Either that or best date EVER!) I'm going to sketch it up and toss it out there tomorrow as a possibility. Look at me! Joining in and everything!

So here I am, ready to brainstorm. Ready to socialize. Ready to welcome other women-type folks into my mostly presentable home.

I've got my game face on, Baby. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this thing.

My safe word will be "Pomegranate".

Textual Healing, Video Appealing

I love you like a ninja loves black masks!

Best random text message from an absent spouse EVAR!

Big Daddy T is in the final leg of Singapore Sling Part Deux. Of course, he still has a 1-day journey to Kuala Lumpur before he comes home next week, but it won't change his actual home arrival.

Thank heaven for small favors, people.

In the interim, I have been attempting to take video and photos of the kids at his request... because he feels like he is missing it! their lives! And, in spite of my attempts to reassure him that nothing very exciting has changed in his absence (I changed diapers! And did Laundry! The THRILL!) he is convinced that I am slacking in my duties to film the every waking moment of our children.

So tonight I hauled out the camera and pointed it at my nonplussed offspring. I got Toby to do our (now well-rehearsed) bit on film.

It goes like this:

Me: Toby, are you a turtle?

Toby: No! I'm not a turtle!

Except that his part comes out more like "Noh-eye-nah tuh-tull!"

You'll have to take my word for it -- the cuteness of it rips your heart out of your chest and holds it up for you to view the shivery, still-beating remains.

The big news here, though, is that I finally signed up for a Vimeo account and, assuming the moon and stars and my brain all reach the correct alignment, I will soon have chest-ripping cuteness to share with the world.

Prepare yourselves!

In the mean time, I'll be attempting to recapture the moment on film sans extras. You see, as I completed filming our exchange, I realized he had thrown in his other well-rehearsed bit...

Removing his diaper and peeing on the floor.

Wassap, Dawg?!

Remember when I promised that something interesting would be here today?

Lied. SOOOO lied.

So, instead, allow me to dazzle you with these photos of my grand protector and very hairy winter blanket.

You lookin' at me?

Officially, Master Django McQueen de Mardi Gras. Affectionately, Gizmo.

In spite of my mother's fears that he will someday go all disgruntled postal-worker on us and, say, eat one of the children, he is in fact a giant ball of needy, needy love. In his mind, he is perfectly welcome to help himself to your dinner and then curl up on your lap like a dog one-third his size.

55 pounds of pure muscle wrapped around a solid, angular frame is not particularly comfortable across one's lap. Especially with a bony elbow digging into your stomach. But what he lacks in padding, he more than makes up for in adoring looks and very slimy kisses. Also, he scares the crap out of door-to-door salespeople, which more than pulls his weight around here so far as I am concerned.

I can haz snugglz now?

So he's not quite as good for snuggling as Big Daddy T, but he'll do in a pinch... and he does like to watch Ugly Betty as much as I do. What more could a girl ask for in a four-legged companion? -- Unless it's wishing that he would quit with the chewing already. There's nothing quite as unpleasant as the sudden realization that a) the dog has been unnaturally quiet for the last 10 minutes and b) you left a dirty diaper in the playroom after a spot-change. These two circumstances can only lead to disaster... and a firm resolution not to let the dog lick your face for a while.

I regret nothing! ATTICAAAAA!