White Elephant

For those of you who don't visit Pick Your Poison's page yet, I gotta say, you're missing out. Spammon's got it going on. Anyway, he started a blogger's white elephant gift exchange and we're supposed to post them on our pages today.

Don't be fooled by the shape of the box...
A shirt or a book, this gift is not.
I heard as you sat on Santa's lap for your wish-
All you want for Christmas is a nice, new fish.
I can't tell you anymore of what this gift's about,
I just hope you enjoy your beautiful new trout.

Rock It!

I'm getting a wee bit sluggish on my treadmill. For the last couple of months I've been catching up on all my DVR'd shows to keep me motivated but it's starting to lose it's appeal. I'm not the most coordinated of runners (or, sadly, walkers for that matter...if I was home with a camera I would totally take a pic of all my running/walking battle scars to prove it) and therefore a little hesitant to take to the dark, icy roads just yet. But if I'm going to be able to stand my dreadmill for very much longer, I'm going to need a serious boost. I decided I need a whole new mix for the iPod and I'm going for some oldies but goodies. While there are days that a girl's just gotta have her Akon and Flavor Flav (NOT), I feel the need to get back to my roots.


So far, I've got:
Poison: Nothin' But A Good Time and Unskinny Bop
Def Leppard: Pour Some Sugar On Me
AC/DC: You Shook Me All Night Long and Back in Black




However, it's now 3:48am and I'm drawing a SERIOUS blank. Please help me remember what songs I HAVE to have on my new running mix.

As a token of my appreciation, I'll even burn a copy for anyone who wants one. (But only if you contribute legitimate "runnin' rock". If you send me Milli Vanilli, you're off the list.)

Mommy-Self-Confidence and Other Fun Mommy Stuff

I wasn't a particularly easy child. I was the oldest, the rebel, the one with MAJOR attitude, the trial. I tested my parents at every corner until the day I got married. I'm sure that's one of the reasons my dad let me do everything he did...just to get me out of the house. He let me move to the Bay Area with my best friend when I was 18 (and only half way through my senior year in high school) to sell pest control door to door. He was more than happy to send me to Russia for six months after that to teach English although I never made it because I got engaged to Hubby, whom I'd met while selling pest control. To be fair, he warned Hubby about marrying me, I think so he could have a clear conscience, but then pushed me out the door and out of his house forever when Hubby didn't listen.

That all being said, he's always warned me that my time would come; that God is just and would never put him through all that without some kind of reward in the end. You would think that as a righteous father, seeing me all grown up with a happy family of my own would be reward enough. Oh no. Watching me raise my daughter, on the other hand, has brought him tremendous joy. Joy that radiates from every pore. (Joy that I'd like to smack right off his face every time he witnesses a choice moment with my daughter.)

Anyway, this treasure of mine (that I, for the life of me, cannot remember why I wanted so bad) has outdone herself again. The last couple of days she's been mumbling a new phrase. A phrase that up until now has been foreign to this household; a phrase I am certain she doesn't really understand but insists on using nonetheless. Case in point, a couple of days ago:
"#4, it's time for a nap."
"I ate you, mommy."
"What?" (she ate me?)
Louder: "I ATE you, mommy."
Did she really just mean what I think she meant? She's TWO for crying out loud. So I test the waters for the next couple of days.
"#4, let's get in the bath."
"I ate you, mommy."
"#4, it's time to do your hair."
"I ATE you, mommy."
"#4, if you say that again I'm gonna smack your bum."
Quieter and slower, for effect, I guess, "I ate you , mommy."
Light little tap on the butt from me and then...
"I ATE YOU MOMMY! (sobs) I want my Daddy!"
"If you can find him, you can have him." (Heehee...he's off at work where all the perfect parents hide until the end of the day when they can come home and rescue the poor abused children.)

I haven't shared this jewel with my dad, yet. I'm waiting for Christmas. It will be his favorite gift.

#3 gave me another Mommy-Self-Confidence boost today as well. We were getting dressed for pre-school and I had brought down an undershirt to wear, well, under his shirt. We fought about this little detail for 5 whole minutes as he insisted on wearing it over his shirt. He wears undershirts to bed, afterall, without anything else over them. He finally conceded but not before yelling, "You don't know ANYFING, mom."
No kidding, kid.

Now for some happier news. #2 is the shortest in his class. It's official. They all lined up and measured for class pictures so the taller kids would not hide the shrimps. He's the shrimpiest of the shrimps. Even the shrimpiest girl beat him that day. I tried to tell him she was probably wearing thick soled boots or something but he didn't buy it.
"Nope. Sorry, mom."
"But you're the fastest."
"Yeah." (big grin) "I am the fastest."
Being short has it's advantages.

#2 was also the last kid in his class to lose a tooth. We're half way through second grade and he barely lost his first tooth about 2 months ago. But happy day...a couple of days ago he lost his second tooth. Thanks to a swift fist from his older brother (not sure I'm so happy about that one, although I'm told it was an accident) he is officially toothless for Christmas. And we couldn't be happier about it. Hubby was wise enough to click a picture of the snaggle tooth right after fist contact and right before extraction. I thought I'd post it here. #2 is quite proud of his gnarly grin.



#2 is a poser by nature. In honor of his "Toothless for Christmas Status", I will post a couple
more pictures of his sweetness.

Even at the tender age of 3, the kid loved the camera. Especially when wearing a plastic bum.

Boredom at work = Mutant Christmas Projects

It's a general rule at work that you never say things like "It's been slow today" or "Mighty quiet around here" or yadda, yadda, yadda. But, my gosh...it's been slow lately. (I want all of you to know that by saying/typing this outloud I have just cursed myself with 17 rollover accidents, 3 heart attacks, 4 broken bones and 47 "I've had a cold for 6 weeks but tonight, at 2am, I decided to come in and be seen.")
Anyway, on Thursday night we were slow/quiet/bored and got looking at fun Christmas project. I was showing the girls the baggie wreaths and one of our doctors said something about the cool "plastic cup globe light" that his neighbors gave him last year. Of course, we had to see it, so we googled it for hours (it was only about 6.5 minutes but when you're bored it feels like that long) and decided we would each make a couple to take home and surprise our kids with. We sent the most bored nurse out to gather supplies (OK, she wasn't the most bored...she's the only one with access to a dremel tool so she won by default) and anxiously awaited project hour.
She returned slightly less successful than we'd hoped. The project calls for 9 oz. cups but apparently everyone in town decided to make the same ball because there wasn't a single package of 9 oz. cups in all of Wal-Mart. She's quite the crafty thing so she settled on what had to be 2 oz. cups and just figured our balls would be smaller than the average balls. (heehee...I have to laugh a little at that one)
The original directions we were following said to connect 9 cups in a circle for the first layer. Our first layer ended up with something like 24 cups. Seeing as how the supply list had only called for 50 lights for the ENTIRE ball, we knew we were in trouble. We kept plugging away and ended up with what looked an awful lot like this sweet lamp my mom had in the late 70's.
Long story short, our lamp mutated. It's officially 4 times bigger than it was supposed to be (we used 200 cups and 200 lights) and therefore bigger than any one of us wanted hanging in our homes (we have standards, ya know?).
It is now the Nurse's Station Ball. It's big, a little awkward, looks more like an egg than a ball and required some serious reinforcing to ensure it didn't pull the ceiling tiles off but I LOVE IT. I'm so proud of my little 3am project even though everyone that walks by it looks at it with a little sideways glance, unsure of what, exactly, it's supposed to be.
Please enjoy my pics and THEN take a look at this website to see how cute they could be. There's even instructions (although we didn't use the soldering iron or whatever it is they suggest, we just stapled the cups together - perhaps another factor in the mutany???).

My odd shaped, tenticle growing sparkle ball. (Notice the 'N' in tenticle, not 'S')

Me, so very proud of my tenticle growing sparkle ball.

By the way, I thought I should mention, that due to the making of this entry, I have had elbow pain, hand lacerations, chest pain and croup walk through my door at an otherwise "dead" hour. I'm telling you, the curse lives.

79 Today

Today would have been my Grandpa's 79th birthday. I haven't posted in a couple of days and had several other ideas for posts until midnight when I instantly realized today was his birthday. Grandpa died a year ago July 1st. I feel pretty lucky to say he was the first person I ever lost that really devastated me.

Growing up, Grandpa lived in the same town as us so we saw him regularly. I had two cousins older than me but they were military brats so they never lived close, making me the first grandkid Grandpa really spent time with. I was the favorite. I spent my whole life knowing I was his favorite. He made no bones about hiding it from anyone. He was a little rough around the edges, stubborn and cynical, and we got along better than anyone. I think I understood him from the time I was itty bitty. We just had that connection.

Grandpa was divorced and loved his space. He and my grandma split when my dad was 14 and he lived alone after that. He tried marriage once when I was in elementary school but I think it lasted less than a year. He was way too independant to ever sacrifice for a woman again. That being said, he let us intrude any time we wanted. He had a swimming pool (TOO COOL!) that we spent our summers at. He had an endless supply of Sprite in his fridge for us (only place I ever got soda as a kid). He let us ride pillows down his stairs (we always lived in one-story houses so stairs were the best) and let us dance in front of his projection TV (it was the biggest screen I'd ever seen outside a movie theater). Grandpa was the coolest.

Grandpa bought me my first Cabbage Patch Kid when my parents said they were overrated and overpriced. He bought me my first big boombox when being cool was more important to me than anything. He let me have sleepovers at his house when I knew I couldn't spend one more minute at home. He paid off two different cars for me, financed my first house and never quit asking if I needed help with anything.

Grandpa taught me (inadvertantly) that "shit, damn and hell" are not swear words. He gave me my first taste of alcohol hoping it would gross me out enough to sway me from ever drinking again (not so effective). The smell of cigarette smoke still gives me warm and fuzzies and reminds me of Grandpa, who smoked until he had to choose between cigarettes and breathing. He hated every boy I ever dated, most especially the one I chose to marry, and warned me about the dangers of sex (it leads to babies). Grandpa taught me that someone can believe and act very differently from you but still be an amazing person.

Right before I started high school, Grandpa sold the business. We moved to Utah and he moved to a secluded little town in Oregon. It was one of the hardest times of my life. I hated living so far from him and called him all the time. Every summer we would spend a week with him and till I die, it will be one of my all-time favorite memories. He brought me out a month before my wedding so we could have one last one-on-one and I bawled when I left...knowing our relationship would change a little bit.

My kids still talk about our vacations to Oregon. Grandpa paid to bring us out every year until my Dad insisted on footing the bill. Last year was the first year we didn't go out. He died before we could get there. Grandpa insisted on being cremated and refused any kind of funeral so my parents were the only ones who went out after he died. I struggled with that until this summer when my cousin got married and my sister, dad and I went out to the wedding. I got to see where his ashes had been spread and got to touch the time capsule my uncle made with some of his things. It's the closest thing to a gravesite that we have. I'm not sure if I'll ever get back there but I'm grateful that I finally had that closure.

Grandpa and I talked once a month until he died. He had an 800 number for me so I wouldn't have to pay but I never used it. We would laugh and joke like old friends, never like a 70 year old and a 20 year old. I'd always end the conversation with an "I love you" and he'd always say "You, too" because if he said any more than that he'd cry (and Grandpa didn't cry).

A year or two before he died he promised me he would come back and visit me when he died. He said it as a joke because he always said he wasn't sure there was a heaven or an afterlife anyway. I'd tease him that he was in for the shock of his life because Joseph Smith was going to be standing there with an autographed copy of the Book of Mormon and my Grandma (who died a few years after their divorce) would be there with a couple of missionaries waiting to pounce on him. The night he died, I laid awake all night waiting for him to come, but he still hasn't. I'm hoping it's because he's just too dang busy; although, every now and then, I pray and ask God to tell him hello. I'm hoping he's getting my messages.

Humorless Artichoke Dip

Although I have not had any major disasters or mishaps in my life in the last 12 hours or so, I am still recuperating from recent events (see previous post) and therefore short on wit. (As in witty, wit's end, etc.)
But in an effort to brighten someone else's day today (I'm all about thinkin' of others, after all...) I will post one of my favorite (especially this time of year) recipes.
(Please do not shudder or guffaw ((really always wanted to use that word)) at the thought of a tricky or complicated recipe. This is coming from someone whose idea of "cooking" involves a box of Hamburger Helper and a can of corn.)
This recipe is best made in a large pot on the stove, then transferred to a crock pot for serving.

• Start by sauteing a family size bag of chopped, frozen spinach in butter and garlic. You can also add shallots, but seeing as how I didn't even know what a shallot was when I first started making this stuff, I never have and I like it just the same.

• Add two cans of artichoke hearts. (I like to chop mine before I add them as they're pretty large.)

• When the green stuff is warm, add a package of soft garlic and herb cheese. I prefer Alouette brand. (I've found it at Wal-Mart and Albertsons.)
  

• Stir it all together until the cheese is melted. Add a pint of heavy whipping cream and a 6 oz. bag of shredded parmesan cheese. Stir until the parmesan is melted. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Transfer to a crock pot and serve with your favorite tortilla chips or toast. This recipe makes a TON. Plenty for a large party, or, if you're like me, lunch everyday for a month.

WARNING: Do not attempt to figure the calorie/fat content of this recipe as there is no calculator sophisticated enough to handle these types of numbers.
WARNING PART 2: Excessive consumption of this recipe has been known to cause wretched gas. Use in moderation.

A Penny For Your Thoughts, A Dollar For Your Potty Mouth

I'm trying to be a better mom. I'm trying to be more patient and really listen to my kids when they have something to say, instead of the absent-minded "uh-huh" I tend to answer them with. I know someday, not too far off, they will stop talking to me and I'll be wishing I could get back to the time when they used to ramble on endlessly.

That being said, yesterday was not one of my finest. We woke up with #3 and #4's eyes glued shut with Pink Eye, a raging ear infection in #3's left ear, and the flu from head to toe for #1. #2 was the only one who escaped unscathed, but considering he's still trying to get his hearing back 100% from the ruptured ear drum, he deserved the break.

We skipped church (Hubby went to teach our Primary class but since only Bella showed, they stuck her in another class so as not to have the one-on-one with a male teacher, so Hubby came home) and played hospital all afternoon. It wasn't the worst day ever. In fact, it was nice that all of it hit on a Sunday so that Hubby was home to help. But, by the time 7pm rolled around, the kids were bouncing off the walls from being sequestered and I'd had it. I stuck the younger three in the bath while Hubby worked on his football highlight film.

I got the kids out of the bath and #3 and 4 ran around the house like a couple of banshees while I tried to round up their jammies. I was just about to get #4 dressed when I noticed an icky brown substance streaming down her leg. I did a quick scan around the family room and found the rest of the icky brown substance...all over my carpet. I yelled for Hubby to help while I stuck #4 on the potty to finish what she'd started. Hubby cleaned up the "chunks" then appointed himself Bum-Wiper, leaving me to scrub the rest of the icky brown substance out of the carpet.

When I finished scrubbing the carpet, I yelled various threats upstairs to the older kids about brushing their teeth, cleaning their rooms and getting to bed, etc. I asked Hubby to brush #4's teeth (to which he turned to #4 and said, "Go brush your teeth." and then sat back down to work on the highlight film. Thanks...very helpful.) I finished cleaning teeth, hanging up towels, washing icky brown substance stained towels and threw #3 and 4 in bed with a quick peck and a mumbled "I love you."

I went to get #1 and 2 in bed and totally lost it when I found #1 playing jam ball in his room instead of getting ready for bed. I yelled something to the effect of "If you can play basketball like this after laying around the house 'sick' all day you can damn well get yourself to school tomorrow. Don't even ask to stay home in the morning!!" To which #2 quickly chimed in "You owe me a dollar!"

I've always had a little bit of a potty mouth and have tried really hard not to use it anymore. I made a deal with the older two about a month ago that if they ever caught me swearing, I'd give them each a dollar. Pretty good lesson for both of us, I thought (and I hadn't had to pay up once).

This, however, was not the happy little teaching moment I'd envisioned when I made the deal. "It doesn't count when one of you guys is screwing around!" I yelled back, slamming the door behind me.

Short story long, after a long, hot bath, I snuck back into their rooms with a dollar and a Post-It note apology to both of them. I mean, what is the point of the rule if it doesn't count when I'm mad? When else do I ever swear? What lesson would that teach them? You shouldn't swear, unless of course you're upset, in which case it doesn't count. Hmmm. Not so much.

On a lighter note...(my week just keeps getting better, and it's only Monday!)

This is what I woke up to this morning:
You may not be able to tell, but she is missing the entire front half of her hair. This is what she looked like last time I saw her:
A cute little A-line hair cut with NO BANGS. Thanks to #3, this morning her bangs start half-way back on her head and are barely long enough to be classified as bangs. Not to mention the fist size chunk he took right off the back of her head at the crown. I tried to get a pic of that one but her hair is so fine and so blonde that the flash just drowned it out. Anyway, this is what we're left with after I tried to blend it all in:
She, of course, is thrilled. She LOVES getting "Peety Hair-tuts". I'm trying not to cry as I wonder how I'm going to keep the clump in the back from standing straight up. (Notice her poor little swollen pink eyes!)

Hey, it can't get any worse today, right?

Saturday Is A Special Day

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
I slept all day,
Night shift does that, OK?
Now there's not much time left to pla-ay.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
There's piles of clothes,
At least ten more loads,
Thank goodness that hubby will fo-old.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Four Miles' the goal,
Good thing I'm so slow...
I got caught up on one of my sho-ows.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Too many football games on,
Hubby's mind is all gone,
(at least all my laundry is do-one.)

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
The first snow of the year,
The kids let a cheer,
Cabin fever's officially he-ere.

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
She's throwing a fit,
I'm about to get lit!
Why isn't it naptime ye-et?

Saturday is a special day,
It's the day we get ready for Sunday.
Tomorrow we'll fast,
It should be a blast!
Tonight I'll pig out so I'll la-ast!

• DISCLAIMER: I KNOW IT'S NOT AS CLEVER AS OH HEATING PAD OR AS SWEET AS CHLOE'S SONG, BUT I'M RUNNING ON FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP HERE PEOPLE!
  

Randoms

I am dedicating this post to my bro-in-law. You know who you are. Talk about the ultimate closet reader. At Thanksgiving the topic of my blog came up. I was asking my sis if she'd checked it out yet. The answer was no (rude) but OK because it turns out Bro-in-law checks it out religiously and gives her updates. He was totally making fun of it, telling the rest of the family how completely nuts I am, which I forgave after I realized he knew details about every single post. I'm like his morning coffee. He just can't get enough of me. Here's to you, Bro!

The radio guys yesterday were laughing about a video on YouTube of Donny Osmond dancing to Weird Al's spoof called "White and Nerdy". Had to check it out. Laughed the snot right outta my nose. All you guys that were drooling over Donny will love this. The boy's got some MOVES. Not to mention stamina. Ummm....

(there is a YouTube video below, for some reason it's not showing up. Just click in the blank area and you'll get there. Sorry...I'll fix as soon as I can!)


I registered for the Canyonlands Half Marathon this week. It's a lottery pick, so who knows if I'll get drawn. I ran it last year. It was a blast. Even when 90% of the entrants over 85 years old finished before me. I think two little geriatrics were behind me. But not by much. I'm excited to give it another go this year. My pictures across the finish line last year were hideous. I tried to do the cool "raise your hands in the peace sign while you're crossing the finish line" thing. It made me look like a pigeon-toed-club-foot with serious under arm jiggle. And the boobs were bouncing in two different directions since my arms weren't down to hold them in place. This will be my year for redemption...from the geriatrics and the cameraman.
By the way, anyone that wants to join in on the fun, please do! It's in Moab, Utah on March 8, 2008. It's a gorgeous, mostly down hill run along the Colorado River. The entry deadline is Dec. 15th. Come join the fun!!!

http://www.moabhalfmarathon.org/halfm/halfm.html

#3 has a girlfriend. He's only four. Today at pre-school she presented him with a picture of Lightning McQueen that she had colored just for him. His eyes got all wide and he got a goofy grin and then he said, "Thanks Bewwa (Bella)! I weawy wuv cars!" I had to give him props on his manners. Ladies loovvveee the manners. Hubby said they were holding hands in primary on Sunday, too. He's been bit by the love bug.

I got a Christmas card in the mail today. I am so bummed. I procrastinated a day too long and someone beat me to the punch. I so wanted to get the first cards out this year. And the card I got was generic, too. It wasn't a photo card or anything. I had my photo cards ready a week ago!! So sad. Anyway, I am posting one here today so at least I can say I got some out today, too. I apologize to those of you who will get one in the mail as well and therefore have two. It's not that I think you need two cards from us. I just wanted to be first!!!

(Names have been removed to protect the innocent. It really is cuter in person. And it's not pink and brown, it's red and green and brown.)

And in an effort to give props where props are due, I got my cards at www.invitingsmiles.com

After I had ordered these, I saw some great sites from fellow bloggers, too. I would have used one of them had I seen them in time.

Once upon an Oprah tale

First of all, thanks for all the tips and comments from my last post. Costco is sending a new kitchen and UPS still sucks. On a brighter note, DHL came today with 9 boxes (9 very large boxes) and boy what a difference. DHL Boy rang my door bell (only once) waited till I answered (unheard of) and made sure I was the right customer (a first in shipper etiquette). Then he proceeded to tell me he had 9 very large boxes that he assumed were Christmas presents (what gave that away?) and asked me where I would like them unloaded (you're asking?). He loaded them methodically in my garage, storing the boxes with pictures in the back so the anonymous boxes covered them up. Then, THEN (are you sitting down?) he knocked again to make sure I was happy with where he'd set things. I wanted to hug him (though the B.O. force field he had up around him kept me at bay). I did, however, tell him my UPS Girl story and thanked him over and over for being so courteous. Go figure.

Now on to the goods. Some of you would like to know how I ended up on Oprah. Hubby is reading this right now and shuddering, I guarantee it. Oh well.

It happened like this. 9/11 hit and threw us all for a loop. I visited Oprah's site (I was a much bigger fan back then) and clicked a link that asked "How has 9/11 affected you?". I started typing, clicked send and never thought about it again. Three weeks later the first producer called to chat. A second producer called a day later to chat with Hubby. A week after that, an entire production crew flew into my tiny little town and shook things up!

It was an interesting experience, to say the least. The topic of the show was "What Matters Most". Apparently (I honestly can't remember what I wrote) my email had talked about how things in our marriage had been a little shaky and how I had taken my Hubby and kids for granted up until that tragedy. (If we're being honest though, who wouldn't have said something similar?) Anyway, once the producers got to our humble abode, they reminded me a bit of the Donahue show. They sort of fished for the answers they wanted and skipped over the stuff that wasn't juicy enough. By the time we'd finished taping our segment, Hubby and I were both feeling pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing but how do you call Oprah and say "Thanks, but no thanks!".

I think it was a week or so after that that we were to fly to Chicago (yes, our room was at the "All Suite Omni Hotel") but lo and behold, we got stuck in some crazy weather in Denver (the pilot called them 'microbursts') that kept us from landing until after our connecting flight to Chicago had departed. We ended up spending the night in an airport hotel (courtesy of "O") and watching our show at home the next afternoon. They still ran our segment, but we were spared the front row seat with Dr. Phil. (Oh yes, it was a Dr. Phil show. Can you imagine???) At the end of the taping, Oprah commented on my cute boys. That was the definite highlight.

So, there you have it. I never made it to the studio for our taping but 5 months later 3 girlfriends and I went to Chicago and the producer from our segment hooked us all up with front row seats to a taping. Ironically, it was a Dr. Phil show (all before he got his own).

Just so you know...I've never sent in another email to Oprah.

Oh, and for fun, here's the link to the show. I don't think any of the video works but if you click on the gallery, we're the 5th pic (I think). Notice how young #1 and 2 are (ooh they're soooo cute!). And check out my sweet hair. NOT Hubby's fave.

http://www.oprah.com/tows/pastshows/tows_past_20011009.jhtml

I Hate UPS (and other such shippers at Christmas)

I'm having a waz with UPS today. Well, right at this moment, actually. I was just getting ready to sit down and check out the ole blog for the first time since the holiday when my door bell rings - twice. I figure it's my cleaning ladies, bless their little hearts. They never knock even though they ALWAYS come during nap time. But that is neither here nor there. My door bell rings twice so I run to the front door in an effort to keep whomever from ringing a third or fourth time. But, what a second...no one is there! Is someone door bell ditching me in the middle of the afternoon? Are we in third grade again? And just as I'm closing the door, (eyeing all my neighbors front blinds to try and catch a snickering prankster) the UPS girl peels out of my driveway and down the street. I'm a little peeved that she didn't wait for me to answer, but giddy all the same as I'm anticipating this to be my first Christmas delivery. I've been faithfully tracking all of my purchases for days now as 90% of my Christmas shopping was done online this year.

So, I skamper through my house and out to the garage, wondering which shipment I get to dig through first. I click the garage door opener and see two boxes. One tidy little brown box, anonymous and intact. I figure this one to be my christmas cards. (Yay! It's after Thanksgiving so I can send them out tomorrow!!! Wahoo! And then post one here, of course.)
But then I take a good look at the second box. This is what I saw.








Please notice the condition of the box. I did nothing to this box before I took these pictures. I wish I had a way to add audio for you all, t00, (remember, I'm a bloginner) so you could hear what I heard as I moved the box around. It sounds like a set of broken dishes. And you can't see it in these pics, but there is actually a screw sticking out of the bottom of the box. Gee, I wonder how many more of those managed to escape during transit?

The other thing I would like you all to take note of is the non-anonymity of this box. Hello? Is it not Christmas? Could we not all assume that this might be a Christmas Present? What in the world is UPS Girl doing leaving this in broad daylight? I mean, if she thought I wasn't home, how would placing it right in front of the garage I come and go by be the safest place? The box is as big as my child. Do we really think she wouldn't notice it?

I'm at a loss here. I had no intention of setting this thing up right away, for obvious reasons (such as where to store a fully assembled kitchen where four little snoopies wouldn't find it or notice it draped under a large sheet). But now, I almost have to, just to be sure all the pieces are there. I mean, I can just hear the expletives coming out of Hubby's mouth in the wee hours of Christmas morning when he's looking for one last screw that fell out somewhere between here and Taiwan (or wherever the dang thing hails from).

Or, do I call Costco and ask them to please send a replacement right away, just in case? And can I demand it be wrapped in pillows before shipping? What to do? Can I refuse a package based solely on the condition of the box, even though UPS Girl has already come and gone? UGGHHH. This was the one gift I was THE most excited about. I should have know it would inevitably turn out to be my biggest headache.

To Hubby

First of all, please notice the new pics of the kids on the right. Thanks to all of you who cared enough to ask for them! I'm excited to have their little facing gracing my blog finally!

Now, on a little more serious note, I'd like to dedicate this post to my hubby. As much as he gives me crap for spending time on this thing, I know he's a closet reader. I'm banking on him seeing this sometime today.
Being that I'm getting myself in the thankful spirit, I would like to thank Hubby for being Hubby. I do not do this enough. I am the queen of back-handed compliments. I thank him for folding the laundry (every single time) but ask why he didn't put any of it away. I never just stop with the thank you. I thank him for loading the dishwasher (every night) but ask why he didn't wipe off the stove. I could go on and on about these little exchanges but for once, in front of God and Country, I am only going for the thanks.

Hubby:

• Thanks for folding the laundry every time I wash it. (In fact, thanks for doing the laundry more often than I do in the first place!)

• Thanks for cooking dinner for the kids every night I work.

• Thanks for cleaning up the kitchen after said dinners.

• Thanks for getting all four kids to daycare/school in the mornings when I sleep. (I know how hard it is for me to do it. Thanks for never once complaining about this one.)

• Thanks for putting up my Christmas light during the Michigan vs. Ohio State game. (This one was huge.)

• Thanks for getting the boys ready for church every Sunday while I get myself ready. We both know if I would get started earlier, I could help more, but I never do and you always step up.

• Thanks for buying milk when I forget.

• Thanks for taking care of the dog even though it was my big idea to get him.

• Thanks for letting me Tivo all my shows and watch them on the big screen while you watch the game on the little TV.

• Thanks for letting me add two new shows to the said Tivo list this year.

• Thanks for letting me sleep in on your days off.

• Thanks for letting me pick where we go for dinner every time we get to go out.

• Thanks for telling me you really want to start eating healthy too every time I start a new diet.

• Thanks for being the kind of dad that wrestles with his boys and snuggles with his little girl.

• Thanks for being the kind of dad that this mom can leave home alone three nights a week and know that everything will be OK.

• Thanks for putting up with one moody, narcissistic, overly picky, gone too much, stressed out wife. You really rock.

Bragging

I've been up since 5am this morning (after falling asleep for the night at 4am - no lie - but that's a whole different sonnet) and I'm a little blurried eyed, but I'm going to post. And in this post I'm going to brag.
For the first time in my life, I am officially done Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve. Yes. You heard me. I am done. And it's not even December yet. And we're talking EVERYTHING. I have presents, stocking stuffers, Christmas Eve jammies, neighbor gifts, kids' friends gifts and even my Christmas Cards. (They shipped last week so I expect them any day now.) I would like to mail my cards out but decided it would be way neurotic so I am waiting till December 1st. At which point I will post one here, just to show off some more. Know what else? I even have my Christmas lights up. And on my way home from work tonight, I noticed you could see my house from Main Street, which is 8 blocks away. Hubby asked me please to wait at least till after Thanksgiving to turn them on but I can't help myself. I even thought I'd post a picture of them here tonight but couldn't because they keep shorting out. I think I have too many extension cords hooked into too many extension cords...
Anyway...Merry Christmas everyone!
Oh yeah...and Happy Thanksgiving, too.

No Life Friday Night

I found this one on lindseyzufelt.blogspot.com tonight and couldn't resist. (I know I said I was done but the kids are in bed now and Hubby is gone...I don't have a problem. I don't, I don't , I DON'T)
Anyway, I find it interesting that more than half of my look-alikes are men and one is Asian at that. I must admit - it's a titch depressing sitting in front of a computer (still bra-less) on a Friday night and discovering you look 74% like an Asian Man. Wow.

Pathetic Me

I'm officially and totally addicted to this blogging thing. Just so you all know how pathetic I am, I got up at noon after working a night shift, picked up my kids, put the little two down for naps, then sat at the computer. Guess what? I'm STILL here. Bra-less. Make-up-less. Fresh Deodorant-less. And totally buggy-eyed from staring at this screen.
My kids have since gotten up, made their own dinner (PB&J Uncrustables, slices of processed cheese, Kudos, Yo-Gos and Junior Mints) and are now unfolding all the laundry (that was folded when I started this today) in an attempt to get my attention.
That being said...I'm getting off my computer. But I wanted to mention a couple of new links I posted (in my frequent sites) to some very funny blogs I found today. If it makes me laugh out loud, I have to share.

All I Want For Christmas Is A Waist (My New Fantasy Friday!)

As you all know (or at least have figured out by now) I'm a blogging baby. Sort of a "virgin" if you will. I mean, it's not my first time anymore, so not really a virgin so to speak, but you get the point. In my blogging research, as I've browsed many of your blogs I've learned about memes such as Thursday Thirteen and Friday Feast, etc. I love reading these and appreciate the thought process they create and therefore decided to start my own. Not like I'm trying to start a revolution or anything.
I don't expect anyone to follow suit and form the "Fantasy Friday Forum" (although that would be kinda cool...). (On the other hand, in the wrong setting this topic could get way off-colored...hmm...maybe that's why no one's ever come up with a fantasy friday...or maybe they have and I just don't frequent those kinds of blogs...)
Anyway...Fantasy Friday. It's my blog and I can do what I want!!
My first FF topic is my one and only Christmas wish. My ultimate fantasy at this point.
I want a waist.
I mean, a real waist. I want to be able to slide a tape measure off of my hips and onto my waist and actually be able to CINCH it. I try to cinch it now but it only makes me look like I'm packaging up a sausage.
I've never really had a waist. Even before I had my four kids I was sort of a box shape. A square. Neither an apple nor a pear...more like a granola bar. I actually used to buy boy's jeans in high school because they were the only style at the time that didn't incorporate an extra baggage section across the hips but still maintained enough room in the waist for me to sit without getting gas. I know what some of you are thinking...rough problem...but it didn't exactly make me the pick of the litter on date nights. I used to stuff shoulder pads in my bra just so I had some tiny semblance of a curve that didn't involve my head.
Since kids, of course, the problem has expanded. Literally. When I try to do a waist to hip ratio I end up with a whole number and some change. This Christmas, I want a fraction.
This isn't all about vanity, either. I'm carrying around an extra 15 lbs. of baby weight (can I still call it that nearly 3 years after the fact?) and 13 of those are resting comfortably around my middle. According to the American Heart Association, this is the most dangerous place to carry such poundage. So I not only look like I wedged myself in a life preserver, I am also putting myself at increased risk for heart disease.
And seeing as how the area formerly known as my waist is the first place I gain, you would think it would be the first place I'd lose.
WRONG.
The more I exercise, the skinnier my legs and butt get and the more I resemble a corn dog.
What is a girl to do? I'm afraid my only hope is Santa and a wish. I know the noble thing to wish for would be world peace or Britney Spears getting her life together but those things actually have a snowball's chance. Me and a waist?? Well, that's the stuff Fantasy Fridays are made of.

I Want My ZOE!!!

#4 is a funny child. I've referred to her as a SheDevil and she kind of is. I will try not to use this phrase as often now that she's getting old enough to understand it. The last thing I need is for her to try to live up to something...
Anyway, she's the only girl, the baby and such a princess. I don't know where she came from, growing up with three older brothers that don't possess a feminine bone among them. And I'm not overly prissy either. (At least I don't think I am.) I've become this creation of my husband that knows more about sports than I care to. I'm like his trick pony.
"Honey...tell 'em what Broxton's ERA was this year!" as he slaps me on the back.
I'm just expected to know these things. If he comes home after coaching a game and asks what I thought of a certain play and I don't know what play he's talking about... Not so good. Not that he gets mad or anything. There's just this total disappointment written across his face that's asking "What exactly were you doing at the game then?"
But back to the point at hand. #4 is her own little breed. And she's figured out how to run the show. We're trying very hard to reprimand her for throwing tantrums when she doesn't get her way (since this occurs a whopping 13.4% of the time). And of course, I'm the bad guy. I'm the one home all day so I'm the one accused of "spoiling" her. Which also means I'm the one in charge of "fixing" her. (Hubby sat me down a few weeks ago, looked me in the eye, and made me PROMISE that it would get better. IT, of course, being raising a girl.)
I'm sort of a yeller by nature and though it's something I'm always trying to do better at, it's worked OK with the boys. Not so much with #4. If I even take my breath in too sharply like I'm getting ready to yell, her little lip puckers and her eyes water. So I'm taking a more "grown up" approach with her.
I sit her down and say, "#4. Look at me. We are not going to whine, OK?"
If she agrees, I get a contrite little, "O-Tay mommy." and a hug.
If not, I get a wailing, "I want my daddy!" as she throws her head back.
I do not give up, I simply hold her a little closer and calmly tell her that her daddy is at work, at which point she moves on down the line.
She asks for #1, then learns he's at school.
She asks for #2, and learns he's also at school.
She asks for #3, who is sitting right next to her during this little fit. When I point this out to her, she pauses somewhat confused, then moves on to Dam-ma.
She works her way through all the Dam-mas and Dam-pas and then gives up when she realizes no one is going to save her from the big bad mommy. It's getting to be quite the little routine, but it works and doesn't involve yelling.
Yesterday, she didn't give up though.
We went through the whole list and just as I was getting ready to let out a sigh of relief when we got to the grandparents, she sprung a new one on me.
"I want my Zoe!!"
"What?" I was dumbfounded. This was a new one. "What did you say?"
Again, an octave higher..."I want my Zoe!"
"The cat?"
Sniffles now as she nods her head.
The cat. She's asking for our cat, Zoe.
She wins. I mean, how can I argue with that? If the cat will make her happy, fine. Let her have the cat.
"OK. Let's go get Zoe." I sigh as I put her down.
"O-Tay mommy." She smiles as she runs in another room to play. She doesn't think twice about the cat. It was all a ploy and she won. She totally beat me...again.

Best Mama Award

I thought I'd update the ear story here quickly. We all remember Family Doc telling us the ears looked great...maybe a little bit of fluid behind the right ear? What I didn't mention was that he gave me the option of starting #2 on some antibiotics, 'just in case'. I also failed to mention that I, being somewhat of a minimalist mom, turned down the offer graciously.
One of the bad things about being a nurse and mother is that we see so many people wanting a quick cure where there is none and jumping on every opportunity to use antibiotics in their quest for that said cure. And because of that, we 'nurse moms' tend to go to the other extreme with a whole bunch of Tylenol and "You'll be fine."
This time, I blew it. All four kiddos spent the weekend at Granny's down south so that I could work and Hubby could hit the State Football game. I got a call from Granny on Saturday saying #2 had a fever and complained of his ears hurting...again. I told her to try some Motrin and decided we'd get back to see Family Doc Monday. Short story long, I snuck #2 in the ER Monday morning where Family Doc was on call and lo and behold:
One ruptured ear drum (not the one he complained about, by the way) with bookoo drainage and...
One nicely infected ear (this one he did complain about).
So, here's my award to myself.
We're now on antibiotics, decongestants, prescription cough syrup, and pain relieving ear drops. You name it, he's on it. And he feels great.
And as much as I'd like to say I learned my lesson, I'm pretty sure I haven't. Just give me a couple of weeks and I'll be dishing out the Tylenol "Buck Up!"s all over again!

Tagged

I've been tagged. Apparently what this means is now I have to post 6 facts/habits about myself and then tag others to do the same. Here it goes...

1. I'm obsessed with my bath tub. I have been known to take 2 bubble baths in one day (and that's after a shower). I get the water as hot as I can stand it and stay in until the very last drop of sweat trickles down my face. I usually take a book, a diet coke and some kind of goodie in with me as I'm in so long I really need nourishment (yes, diet coke is nourishment). Once, I got in right after I put #3 and #4 down for a nap and I was still in an hour and a half later when #3 came downstairs and said, "Wow. You've been in da baf a wong time mom."

2. I drink more Diet Coke than water. I don't know how my kidneys haven't crystalized by now. I drink it any time, day or night and I have to make myself drink a glass of water before bed, just for good measure. Last night at work some of the nurses thought they'd get a little funny and hide my last ice cold coke of the night. I got mad. Really mad. I thought someone had stolen it and started accusing one of the nursing students till the other nurses laughed and pulled in out of their hiding place. Ha Ha...NOT funny.

3. I love the Indigo Girls. Those who know me best know this already but I'm discovering more and more people out there who have never even heard of them. Are you serious? Who's never heard of "The Girls"? (Besides my dad) I've loved them since I was in 9th grade and own every album ever made. If you call my phone, it's my ring back and everyone comments about it...I mean EVERYONE. My girls are still singing along when I answer and everyone else is appalled or disgusted or just plain confused. Get with the program people!! Indigo Girls Rock!

4. I used to be famous for my chicken dance. This is something Hubby wishes I would keep quiet. Very few people in my present life even know what the chicken dance is, but those of you who do can honestly say you've laughed until tears came out your ears. My kids have never even seen the chicken dance. I plan to save it until they have their first boy/girl party in junior high. (insert evil laugh here)

5. I've never had a ticket. Ever. I've run into a parked car (twice), driven up a curb and popped a tire, backed into a pole that apparently was stationary at the time. I even ran a red light once and broad-sided a car in downtown Oakland and never got a ticket. The cop felt so bad for me after the irate black woman that I hit jumped out of her car and ran up to me screaming things I've never heard in my life from .25 of an inch away from my face that he took my insurance info and let me go. Knock on wood, I know, but it's true. Perfect record.

6. I was in a REALLY bad "made-for-late-night-cable" television show called "Miracles and Other Wonders" when I was a junior in high school. I was the lead role in a 15-20 minute segment. I had to fake cry. It was really bad. I keep a copy of it hidden somewhere, just for proof, but have never busted it out except once to show Hubby (who laughed so hard he snorted). Sadly, it actually aired at least once that I know of, about 5 years after the fact. I was visiting my parents and ran into an old family friend who couldn't wait to tell me they'd seen me on TV. I can only pray that was the last time.

OK...that wasn't so bad. Now, Cami, the Other Amy and Tamber...Tag! You're it!

Need a Laugh?

Put your drink down first. It's a good one.
The Top 10 Album Covers of All Time.

http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/9374

Rock Star

Last year when #1 turned nine, the only thing he wanted was a guitar and lessons. My brother is a genius on the thing and I think #1 just figured with a few lessons he would be, too. Well he got the guitar and I made him commit to one year of lessons before he could change his mind and quit. At first he practiced faithfully until the newness wore off and then it became a bit of a battle. I think the only thing that kept him going was that he really was pretty good and Guitar Teacher pumped him up quite a bit.
Because he was only nine, Guitar Teacher and I agreed to let him have the summer off and start up again in the fall. #1 was thrilled and to be honest, I was too. I was tired of hounding him.
School started and - being the great mom that I am - I forgot to call Guitar Teacher until the first of October. Guitar Teacher wasn't all too impressed and informed me that he was now full. Oops. By this time, #1's had a long enough break that he's actually missing it and is now thoroughly disgusted with me.

But alas! Guitar Teacher has another option. He teaches a "School of Rock" group session to kids interested in learning to play in a band and really thinks #1 would do well. He says he'll get back to me as soon as he has enough kids interested to form a band.
Short story long (as usual for me...) the first jam session was Tuesday night. #1 was so excited he couldn't relax his smile enough to hide his two huge front teeth all day. I dropped him off like all "cool" moms know to do and went home to make dinner for the rest of the tribe. About an hour into the jam session, Hubby starts making little comments about how the other kids in the band are probably wanna-be stoners with long hair and cigarette packs rolled in their sleeves and I start freaking out. I mean, how could I just agree to a ROCK BAND for my 10 year old without even screening the other members? What kind of music was he going to be playing? What kind of language would he hear? What kind of GROUPIES will start following him around??? AHHH!
On the verge of an all out panic attack, I jump in the car and race down to the studio to try and catch the last 15 minutes of the drug fest I'd just dropped my child off at. I sneak in the back and take a seat, carefully eyeing all of his bandmates... and... phew... deep breath. I know these kids. They're high school kids, but I know who they are. They're good kids. A girl even - and she's not a groupie. They're playing a Maroon 5 song that I love and to my amazement, #1 is keeping up with them all. My 10 year old is jamming right along with a couple of 17-year-olds. My eyes well up with pride and I try really hard not to smile an "uncool" mom smile that would embarrass the snot out of him in front of all these teenagers. And that's when it hits me. POOR #1! He's probably so intimidated playing with these older kids. He's probably sitting there cursing me for making him join. I want to cry as I think of how uncomfortable the last two hours must have been and I fight the urge to run up and grab him and take him home where he can feel like a big fish again.

As the session wraps up, Guitar Teacher comes over to talk to me. He tells me that #1 was a little rusty after his summer off (thank you for twisting the "bad mom knife" a little more) but that after the first hour or so, he kept right up. I glance over at #1 and catch him trying to suppress a smile and I decide I'll wait until we're alone to let him off the hook and tell him he can quit if he wants. "We'll just tell Guitar Teacher that you were uncomfortable with all those older kids," I think to myself.
As soon as we get to the car I ask #1 what he thought.
"IT WAS AWESOME!" he yells.
Huh? I SO do not know my own child very well.
"Really?" I ask.
He tells me all about the session and how they're learning songs to play at a New Year's Eve show with another young band and how he's even going to sing backup. SING??? My child? I dig a little deeper and ask him about the other kids being so much older and he tells me how cool they are and that they were really great to him. I push even harder and come right out and ask him if he's sure he wants to keep it up.

"Oh yeah. It was awesome."
And then the enthusiasm starts catching on and my eyes start welling up with pride again as I realize that #1's becoming his own little man. And a stud at that. Rock on kid!!

Treadmills and Ear Aches

I'm going to be 31 in less than 2 months. My birthday is at the end of the year which means I literally kiss another year goodbye everytime that stupid apple in NYC drops. And while 30 was somewhat painful for me, 31 is even worse. You would think I would have used this year to adjust to this new position but as 31 draws closer, I'm realizing I didn't. All year I was able to say, "Oh, I JUST turned 30" with a wink and smile. But now...NOW...I'm knee deep in it and I guess it's time I accept it.
Which is why I decided to hit the dreadmill (no typo there) this morning. I worked 2 days shifts on Sat. and Sun. which each started at 5:30 a.m. and ended a little after 6 p.m. which meant that by Sunday night, I was beat. I crawled into bed at the unheard of bedtime hour of 9:30 p.m. and set my alarm for 6:20 a.m. (I'd decided the only way I was going to stick with this exercise thing once and for all was if I got it done before #3 and #4 got up for the day.) I figured if I couldn't pull my sorry arse outta bed after 9 hours of sleep then there would never be any hope for me at all.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I forgot that #4 has a sixth sense and can tell when I've set my alarm for any time earlier than the sun comes up. We started playing musical beds at midnight and didn't wrap it up till after 3 a.m. First she wanted her sippy filled, then she wanted mommy to lay with her. Then she wanted to lay with mommy and daddy. Mommy gave up on any hope of sleep around 2 a.m. and snuck out of her bed and into #4's bed. #4's sixth sense kicked in again, woke her up and made her daddy bring her back to her own bed so he could sleep. Mommy snuck BACK down to her own bed, finally alone and exhausted, cursing the alarm clock that had less than 3 hours to go.
That all being said...I still got up with the alarm and hit the dreadmill for 49 minutes. (And no, I could not have gone another second to make it an even 50. Believe me, I tried.) I took my laptop with me and watched Brothers and Sisters on abc.com. I need to write a letter to the suits at ABC and thank them for the brilliant decision to put full episodes on line. Who really has time to drop everything at 8:00 p.m. and watch an HOUR LONG program? Not me. So this is my new motivation. I can only catch up with all my shows if I do it on the dreadmill. One episode is about 43-44 minutes which means after the "limited commercial interuptions" I get 46-47 minutes of viewing time. Perfect.
Anyhoo, after catching up with the Walkers online, I rushed around trying to get myself and #3 and 4 ready for the day so we could pick #2 up from school and get him to the doctor by 9:30 a.m.
I've never been one to pull my kids out of school for doctors appointments, but my doctor has become incredibly busy and he was booked 3 weeks out as it was taking the morning appointment. Of course they leave spots open daily for the sick and dying but #2 didn't qualify.
You see, #2 recently failed two differnt routine hearing screenings the district audiologist does at the first of each school year. Never mind that #2 passed in Kindergarten and 1st grade. This year he failed the first one and the follow up 6 weeks later. I find out about this at parent-teacher conference about a week after the 2nd test and FREAK out. I call the doctor's office the minute I get home to follow-up (just like the audiologist told me) and REALLY start panicking when they tell me the closest available appointment is 3 weeks away. I politely accept the appointment and then nearly start bawling when I hang up and start thinking that #2 is going deaf. Well, being a nurse has it's perks, especially when you work at a small hospital with only a handful of doctors, one of which is my family doc. I got to work that night and called him on his cell the first free minute I got. He laughed, told me he sees this kind of thing all the time (would have been nice if the audiologist had meantioned that in his WARNING letter) and told me waiting 3 weeks would be just fine.
And guess what? It was. #2's ears are fine. He probably had an minor ear infection at the time, which may have affected the screening process. But Family Doc had a good point today: Why do we take perfectly healthy children, screen them for disease processes they are asymptomatic for and then scare the you-know-what out of their parents? #2's never complained of not being able to hear well. He has no speech impediments and is right on track in the 2nd grade. I never would have bothered with the hearing screen in the first place - had I been asked about it - and I could have done without the added stress!
That being said, of course, I'm grateful he's fine and I'm lucky Family Doc is down to earth enough to just say it like it is. And the appointment wasn't a total bust. #2 and #3 woke up with some nasty coughs this morning so at least I was able to get some presciptions for phenergan and codeine syrup while I was there (best dang cough medicine there is, in case you're wondering!)
After running a few more errands while we were in town (I asked #2 if he minded, which of course, he didn't), we ran through the drive-thru at MickieD's to grab lunch (my errands had taken so long that #2 missed school lunch...oops), made #2 scarf it down on the way back (another example of prime parenting), dropped him off and school and got home just in time to get #3 and 4 down for their afternoon naps. And Voila! Here I am, pecking away at this keyboard. WHEWWW! I tell ya, days like these make work feel like an afternoon at the spa!
(Wish me luck on the dreadmill in the morning. Two mornings in a row will be a new record!!)

10 Minutes of Freedom

I know I should probably feel guilty for saying this but..."WAHOO!!" My kids are gone. Dad took them up to Grandma tonight because there are State Playoff Games tomorrow that he wants to go to and I'm working a day shift here. His only option was Grandma (thank you, Grandma!) and thankfully, he decided to leave tonight instead of early tomorrow morning. Again..."WAHOO!!"
I've been working on this stupid blog all day so I decided to take this opportunity to add to my postings! Lucky for all of you.
I always feel guilty when I know I'm going to be leaving my kids for a couple of days. But when the kids are leaving me, the guilt seems to go with it. Explain that! I'm not sure why, but I don't want to dig too deep because I want to be able to enjoy it. They will only be gone until tomorrow, therefore tonight will be my only opportunity at freedom.
What have I got planned? Couple of chick-flicks and a tub of ice cream? Gourmet dinner for one? Sappy love story novel while I'm curled up next to the fire?
No, NO and HECK NO! You would think that with this freedom I would do something I enjoy. But, alas...there is laundry to finish, floors to sweep, a dishwasher to unload, a shower to take (yep, probably ought to get at least one of those in today!). And sadly, doing any of these things "kidless" is almost as great a luxury as anything else would be. Even eating my "gourmet" dinner of Easy Mac with hotdogs is bliss when I can do it ALONE!
And as nice as it is to be able to post on this blog alone, I really ought to get busy! Duty calls!

The Blog Craze

So I've gotten like 30 different invites this last month from friends who have started their own blogs about their families, etc., and I remembered I'd started one myself earlier this year. Granted, it's not full of updates about my fam so much as just ramblings of an adult-conversation-starved mom. So, to make a short story long, I've decided to update my blog and invite all my cronies to view it. I will occasionally update on the family, of course, but it will mostly be whatever tickles my fanny at the time.
As many of you know, I'm working on my first book (Scary!) and I don't always get the time to sit down and write like I'd like, therefore, I will post things here from time to time to keep my little fingers nimble and my mind quick. (Watching Dora the Explorer all day tends to dull my senses a bit!)
Feel free to post comments, stories, etc. I'd like this to sort of turn into a community thing where everyone in my world can meld together in one place that is incredibly convenient for me!!
I will also post fun little surveys/questions, funny videos, whatever, so I hope to make it fun for all.
If you want any links posted to your own blogs, let me know and I'll be happy to oblige. The more the merrier.
Lastly, thanks for visiting. I know we're all extremely busy and stopping off at one more website is probably the last thing you had time for today. But thanks...
Happy November!

I'm Scared of Teenagers!

My oldest child is only nine so I know I have some time before I need to worry about raising a teenager. (Although he's 9 1/2 which makes teenagedom only about 3 years away...yikes!) And he is a boy and not subject to some of the skanky role models that seem to be plastered all over my television. In fact, my only daughter is not quite two yet so I know I shouldn't worry about it too much yet.
That being said, I can't help but worry. Britney Spears just shaved her head, added two new tattoos and then promptly checked herself into rehab. Personally, I have never been a fan but know there are millions of teeny-boppers out there that idolize her and someday my daughter might be one of them. Hopefully Ms. Spears will be totally out of the limelight by the time my little one is old enough to idolize anyone but me, but I'm certainly not naive enough to think there won't be ten more just like her by then.
Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Tara Reid - the list goes on and on. No, these girls aren't teenagers anymore but they are the role models for such and I can't help but wonder how many 17 year olds stopped wearing underwear once some of these girls made it headline news?
I live in a small town where everybody knows everybody and thankfully, it's just not "cool" to be skanky. The teenagers around here are good kids with good values and good heads on their shoulders. My boys worship Drake and Josh and The Naked Brothers Band from Nickelodeon but they also worship the starting five on our high school basketball team and I'm grateful for that - they are role models I want my kids watching. They are good-looking kids that work hard at school, (most of them Academic All-Staters) at sports and at their church and community service. This weekend we are going to the 2A State Basketball Championship where our boys and girls teams are #1 seeds in the tournament. Once we return, I know my boys will pick one of our high school starters to mimick when they're outside shooting hoops on our home court. There's not one of them that would make me cringe. On the other hand, I have to carefully monitor which NBA stars my boys want to become most like.
Why is it that the more trouble a celebrity gets into, the more their stock goes up? Why do we hear so little about the people that just try to live a good life? This is why teenagers scare me. It is going to be up to me to isolate the good stories and bring them to the forefront of my kids' minds when the worldwide media is working against me. The responsibility I have as a parent is so overwhelming to me and I know the world is only going to get worse as my children get closer to caring about what goes on outside of their little circles.
I know I can't keep all of the negative influences away from my kids and I know they aren't sheltered from the outside world just because we live where we do. But I wonder - if I blow up pictures of some of our high school basketball stars and turn them into posters to plaster around my kids' rooms, maybe the outside influences won't seem so important as the superstars they see everyday around town.

Didn't your mother teach you not to play with matches?

This is my newest hobby...blogging. At first it seemed like a mundane thing to do, a royal waste of time. But as my days alone with my young children seem to get longer and longer, I began to think of this as sort of a venting place; a way to really express myself and unleash some of my frustrations. Of course, I can always share these thoughts with Hubby, who is my number one supporter, but I usually don't get the opportunity to really lay it out there for him. The details of my day are usually shared in quick three word sentences as we pass in the kitchen.
And I'm not complaining...don't get me wrong. I work three 12-hour shifts a week as an RN so I really value my time at home. Only problem is, after working three 12-hour shifts a week, I'm usually borderline worthless to my family. Somewhere along the line I need time to recoup!
Which brings me to my first ever blog (confession). About a week ago after a long day at work and an even longer night up with my 22 month old daughter, I was laying in bed an extra minute (or ten) after Hubby, #1 and #2 left for school. (Hubby's a teacher and, bless his heart, shuffles the boys to school in the mornings so I can stay in bed!!)
So anyway, I'm laying in bed, not really asleep but not ready to get out of bed when I hear a blood-curdling scream from #3. My feet don't hit the floor until I'm out of my bedroom and I see my little guy holding a match that has burned down to his fingers and he won't let it go!
I scream at him to "DROP IT!" and kneel beside him to examine the damage. His thumb, middle finger and index fingers all have white blisters appearing at the finger tips and he's sobbing from the burns.
I stick his little hand in a glass of ice water and hold him while we both cry. Like any mother knows, if I could take the pain away, I would. But even more than that, my guilt is consuming me! How stupid can I be to leave matches within a three year old's reach?
I was spoiled with my older two boys, and I know it. I never had to baby-proof a house. Never had walls drawn on with Magic Marker, never had forks plugged into outlets, never had toy cars flushed down toilets; all of which have occurred since the arrival of my younger two.
It's been a good lesson to me...now I get out of bed as soon as I hear one of my kids scurrying about, although I still grab a quilt and lay on the couch until I'm fully awake.
My matches are above my fridge (even out of reach with a stool), buying outlet covers is on my list of things to do (I can't be perfect overnight!), and I have enough Magic Erasers under my kitchen sink to clean the White House.
I'm sitting at work right now at two a.m., helping deliver babies, knowing full well that even after this confession, tomorrow I'll wake up exhausted and worthless to my family once again, wondering if I'll ever amount to the kind of mom my own kids deserve.