LOST in Suburban Bliss

And Darkness Fell

The nights are coming earlier, the air is colder, and the wind is beginning to bite. Suddenly, my happy pink banner with the sun and the green trees didn't seem so appropriate anymore. Thus, to signify the dark half of the year I have switched to the night scene. 

If I were computer savvy, I would create a beautiful banner depicting fall leaves, pumpkins, turkeys, and perhaps (for my Starbucks-loving self), a pumpkin spice latte. This whimsical banner would somehow convey my thanks for the passing year and the anticipation I feel for celebrating the upcoming holidays with young children. 

But alas, I stink at graphics. Thus I am stuck with the generic banners supplied by Typepad. So dark blue trees, it is. 

Some of my friends have become somewhat depressed with the change of time and season. Though I'll miss the carefree days of summer (oh, those lazy mornings, God how I miss those, sob), I sort of like the cold and dark. I like that my kids are inside by 4:30 because it's just too dark to play any later than that. I like that I need to turn the lights on before I even think about starting dinner. I like that doing something simple as lighting a candle can chase the gloom to the corners. (I also like that lighting a yummy-smelling candle makes it seem as if I have been baking all day.) I like thinking about what all of this signals...

the holidays are coming. 

Cozy nights. Good food. Family. Friends. Twinkly lights. Sing-a-long music. A warm fire. Maybe some eggnog from my new milkman. (Yes, a milkman! In 2009!)

Yeah, I'm ok with the darkness. For now. I'm sure I'll be singing a different tune in January. I'll be sure to blog about it. 

Friday Foto

We had one final farewell to summer on Labor Day. Unfortunately, I missed Chuckles jumping into the lake by a millisecond. That girl is always too fast for me. 

Happy Friday. And more importantly, remember 9/11. This picture is in sharp contrast to those horrific pictures we saw on this day 8 years ago, wouldn't you say?

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(note: forgive me for not commenting in the past week or so, I have been crazy busy. hopefully I will get back to my regular routine soon...)

Friday Foto

Happy Fourth.

Happy Friday. 

8 Years Ago

Yesterday I couldn't figure out how to post to my own blog because of changes TypePad made to their hosting site (a few of which you'll notice if you leave me a comment). Basically what it boiled down to is that even though I have been blogging for almost a year, I really don't know what I am doing. Sure, I can write the words down, but as for the other programming stuff that could go with it, well, I fake it. 

Which goes with how I feel today. Eight years ago, Poonch was born, officially making me a mother. I had no idea what I was doing then, and 8 years later, I still have no idea what I am doing now. 

Sometimes I fake it. 

I thought my self-doubt would get better with time. I was wrong. I long for the days where my biggest problem was how to get Poonch to nap or to eat. When I look back on it now, it seems so easy, even though I know it wasn't. I am sure in 8 more years I will look back on today and think the same thing as I am lost in the throes of the teen years. 

That day 8 years ago changed my life forever. I will never forget it. I will never forget the look on Hubs' face when the nurse announced it was time to push. He was terrified, even though I was the one doing all the work. (He still gets that look sometimes...)

That day 8 years ago seems like just yesterday, yet at the same time, I hardly remember a time without Poonch. I vaguely remember less responsibility and more freedom, but like the pain of childbirth, it becomes fainter and fainter as time passes. 

That day 8 years ago Poonch made me a mommy. And for that, I will be forever grateful. That's one part of parenting that I am not faking. 

Happy Birthday to my baby. 

Daddy on a Plane, Daughter on a Field

...I'm a travelin' man...

Fourteen hours after we had finally arrived home from our week-long vacation in California, Hubs had to turn around and get back on a plane for a week-long business trip. Now, I could complain about how my week went as a single parent. But I'll save that for another post. Instead I will focus on Hubs, who spent his week in Phoenix and St. Louis, sitting in hour after hour of research that at first is interesting, but then becomes a bit droll. (I should know. I've been there, and I succinctly remember one research session where I was so bored that I started counting the M-n-M colors and then kept a running tally of how many I ate. I ate a lot.)

Clients. Research. Hotel rooms. Bad coffee. All Hubs wanted was to get home on Friday night as promised. 

And then the summer thunderstorms rolled in. Flash flood warnings. Hail sightings. Tornado watches. 

All which lead to the inevitable, a canceled flight. 

Hubs is a pretty good traveler. But not that night. I have never heard him so unraveled, except for that time when Chuckles decided to be born really fast to make her due date and on the way to the hospital we got stopped by 3 trains. We were both pretty unraveled that night. Again, another post for another day. 

But I know him. And he was tired. And homesick. And kidsick. And wifesick. And even, dogsick.

And we wanted him home, too. 

I can make it home by 12 noon tomorrow, just in time for Poonch's softball game, he said when he called for the 80th time, updating me on his situation. 

We are not naive. We know that with Hubs' job, there is no way he will ever be there for all of the girls' functions. Do we like it? No. But it is what it is. He has a demanding job, but he has a job, and for that I am thankful. 

But this was Poonch's first softball game. You know Poonch, that girly-girl I talk about? The one who tried basketball and even though she sort of liked it, is a dancer at heart? Whirl and twirl and glitter and gloss?

Yeah, that Poonch. 

Which is why it killed me to tell him that Poonch's game started at 11:00, not 1:00 as he thought. 

Insert tired husband's expletives here.

And that is why I love him. Because he wanted to be there. Because he tried everything he could to be there. Checked the Amtrack schedule. Tried to rent a car. Called other airlines. Just to be there for Poonch's game, regardless of what Mother Nature had in mind. 

I don't know what time he landed Saturday morning. I don't know how fast he drove from the airport (although I can guess). 

All I know is that he arrived at the field in time to see Poonch take her turn as catcher (which she hated, as they all did)...

 

and was there to reassure her when she decided she was the worst player on the team. Daddy to the rescue. 

I'm sure he'll be a little embarrassed about this. Whatevs, he embarrasses me a lot, too. 

But I just wanted to wish a Happy Father's Day (a little late) to my overworked Hubs (who is traveling again as I type). 

Magical Donuts

I have only been a parent for 7 years (8 come the end of June) so why does it seem like forever, but over the years I have learned many things:

Diapers aren't as absorbent as they should be. 

Sippy cups leak. And generally are a pain in the ass.  

Diaper genies don't contain the smell of baby poop. 

Potty-training doesn't come naturally. 

TV can be a god-send. 

Band-aids are expensive. 

Getting grumpy bugs to school on time takes a Herculean effort. 

Kids birthday parties never work out the way you plan them. 

Check that, no event ever works out the way the way you plan it. 

And the number one thing I have learned...kids always get sick on holidays. 

Every Memorial Day we go to my in-laws' lake house in Wisconsin. I look forward to this weekend every year, because really, after a Chicago winter, there is nothing more exhilarating than kick-starting the summer on a boat (with a beer), kids yelling to go faster, go faster, music playing, knowing that you have 3 months of days like this.  

Anyhow, Chuckles had developed a slight cold earlier in the week. No big deal, and it certainly didn't stop her from enjoying the first day we were there. 

However, the next morning she slept in until almost 10AM, and although she is the snoozer in our family, this was a bit unusual. I realized why, as she finally came out of her room, hot, sweaty, quiet, with glazed over eyes. Crap. A fever. 

I gave her some medicine and cuddled on the couch with her. She laid there for a while, refusing breakfast. Eventually her hunger took over and she asked for something to eat. I asked her what she wanted and she replied, 

a donut. 

Sigh. 

A donut isn't a good breakfast, Chuckles. You need to eat something healthy to help you feel better. 

Insert temper tantrum here. Well, not so much a tantrum, but a ifIdon'thaveadonutI'mjustgonnadiebecausethatisallIwantinthisworld crying jag.

Sigh. 

I gave in (please no comments on how I could have practiced better parenting, because I will delete them) and let her have half of a donut, figuring I could shove something healthy in her later. 

Something else I have learned as a parent? 

Donuts cure fevers. Because no sooner did she finish that donut then she (literally) threw off her blanket, jumped off the couch, and yelled

I'm all better now! I'm gonna go get my swimsuit on so that we can go on a boat ride! 

And with that, she ran and got dressed, chattering and laughing the whole way. No joke. 

Yep, I'm always learning something new every day that I spend as a parent. 

A Real Mother of a Day

If you were to walk into our house on any particular day, you might hear:

arguing

fighting

whining

crying

yelling

stomping

"stop it"

"no, you stop it"

"she started it"

"I did not, she did"

You might also hear some of this on Mother's Day, if by chance you were to walk through our house on that particular day. 

Funny, I never hear this in those Kay Jewelry commercials. I'm just saying.  

Who was I kidding? There will never be a day of complete peace. There will never be a day of complete love and harmony. After all, we are a family. And actually, if I did witness a day like that, instead of just enjoying it, I would probably spend the time worrying about what was wrong with everyone. 

I decided to ask the girls if they knew what Mother's Day means. I decided to start small...literally, asking Chuckles first. Her answer was pretty good, almost practiced, if you will:

Mother's Day is when we celebrate our mommies.

No complaints there. 

Next, on to Poonch:

Oh sure, Mom, I know what Mother's Day is for. It's when we celebrate our moms.

Good answer, but this is what her younger sister came up with, too, so I pushed on to see if she had anything else. 

Why do we celebrate our moms?

Cuz, without them, we wouldn't be here. 

Um, ok, any other reason?

Because our moms are the people who take care of us. And because moms are girls. And Mom, you know what would happen to the world without girls.

Here I begin to wonder if her class has started a biology chapter that I wasn't aware of yet. 

No, Poonch, what would happen to the world without girls? 

Getting really excited to hear how she is so beyond her years, and understands that the world needs both males and females, and without the female, not only would there would be no human race but we offer so much more, etc, etc, etc. 

Um, Moooommmm, the world would be SO BORING if it was all boys!!! BOOORRRING!! 

declared Poonch in that oh-so-dramatic way that only 7-year-old girls who know exactly what they are talking about can deliver. 

That it would, Poonch. That it would. 

(Note: I actually had a lovely Mother's Day, and the girls let me know how much they love me. But then again, they tend to do that more than just once a year. I am lucky like that.)

Friday Foto

My mom is going to kill me for this. But perhaps it will soften the blow when I tell her that her Mother's Day cards are going to be late. Again. ((sheepish grin))

Sorry, Mom. You know we've been sort of housebound this week. 

Happy Mother's Day to the best mom and grandma!

And Happy Mother's Day to all of the rest of the moms out there. 

Happy Friday. 

Giving Up Nothing

I have always dreaded Lent. As a kid, forty days and forty nights seemed like an interminable amount of time to give up something beloved of mine. 

One year back in high school, I gave up my daily addiction of General Hospital. I even made it without cheating. OK, I guess that depends how you define cheating. If you count the fact that every afternoon from 3 til 4 I sat on the phone with my friend Mary and listened as she watched and gave me the lo down of what Luke and Laura were up to, well then, I guess I cheated. (Because of course, I happened to give up GH during that blasted wedding season.)

As an adult, it didn't get any better. Several years ago, I gave up diet Coke. I was a bitch for 40 days and 40 nights. 

A couple of years after that, I gave up chocolate. Super bitch, who was headed toward divorce. Kidding. Not really. (I am sure my mother will talk to me about using the words "bitch" and "Lent" in the same post. But then again, she and my father have given up wine for Lent, and let me just say...they aren't so jovial these days.)

On Fat Tuesday, Poonch, Chuckles, and I were discussing what we would give up this year. Poonch announced she was giving up fighting with her sister. Seeing as last year she vowed to give up school, I thought this was a step in the right direction. However, I asked her if that meant on Easter Sunday she was going to make up for all that lost time and she replied, maybe. 

This just isn't working. 

A couple of weeks ago, SITS featured an awesome web site called Spirit Jump. The founders, Stacy and Meaghan, match up spirit jumpers with patients whose spirits need a little, well, jump. Most are cancer patients, but there are others, as well. I contacted Stacy and Meaghan and they matched us with 2 sisters, ages 9 and 2, who are battling muscular dystrophy. I explained to Poonch and Chuckles what this meant for these little girls, and they agreed that we should help jump their spirits. The project calls for the jumpers to send whatever they can, cards or handmade gifts. I think the site is really meant for bloggers who specialize in crafting or making jewelry, but obviously the three of us don't specialize in that. But we thought about it and decided to make the girls sun catchers for their windows. The sun catchers don't look as professional as some of the other jumpers' gifts, but considering they were made by a 7- and 4-year-old who just want to let two other little girls that they are thinking about them, I think they look pretty good.

Forget about giving up chocolate. That doesn't do me any good, let alone anyone who lives with or near me. The generous and caring idea behind Spirit Jump is what I think Lent, Advent, and everyday should be about. Feel free to pay them a visit if you would like to jump someone's spirits, too. 

Yo Ho Ho

The landscape went whizzing by as the train rocked back and forth, turning more and more urban with each train stop. Staring out the window, I couldn't help but think about J.K. Rowling and how a train ride home from work one night was her inspiration for the Harry Potter series. 

Mom, are we going to have time to go to the American Girl Place? 

Sighing, I turned away from the window. There wasn't going to be any new series inspired on this trip, I could tell. 

No, we are going to the Field Museum. To see the pirate exhibit. Doesn't that sound cool?

Kind of. But will we be able to go to the American Girl Place, too?

Ummm, I doubt it. 

But maybe?

We'll see. 

The train pulled into the station and we stopped at a cafe for lunch. As we ate, we people-watched. Chuckles started laughing because one table over a business man had become so inspired that he was writing on a banana. She and Poonch giggled for 10 minutes over this as I ignored banana-man and stared out the window, thinking that this would be a great place to sit with my laptop and a coffee for the afternoon. 

Poonch interrupted my reverie. Is it time to go to American Girl Place?

Nope, but it is time to go to the Field Museum. 

Once at the museum, we headed to the pirate exhibit. 

Mom, are we going to see real pirates? 

Nope, but I heard we will see real treasure. 

It took a while to find the treasure. We had to go past the slave ships, shackles, neck collars, guns, cannons, knives, jugs of rum (without any cute little umbrellas like there should be on a spring break jaunt) before we actually got to the treasure. But even Poonch and Chuckles were in awe over seeing the only pirate treasure ever discovered.

Now can we go to American Girl Place?

Nope, now it is on to the dinosaurs. 

After the dinosaurs, it was on to the ice age...wooly mammoths, sloths and saber-toothed tigers. 

Then we hit the underground exhibit...bugs, worms, bugs, worms, and more bugs. 

There was not a princess or doll in site. Talk about refreshing. 

Now can we go to the American Girl Place?

Nope, we have to catch the train back to the burbs. But we do have time for the gift store. 

Running through the store, past the swords, bug catchers, snakes, Poonch and Chuckles stopped at the crystal necklaces...the girliest item in the store. Are you surprised? I'm not. 

Little Friends

Is there anything more complicated than children's birthdays? 

I mean, really, whatever happened to cake, ice cream, couple of presents and BAM, you're a year older? 

I have the added pressure of having two families in two states. Most of Hubby's family is here with us in Illinois, along with several friends who have become our extended family, and then I have my family, most of whom live in Ohio. Because Poonch and Chuckles are so very lucky, EVERYONE wants to celebrate their birthdays, which makes it a little complicated logistically. One year I actually ended up having 3 birthday celebrations for Poonch. I felt like she aged 3 years instead of just one. There are bigger problems I could have; I know this. But every year I make it my goal to make the birthdays fun while getting it through the girls' heads that the world doesn't stop spinning for a week around their special day. I am a mean mommy like that. 

Years ago, I made the mistake (Kathy B! has warned us about starting traditions, I wish I knew her back then) of having a kid party for Poonch when she was two. Yep, I had 7 two-year-olds over to our house for a sprinkler and pool party. Let's just say that after everyone left and Poonch went down for a MUCH needed nap, I sat on our deck and drank two beers by myself as the American cheese that I had served for lunch hardened in the sun. 

Ever since then, Poonch has held me to coming up with something bigger and better than the year before for her and her classmates. 

Chuckles was another matter. Because she is younger and we have a lot of younger kids in our friends/family group, I got away with never really having a separate kid party. Just a "family" party. In my defense, she never asked for one, so I only felt a smidge guilty, no more than that. 

Until this year. And all because of a little Boy Friend Who Shares Her Name. 

At dinner last night (do you notice how most of our drama happens at dinner? I'm not sure if it is a vote FOR a family sit-down dinner or a vote AGAINST it. Regardless, we soldier on at our table every night.), we were discussing Chuckles' birthday party, which will be in mid-April. She asked if she could invite her Boy Friend (note: boy friend, NOT boyfriend) Who Shares Her Name to her party. 

Well, Chuckles, we could, but we are just having some family, and I am not sure if Boy Friend Who Shares Your Name would be all that comfortable. 

[Silence.]

Her hands cover her eyes. 

Then her head drops.

Then the tears come. 

I look at Hubby. He looks at me. We are both dumbfounded. 

OK, Chuckles, we will invite Boy Friend Who Shares Your Name. And how about a few more friends from your class? 

In about five minutes, somehow a party was planned with twenty 4- and 5-year-olds, at one of those indoor inflatable places, with cake, ice cream juice boxes, and of course goody bags, within a mere 2 weeks. Meaning I had to book the party online and send the invites out that night. And yes, a family party in Ohio, too. 

All for a Boy Friend Who Shares Her Name.

Sometimes Nothing Is A Lot

My hubby didn't spend a dime on me for Valentine's Day. We went absolutely nowhere. We had no babysitter. But I had one of the best Valentine's Days ever. 

The day started with us sleeping in. Well, let me rephrase...the girls got up and played nicely for about 30 minutes and let Hubby and me sleep in. For a little. We talked about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go. Maybe bowling. Maybe a movie. Maybe the dreaded roller skating. 

In the end, we went nowhere. 

We didn't even venture out of our house to get the mail or the paper. 

But we did head to our family room where we spent almost 5 hours playing the Wii, Connect Four, and Uno, reading magazines, and just vegging by the fire. 

We spent absolutely no money. But we had some really great meals...Poonch's favorite cinnamon rolls for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and a 5 cheese penne pasta that I pulled off thanks to a recipe from my Barefoot Contessa cookbook, along with some salad and a nice bottle of wine for me and Hubby. 

Our phone never rang (thanks to our phone service being messed up) and we spoke to absolutely no one all day. Except to each other: talking about the games we were playing, chatting about our week, planning for next week, discussing books and movies. 

We didn't spend a dime. But you couldn't put a price on this day. A day where no one argued, no one whined, no one was sick, and no one felt even the tiniest bit guilty for not doing something more, well...productive. There was no basketball game, no ballet class, no gymnastics, no soccer, no homework, no laundry, no work on the Basement Project. 

Nothing. 

Our dinner was one of the best dinners the four of us have ever had together, not just for the food, but for how much we laughed. My family is really funny. I mean, really funny. And as we were all sitting there laughing at something Chuckles said, I looked around the table and wondered if it will always be like this. When they are older, will they still have fun hanging around us? Will they still do whatever it takes to get us to laugh? Will they still be open and honest and willing to talk? Will they still like us?  

Only time will tell. But for now, I will cherish that day and that dinner for a long time. It was my favorite Valentine's Day ever. 

Friday Foto

Here is a shadow thrown across the floor from the Valentines Chuckles made and hung on our window. Talk about spreading the love. 

Happy Friday. 

Friday Foto (a day late)

Unfortunately for the kids in our family, no one gets to open gifts on Christmas Eve until everyone is finished with dinner. 

Chuckles lost her patience during the first course. 

Happy (belated) Friday. 

Silent Night...

It's almost midnight on Christmas night. 

The snow has fallen. (A lot. Actually...plenty.)

The presents have been opened. 

The stockings have been discovered. 

The food has been eaten. 

The cookies have been enjoyed. 

The guests are gone. 

The dishes are clean. 

Faith Hill is singing "O Come, All Ye Faithful" on my iPod. 

Everyone is asleep, even the hound. 

I am almost ready to finish the day, to say goodbye to this Christmas. 

This Christmas, with Poonch at 7 and Chuckles at 4 years old. Young enough to still believe in the magic, old enough to know what is going on. 

Young enough to make me still feel young, old enough to fool me into thinking, yeah, we've got this kid thing under control. Almost. OK, maybe not quite. 

It was a good Christmas. The girls loved their toys, but understood that the season is about more than just receiving. 

I saw all of my family, even if it wasn't exactly on the 25th. Those who weren't here today were still in my heart. I think of all the mothers in my family, wondering if they stayed up late on Christmas cleaning up after the festivities, wiping up that last wine glass. I told Hubby that I would be in a better mood tomorrow morning if it was all done, but I think that maybe I just didn't want this day to end quite yet. Because with each holiday, time slips away, some of my control slips away. This year the girls still believed and followed my lead. Next year, maybe not so much. 

It was a good Christmas. I am lucky. I hope that in mid-February, when I am crabby with the snow and arctic winds, stuck in the house with two fighting kids and a frustrated dog, I will remember this moment, midnight at Christmas. The tree lights still on, one last carol playing, the kids sleeping in their beds. 

It was a good Christmas. 

Secret Santa

People always talk about the magic of Christmas, and although those words are in my holiday vocab, they are buried under others. When I was a kid, the magic of Christmas meant receiving that special gift that I had requested from Santa. There was no work involved. It just happened. As time went on and the mysteries of the season unfolded during my adulthood, I realized that the magic is actually a lot of really hard work. It takes a lot of energy to create the magic of Christmas for my girls and as a result, the magic and mysteries can get lost in all the preparations. That is, until this weekend...

We traveled to my aunt's house in Ohio to celebrate our annual extended family Christmas Eve dinner a few days early. Before we even arrived, my aunt called me to ask what I knew about the box of gifts from Santa. What do you mean, I asked? She told me that a box of gifts was delivered to her office on Friday. In it were two letters, one addressed to her, and one to Poonch. Both were signed from Santa. In Poonch's letter, Santa said that he had heard that some boys in her class tested her faith in his existence. Santa knew that Poonch had held fast to her faith in him, and because of that and because she had been such a good girl all year, he was sending her and all the kids in our family a special early present. I had nothing to do with this, I said. I was completely flummoxed. I mean really, anyone who knows me know I didn't have time to pull off something like that, nor am I that creative!

We speculated about who could have done it. Who had the time? Who had the idea? Who knew that Poonch had heard from some kids that there was no Santa? 

When we arrived at the party, my aunt pulled Poonch aside and gave her the letter from Santa. As she read it, her eyes widened. I could see a combination of amazement and nervousness on her face. She looked at me with wonder. I just shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. See Poonch, you were right, there is a Santa, and he is watching. 

Later on in the evening, Poonch handed out the special gifts to all the kids in the family. The other mothers asked who the gifts were from, and all Poonch and I could say was, they are from Santa. 

Of course, because we are gabby women, we speculated some more on who played Santa for the kids. We even tortured a few suspects. We came up empty-handed. We have our ideas, but if that person wanted to be known, they would. 

When we finally got home and began the unpacking (new Barbies everywhere, please help me!), I came across the stockings that the Santa gifts came in. Poonch and Chuckles grabbed them and ran to their rooms to hang them up. 

They still believe, and I am reminded of what Christmas is all about, and although it might have a few different meanings to different people, I am reminded that it is not about the perfect gift, the perfect cookies, the best decorations, the best meal, or the cleanest house. It's about the people in your life, whomever they may be. 

To their special Santa...Thanks. That was the best. 

$53.71

This morning I dropped Chuckles off at preschool and then grabbed my shopping list. I had only a few people left to buy for and now that I am officially sick of shopping, I was going to GET IT DONE. I zipped to Best Buy. Ran over to Borders. Zoomed to Starbucks for gift cards (and I know this is shocking, but no, I did not get a nice, hot steaming cup of peppermint mocha for me. Although I was tempted, for those of you who are aware of my addiction.) Then I hit the card outlet shop for more gift wrap. DONE. 

I ran to the car and sat there with it idling, checking off my list and singing to my new fave song, Pink's "So What." (I got sick of the local Christmas channel about 3 days ago.) My brother, check. Poonch, check. Chuckles, check. Mom, Dad, check, check. All the various teachers, check. Oh my god...THE DOG. I still had to get something for the damn dog, because last year in a semi-loss of rationale, I bought the damn dog a stocking, and Santa was kind enough to fill it. The girls loved it, so I knew I had to keep up the tradition. 

I was tempted to put it off, but no, I swore to myself that THIS WAS IT, today was going to be the end. So, I raced to the pet store. Two tennis balls, 2 bones with meat, a couple of rawhides and a chew toy later, I am at the checkout with my debit card. I swipe it, and this is what comes up:

YOUR TOTAL IS $53.71. IS THIS AMOUNT OK?

It didn't read is this amount correct, but is this amount OK?

No. NO, this amount is NOT OK. As a matter of fact, this amount is far from OK. This amount sucks. This amount means that I spent more money on our hound than I did on the teachers who take care of Poonch and Chuckles day after day. 

$53.71 just to help keep up the ruse of Santa for the girls. 

No, this amount is not OK. But of course I hit yes, of course this amount is OK, I'd love to pay freaking $53.71 to fill my DOG'S Christmas stocking. What a sucker. 

As I drove away from the pet store, a thought crossed my mind. 

I FORGOT ABOUT OUR DAMN CAT. 

If a Tree Falls in Your House...

What to do when you come home from shopping to find your Christmas tree on the floor:

1. stand there and stare at the mess, still holding bags in your hand

2. stare some more, mouth hanging open

3. yell, OH NO

4. then yell, oh SHIT! mother-fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudger!

5. stand there staring for a few more minutes until you realize bags are getting heavy

6. drop bags and, without thinking, move over to tree, crunching on broken ornaments to lift tree up

7. realize that tree will not stand on its own

8. stay there, stuck, not sure what to do

9. try to lean tree against wall, ignoring scratching noises against the paint 

10. realize that won't work, tree is crooked in stand

11. curse, because cell phone is in car

12. curse again

13. calm yourself down

14. while still holding tree (ignore sap), reach for something to lean against the tree to prop it up

15. spot kitchen chair

16. reach for it, but curse again when you realize it is too far

17. walking with tree, move far enough to grab chair with your leg

18. while still holding tree (that strangely is getting heavier), balance on one leg and reach other leg (S-T-R-E-T-C-H) to drag chair over

19. lean chair against tree

20. thank yourself for those body-lengthening yoga sessions

21. SLOWLY let go of tree to see if the chair will hold

22. realize chair is barely holding, run to bookshelves to grab some books to weight down the chair

23. curse again

24. look around at mess on floor

25. crunch over ornaments to get vacuum and garbage can

26. ask, why do we decorate a tree anyhow? I mean, really, a real TREE in my HOUSE? what a dumb custom

27. spend an hour cleaning up mess, salvaging what you can

28. look at clock, realize you are late to pick up daughter from preschool

29. jump into car, wipe sweat off brow, plaster a smile on your face, because after all, this is the hap-hap-happiest time of the year!

 

Picture Perfect

BK (Before Kids), I always thought it was weird when friends would send me holiday cards adorned with pictures of their kids. Or any kind of family photo for that matter. Photos of family pets were destined for the trash. I was so confused. Why would a picture of a drooling kid put me in the holiday spirit? As far as I was concerned, my box of 20 cards with the picture of the lone decorated pine tree in the woods I got at Target worked pretty well.

Then I had Poonch. AK. After Kids. Like every other mother in the world feels about her own, I felt Poonch was the most beautiful baby in the world. Surely her perfect, chubby, smiling face alone would communicate all the holiday joy (but not peace, because after all, she was 6 months on her first Christmas) that I was feeling. I mean, wouldn't everyone want to see this angel? Of course they would! I must share this face with the world. She will cure all the bah-humbugs stubbornly sticking around! I worked really hard on getting the perfect Christmas picture and creating the best Christmas card. I was so happy with what I came up with. It was the most beautiful card EVER. 

The next year Poonch was 18 months, a perfect age for picture-taking. I am not one for posed shots or JC Penney sittings, so I took one of her laughing in front of the Christmas tree with my own camera. To this day, it is still one of my favorite pics of her. 

Eventually Chuckles arrived, and taking pictures became a whole new ballgame. Poonch had started losing interest in posing, and Chuckles was a great distraction. The first two years with both of them were manageable, but last year the challenge escalated. Out of about 50 pictures, I finally got one that I could use, even though Poonch wasn't looking directly at the camera. 

Fast forward to this year. Poonch's distaste for posing for the camera has intensified. Chuckles will pose, but loves to antagonize her sister just to get in her trouble, which she is usually successful at. (Poor Poonch.) I tried my best to get a great photo this year. Because after all, no one's Christmas will be complete without our card, right? I mean, that is why we do this, right? Oh wait. No. We are merely sending our holiday wishes. 

Anyhow, no matter what I did, no matter where we were, no matter what the girls were wearing, no matter what they ate 45 minutes before I pulled the camera out, I never got that perfect pic. So, I decided that we would send the "real" us, with our "real" holiday greetings attached. Because after all, it isn't really about the perfect picture, is it? IS IT????

A crude shot of our 2008 Holiday Greeting...

The sad thing is that no one will know how much work it was getting those shots. I was downright sweaty after all that. 

Sigh. 

Peace on Earth, 

Fa la la la la, 

I need some egg nog...

Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus

I like to think that I am an educated mom. I read a ton, order parenting books from Amazon, surf the web, research new ideas, the works. Now, I am not an overly reactionary mother, but I like to be informed nonetheless. Which is why I am perturbed when I am caught off guard. Like at dinner two years ago when Poonch cried after biting into a piece of bread because her tooth hurt. I told her to open up and felt her tooth and was shocked to find it loose. 

OMG, I thought. Does she have some strange gum disease? Why is her tooth falling out? Should I call the dentist?

Instead I called my mother, who laughed at me and told me that I started losing my teeth at age 5 and to ring up the tooth fairy, for we have begun.

The tooth fairy? Already? She just got those teeth! I honestly was not prepared for that. 

Fast forward to dinner last night (oh, if only our table could talk, the stories it has heard), Poonch again managed to floor me with the following:

"Mom, there are two boys in our class who do not believe in Santa Claus," she exclaimed, big brown eyes open as wide as they could go. 

Choking on my soup, I kicked my husband underneath the table. What the hell? I thought we had another couple years of Santa bliss!

Hubby asked Poonch who said this, and when she told us, I recognized one of them immediately. My mind skimmed back to the class picture we recently received. This particular boy was wearing one of those tuxedo t-shirts. For the class picture. I wanted to tell Poonch never to trust anyone wearing a tuxedo t-shirt, but then thought better of it. 

"Well, gee, Poonch, who do they think gives them all of their presents?"

"They think their parents do it!"

Insert fake laugh here. Hubby and I have perfected our fake laugh over the years. "Their parents! How crazy is that?" Fake laugh, fake laugh. 

Hubby jumped in to save the day. "Could you imagine me coming down our chimney to hand out presents? How hilarious would that be?"

Even Chuckles chimed in. "Yeah, and last year I heard Santa on our roof. Could you imagine Daddy on our roof?"

Real laughter from the girls, more fake laughter from us. We imagined several more crazy scenarios of Hubby pretending to be Santa, and then I asked Poonch what she thought about what those boys had said. She said that she and her friend told those boys that they were crazy, and there was NO way parents could be Santa. 

Phew. Dodged a bullet. For now. Because although she might soon be ready to move on, I am not. 

...But the Fire is So Delightful

Last night I woke up around 3AM (I can never tell, because I am blind without my glasses or contacts, and remember, I am terrified of lasik), to a snowplow attempting to clear the snow off of our street. What? Already? At this point it had only been December for THREE stinking hours, for crying out loud. Sigh. I am just not ready for this. Honestly, I still feel like just yesterday it was summer. Didn't I just clear the swimsuits and beach towels off the mudroom hooks and exchange them for coats? Didn't I just remove the sun lotion basket and switch it for the hats and mittens basket, the basket that the hound loves to nose in to see which mittens he can chew next? Yes, I just did that. Which means I should have a grace period before we have to actually use all that stuff. 

Welcome to December in Chicago, folks. 

I am a summer girl. I always have been. The hotter, the better. I hate air-conditioning. When I was a kid, I used to keep my bedroom door closed with a towel wedged underneath it to cover the draft and I kept my window wide open. The difference in temperature between my room and the hallway was amazing. Drove my dad nuts. 

Poonch is the same way. She loves the summer. Loves the pool, loves the beach, loves the ice cream truck, loves it all. She does get a little crabby when she is hot, but the pool makes up for it. She loves going to the lake, and although she is a little panicky (OK, a lot) while swimming due to her fear of seaweed (which is one fear that I can relate to, there is nothing worse than swimming along and feeling that snake-y feel of a big, wet something or other that you can't see creeping around your ankle), she waits for Fridays so that we can hit the cottage. 

Which is why, when she just told me that winter is her favorite season, my head spun around on my neck (which is a little sore from a Thanksgiving week of Wii play, but I will never admit it) to stare at her in wonder.

"What? I thought summer is your favorite?" I said, confused. Honestly, I can't keep up with this girl. 

"Oh yeah, I like summer. But I like winter, too. It is my favorite. I like the snow, I like the cold, I like Christmas. I really like Christmas parties, when it is really cold, and there is a lot of snow on the ground, and we are all inside nice and cozy. Isn't that great, Mom?"

Geez. It IS great. I do love that. And I am so glad that she loves it, too. I think she is starting to pick up on the little things. What more could a mom ask for? 

Happy December, snow plows and all. 

My Favorite Holiday

Things I love about my family's Thanksgiving:  

• traveling to my mom's house, knowing we have a whole week to visit in which we will give Thanksgiving its due and begin the Christmas season
• walking into the kitchen after a long drive and seeing the extra dining tables already set up, even though it is only Tuesday  
• checking out this year's crazy napkin foldage   
• needing 2 twenty pound turkeys to feed all the people we have coming, with me complaining every year that this is not enough, how will we have leftovers with only 40 pounds of turkey? 
• the fact that our "dinner" is at 1PM, which allows us to break out the leftovers as early as 5PM the same day
• waking up to the smell of turkey (eating at 1PM necessitates an early roaster wake-up call)
• catching snippets of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on TV   
• peeling 20 pounds of potatoes with my brother 
• clogging up the disposal with potato peelings and getting yelled at just like when we were kids
• drinking mimosas to aid in the meal preparation, which allows us to laugh at things like disposals getting clogged  
• listening to Mom's god-awful Dolly Parton Christmas CD while, again, peeling potatoes (20 lbs takes a long time)  
• taking a break from KP duty to watch a few scenes from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, our all-time fave Christmas comedy (don't watch it with bro, he recites every single line, 2 seconds before the character does...extremely annoying)  

• sneaking sour cream into the potatoes as my secret ingredient, secret because Hubby hates sour cream but likes the potatoes  
• watching Hubby search for the cranberry sauce, which is silly, because he is the only one who eats it so it's not like it is a hot commodity   
• dressing up the girls and not worrying whether or not gravy gets on their outfits 

• walking to the basement to chitchat with the guys of the family to find that they have all succumbed to a tryptophan coma 
• after stuffing my face with turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, broccoli surprise, pumpkin pie, pumpkin squares, and who know what else I am forgetting, only to open a bag of chips and french onion dip while gossiping with the ladies of the family 

• feeling like I gained 20 pounds but not feeling an ounce of guilt about it.    

Needless to say, all of this will keep me busy, so most likely this will be my last post until December. 

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Friday Foto

Chuckles and I made these pilgrims and turkeys for our Thanksgiving table. Check out the babe in front with the big hair who got caught in a windstorm. She is our favorite. 

I never said I don't do crafts. I just don't do them well. 

Happy Friday. 

It's Better to Give Than to Receive

Halloween has come and gone and a great time and a ton of sugar was had by all. There are many things about this Halloween that I hope I never forget:

The girls never wavered from their original costume picks (1st time ever!).

Better yet, the girls were NOT dressed as any form of princess, Barbie, or HSM character (yippee!). 

I didn't eat as many cookies as I did last year. 

My parents came in to see the girls trick-or-treat for the first time in years. 

Hubby wore a pink mohawk (hot).

We invited a bunch of friends over for food and drinks after trick-or-treating.

The weather was beautiful and we had a bonfire.

My friend Jack came to our party in a form of a delicious slushie punch.

I ate my first bundt cake. 

The hound behaved himself amidst all the doorbell ringing. 

The girls finally made it up to the porch of the neighborhood Spooky House. 

But perhaps my favorite memory of Halloween is when I asked Chuckles what she liked best about this Halloween, she replied, 

handing out the candy, Mom. That was fun.

Better than getting it, Chuckles?

Yep. 

(Heart swells here.)