102 years later.

today my dad turns 102.  he was born in 1916, and here's a google link to what i found out about that.  i have the upmost respect and love for this man.  and when i wonder about "god" i can say that what i see in him is a light that i will equate with a god.

a list is not adequate, but it's all i have.

1.  he had me when he was as old as i am now.  he'd already had nine children.  i will allow myself to imagine that only for a short time because it sometimes brings me to tears.  i am an "older parent" and our youngest is nine.  (that almost brings me to tears.)  parenting is hard and having an infant right now, for me, would be really hard.  i admire the heck out of him for parenting me like he did.

2.  there are so many great stories when you have been on this earth 102 years.  here's one:  my husband and i had recently moved close to my parents and we went over to their house.  hubby who is an expensive bike enthusiast had a really expensive bike.  because we were living in an apartment without a garage, hubby asked dad to keep his bike in dad's garage.  dad hung it up and hubby, looking at the hook dad had hung it on, asked dad, "jesse, is that hook gonna hold my bike?"  and dad said, "well, if it doesn't, your bike will fall."  classic dad.  pragmatic.  funny.

3.  dad walked almost every single day of his retired life.  for exercise.  and he made a habit of collecting cans (which he traded in for "beer money") and picking up trash while walking.  i could honestly go on and on about this.  but i think the most incredible part about this to me now is that he stopped and picked up trash.  all of it.  because he did not like litter.  i used to be mildly embarrassed by this as a teen.  but now, i cannot stand litter.  i try to pick it up in my neighborhood every morning.  i hope if dad knew this, he would be proud of me.

4.  dad had an amazing green thumb.  he could grow anything.  my mom, when she was alive, used to try to get my dad to like use mulch or water more and dad would just say, "why?  it's growing isn't it?"  i use mulch and water and everything i plant dies.  i did not inherit his green thumb.

5.  my early memories of my dad are of him coloring with me.  and sitting by his feet while he read the newspaper every night.  another memory is that he weekly (?) would bring a vending machine snack home for me and my sister.  this was a rare treat for us.  my mom had these silver measuring cups and my sister would carefully divide the candy evenly into two cups.

6.  words i would use to describe my dad are:  humble, gentle, patient, kind, simple, wise, loving, content, and generous.

7.  my dad crossed the border when he was nine.  there are so many more details about this that i have learned and forgotten.  i hope to see my last living aunt on my dad's side this summer and refresh the details of this because i would like to be able to repeat this story accurately.  some details about dad i do know are that my dad knew no english when he crossed the border, he worked in the fields picking fruit, he served in WWII, he was injured in the Battle of the Bulge, he earned a purple heart, and he earned his high school diploma when I was about 12.

there was a period of time a few years ago when i helped to provide care-taking for my dad.  he still had most of his memory and there were days i would go to his house frazzled and stressed out for one reason or another.  being with him always calmed me down.  he has a way of just making you feel peaceful and purposeful.  for me, seeing dad daily like that was a great time in my life.

when i think about the amazing legacy my dad has, it's pretty cool.  this morning on my run i thought of all my siblings and their kids.  and their kids.  i thought about all the states we live in, the professions we have, the lives we've touched.  without dad, none of that would have been possible.   i thought about all the amazing things i've learned from my dad - way too many for one blog post or even one book.   it's pretty sappy, but it made me feel pretty good at a time when i've been feeling pretty crappy.  even when he doesn't know it and he's not physically with me, he still has the ability to cheer me up.

my dad is in an amazing memory care home now where they take incredible care of him.   his memory fades in and out.  on good days he knows me.  on not so good days i'd like to think he knows i love him.

today we will celebrate him and the great life he's had and i hope that he knows how special he is.

It's all fun and games till the poop runs out of the diaper.

So, remember I said I was going to a baby shower?  Well, I did and it was fun.  We played all the standard games and despite being the somewhat successful mother of four children ("successful" in that all of my kids are still alive) I sucked at most all of them.  My lack of short and long term memory got in the way.  I got my clothes pin stolen after I'd worn it for about three minutes.  We couldn't say "baby" and I immediately referenced how I didn't win any games at my baby shower.  Duh.  I forgot not to say the word after three minutes.  (I knew I should have written it down.)

Anyway.  We played baby charades which was amusing.  Amusing because it's always fun to see what people will do under the guise of "acting it out."  The friend who is having the baby did an Oscar worthy silent interpretation of putting butt cream on a baby's a$$.  It was her two-fingered approach that made one of our team members (it might have been me) scream "DIAPER CREAM!"

But, here's the thing.  The words we had to act out (that I can remember) were:  diaper cream, stroller, baby food, diaper, diaper genie, wipes, baby backpack, robe (I had this one and made the mistake of buttoning rather than tying my robe which prevented any of my teammates from guessing the word.  They were screaming at me, "WHO BUTTONS A BABY'S ROBE???"  My question to them was, "WHOSE BABY WEARS A FREAKING ROBE???  HUGH HEFNER'S?  Cheesus.). 

Now, it's been nearly six years since I had an infant underfoot (figuratively), but I have a somewhat different memory of how infancy went down.  Here are a few words and situations that I'd like to see on the cards in a baby shower charade game.

• cleaning around the future bellybutton
• sore nipples
• ear infection
• projectile vomiting
• meconium
• poop outside the diaper
• breast pump
• being peed on while changing a diaper
• peeing while balancing a nursing baby
• brushing your teeth for the first time in a week
• mastitis
• severe sleep deprivation
• carpal tunnel from carrying the car seat
• colic
• spit-up
• spit-up stains

Let's face it, 90% of the next 18 years of this soon-to-be momma's life is going to be spent dealing with, discussing, or thinking about food, $hit, cleanliness, pain, or sleep. 

Might as well get an early start with it?

Further evidence

Santa brought Girl 2 an American Girl Doll movie for Christmas.  Santa was tired and shopping black Friday sales, so apparently he didn't realize that the movie was about bullying.  She is not struggling with bullying and doesn't really need this message, but (I guess) Santa was thinking ahead and wanted her to know how to deal with bullying should the need ever arise?  (Thanks, Santa.)

So, me and the girls were sitting around watching the movie and hubby passed by. 

He watched for about five minutes and witnessed about five incidences of fairly fierce mean girl bullying of the main character, Chrissa.

Then, he mumbled, "If that woulda been me, this woulda been a short movie."

They say the first 23 years are the hardest. So, I guess it's smooth sailing from now on?

Yesterday was my twenty-third wedding anniversary.  Don't do the math.

We celebrated by going to see a movie.  At the theater.  It was kind of hard to remember what to do at a theater since we haven't been to one in about as long as we've been married. 

I got two free movie passes from a parent of a child who was in my class back in January and we decided to use them yesterday. 

Here's how it went pretty much from start to finish.

1.  We had to decide on what movie to see (after a seven day decision making session on what to do had been made).  Here were our choices (as I remember them).

• Some movie about a Japanese-type monster who tries to take over the world that my 11 year old son saw a few weeks ago at a birthday party.  A birthday party for 11 year old boys.  So, that one was nixed pretty much right away.
• A Smurf movie.  Um, nixed.
• A movie with two guys facing in opposite directions each holding guns(?).  Yes, I think they were large guns.  So, an action film to celebrate 23 years of marriage (at least a few of them happy)?  No.  We have four kids, so that means we've seen just about all the action we can handle.
• A movie about a boy living with his divorced mom who has an asshat boyfriend played by Steve Carrell.  Hmm.  Could be good.  So, naturally hubby nixed it.  (Just kidding, hubby.  Kind of.)
• A vast array of foreign films.  See the thing about foreign films on your 23rd wedding anniversary (I'm guessing) is that you could wind up with subtitles (hubby hates them and I admit, it is kind of like work on your anniversary), or a lesbian love scene which (although, I'm sure hubby *might* not mind) could be a little awkward.
• The Conjuring.

So, yes.  We went to see The Conjuring which we both wanted to see.  Because what more appropriate way to celebrate 23 years of marriage than seeing a demonic horror movie that is *based on fact*?

2.  The last movie hubby and I saw together at the theatre was What Lies Beneath.  That was roughly 13 years ago and it might have also been to celebrate our anniversary.  There are a few things that have changed in movie theaters since then.

• I didn't step in gum.
• It apparently isn't awkward anymore to sit right next to someone you don't know. 
• I guess that's because there are large armrests now on every seat?  I kept waiting for someone to say, "Please put your trays in the upright position and prepare for take-off."
• The smallest bucket of popcorn you can buy costs more than the actual movie ticket and it could feed about eight people.
• There is a Starbucks in the movie theater.
• There is beer sold in the movie theater which in my opinion is depriving a lot of people of some good old fashioned ingenuity.  Kidding!  Kind of.

3.  Hubby and I acted like old people a lot. 

• We chose a matinee so that there would be no danger of falling asleep during the movie.
• We agreed to have 'a movie and dinner' rather than 'dinner and a movie.'
• We both brought sweaters and spread them on our legs.
• We whispered in hushed voices during several parts of the movie.  But, since we are both deaf we just ended up shouting to each other during the movie.
• We both commented when we saw small children at this movie, "My God.  Who would bring their kid to this movie???  What the hell is wrong with them???"
• We both wanted them to, "Turn it down for Pete's sake.  We're deaf, but not that deaf."
• We shook our heads at the party-ers in front of us who left about 12 empty beer bottles in their chairs after the movie.
• We both got up to pee.  One of us more than once.
• We both commented upon leaving that, "It feels like we've been in here forever."

4.  The movie was pretty good and I'm glad we saw it.  If you are an old timer here you know that we love horror movies and the more *based on fact* they are, the better. 

I wish I could give you a movie review and in fact I promised my sister a movie review on this blog.  But, I just can't. 

Because here's the thing about a movie like The Conjuring:  You don't talk about it afterward.  You try to pretend you never saw it.  Because if you think about it too much (or God forbid talk about it), it could happen to you.   

The movie was good, we ate fattening bad-for-you food afterward, and we talked mostly about our kids.  Was it a great day?  Yes, it was.  After you've been married 23 years it's not so much what you do, but just the company of each other.

I love you, hubby.  And I hope we make it to 24! 

How to Approach Your "Baby" Going to Middle School With Sanity and Clarity

1.  Allow your pessimistic nature to completely overshadow any vestige of optimism about the future of your middle schooler that you could have managed.

2.  Read and listen to any article or news program about the prevalence of bullying in middle school in all countries of the world and possibly the moon and other universes.

3.  Second guess every decision you have ever made with said child all the way back to the decision for no epidural....and possibly your choice of a father (just kidding, hubby....that was only after I had exhausted all other things to worry about....oh, and after a few beverages).

4.  Encourage and then finally nag your hubby until he is forced to have "the talk" with your soon-to-be-middle-school boy so that hubby is so nervous that his awkward conversation about growing up elicits a look from your son that looks something like this:

photo courtesy:  cdn.sheknows.com

 and you are still not exactly sure if your son knows How Babies Are Born.

5.  Question the years you have invested in piano lessons.  Should you have opted for krav maga lessons instead?

6.  Begin to treat your soon-to-be-middle-schooler like a two year old and attempt to do things that he hasn't let you do in years:  tuck him in, read him books, kiss his cheek.

7.  And, in a reverse of opinion to #6 worry obsessively about all the things he still doesn't know and attempt to teach him a little about all these things in the few short weeks left of fifth grade.  (How to cook, How to launder, How to make a bed properly, How to treat girls, How to find a wife, How to drive, How to say no to drugs, How to do karate, etc.)  (And, by the way, this will again elicit The Look pictured in #4.)

8.  Write about all your fears on the Internet so that good friends, loyal readers, and random strangers can console you and tell you everything will be just fine.  (Except if it isn't.)

This was guest posted over at one of my favorite blogs This is Mommyhood.  Thank you, Elle.  xoxo!

I'd rather say "I love you" with clean undies, but that's probably just me.

So, here's what got done this week:

1.  My kids have pretty much always been those kids that take the Valentines directly from the bang-your-head-on-the-Wal-Mart box to school and pass them out as is.  No frills.  No candies.  Nothing home made.  Then they bring home all these Valentines that they've received that cost about $10 each, include all kinds of home made Valentines Monopoly games and chocolates that I have to eat because I don't want the kids to get too many cavities.  I feel like slacker-mom until I have consumed all the chocolate.  Then I feel like slacker-mom with a head ache.  Last year I vowed to change all that. 

Well, it's been moderately successful.  No one really seems to care that I am transforming myself into a quasi-Martha except me.  The kids (especially the Boy Child) are perfectly fine with giving store-bought Valentines and receiving home made Valentines or really anything as long as it's loaded with high fructose corn syrup.  So, since no one really cares I pretty much just did what I wanted this year.  No pressure.......... except Pinterest (damn that bitch).

Here's what me and the big girls made (straight from a photo on Pinterest).  It was pretty easy and delicious.  It cost about 8,000 dollars and we didn't have enough left over to suit my stomach taste.  But, I'd do it again and just save up and buy twice as much. 


Um, yeah.  That's yummy, right?  I like to say "Happy Valentines Day" directly through my stomach.

Here's how you make it because usually Pinterest just shows you the finished product.  Oh, except the generic coffee maker.  (You don't really need that.  Unless you stay up all night to do this.  Then you will need lots of caffeine.)

And this is the cute finished product.  Like I said nothing says, "Happy Valentines Day" like loads of sugar.

And, here's what the tiny girl is taking for her classmates (mainly because there are only 12 classmates).


They were "meh" I'd say.  I'm still working out the kinks of making cookies on my own (yeah, I know, I'm only 39???).

I *think* the lady who taught me/us all the cookie classes *might* be getting sick of me stalking her.  Unfortunately (for her) she works at a cake shop that is just around the corner (too bad I couldn't make a cake if my life depended on it).  So, I've been going there like everyday to ask her mundane questions about every detail of reproducing her cookies in the comfort of my own home (and by "comfort of my own home" I mean in my pajamas drinking a beer).  I think she's growing weary.

She did tell me, though, that my issues with getting the consistency of the frosting just right to squeeze is "perfectly normal" for morons beginners.  Of course, that was after I'd been questioning her for about three hours, so she may have just been trying to get me to go away.

Anyway, friends.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I am posting all my not-perfect handiwork on Pinterest because you know it needs more normal people like me.  Oh, and did I say not much else got done this week?  I am frantically trying to finish all the shiz for the Ladybug Sweet Shoppe party, my fingers are numb from gluing, and there are piles of dirty laundry everywhere.

So, I guess what I am learning is that keeping up with the Marthas has its advantages.  I get to feel semi-smug and my kids look cool.  It also has its disadvantages - we feel smug and cool wearing yesterday's undies and foraging for food.  That's the wrap guys.  I hope you have a great Valentines...or at least have clean undergarments.  I'll post again when I recover from the third degree burns on my hands.

Lessons for a future Monster-in-Law

It's cyber Monday and I thought that called for a guest post. No, it's not hubby. Although, after all the encouragement he has received on Facebook (yes, two people is encouraging) and in the comments - hubby is seriously considering guest posting. (At least that *might* be what all the sighing is about?)


This comes from a lovely friend and reader who would like to remain anonymous. And as I do with all fabulous pieces of writing that I read and concur with, I say, "Yes. What she said." I heart you, Anonymous!

Dear future daughter-in-law:

 

I am writing to you, taking full advantage of “cyber” archival technology, taking fully for granted that my son will marry (a girl) and hopeful that mine and my husband's child rearing ability will prove him capable of choosing a lovely, nurturing, emotionally and mentally capable mate, to impart some of my expectations for our future interactions.

This being the future, I can utilize my own mother-in-law’s mannerisms and behavior with me towards better fostering a loving respectful relationship with you, hopefully my future grand kid(s) and keep you from encouraging my son to prematurely put me into some purgatory elder care facility.

So here is a list of some habits I will promise either to do or at best, to avoid:

1. I will try to remain flexible at all costs, especially when we go out to dinner, and will not torment the wait staff with extraordinary and impractical requests, i.e. keeping a char-grilled piece of meat from tasting as if it were put on a flaming grill (“char-grilled” as it were).
2. Although I do occasionally enjoy being the center of attention, I will not steal your child’s thunder by comparing his school project to a ridiculous “first prize” that was awarded for bringing a candle collection to school (a million years ago). Or talk about my underwear choices, past and present.
3. I will always cede to your authority in your kitchen, will not second guess your capability to stock your pantry and will not bring my own recipe ingredients unless you ask me too.
4. On the previous thought: I will not overstay my welcome, and do my best to stay in hotels with swimming pools when visiting, unless you directly invite me and your future father-in-law into your home which has large enough guest accommodations (that make it seem like we aren’t even there) that hopefully my son has provided you with.
5. I will babysit, change diapers, and let you have quality time with my son at every given opportunity, or keep your kid(s) and mine entertained so you may escape our family dynamic as necessary.
6. I promise not to obsess over minutia...for hours...and flag down innocent UPS drivers who are just trying to do their job on a holiday weekend when driving on your street (true story).
7. Even though I do have a natural competitive nature, I will not whine when I play Sorry with your kid, and I will be a good sport when I’m losing.
8. I will try not to tell you about all of my health issues unless you ask, and not bring up death at the corner of every conversation.
9. Have I mentioned that I will not steal your thunder, or your kid’s, or anybody else’s for that matter? And I will not dominate the conversation or steer any abstract topics of conversation to revolve around some aspect of my life (ie: how driving directions can somehow turn into how an elderly elementary school teacher refused to remember me at a 50 year reunion 50 years later).
10. If I want to know what to get my son for Christmas or his birthday, I will ask him because he probably knows what he wants or needs is hopefully mature enough to realize the “magical surprise” of the holidays or birthdays should be reserved for children.  And I won’t bring lame catalogs for your kid(s) to pick lame gifts from.

My dearest future daughter-in-law, may you be my son’s perfect mate, and may I always be on my best behavior.

 

Love, Your Future Mother-(not Monster)-in-Law

 

PS:  Should you prove to be a harpy in the guise of a dove, know that I have a war chest stocked with experience and have learned from the best.

Why I avoid being in a vehicle with my family.

A mostly true conversation in the Yukon Cornelius after seeing bikes propped up against and locked to a stop sign in our neighborhood:

Boy Child:  Someone put their bikes next to the stop sign AGAIN!  Seriously?  Those bikes are going to get stolen one of these days.

Girl 1:  How?  They're locked.

Boy Child:  THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY CAN'T BE STOLEN.  Use your common sense.  Someone could just use a blow torch.  In fact, I'll get a blow torch and steal them.

Me:  Lifting my eyebrow to hubby.

Girl 1:  Seriously?  How would you steal them with a blow torch?

Boy Child:  You would just put the blow torch at the bottom of the pole and blow through the pole with fire.  Then, the bikes are yours.

Hubby:  Yeah, but they'd be locked together.  And you'd have a broken down stop sign pole.  AND a blow torch is noisy so someone would probably call the cops.  It would be better to just use a hack saw.


Me:  A hack saw???  Really?  Isn't a hack saw kind of like a butter knife?  A hack saw would not cut down a stop sign pole.


Hubby *kind of condescendingly*:  An electric hacksaw, babe?  Yes, yes it would.



Me:  Duh.  Of course, an electric hacksaw.  But, where would you plug it in?



Hubby:  Rolling his eyes at me.  Really?



Boy Child:  Well, I still think a blow torch would work better.  I am not sure about the noise.  Do they make silencers for blow torches?  And, well, as for them being locked together you could just walk them home like that.  Because I guess it would be a little hard to ride one and carry the other.



Hubby:  Well, yeah.  And someone might see you and wonder why you were carrying two bikes home in the middle of the night and leaving behind a downed stop sign pole that had been blow torched through.



Girl 1:  Yeah, but you still wouldn't be able to RIDE them because they would be locked together.  Duh! 


Boy Child:  DUH!  Use your common sense!  You could just cut through the locks with a.............what's that thing called, dad?  What would you use to cut through the locks?


Hubby:  A bolt cutter?



Boy Child:  Yeah.  A bolt cutter!  You could just cut through the locks with a bolt cutter once you got them home.  In your garage.


Hubby:  Duh!  Use your common sense!  If you were going to steal the bikes, it would be a lot easier if you just took the bolt cutter with you and cut through the lock there at the stop sign pole.



Boy Child (somewhat deflated):  Yeah.  I guess you could do it that way.  (Silence.)  But using a blow torch would be way more fun.



Note to self:  Do NOT lock my bike (when I get one) to a stop sign pole in my neighborhood.  Ever. 

But can you juggle fire on torches while standing on your head?

Remember when Girl 1 didn't make the Student Council and then remember when she found out that we're not Jewish and boobs eventually stop growing?  Well, today was another one of Life's Disappointments.

A few weeks ago Girl 1 became curious about when her brother tried out for their school's Talent Show.  I thought this was unusual because Girl 1 seldom acknowledges the existence of her brother unless it's to punch him in the face after he's tortured her.  She was suddenly asking all kinds of questions such as:  What did you play on the piano again?  Did you make it?  Was it hard?  Were there judges?  To which he answered (respectively):  I don't know.  Yes.  I don't know.  I don't know.

It became crystal clear why she was so curious when I found a flyer in her backpack announcing the try-outs for the school Talent Show. 

Now, I don't want to sound cynical (but, I am), but my kids are not America's Got Talent worthy.  We don't dance, we don't sing, we don't breathe fire, we don't juggle, we can't put our legs behind our heads while eating an apple (at least I don't think we can), and we generally don't have any kind of talent that could be performed on a stage (unless people would want to see persistent and obnoxious teasing followed by hair-pulling, biting, and excessive punching). 

Boy Child performed two piano pieces during what I think might have been the school's first talent show a few years ago when there were virtually no Talent Show Rules.  He did really well and although I was like a peacock beaming with pride, my pride was dulled somewhat by the horror of having to listen to far too many girls eek out the words (off-key) to some vomit-y Justin Beiber and Taylor Swift songs. 

So, because of my vast past experience, I think I held the flyer up and casually announced, "Looks like it's Talent Show time, kids.  Any takers?" fully expecting that no one would want to do it, least of all Girl 1.  As often happens in my life, my children defied me and Girl 1 promptly and enthusiastically proclaimed, "Yes.  I am trying out.  I am doing it."

"What are you going to do?" I said (shocked, but quickly recovering).

"Piano.  I am going to play two piano pieces."

Okay.  So, I don't like to brag about my kids (in fact, when moms do that I really want their kids to immediately pick their noses and eat it), but my kids can indeed play piano.  We have taken years of painstaking lessons, practiced till mom's ears were going to burst, and now we can play us some piano.  We have won awards, been invited to Important Piano Shows (albeit not the dueling kind), traveled out of town, and other stuff that signifies (if only to me) that we are Piano Players.  (And by "we" I mean "them.")  (By the way, this doesn't count as bragging and my kids are probably picking their noses and eating it right as I type this.) 

So, I calmly said, "Okay."

I filled out the necessary paperwork and Girl 1 was assigned Thursday for her try-out period. 

It seemed that simple.  But, as you well know, nothing is ever that simple.

Tuesday before her try-out an ominous note came home that said (and I might be paraphrasing), "The talent show is going to happen during a PTA meeting (which are poorly attended, unless we have kids performing in which case there is no parking and standing room only) and since humans can only watch kids lip-sync to Taylor Swift before vomiting for two hours, we have to somehow limit the number of performers.  Due to the 6000 kids that want to be in the talent show (and the fact that we know all these kids can't have genuine talent), we are going to have a Process of Elimination." 

Now, due to the fact that sometimes Girl 1 doesn't give me notes out of her backpack (oh, the horror), I am not really clear on when all these notes came home.  So, as usual, this may or may not be fully accurate.  But, it's my blog not an FBI interrogation, so I really don't have to care about accurate facts and timelines. 

The important thing is - here's how it mostly went down after that:

All week she practiced her pieces diligently (well, kind-of).

By Thursday she had memorized the music and could play them perfectly and with no mistakes.

She left for school Thursday a happy, well-adjusted child with high self-esteem (well, as well-adjusted as you can be and still live in this family). 

Her father and I were, on the other hand, terrified.  I had explained to her that she might not make it to the finals ("What is this America's Got Talent???" were her words when I first explained the Process.  Me:  "Well, no I really don't think anyone is going to win a million dollars and go to Vegas."  Her:  "Then why do they need a process???  It's just about talent, right?"  Me:  "Well, presumably.").  But, I still wasn't quite sure she realized there was the possibility she might not make it.  This *could have been* evidenced by her giddily skipping out the door Thursday saying (slightly condescendingly), "I can play my pieces, mom.  I am prepared.  I am going to be in the Talent Show."

*Sigh.*

I picked her up Thursday and she was beaming.  I said, "How'd it go?" 

"Great.  I didn't make any mistakes.  I played really great."

"Perfect.  I am so happy."

"They are going to tell everyone tomorrow if they made it and can be in the talent show.  But don't worry!"

*Huge sigh.*

Hubby and I reminded her again that it was a process and since 6000 kids tried out and only 20 kids could make it - some of the kids were not going to make it.  Simple math......Nothing to do with talent.

Friday I picked up the kids.  She came slinking to the car, threw herself into her seat, sighed heavily, and eeked out, "I didn't make it, mom.  I'm not going to be in the Talent Show.  Only two kids in my class made it.  Only two kids in my class have talent."

There wasn't as much drama as I expected.  She was kind of resigned to the fact that doing back-flips might be more stage-worthy than playing two piano pieces with perfect precision and timing.  Hubby and I tried our best to explain why a Talent Show sometimes has very little to do with one child's actual talent.  (That was kinda similar to explaining why there is lots of food in Africa but all the people are starving.)

I can't decide whether I am happy she's weathered another of Life's Disappointments and come out on the other side, or sad because she's lost a lot little of her spunk and innocence.  She seems to have fully recovered by today. 

I am another story.  I *might* have a little anger and resentment built up inside me.  I *might* be very jealous and bitter a little jealous of the singing, dancing, juggling kids who can contort and do back-flips.  Some of the wind *might* have gone out of my sails.  Today sad *might* be winning.

Either way, we are totally spending all summer working on juggling.  And we might just start with fire.  Damn it.

Post-Easter Recovery

I hope your Easter was blessed and that you practiced self-control by not eating ALL your kids' Easter candy.  Here's my wrap-up:

1.  Leo went to his new home (thankfully, not in the sky) with this Amazing Guy.  Since The Reptileman is a bit of a celebrity here, it was really kind of him to take a few minutes to chat with my kids about school, the pets he has, and Leo (we did get positive confirmation on gender, and you do, in fact, examine a hidden nether-region part).  Leo is a Russian tortoise and we are sure he will be delighted with his new playmates:  Priscilla, Elvis, and Bob.  Local Readers:  If your kids are into reptiles and amphibians I highly recommend this guy for a birthday party.  Or, if you make Important Decisions at your kids' school, for God's Sake, get this guy to come and do a presentation.  You might be able to meet Leo in person (in tortoise?).

2.  We celebrated successfully completing our pantry challenge by eating at Spicy Ginger.  You regulars know how much I love this place.  Well, they may have made me love them more.  When my kids were noisily clambering for dessert!  ice cream!  candy! they gave them CHOCOLATE EASTER EGGS instead of fortune cookies.  Brownie points!  If you are local and like Asian food, you really must put this place on your To-Go list.

3.  My in-laws (love my in-laws) invited all my kids to go swimming at their hotel on Saturday night.  Best part?  Hubby took them all.  I stayed home.  Alone.  With my two friends I don't see often, Peace and Quiet.  It was like an Easter miracle.  Thank you, in-laws and hubby.

4.  My MIL brought us five dozen cascarones. 

If you are not familiar with cascarones, they are confetti filled eggs (real eggs are blown out and filled with confetti).  They are cracked over unsuspecting person's heads.  This is quite possibly one of my favorite Easter traditions.  They are not allowed to be cracked inside my house, but since we had five dozen, residual confetti is everywhere.  (And I'll let you use your imagination when I say everywhere.  It's kind of like sand at the beach.)  I will be spending a good part of the day vacuuming glittery $hit out of everything.

5.  The girls really did an outstanding job on the cookie decorating.  Me, not so much.  It seems my cookie decorating skills are just taking a nose dive (that wave is me saying good-bye to my Famous Cookie Maker dreams).  I made two or three in this photo.  The girls and hubby are responsible for the rest.

6.  I started the Cathe's Ab Circuit last week.  I was feeling all proud the day I worked out:  "I'm not as out of shape as I thought!"  Then I woke up the next day.  It was like someone (named Cathe) had beat up my neck, legs, sides and stomach.  I couldn't really move for a good two-three days.  It's going to be a long, if not impossible, road to a six-pack.  I may have to settle for a less wiggly jelly roll. 

7.  I really love Easter.  I really hate Easter egg hunts.  I hate the way some parents behave like it's some sort of life or death mission, I hate that I read in the paper (and got stuck in the traffic) that a freakin' helicopter dropped eggs at one local hunt (WTF?), I hate the whiny kids (usually my own), and I hate it when the kids bring home all the crap that's in the eggs, or if it's candy I hate being tempted more than I already am.  This was the first year Girl 3 was cognizant enough to actually participate in her hunt.  She was the first one out the door and she promptly picked up two eggs.  Then, she did what truly appalled me.  She opened both eggs, didn't like what she saw, closed them both back up and threw them back out into the school yard.  BLECH!  In one fell swoop she increased my hatred for egg hunts.

I do like having an Easter egg hunt in my own backyard and we have done that since Boy Child was a wee one.  This year we decided to just cut all the crap and fill them with money.  We make it really hard (in fact, this year we lost two of the eggs - I had been drinking wine all day - hubby as far as I know had no excuse) and we allow no whining or you forfeit your eggs.  Now, here's the great part.  After the hunt, Girl 1 suggested we have a hunt next year in which the kids will hide eggs for the parents.  Great idea, we said!  I promptly suggested filling the eggs with the kids' dollar bills - collected all year long!  I *can't remember* if the kids agreed.

Start saving, kiddos.  Next year's hunt:  Here I come!

And the wax gets a shine.

Preface:  I had planned on getting back to you yesterday with all the skinny on M's gaming party, but I am going to bring you this post instead.  (A large part of yesterday was spent recovering from said gaming party because I am older than Abraham.)  As you know, I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast so when I have a great time and meet great people I have to blog about it ASAP or I will forget the entire incident.  I am fairly good at remembering my family, so that is why M's post is going to wait.  Thanks for understanding and I promise to make it up to you.

Last night was hubby's company Christmas Party.  If you are a regular you know that hubby works for a pretty amazing company that knows how to throw a Christmas party.  This year was just as great as last year minus The Janet Jacksonish Wardrobe Malfunction and the Not Free Coffee.  If you did not read that post - garter belts are a must and remember to pay for your purchases.  This year as an added bonus we did not get pulled over!  So yay us!

I have not had a decent night's sleep in weeks, so I am just going to give you a list entitled:

Not Your Regular Office Christmas Party

1.  I wore a dress I got from Goodwill. 

Did it work?  You be the judge.

2.  I got to see hubby in a suit not his scrub-like get-up.  He's a hottie everyday.  He's a Hottie when he wears a suit.
3.  We spent six hours sans children.
4.  The Owner of the Company took time to chat with people in a genuine way.  Not only is he great  for keeping hubby employed so that we can all eat and stuff, he is also great because he said he "enjoys my blog."  (That's not really a direct quote because my mind is a sieve - but it's close enough.)  Say what?  Yes.  Apparently the Owner of a COMPANY has read my blog.  Sa-weet!  Merry Christmas, Owner of Company!
5.  We sat next to a lovely couple, Fred and Ginger (Names changed to protect the innocent.  I think I changed their names.  You know I am REALLY bad with names).  Here's why they were lovely:

• They had four children as well, so they understood the excitement that comes with being away from home for a company Christmas Party (or for any reason for that matter).
• .When they asked if I "worked outside the home" they did not use any acronyms.  Nor did they shrink back awkwardly when hubby explained what I do.  By the way, what do I do?
• When I told Ginger I did not enjoy dancing but did enjoy chair dancing, there *may* have been some confusion around the table about the critical differences between chair dancing and lap dancing.  Then when I explained (don't worry - not in detail) what I meant, instead of thinking I was a total nut, she laughed.
• Hubby and I doing the fish hook move (or was it just me?) *may* have gotten Fred and Ginger on to the dance floor. 

6.  Hubby got an attractive murse as a Christmas gift.  With his name on it.

Hubby, is that you? 

7.  I got four drink tickets because hubby doesn't drink.  Please and thank you, hubby!
8.  I got to eat food that I didn't have to cook without the interruption of four small people incessantly asking me for crap stuff.
9.  Virginia (hubby's supervisor) was hubby's dance partner for the dance competition, not me!  I am one body part from neck to knees, so dancing is not my friend (see #5).  Hubby, on the other hand, is Plastic Man from the 70's.  Sadly, they did not win the dance competition.  It was not for lack of trying.  Awesome dancing Virginia and hubby!

Hubby doing the "warm up" to the competition.

10.  The incident with the Brazilian Wax won hubby the Mr. Clean Award!  Yes!  Not only did Hubby's ironic naivete make great blog fodder, it paid off for us! 

That's my list bloggy peeps.  I can really only think of one thing I don't like about hubby's company Christmas party.  It only comes once a year.  Countdown:  Seven.  Happy day!

Halloween. Not necessarily for the kids.

This is what I love about Halloween:

The real thing.

Resemblance shocking.

Oh my.  Hope yours was ghastly.