Mmm. Holiday food...

Crackers. Because apparently it's tacky to eat Boursin with a spoon.

 

It's not just for breakfast anymore...

This year, next year...

Well, it all went pretty well. Monday was nuts, of course -- up by 9:00, kids up by 10:00, out the door by 10:30, at Grandmother's by 11:00. Birthday lunch, cake, singing, presents. Out the door again by 1:00. Naps all around. Back into clothes by 4:30, church at 5:00, Chinese food, showers. Max and Ruby Christmas DVD at 9:00, cursing at 10:30 when there are still six episodes remaining. Kids to bed at 11:30, wrapping, labelling, arranging, bed at 1:00.

Up again at 9:00 for presents and grandfather. Swap out the grandparents at 11:00. Grandmother leaves at 1:00. Collapse. Swear. Feel queasy.

This is our typical holiday.

The Girl is totally uninterested in Christmas presents. For her birthday (Monday), she got a pop-up Alice in Wonderland, a Martha Speaks book and doll, and a pink fleece neck pillow. She loved them. She carried the Alice in Wonderland book to church on Christmas Eve. Christmas was of no interest to her, unless it was something she's usually not allowed, like hand sanitizer or scented markers.

I think The Boy has finally conceded that Santa is his parents, and as such, is not magic. The Husband wrote 'From "Santa"' on his presents, and after an initial squalk, The Boy was cool with it. He later said he's like to be able to thank Santa for his computer. I told him he could probably find a way to do that and winked, and he said thanks and hugged me. Then he went to thank the other half of "Santa". Nice. :)

So, the real question is, "What will I do next year to avoid being unhappy next year?" Because I really am unhappy at Christmas. A lot. I hate cooking. I hate decorating. I hate wrapping. I love old old music. I love velvet dresses. I love white lights and candles. I love Loreena McKennett.

Tragically, my kids idea of a great Christmas and my idea of a great Christmas are mutually exclusive. The Girl actually screams when I sing, screeches when we light Advent candles, fusses when I put on music. The Boy loves flashing colored lights, SpongeBob Christmas, piles of presents and all the crappy decorations they've ever made since preschool.

 

See the problem? So, I'm not sure what to do differently next year without totally ruining everyone else's Christmas. But I'm pretty sure it starts with ear buds and my own tree. And an escape hatch somewhere behind the stove.



Christmas advances...

Well, Pie Day was a total washout, but I don't care. I'll bake tomorrow.

I read the "shoot from Jesse's stump" reading for the Lessons and Carols service this morning, and stood around after church with Good Episcopalians, remarking how this is a good time to be from Minnesota. Lovely weather here...

We went to a radio-show-play of Miracle on 34th Street, and Santa was very convincing. My husband almost died of mortification because his kids are so weird. We had The Glaring Woman three seats over from us -- you know, the one who's already giving you the stink eye before the show even starts 'cause your kid is fidgeting. I plied the kids with candy canes, and they were pretty good until intermission. Tragically, there were Reese's Peanut Butter Cups at the snack bar before The Girl and I went to the bathroom, but they were gone by the time we got back. Cue meltdown. The husband took her for a ride in the car while The Boy and I witnessed the Birth of Faith in a feminist's heart. Y'know, the stories that Made Our Country Great.

Still, it was good to get out around other people who at least seem to like me. Now, I'm hiding in the den with my peanut brittle, waiting for The Man to bring home Pizza Hut.

New tradition -- tourtiere on New Year's Eve. :)

Mmm. Except, we use beef and pork, and we use cinnamon, instead of thym et de sauge séchés...

Candy and polite dogs

Today was Candy Day -- peanut brittle (that turned out FABULOUSLY, thankyouverymuch), spiced walnuts, spiced pecans, white chocolate mint bark, chocolate-peanut butter no-bake cookies. Basically I cooked things that stuck to pots and required a candy thermometer. I think I overcooked the no-bake cookies -- they're a little dry. Not that it's slowing the kids down any. Tomorrow is Pie Day. Turns out, tomorrow is also a children's play, so maybe tonight is Pie Night.

Meh, either way, I just don't care. Christmas is supposed to be a time for togetherness, but no one will even go for a walk with me. *sigh* Maybe I need a dog. Oh wait, she'd just eat all the no-bake cookies and then throw them up on the carpet... Maybe I'll stick with kids.

Funny note: if I ever do get a dog, I'll have to name it "Please". Every time I have to handle a dog, I keep saying "please". As in, "Sit, Please." Or "Come, Please." Whatever I say to a dog is always followed by, "Please." I'm so strange.

Probably...

I think I had children because I was lonely. Is that weird?

Eyes out of the cockpit!

Got my eyebrows done and my hair cut. Bought a couple of Christmas presents and a load of groceries. Nuthin' much. The Husband and The Boy fixed the tree while I was out. We're on our third load of laundry.

I swear, the hardest part of shopping these days is that my eyes try to see EVERYTHING at once. I swear, I must look like this:

Well played, retailers. Well played... (On a brighter note, don't my eyebrows look nice?)

Cue the laugh track!

The Boy went to his first youth group meeting at the church tonight. The woman leading the group is what I would charitably call "bubbly". I'm not sure what the uncharitable description would be, but "overcaffeinated, in a nice way" might cover it. Her daughters are the same way, but The Boy says once you get used to it, she's really, really nice. I wasn't sure about this group because they're older than he's used to, but they make me feel warm all over. Belonging is one of the most wonderful feelings ever...

Green Girl asked if we were ready. I'm thinking... Hmm... NO! But we're obviously not getting any snow, so I've got time. We have NOTHING on the calendar until Monday, so I'll pull the trigger on the last Amazon order before I go to bed tonight and then we'll wade in, starting tomorrow. First cleaning, laundry, groceries. That'll take two days. Then shopping, wrapping, cooking will take the other two days.

Easy-peasy, right? If you listen closely, you can hear God laugh!

Still...

Brr. Cold here today -- had to close the windows. WTF?

Still no mortgage. Laptop is still broken and the second shipping box from Toshiba still hasn't arrived. (The first didn't arrive at all.) The bathroom window is still waiting for me to call the window dude to fix it. The bills are waiting for me to figure out what my online banking ID is. Again. The bottom string of lights on the Christmas tree is still waiting for us to unload the tree, remove all the lights, shift them down, and re-decorate the tree. And I'm still trying to figure out how to go to the grocery and get walnuts so I can make chocolate Mexican wedding cookies. My whole house is "still". Not a creature is stirring, including The Boy. Oh, he's awake, but I have to go pry the iPod out of his clammy hands. Still working on that...


Update 3pm : And I still haven't figured out how to fix the kindle fire's power jack or gotten out to the hardware store for a replacement handle for the toilet. *sigh* Why is it always me doing this crap?

Stood up by homeschoolers! (And other sad stories)

So, we got stood up by the new homeschool group that I was checking out. So much for them! Seriously, they have 25 people on their facebook membership, and we were there for an HOUR and no one showed up for their Christmas party. *sigh* I knew that a few people had bailed because of illness or fatigue (from spending a three-day weekend at Disney), but I thought a few people would show up. I made a dish-to-share and got my two unisex/all ages/under $3 gifts wrapped, and -- nuthin'. (In case you're curious, they were Christmas Pez dispensers! Anyone want one?)

So we went out for McDonalds, visited Office Depot, bought The Girl some new sneakers, and were home in time for Dinosaur Train at 1:30. Still sad.

We're also in the process of buying a vacation house Up North in The Husband's home town. The credit union up there gave us 3.25 percent, so we went with them. Big mistake. They don't know their heads from... something that isn't their heads. And neither do the local lawyers we hired. If we don't close in the next week, the current owner is going to have to pay post-fiscal-cliff capitol gains tax rate, and she plans to take it out of our hides. Still sad.

Anyone want to come clean my house for me and bake some cookies? And while you're here, can you figure out why I can't seem to put together an outfit? I suspect that I'm just too cheap to wear anything but shorts and t-shirts, but I need confirmation...

It's a three-bowl night...

Where is the line between three desserts and an eating disorder? My world is conspiring against me and I am helpless. The Christmas cooking has started and the Pepperidge Farms Christmas cookies are buy-one-get-one at the grocery. But mostly, I'm just sad.

My son took the Newtown shootings pretty well. He didn't see much difference between this shooting and the last three. Which is very sad in and of itself. Add to that the Anarchist Soccer Mom's essay on mental health and the president's plea that we find a way to do better, and I'm just about comatose. Maybe seeking solace in several bowls of Peppermint Stick ice cream isn't unreasonable.

Now, if someone could just tell my digestive tract that it's going to be okay, I'll be moving right along... No pun intended.

Aah! The leaves are about to fall off my maple!!

So, we got a breath of cooler air this weekend, so I got out to rip up some weeds. I was clearing around my new 30-gallon maple trees (that I put in myself) and was alarmed to find that the leaves are curling and looking a little brown-ish. I was just about to panic when I remembered -- it's October, stupid. The leaves are finished for the year. They'll turn brown and fall off. Then they'll come back in March. Duh. Funny how fall sneaks up on a person down here...

MY version of a Proverbs 31 wife...

This week the liturgy included Proverbs 31 -- the perfect wife. As I sat, thinking snarky thoughts, this is what I came up with.


A worthy woman who can find? For her price is far above rubies.
The heart of her husband trusteth in her, And he shall have no lack of gain.
She doeth him good and not evil all the days of her life.

10 Who can find a perfect wife? Her value is far beyond that of a BMW.
11 Her husband trusts her with his best power tools, and she’s a “keeper”.
12 She works to do him good, not bad, all the days of her life.


She seeketh wool and flax, And worketh willingly with her hands.
She is like the merchant-ships; she bringeth her bread from afar.
She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth food to her household, and their task to her maidens.

13 She buys fabric at Jo-Ann’s with coupons and works that sewing machine.
14 She is like a tractor trailer, bringing food from Costco.
15 It’s still dark when she gets up to get a nourishing breakfast casserole in the oven and gets the kids moving on the chores.


She considereth a field, and buyeth it; with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.
She girdeth her loins with strength, and maketh strong her arms.
She perceiveth that her merchandise is profitable: her lamp goeth not out by night.

16 She buys and sells on eBay, and from her earnings she buys a Cricut machine.
17 She puts on her big girl panties and gets to work.
18 She balances the checkbook and never forgets to pay the electric bill.


She layeth her hands to the distaff, and her palms hold the spindle.
She stretcheth out her palms to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.

19 She dyes her own yarn and knits her own sweaters.
20 She remembers the food drive at school and never forgets when the church rummage sale is.


She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are clothed with scarlet.
She maketh for herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is fine linen and purple.

21 When Christmas comes, she has no fear for her household, since all of them have matching outfits.
22 She makes her own quilts; she wears dresses she designed and made herself.


Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land.
She maketh linen garments and selleth them, and delivereth girdles unto the merchant.

23 Her husband is known around town when he plays golf with the other council members.
24 She sews cute baby clothes and sells them at craft fairs; she weaves table runners for Etsy.


Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she laugheth at the time to come.
She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and the law of kindness is on her tongue.
She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

25 She goes to rhumba and tones her arms; she can laugh at the days to come.
26 When she opens her mouth, she speaks wise things she saw on Pinterest; she never nags.
27 She keeps up with the housework and doesn’t lie around eating bon-bons.


Her children rise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her, saying:
Many daughters have done worthily, but thou excellest them all.

28 Her children get up in the morning; they eat what she feeds them; her husband too, as he praises her:
29 “Many women have done wonderful things, but you’re the best, Baby!”


Grace is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth Jehovah, she shall be praised.
Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her works praise her in the gates.

30 Southern charm wears thin, good looks will give out, but a woman who fears God should be praised.
31 Let her keep her blog profits; let all the women she knows hate her.


See? It translates *perfectly*. We hate her so...

Shoes?

Ah, nearly-October. That purgatory between "Oh my God, it's too hot!" and "I'm not dying. What's wrong?" It occurred to me this morning, as I was looking for shoes, that I haven't worn any since Friday when I mowed the lawn. Is that a bad sign? Or a good one?

More whining. And another mystery...

What does it mean when you get tired of doing repetitive, menial tasks -- like eating, bathing, and peeing? I mean, seriously, I have to do it All The Time. Man, is that irritating!

On a more interesting note, have you ever noticed this? Christians follow Christianity. Jews follow Judaism. Muslims follow... wait for it... Islam. This may explain why the Middle East confuses Americans so much.

Mysteries

And apparently all of the odd things happen around here at night. I was just falling asleep last night, when The Husband rolls over, hums the woa-woa-woa line from Do You Know the Way to San Jose (or something like it) and goes back to sleep. Heh? I think he was dreaming of women in gogo boots.

On a related note, apparently The Boy needed the word "aura" the night before. Still a mystery...

Bad news? Good news?

Bad news: my son woke me at 2:30 am without having met the "my hair is on fire" criteria for waking the mom before daylight.

Good news: he wanted a dictionary.

Heh?

Housework? What housework?

If it weren't for my children's utterly defiant attitude toward their homeschooling, I'd never get any housework done. Sometimes, I mow the lawn just because it's not likely to backtalk. ;) Just thought someone should know...

Eew! What's that in your beard?!

Roald Dahl, the man who write Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, has a cookbook.

No good can come from this, you say? You don't know the half of it.

To wit, I give you Mr. Twit's Beard:

EEW!

Help! My kid is turning into a surly teenager!

Oh. My. God. It's official.
EVERYTHING I SAY IRRITATES MY KID. Yes, he's 12, going on 13, and it's starting in earnest. My approach is:

"I understand that you're irritated." (Wait for yelling to stop.)
"I understand that you can't change the way you feel." (Wait for yelling to stop.)
"But you will change the way you behave or you'll be seeing a lot of your room in the next six years. Understand?"

I know, irritating, but I don't know what else to do. Besides actually follow through on the threat.

Ooh. I just tried it. He said, "No." Then he whined softly. We'll see how it goes. Past that, I'd take any advice you all have!

Dr. Livingston, I presume...

In a fit of insanity this morning, I took the kids to IKEA. Why is it that every time I leave that store, I feel as if I'd been on a two-week safari in Africa? I stumble out into the light and sink gratefully into the soft, welcoming driver's seat of my car.

The goal is to make this:

out of this Kivik sofa and his buddies:

Well, sort of. We've identified it as "Mid-Century Modern", and I had already decided to use the grid of square frames before I realized what the style was called. We're putting up reproductions of Florida citrus crate labels in  big square black frames. My grandmother worked at one of the plants in Eustis as a young woman, so it's kind of cool for us. All I need now is a funky lamp that the kids can't destroy. Wish me luck.

Is it a bad sign...?

... that when I'm looking for a few glass beads for an impromptu craft project, I know which couch to find them in? And don't ask how long they've been there. ;)

Bongos please...

My sweet girl-child has started spontaneously writing beat poetry. At least that's what I'm thinking it is.

Allenn Ginsberg, eat your heart out.

Poleaxed...

They've breached our defenses. We have been vanquished. Yes, we have succumbed to The Contagion - our first of the winter. It's a nasty, sinusy sort of affair, accompanied by a low-grade fever that, combined with the sinus headache, leaves a person feeling like they've been poleaxed. I think it was this poleax here:

And where, you may ask, were we exposed to such a savage influence? The only unusual place we've been is the dentist. It takes having the germs pushed into our mouths to get sick. Yay us!!

In the mean time, I went out and got my new trees Saturday! Pretty soon, it'll look like we actually care what our property looks like -- but only in the front yard. ;) And... AND I think I've got The Boy convinced that he can operate the new lawn mower. Mwaaa-haa-haaa!!!

Now I just have to wait for him to regain his senses from this nasty virus.

Hunger Games (Danger Will Robinson!)

My friend from Up North told me that her 13-year-old boy's favorite book is The Hunger Games. It's apparently very popular among his set. So I tried it with The Boy. Big mistake.

My sweet boy didn't even make it through the first two pages. He got to the place where the ugly yellow cat hates the narrator because she had tried to drown it as a kitten. I had to explain that way back when, before they had cats fixed, people would sometimes drown a litter of kittens because there were too many already. Y'know, better than letting them starve as adults. When times are hard, sometimes you just can't feed another hungry mouth.

He is now too sad to read at all. Possibly ever again.

What does that say about my kid? Srsly, 'cause I have no idea...

Low carb what?!

You know that low-carb diet is starting to kick in when the sign at the church down the street starts to read:

FAITH AND SORBET

Uh, I mean DOUBT. When does doubt start to look like sorbet? When you're really jonesing for a bagel...

A Haiku for President's Day

A Haiku for a school holiday:

Today there's no school.
Nap until something good's on
the television.

So, how was your day off? ;)

A Haiku for Sunday

I was inspired this morning:

Man drives minivan.
How can this be possible?
Must be Sunday church.

See what I did there? ;)

WHY?!

Every time I try to teach my daughter science, her response is always the same:

"WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?!!"

(And, no, it doesn't matter how I teach it.)

Seeds are tiny plants, waiting to be born. "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?!!"

Water can be solid, liquid, or gas. "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?!"

Insects have all their legs and wings on their thorax. "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?!"

The moon is a different shape, depending on when it comes up. "WHY, OH WHY, ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS, MOM?!"

When you breathe, air goes into your lungs. "WTF MOM?!"

I'm starting to wonder the same thing she is...

So sorry...

I'd like to personally apologize to my sisters Up North. On Saturday, I foolishly pulled up my annuals to encourage them to self-seed -- thinking that winter was pretty much done down here. Now it's below freezing and any exposed tiny little seedlings are pretty much toast. But that pales in comparison to the deep freeze I've inflicted on you. Please accept my apology.

For my penance I must use really cold tap water for the next three days. See, our water pipes are about 18 inches below ground, and I've often been tempted to paint "T" for "tepid" on the cold water taps. Much to my shock, I washed my hands this morning in really cold water. Flash back to Connecticut.

Again, SO sorry...

The price of letting them grow up...

Y'know that awkward year when you're between the kids' shoes and the adult shoes? It's about size 6-1/2 for boys?

Well, we do NOT. The Boy just jumped from size 6 to size 8 -- almost overnight. I think we're moving into the Expensive Shoe Years now. It's that age from 12 to 17 where boys bankrupt their families by wearing a pair of shoes for six weeks then outgrowing them. Silver lining: he'll outgrow the shoes before they start to really stink. And just when I'd spent all my spa money on size 34A bras for The Girl. Oh well...

New adventures in senior living...

New adventure. My dad's apartment complex was just sold this week but we don't know what they're going to do with it yet. He has seven months left on the lease, but he probably should be in an "independent living" situation anyway. He's not interested in spying on the place down the street, so I guess I'll have to go myself and find out about costs, waiting lists, etc.

It's not asssisted living -- it's independent living. Basically, they feed everyone once a day, take people on field trips, organize the chess club, provide housekeeping, etc. He still has to bathe, take his meds, make his lunch, etc. himself. When you consider the cost of rent, utilities, food, car, cable TV, etc. it's not as expensive as you'd think. He turns 78 this year, and he's really slowing down -- bad knees, back, ankles, etc. -- so it's not a bad idea. Besides, he'd only be moving a few miles and will actually be closer to us than before. We'll still take him to Sam's Club, and I'll still drop The Boy off when I take The Girl to ballet. It's right next door to his favorite restaurant. It's not "a step closer toward the grave" or anything. It's just easier. Says the daughter.

Fun times ahead, I'm sure. I'll let you know how it goes...

I believe...

There are certain suburban myths that I must believe in order to make sense of my chaotic environment and the destructive forces at work therein. I respectfully submit...

I BELIEVE.

I believe that children gain all their excess energy by sucking it directly from their parents.

I believe that every time I lose weight, someone else gains it. And vice versa.

I believe that if I wear capris, no one can see my hairy legs.

I believe that if a child -- someone else's -- is too intelligent, beautiful, creative, and talented, she will certainly grow up to be a pole dancer.

I believe that this show was invented by someone on crack cocaine as an experiment to see how much a human parent can endure. (That's why it's on PBS at 5:30 when I'm making dinner.)

I believe that cantaloupe is an honorary vegetable.

I believe that time warps when I'm asleep.

What do you believe?

Long as God can grow it, my HAIR.

At what point does long hair cease to be a fashion accessory and become a stage prop? 'Cause my hair is getting out of control. It's Taylor-Swift long and curly, but not nearly as pretty. Seriously, there ought to be a law against girls that pretty. But I digress.

This is about what my hair looks like, except a little fuzzier, a little browner, and with the last five inches of her hair just chopped off. (Mine's all one length.)

I'm torn between "doing something" with it and just leaving it be. I have an agreement with my hair. (Don't laugh -- there's a lot of it!) I keep it clean and don't do anything to it, and it doesn't look weird. When I violate the "doing anything" clause, all heck breaks loose. The cowlick over my right eye starts doing its thing, and the curls all die out, probably from shock.

And then there's expectations -- the stylists have an expectation that I'll style it. Once they find out that I wash, condition, comb and walk away, they're more inclined to cut it straight across.

The thing is. The thing is, I've always wanted to chop it off and give it to Locks of Love, but it's like growing out bangs -- just when it's almost there, you lose your grip and whack at it. But this year? Maybe.

Anyone ever do the Locks of Love thing? Just curious...

I've been trolling the AutoCowrecks tab on the I Can Haz Cheezburger web site and came across this:

So, guess the last time I was alone in the house. Go ahead and guess. Ready? 2008. I know because that was when the kids last went to the public schools. I have no one else who will take the kids out of the house without me. Cowards. Still, I guess I'm just lucky I can leave them home with someone else.

Right here in River City.

It's bad when my son's life model is Sleeping Beauty, isn't it? And I do mean the part of the story when she's unconscious, just drifting on the downy wings of slumber, free from the troubles of the world.

Sorry, kid. Trouble is here, and her name is "Mom". And she's pissed. (Must. Not. Kill. Boy. Must. Not...)

Brr.

Oh. My. Dear. God. It's cold!!

I woke up this morning, and there was this white stuff clinging to the grass where we usually have dew.

The butter is actually solid in the butter dish.

I had to put on shoes.

And socks!

I almost -- and I emphasize almost -- considered blow-drying my hair!

Brr.