DANGIT DANGIT DANGIT!

I would use real curse words if it weren't for the blogs that list people's post titles. Rest assured I am thinking in big, bad, ugly curse words right now.

Fifteen years ago, give or take 2 years -I forget, I married the man I love for better or for worse. Sadly, the "worse" became quickly evident. The man I married, my baby Daddy, is an only child. He argues valiantly, and frequently, against the stereotype with his words. His upbringing was just like everyone elses. Exactly the same, only there was one of him. The fact that his parents let him select the radio station in the car was due to his parents being so exceptionally cool, not at all because he was the only one there, his parents were entirely focused only on him, and there was no one else to argue with about it, which are just a few of the opinions I had suggested. So, he insists that his life was never based in any way, on the fact that he was the only child in the house and every thing and everything anyone did, originated with the idea of caring for him, or making him happy in some way.

Not that I have any bitterness. Or envy. Whatever. Anyway.

So, one might imagine that living with someone brought up in such a way, would have advantages and disadvantages. I am not here to discuss the advantages, should I ever think of one. When it comes to disadvantages, if I were a different sort of blogger (the divorced kind for example), I could have a list but I don't. I do however, have one particular issue.

The man takes the last of everything. He does it with no regard for anyone else alive on the plant or in the same home. He will ague insistently that this is just me being picky. He ate the last of the chocolate ice cream when I was pregnant, people. Yes you read that correctly. Yes it was 5 years ago- so? Appalled aren't you? You should be. So you just take whichever side you think deserves your support and read on.

Here is the part that hurts. I have had to resort to hiding certain items of food that I might need later. Such as cookies. I can't hide ice cream, so I just gave up on buying that at all. But he will think nothing of masticating his way through an entire box of cookies while I sleep. Leaving me to find an empty shell in the recycling bin the next day. And cursing. Wildly.

So the other day I was in the store buying up a bunch of suck ass crap like cleaning supplies, bleach, laundry soap and other things that just mean more sucky work for me, and I bought some cookies. Really fancy cookies, that are pricey and only have like, 8, in the bag. Chocolate chunk brownie cookies. Mmmmmm.

AND I HID THEM FROM MY HUSBAND AND NOW I CANNOT FIND THEM!!!

I FORGOT WHERE I PUT THEM!!!

STOP LAUGHING THIS IS SERIOUS!!!

It is really bad, because I so clearly remember taking the action of hiding them in the first place. I deliberately removed them from the bag of cleaning crap and put them in our bedroom..... and that is where it all goes blank. BLANK!

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

So, who has exciting plans for New Years Eve?
Ha ha, just kidding!

Happy 101

I really do love to get an award! It is so nice! This is from Mass Hole Mommy who lives right there, in the clicky part. Here is the deal......

Now for the fine print. The Happy 101 Blog Award Rules are as follows: List 10 things that make you happy, try to do at least one of them today, and tag 10 bloggers that brighten your day. For those 10 bloggers who get the award, you then link back to my blog and create your list of things that make you happy.

1. A new handbag
2. Vacations on a beach
3. Blogger awards!
4. Kittens
5. Knitting
6. Happy children
7. Starbucks
8. TV (I don't care if that makes me pedestrian. So what)
9. Lofthouse cookies
10. Anything that is self- cleaning

I like to pass on these awards to blogs I have newly discovered, or who have newly discovered me. Especially to new bloggers just getting going. Send a little traffic their way and leave a comment would you?
Here are the blogs I am sending this too:
This Work Stinks
Special K's Journey
Adopting Ahren
How Not to Write a Book
Land of the Loo- Loo's

By the way, do people know that there is a setting to go directly to your profile with your blog listing from your following photo? And a really lot of people do not have that set? So when you click to follow a blog, and I want to go see your blog I can't because it is not linked. So there are a few new people hanging around who might have blogs going but I cannot tell because it is not hooked up. I think that this is set up in the add/ manage section for blog following in the dashboard reader. It might also be part of the profile dealie. Anyway, if someone knows how to connect the profile to the following icon, that would be helpful and appreciated information. I can't stalk people I can't find!
Ok, so basically I got mine set up and now forgot how I did it!

Suddenly Santa TTT #11

I remember being in kindergarten about a thousand years ago and right around Christmas, The Big Santa Question game began.

Is he? Or isn't he real?

Most of us in that little kindergarten argued the pro- Santa side. Many of us had seen him with our very own eyeballs after all, myself included. In fact at that age, it had not even occurred to me that Santa might NOT be real. All the "is he or isn't he" silliness was just that. Silliness. I heard the story. I saw the man. I got the gifts. Real!

But all it takes is one. One little shit (Scott Richter- I remember you!)in the class who argued with all of us believers. He had good points. How could Santa get down the chimney? Elves- really? Come to think of it, it would take me fifteen minutes to walk around the block. How could Santa get everywhere around the whole big world in one mere night? The concept of being lied to by my parents and tricked into the story in its entirety by people around the world? That couldn't be right either.

The thing is, in my house growing up, you only got gifts from Santa if you believed in Santa. Even as a 5 year old, I was smart enough to keep my doubts to myself. Until I was about sixteen. Actually, I'm not sure I have ever let on to my parents that I might be having a faith issue. Well anyway. This year, Santa was supposed to come and visit the kids at my sister's house, where we were scheduled to spend the holiday before The Return of Puke- a- La-Lapalooza. They were kind enough to hold a do-over day for us on Sunday, and the girls Uncle was kind enough to re- perform as Santa.


He really was very convincing. Good voice, good *ahem* size, great costume. It was genuinely hard to tell that Santa there was actually someone I know.




The girls with Uncle Santa. Aren't they pretty? Their outfits are so cute and suited to each of them perfectly. (I am tired of trying to pretend to be impassive on the issue of their cuteness. They really are darned adorable! I mean, come on! Look at them!)

So, as I have said before, Genea takes on a belief and that belief is solid. You best just get out her way. There is a Santa and therefore, there is (sorta' like me at that age *ahem*) a Santa. Teena on the other hand, is potentially the focus of someones blog post in 20 years, complaining about the little shit who blew the idea of Santa for everyone in kindergarten.

It started a few weeks ago, when Teena was behaving poorly (control your shock! pop your eyeballs back in your head!) and inquired as to the hearing abilities of Santa. She did not quite believe that Santa could hear her from the North Pole. Apparently this started an avalanche of doubt. See in the above picture? Santa is coming in the door in the afternoon. After he left, the tower of faith started to crumble into bits of logic for her, and she made little comments to me the rest of the night.
"I thought Santa is supposed to come down the chimney".
"Santa is supposed to come at night in the dark".
"I don't think that was Santa, I think that was just someone wearing a suit".

SIGH. HEAVY SIGH!!!!

Later on, my Mom told my sister and I how her Dad would play Santa. He would come in all jolly and crap and talking about the good boys and girls, how great they were all year and such. But then, see, he had been coached ahead of time, and he would call out a kid on the bad stuff they had done too. Like he would growl, "but Michael, you have been spitting". My sister and I were so appalled that she had never shared this fabulous idea with us, that we never heard the end of the story. DANG! That was BRILLIANT! So, there is my Mom reminding me to bring "warm, long sleeved jammies" for my girls because she bought them sleeveless jammie dresses six months ago and she is tired of seeing them, they need something warm. And I am like.... huh? We wear like, 17 pounds of clothes when it is cold but ok, I'll try to remember that. She is sitting on this incredible, life changing idea about Santa, telling me it is cold outside in Wisconsin, in December!

Okay, so for Too True Tues(day), tell the story of how you found out Santa was not real. If you don't remember or if your story is dreadfully dull, tell a story about your kids and Santa. If even that leaves you yawning, tell a story about someone you heard of somewhere, and Santa! Leave a comment and link yourself to your own blog right down there (look down).

Un. be. flipping. liev. able.

Teena woke up sick today. Actually, she didn't wake up on her own, The Husband went and woke her up around 8:30 and set her next to me on the couch. She seemed out of it. Tired. Lethargic. She insisted she was fine, but was not interested in going to see if Santa had come. Genea went down to our wood burning stove, which has a chimney therefore is the entry point for Santa, and brought up the gifts.
Teena puked while opening her Santa presents! Ugh.
She proceeded to puke for the next several hours as I called family to cancel our potentially toxic appearance.
Is anyone getting an inkling of memory stirring?
We seem to have a new Christmas tradition in our home. Pukalicious.
The exact same thing happened last Christmas. Unbelievable! Read our exciting holiday from last year here, and our stay in the hospital here.

Now it is about 4:00 and she is doing better. She is eating verrrrrry sloooooooowly and it is not reappearing in the puke bowl, so that is an improvement! Evidently she decided that she had 6.5 hours of talking stored up and it all needs to be delivered. Now.

Poor Genea though. She was just devastated that we won't be going to see her Grandma. She sort of figured out for herself that changes would be coming to her already changed schedule, and she was Not. Happy. She asked me if we would get to see Grandma today and when I told her no, she started crying, threw herself into my legs and wailed "but I love her soooo muuuuuuuch". Okay, it was sad but it was cute too. Sweet in a sad kind of way.

So again this year we will have a "make up day" for Christmas. It is so strange that this happened again. Same kid. Same symptoms. Bizarre!

first day of breaaaaayyyyayk

I never knew I was a songstress! I just wrote up this original song! It's okay, I know everyone is busy so I will notify the Grammy Awards myself. Now keep in mind my prolific use of artistic licence. Which is code for, I made up a bunch of extra stuff and it doesn't rhyme.
Now, you have to imagine that you say "Winterbreeeeaaaaaaaak" like that, really fast at the beginning and then draw out the end. Or it won't make sense. LOL!


On the first day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me.....
ONE pee soaked bed

On the second day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me.....
TWO tortured eardrums

On the third day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me....
THREE real hugs

On the fourth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
FOUR soggy Kleenex

On the fifth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
FIVE stolen shoes

On the sixth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
SIX gray hairs

On the seventh day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
SEVEN severed doll heads

On the eighth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
EIGHT ugly insults

On the ninth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
NINE broken pencils

On the tenth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
TEN migraine headaches

On the eleventh day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
ELEVEN screaming meltdowns

On the twelfth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
TWELVE nonsense questions

On the thirteenth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
THIRTEEN lies 'bout nothing

On the fourteenth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
FOURTEEN hoarded tin cans

On the fifteenth day of Winterbreak my true child gave to me
FIFTEEN faaaaaaaaaaaaaake hugs!

La la la!

You're gonna want my life but you CANT HAVE IT!

For once I will be silent (after this, lol) and let the pictures of the inside of my water filtering pitcher do the talking.










Updated: larger picture of vile disgusting creepy crawler inside water pitcher

It's a Freight Train Coming

Things have been going pretty well around here lately. So well, that I have not wanted to post about it for fear of bringing on the "blog jinx". When Genea is in a sort of "lull" period, she behaves very much like you would expect a child with her background, only triple it. I think the every day dysfunction we get is Attachment Disorder. The unending oddities, the incessant demands for attention, the inability to handle even a simple frustration. Here is a great example. Every time Genea and Teena go out with Daddy, Genea loses a mitten. Every. Single. Time. Not when she goes to school. Not when she is out with me. Not when she goes out to play. Just when she and Teena have their Daddy Day (Saturdays usually). She generally loses this mitten between the house and the car. Sometimes in the car. Never in the restaurant, or at the store or wherever else they go. Never loses a mitten where there is a chance it might actually remain lost. I mean, what is that?

What we have coming on though is, I think, the Bipolar Disorder. It is subtle when it starts, and mostly excusable things. Genea hit Teena. Ok, kids hit. Actually no. A typical 6 year old does not hit her sister with a bag of books unprovoked. With cause, maybe, not for no reason. She is lying. All kids lie, don't they? No, most 6 year olds do not pee small amounts in their underwear all day until they reek of urine and then lie, and continue lying even when confronted with wet underwear. Toe walking. A lot of kids toe- walk once in a while up until about the age of 2 or so. Her impulse control starts to weaken, and many 6 year olds struggle with impulse control this is true. For Genea, she struggles with the impulse to deliberately gag on her food or drink.

The Dead RAD Eyes come on more frequently and she avoids eye contact. Her pupils enlarge and stay dilated. The tone of her crying changes. It becomes more shrill, more strident and piercing, more agonizing and desperate. Talking in her sleep, whimpering and calling out in her sleep. All these things will all accelerate and escalate. She will start to try to binge on carbohydrates. I never know what to do about that. Should I try to limit her from the binges or does her body need it? I expect she will start sleeping more heavily and taking a nap during the day. I can try to prevent it but she will literally fall asleep sitting up with a crayon in her hand. She will start to instigate problems either by breaking rules directly in front of me and calling attention to it, or by constantly asking for what she can't have and using these things as her "excuse" to blow into the Wango Tango (do you think Ted knows I am using that?). I don't know what to do about that either. When her brain starts to convulse into a panic or fear response, I tend to ask her what is wrong- I mean, I tend to try to find out why she is upset. But if the chemicals in her brain are frying, then there is no "excuse" or reason or thing to hang her feelings on. So, what if I keep leading her to find a reason for her nervous and scared feelings and it turns into a phobia?

I hate watching this come on. So far I have tried about 1000 different things to help her. So far I can help her delay the bottom and I can help make it not as bad, but I cannot prevent it and I cannot make it go away. So, we live through it. Again. And with good old winter break coming on (when ARE these children being educated I ask you???), we will be living through it 24 hours a day for 12 straight days.

Dear So and So,

This is one of those Mr. Linky weekly things by another blogger at 3 Bedroom Bungalow to Let in Crazytown, and I am participating this week since I have a few things to say.

Dear So and So,
When you park your stupid mini cooper across 2 spots it makes me want to crush it with my fist.

Dear So and So,
It is really fun showing you girls how to do stuff like making snowflakes out of folded paper. Now that you two are obsessed with it, I am not having fun picking up tiny specks of paper that seem to fly everywhere.

Dear So and So,
Thank you for inventing the internet. Thank you for inventing online ordering and thank you for saving me from the mall. Oh yeah, and thank you for delivery people who leave stuff directly outside my door so I don't have to step even one toe outside in the cold.

Dear So and So,
If you keep pooping next to your litter box I am going to stuff rags up your butt.

Dear So and So (Starbucks)
Will you marry me?

And now for the biggie.......

Dear So and So,
You need to realize that I will be selecting your nursing home and that day will come sooner than you think. I am sure you are aware that your offspring would not notice the smell of pee if he took a bath in it. I however, have consulted in dozens, yes dozens of nursing homes and I know exactly what to look for. Who do you want to advocate for you?
Who do you think will advocate for you?
Just wondering.


Sincerely,
Me

black !!! white !!!

There are two things in this world that Genea knows. She knows what is right, and she knows that all the other things in the world are not right. This makes her a bit inflexible but I like to think that it can work for her in a lot of ways. Sometimes changing her ideas can be like trying to pry Dennis Rodman off of a bar stool- just impossible. Not gonna' happen. But the ability to be decisive, to come down solidly on one side or the other, that can be a positive thing. Highly paid lawyers for example, need to be opinionated. Highly paid investment bankers who take care of their old parents (instead of sending them to the sick homes)need to be decisive. Myself, I see layers and layers and layers. I haven't always been that way, I used to have much more strong opinions. Maybe it is that I understand other sides now, not necessarily agreeing with whatever it is, but comprehending the perspective, the full picture. The Husband, he sees minutiae. He sees detail after detail all of which can be hyper-analyzed to death and beyond. Take my word for it...deaaaaaaaaaaaath...and..... beyoooooooooond....

As the weather has become cooler, we have layered up our children in clothes as is the preferred way of handling chill in this part of the country. See up north here, the weather can go from 30 to 60 degrees and back again in a day so you have to be prepared for a wide range. Teachers ask that kids are sent to school with several layers to add or remove as necessary, depending on how temperatures go. So we do. However.

Genea started coming home telling me her teacher said she needs to wear a warmer coat. This was when the weather was in the 40's. I set her clothes out the night before so as to minimize assaults on my brain prior to 9 am (hey! It used to be 10! For that matter, it used to be NOON!). Anyway, I dress my children cute, and temperature appropriate and I would put out a shirt with a hoodie or cardigan for her, jeans usually or sometimes leggings, and a fall coat. I was irritated that the teacher was saying Genea needed to be wearing a warmer coat. First of all, I ask her all the time- are you warm enough? Is that coat going to keep you warm etc? The other thing is, you know, it is 40 degrees and while that is cold, it is going to get 30-50 degrees colder very soon, and is going to stay that way for the next 4 months. So if I send Genea to school in her warmest winter coat in the fall, what the hell is going to keep her warm in the real winter? Am I supposed to send her to school with a chimney?

Suddenly.... swoosh ! Shazam! My brain flickered for a second and I had a flashback.... to last winter.... to Genea last year.... and I remembered. Genea won't wear a hoodie or a cardigan or a pullover or any of it. She wears a shirt. And she wears a coat. And that's it. So, once she has put her shirt on that leaves only 2 possibilities. She is going to:
A. Put on her coat
B. There is no b, see A.
See that there? That is what we call 'black and white thinking'. I am sure there are a dozen other ways to describe this pattern, like rigid or unyielding. It's one of those mysteries. Is it an Attachment Disorder thing? Is it a Bipolar Disorder thing? Is it a Genea thing? I am guessing it is a combination. Once this child gets an idea in her head, well look out.

I started telling her every day, or at least all the days I remember, don't take off your hoodie. Keep your sweater on. You can wear 2 shirts and it will be okay. If I forget, she comes home in a short sleeved t-shirt with a pullover around her waist or stuffed in her backpack and tells me she was hot at school. If I remember to tell her, she will do it and she will point it out to me when she gets home. Seriously, it is that much on her mind all day that she tells me the second she comes in the door! Anyway, I thought that was kind of cute. I mean, it's goofy for sure, but a silly thing too. Cute.

its nobodies dream to drive a bus

Unless you are a 4 year old, most folks don't dream of driving a bus when they grow up. If they do, it's in the realm of being an astronaut, a garbage collector and a fish. It's not any one's idea of a great job. It may be a functional job, a paying job, a flexible job but for the most part, unless there is an alternate universe, bus driving is not a great job.
When Genea started school, we were lucky to get a lovely driver for her. A nice, pleasant woman who smiled and said things like "have a good night" when Genea would get down. I was excited when Teena got her bus this year. Teena has a different morning driver and she is lovely and pleasant as well. That has been great because if I had to drive a bus to support our family, well I'd probably get fired right quick. My attitude would be poor and I would definitely have a sore throat every night from all the yelling.
So I don't expect my kids bus drivers to be nice. They don't even have to be civil. I would not want to sit there and make nicey nice chat with parents dropping their screaming and fighting child off if it were me. I sort of expect them to be crabby and pissy really. But I always smile at the driver and say thank you anyhow. I figure if nothing else at least I am not being rude and making their day worse.
However, Genea's afternoon driver is just nasty. Let's call her Cruella. She is rude and horrible. She glares and deliberately avoids eye contact. She refuses to answer anything I say and pretends she can't hear me. And that's cool I guess. No one has to be my friend. I am not for everyone, this is true. But dammit, I don't want to have to give her a gift for the holidays. That's right, I don't want to! And I am seriously considering not doing it.
When Genea started school we had only had her for a year we were not prepared for all the school things we would have coming at us. Of the many things I hadn't really thought of, teacher and bus driver holiday gifts were on the list. Needless to say, going from a 2 income 1 child family to a 1 income 2 child family did not earn us extra columns in the bank account. Or anywhere. So $20 to $50 worth of stuff for 2 teachers and a bus driver was unplanned. I also knew though, that teachers just don't want reams of crap. They don't want or need any more junk with apples on it. Same for greatest teacher junk, and #1 educator junk. Since I didn't know any of them personally, I didn't know if someone had a pink bathroom they needed a little statue for, or a set of white towels. Does the teacher like Jean Nate perfume? Don't know. If you give a gift card then everyone knows either a. you are nice or b. you are cheap. I was going to be b.
So last year, for Genea's teachers and lovely bus driver, I had Genea make each of them a card in her best handwriting. I had to write everything out ahead of time and she copied the letters, mostly in the correct order. She decorated with glitter and crayons. Then I made soaps for them. I felt weird about sending crappy homemade stuff (and it was not actually any cheaper to do it that way in the end), but I thought if it were me, I would think that was nice. Everyone uses soap right? Even if you don't want it, it's an easy re-gift and you can take the credit yourself. Plus since I don't do greeting cards, everyone gets a kid-made card no matter what.
It is that time again, only now I have 3 teachers and 3 bus drivers! I am thinking I will make soaps again since I have all the stuff. If I add in $10 Starbucks cards, that will be $60, or $50 if I decide to cut Cruella out (oooh, I can drink the extra myself, mmm). What do you do? Do you make some beautiful thing that involves proficiency in 5 different craft areas? Do you take a chance and buy a real gift? Gift cards? Homemade stuff? And for teachers out there, tell the truth, what did you like and appreciate and what made you think, oh crap now I have to have this thing on my desk....

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,


Did you really have to send a snow day and crampy pms at the same time? Answer ASAP please.

By the way, your blizzard sucked.

You're not as funny as you think you are.

Sincerely,

The Accidental Mommy

Late TTT Entry- Warning- sensitive material!

I got a late entry to TTT, submitted anonymously. If you decide to proceed, you will realize why! It is a little..... for older audiences. Audiences over say, 18.
Seriously, if you don't want to read about other peoples private business, STOP RIGHT THERE!

Now, here is an absolutely hysterical story about a little holiday gift to oneself that has gone astray. Ready? Go!

The rabbit died in August. As in v i b r a t o r. Hey! I'm single, I live in a high stress environment and I have needs. Don't judge.

I waited till Christmas cause you know there's a lot of packages being delivered and an unmarked package wouldn't be noticed right????? Hmmmm....maybe not.....

Progression of events (Keep in mind that I live in a very, very, very small town.)

1.Ordered it last Monday

2. On Tuesday UPS sent me an email that it would be delivered Wednesday.

3.They also sent me another email about somebody else's joy package. As in not me. Not a good sign.

4. Wednesday nothing arrived.

5. Thursday night I tracked it online and UPS stated that it was undeliverable because there wasn't a street address. (Funny....there was one on the first email they sent me.)

They also stated they were sending me a postcard to locate me. Ummmmm....how are they going to send me a postcard when they don't have my address???

6. Lay in bed and hyperventilate about calling them regarding the precious package because they KNOW me.

7. I have the phone number for the distribution hub where my joy was residing because I know them PROFESSIONALLY. So....

8. Friday morning call UPS hub. Sweet Connie told me I needed to talk to Customer Service Desk and patched me through.

No one answered so I called back. Explained my problem to Delightful Debra and she told me no problem she'd find my package and call me back.

9. 5 minutes later Debra called me back to confirm she'd found my package, had readdressed it and I would have it this afternoon. She was much sweeter than normal. Great. She knows....

10. Spent Friday afternoon hiding in my house knowing that my hot UPS guy would be delivering my unmarked package and that he would know something naughty resided inside.

11. 4:30 hot UPS guy rang. my. doorbell. Damn. He wanted to confirm my last name cause he couldn't read it. Uh huh. Right. But he couldn't make eye contact and you know I notice that stuff.

12. As he's walking down the sidewalk I comment that the package is really light and feels empty. He never looks up and keeps walking.

13. Open package as hot UPS guy is getting in his truck. IT'S EMPTY EXCEPT FOR MY RECEIPT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

More hyperventilating but I'm a woman on the edge so I CHASE him and his big, brown truck down the street IN HEELS waving my sad, empty package over my head. No. I am not kidding.

14. Hot UPS guy stops the truck and says, "what....was it empty????" Mmmmmmm...yeah. He asked me if I know my neighbors (the snoop doggy dog neighbors) next door. Yeeeessssss. Well....maybe they took it cause I delivered it there on Wednesday. Wishing I could fade away through the asphalt of my street. I asked him what would happen. He said, well they'll open it at the hub, examine the contents and contact the vendor. Uh....it's already open and now YOU'RE going to read my receipt. The humiliation is growing by the minute.

15. Now all the staff at the local UPS hub are still laughing hysterically about my package.

16. Snoop dog neighbors are enjoying my "Merry Christmas to me" package.

17. Mrs. Snoop Dog is affiliated with my oldest daughter's professional life. Lovely.

18. I am still frustrated cause Mr. Happy isn't here and yeah....there's always the old-fashioned way but at the end of my days that is just too much trouble. Fast and easy. That's my motto.

So instead of going to bed satisfied I'm mortified.

Merry Christmas to me.

Too True Tues(day) #10?

I hope #10 is right! If not, I am guessing no one will care much. If you do, feel free to go back and count and let me know. It is time again for Too True Tuesday! Time to tell the truth. Be honest. Let it all hang out.

Well, most of it.

This week tell us what you are getting yourself for Christmas (or holidays in general). If you are not a holiday celebrator, go buy yourself something and tell us about that!

To: Me
From: Me
With Love.
Mwah!

I will feel very sad with you if I hear crap like 'it's all about my children'. Or, 'I have so many others to care for I don't have time for myself'. 'I spend so much on my children- I never want them to go without- there is just nothing left for me'. Can it. If it never occurred to you to get yourself a gift at the holidays, start now. Great idea isn't it! Listen, you need to rationalize something, anything, you come to me. I will hook. you. up.

Seriously though, most of us are Moms with no time and very little life. I need to be getting a break. Taking time away. An evening out for myself blah blah blah. I can't do that. But bloody hell I can buy me a beautiful handbag to carry to the bus stop! I can use a lovely perfume specially stunk up in France to cover the smell of pee on my leg (or blend with it, as the case may be)! If my kids have to eat generic crackers with a crushed vitamin sprinkled on top for a few days because I spent a bunch of money on hoity shoes, well, I don't cook anyway! (Ok no not really the last one).

(Unrelated side note, I can hear loud music outside, the Packers must have scored)(Green Bay is a small place).

So what am I gifting myself with love this year? Super warm slippers. Don't laugh! My feet get sooooo cold it is painful. I was sleeping with a heating pad under my feet but I started to notice some inconsistencies with the cord and figured that might not be a great idea anymore. Anyway, I found some really pretty ones that have genuine shearling which sounds important and warm. Plus they are expensive so that must mean they are great. I know it sounds lame, but that is what it is!

What are you gifting yourself? Follow the rules (you know who you are Torina) and blog your gift and why, then come back here and link it up. Even if your gift is super sassy (and you know who YOU are) you can still play joyously! If you decide not to play, you should know you do run the risk that I will make something up for you.

Santa Claus is coming......

Otherwise known as the poster boy for Bribe and Threaten Parenting.

Many years ago, I was in a car with Cousin Unabitch and her young daughter, we'll call her Eee. Eee was misbehaving in some mild form, and though my cousin was addressing the issue in a bland passive way, I thought I could jump in and improve the situation for her, since she wasn't really getting to the point, of which Eee needed to shut up. So I jumped in and made a comment to Eee to the effect of "if you quit being a pain in the ass, I will do something nice for you". To which my cousin whipped her head around and stated "no no no, we don't bribe her to be good. We want her to be good because she wants to".

Well knock me over with a diaper genie. I mean, if you are not bribing and not threatening,( and she certainly was not spanking), what is it exactly that you are doing? What does that leave??? Now, Eee was and still is a shy and naturally quiet and calm child. She had about as much motivation to misbehave as a fly does to skip over a juicy turd. It is just nature. How they are made. A person never knows what goes on behind closed doors of course, but from where I was sitting, it looked to me like Cousin Unabitch was just re-packaging bribery into a prettier picture. Eee was about 4 or 5 at the time and now that I have all this personal experience I can say for sure, kids don't behave because they want to do it. Take out all the obvious bribery tools like money, candy, stickers, toys etc. Then remove all the overt threats such as physical pain, favored things taken away, confinement etc. What do they want? They want to connect. They want you. When you praise a child for doing well, you are using your praise as a positive way to prompt the child to do it again. There is an effect that if the child does not do what you want, you will not praise them. You will remove yourself emotionally if they do not behave. You can call it love based, or positive parenting or whatever you want to call it. If you ask me, that is still bribing or threatening, it just looks and sounds much nicer.

Embrace it, own it, call it like it is!

And if you want to ask me again, lemme tell you, nothing symbolizes Bribe and Threaten Parenting like Santa! The whole gambit is one enormous bribe followed up by an even larger threat. What's worse, is the entire (Christmas celebrating) world is in on it. There are reminders in song, and on TV. In school, in people's yards and everywhere else you go there is Santa, watching you. He see's you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good blah blah blah.

So Genea, she is a rather rigid little girl and that serves her well in a lot of ways. When it comes to Santa she accepts Santa is out there and therefore accepts the entire package. Flying reindeer, fat guy in the chimney, elves. Teena, she is more of a questioner kind of kid. I have been getting on both of them lately for their heavy duty extreme whining and today Teena wanted to know, "if Santa can see us does that mean he can hear us too"? When I told her yes, OF COURSE HE CAN, she looked at me squinty eyed for a second and said, "nooooooo, how could he?" Listen Teena, your mother would not lie to you!

The past few weeks we have been laying it on thick. Calmly asking the girls, what do you think Santa will say? Do you think Santa will be happy with you right now? So once a year I outsource responsibility to a third party in the North Pole, loaded with gifts and happiness. I have been known to reach for the phone and pretend to start dialing, since I have a very special circumstance here and so I have Santa's home phone number. Gonna' turn them in myself.

Reminder: tomorrow is Too True Tuesday. What are you buying yourself for Christmas?

Little Things

Sometimes, it's the little things that make a person happy. Sometimes, a life is just so lame and-or boring that the owner of the life has to really scrutinize a situation to find the happy.
Here is my $14.oo happy.




A new day planner! Empty pages full of possibilities and goals. Such as, organizing myself! This new planner has a whole section dedicated just to organizing! ONE whole section!!! It will have to be better than my current system. See the finger in the next pic that has B/W, that reminds me to write a post about black and white thinking. The 'exe', that reminds me to get out that page of exercises the chiropractor gave me last week and have them learned by 10 AM since this time he wants to see them. Probably a perverted thing. I insisted that I knew them and was using them at the last appointment. There is just no trust in this world anymore.

See, I am great at writing things down. I can make a up a list that would have Martha Stewart or Oprah peeing in their collective pantsuits. Oh yeah, I can write the shit down. Finding the stupid list, and remembering I made a list. Those are my issues.
Here is the page for notes. Note that there is nothing on it! No ma'am! Nothing yet to do on that page! (my apologies for the sideways pic).


Then there are the weeks ahead. Again, nothing on them. I found out when I got home from Planner Buying Day that I got the kind where you have to write in the dates yourself. I mean REALLY, could the jackasses not even throw me a printed number? Joke is on them though, for some strange reason I kind of enjoy mindless tedious tasks in small doses. Trustworthy, stable sorts of activity where you really cannot make a mistake. Don't know why. ANYway, see all the nothing? No responsibilites, meetings, school functions or visits from anyone to plan for.



See, this here is what I am setting aside, into my collection of day planners that goes back to college.
*Note this photo is a simulation of a random week in the life. I couldn't show a real one because it has names all over it. Sadly, I got bored of trying to make up things I didn't do for effect so this is the sample, as is.








Okay so to reward anyone who made it this far without clicking into a solitaire game, we have this cutest little baby sweater ever!




It's a kimono baby sweater in pink cammie. How cute is that!!! The pattern is from a book called Mason- Dixon Knitting (the first one) and it was easy enough that I could do it. I am a process knitter, I don't especially care about learning new skills and having the fanciest edging. I like to knit and I knit to relax. This is a prototype for the bunches of baby stuff I am going to knit for my new incoming niece! Which means I made a ton of mistakes and left my ends hanging out (I HATE weaving in ends! I would rather Genea and Teena do a root canal on me) but just wanted to see how the whole thing worked. Anyway they have a blog too it is right here.

A few cool links

A few connections.....

Here is an amazing little video from Oprah called The Girl Effect. I am not suggesting anyone support or donate to any of the causes she has listed (though they are worthy, to say the least), just check out the video because it is really cool.

Oprah? Are you sending me my invite to the show? Please don't use email to confirm, that does not appear to be a valid way to get invited places (such as the White House ha ha).

Here is an AWESOME incredible resource that I had no idea was out there. The site is called Sensory Processing Disorder and it is loaded, LOADED with information, tips tricks and tests related to what the site owner calls SPD. This is also known as Sensory Integration Disorder and I believe there are other tags for it as well. Anyway, it was sent to me in a comment on my post about Boring Stuff by a private- profile-super- secret- lurker named Sarah. If your child gets overstimulated by seemingly ordinary things, or appears oblivious to things other children would be interested in, there could be a sensory link. Worth checking out! I personally like to use the "WalMart Test" (that I invented and is totally and only my opinion and you know what those are like.....). If your child has a meltdown, a visit from The Crazy or a sudden drop into the Wango Tango while in WalMart, there is a better than good chance that she/he has sensory issues. No science behind my theory, just my own opinion.

Have a good one!

Thanks Mom

I have a grievance. I have a grievance and I am airing it here.

When we were at my parents for Thanksgiving, my mother called me into a room and showed me some pictures that she has framed. She has dozens of photos of our family everywhere in her house. Her mother did the same and I think it is really cool. She picked up a picture that was about 10 years old of herself, my sister and I. Then she said "Look at your hair here, doesn't it look pretty?". Then she picks up another photo, really old, points at me in it and says "Look here, look how nice your hair was then".

I stared.

*thud* is the sound an eyelash would have made falling, if such a thing dared to happen.

I have been growing my hair long because I love long hair. I fear "Mom hair", that is true, but I also really love it long. I don't like to take care of it long, and quite frankly I wander around looking like a wife of Warren Jeffs from his polygamous sect in Texas most of the time. I pin up the bangs on top in a little poof, then shove all the rest into a ponytail, loop, or ugly braid most days. But it's there when I want it to look good and after all, it is my head and my head has been owned by me longer than it was owned by her by now.

I was fairly well stunned. Sadly, not terribly surprised. So I muttered a few things about, well yeah it looked good then and um yeah, that was nice. Then my mother is starting to notice that I am not as excited about her observation as she is. So she starts asking "Don't you think it was pretty then? I mean, you have to agree it was pretty". I said something to the effect of, "I can't believe you" and went out to tell The Husband that my mother just told me my hair was ugly. He is a good The Husband and if nothing else I have taught him his lines well, so he said of course, that he thinks my hair looks great.

By now my mother has charged out of the room following me. Now she is hammering at me to agree with her. "It looked good, you don't agree that it looked good? You don't think it was pretty?" and she repeated herself about 20 more times. Stuck like a record she was, or like Genea on a bad day (more on that later). Finally I told her, "you know what, I am totally going to write this down on my blog and the whole world wide web is going to know what you said". Then she repeated the questions above and ended it. She must have thought she saw some confidence that needed squelching. Sigh.

So we were on the phone the other day and she mentioned something she had said on Thursday but I had thought I did not hear her right so I had ignored it. Lucky for me she repeated herself. She said, she doesn't think Genea has gotten any better in the past 2 years. Not better at all, in fact maybe even worse.

Talk about soul-crushing. Damn.

I work harder with Genea on any given day than I ever have in the span of any 2 random months of my entire life. Genea spent the first 18 months or so with us doing the Miss Pretty Perfect act with other people. Not at home with us mind you, but around anyone that was not us, she was a delightful charming child. It was all fake. So now the past year or so around my mother aka Genea's grandmother she has started to let out a smidge, just a smidge of The Crazy. So that is what I told her. I said, its a compliment she feels more comfortable with you now. She used to be fake around you and now she is showing herself a little.

The truth is, even a little peek into The Crazy is more than folks can take. The girls stayed with my parents for a few days over the summer and my mom sent them home early when they were surprised by a visit from The Crazy. It sent my mother over the edge and after a day of it was so overwhelmed, sucked in and dragged down, she called us to pick them up early. The Husbands mother, the other grandmother, saw a brief glimpse about a year ago and she literally ran out of my house, hustled down the stairs crying after less than 10 minutes. She had to leave.

So that's how things are rolling over here. Uphill.