Sparkling Juice

Nothing burned.

Everything was edible.

Oh, sure, I didn’t have the easiest time preparing the meal. I had lost my glasses, my kids caused trouble, and the cat kept jumping on the counter, sure that he’d find a piece of turkey waiting for him.

But it all turned out.

Thanksgiving 2009 was a success.

We didn’t eat until 7. That’s when Tom came home from work.

“Do you have the stuff?” Tom asked me as he took off his coat.

I lifted the bottle. “I have the stuff.”

No. Not wine. Sparkling juice. Because Tom and I? We have the maturity level of a twelve-year-old and apparently the tastes of one too.



The sparkling juice went into my special Titanic glasses. I mean, they weren’t found in the wreckage or anything, because ew corrosion. They were bought at a Titanic store, you see. I’ve always been interested in Titanic—I think I have a White Star Line plate somewhere.

We gathered around the table. Tom lifted his fork to dig in.

I raised my fork to ding my glass. I expected it to make that nice tinkle sound you hear in movies when characters ding their glass and say, “I’d like to propose a toast.”

But when I went to ding my glass, it sounded like THUNK THUNK THUNK and no one even heard it.

Where was my tinkle sound?

Oh well. No tinkle. I stood up and said, “I feel like I should give a speech.”

Tom groaned. “Not this again.” Last year I made us go around the table and say what we were thankful for. I figured it would be a nice thing to do, you know? But we’re just not the type of family to do that I guess.

“No, don’t worry, you won’t have to—le gasp—share your feelings, Tom, don’t worry. I won’t put you through that again,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Thank God,” Tom mumbled, setting his fork down.

“I just wanted to go around the table and say what I love about each and every one of you. Tommy,” I said, looking at my seven year old son who was busy trying to pull out his loose tooth. (Ew!) “You never fail to make me laugh. You’re a great kid who never gives up. I’m proud to be your mother.”

Tommy didn’t even appear to be moved. He continued to wiggle his tooth.

I looked at Tom. “You’re a wonderful provider and husband and father. Sure you may not be the cleanest man but if you were clean, what in the world would I blog about?”

“You’re welcome,” Tom said dryly.

Then I turned to Natalie, who was playing with her mashed potatoes.

“Natalie. My daughter. You...” I struggled for a few seconds and pictured her latest temper tantrum. She wanted the couch cushions on the floor and I said, no, sorry, the cushions go on the couch. She cried for ten minutes about it. Sometimes I don’t understand her logic. “You keep things interesting around here. You speak your mind and—”

“Can we eat now?” Tommy piped up.

“Son, Mommy is giving a speech. Hush,” I said, waving my hand at him. I stared at Natalie again. “Thank you for letting me dress you up.”

“Potatoes!” Natalie shrieked, rubbing some on her hair.

Why wasn’t anyone getting moved? In the movies, characters always tear up when someone gives a moving speech about them. But my son was too busy working on yanking out his tooth, Tom just wanted to eat, and Natalie was confusing mashed potatoes as shampoo.

Oh well.

“I’m done,” I said, sitting down.

We all dug in.

Afterwards when I was cleaning the kitchen, Tom came up behind me and put his arms around my waist.

This would have been a romantic moment but I’m quite jumpy. So I shrieked and whirled around with the kitchen sponge in my hand. I nearly clobbered Tom’s head with it.

“Geez. Can’t a man hug his wife?” Tom asked, hands up. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m thankful. For you.”

Awww!

“See? Aren’t feeling marvelous things?”

Tom looked a tad uncomfortable. “Sure...” Then he cleared his throat. “Well. I’m going to go feel like a man again. I have a base to defend.” He headed for the computer.

“Tell the rest of the Call of Duty nerds that I said hello!” I called out.

So yes.

As I said before.

Thanksgiving 2009 was a success.

Advent Begins

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. I love this part of the Christmas season. I got so excited yesterday when I set the altar at the Arbor with the Advent wreath and placed all the candles around. Yeppers, Christmas is definitely off and running and once again I plan not to get caught up in the commercial side of the holiday...and I know I will...but for today....today, November 29th....I will hold Christmas in my heart...because today is the true beginning...the first Sunday of Advent. Did you know that the word Advent means "coming" or "arrival." The focus of the entire season is the celebration of the birth of Jesus the Christ in his First Advent, and the anticipation of the return of Christ the King in his Second Advent. Advent is far more than simply marking a 2,000 year old event in history...for me it is celebrating a truth about God, the revelation of God in Christ, and becoming reconciled to God. I love the scripture readings dring Advent because they all reflect the emphasis on the Second Advent, including themes of accountability for faithfulness at His coming, judgment on sin, and the hope of eternal life.
Advent symbolizes for me the spiritual journey of individuals and a congregation, as they affirm that Christ has come, that He is present in the world today, and that He will come again in power and it is my own responsibility as a people commissioned to "love the Lord my God with all my heart" and to "love my neighbor as myself." And you know...that is the other thing I love so about this time of year....people seem to love each other a little more and be a little more tolerant and kinder. I just wish it would carry over into the other days of the year....but for one special month of the year...it is evident.

I love the lighting of the Advent wreath at church each Sunday. The special wreath is an increasingly popular symbol of the beginning of the Church year in many churches as well as homes. It is a circular evergreen wreath (real or artificial) with five candles, four around the wreath and one in the center. Since the wreath is symbolic and a vehicle to tell the Christmas story, there are various ways to understand the symbolism. The exact meaning given to the various aspects of the wreath is not as important as the story to which it invites us to listen, and participate. Did you know that the circle of the wreath reminds us of God Himself, His eternity and endless mercy, which has no beginning or end. The green of the wreath speaks of the hope that we have in God, the hope of newness, of renewal, of eternal life. "Candles symbolize the light of God coming into the world through the birth of His son. The four outer candles represent the period of waiting during the four Sundays of Advent, which themselves symbolize the four centuries of waiting between the prophet Malachi and the birth of Christ. The colors of the candles vary with different traditions, but there are usually three purple or blue candles, corresponding to the sanctuary colors of Advent, and one pink or rose candle. One of the purple candles is lighted the first Sunday of Advent, a Scripture is read, a short devotional or reading is given, and a prayer offered. On subsequent Sundays, previous candles are relighted with an additional one lighted. The pink candle is usually lighted on the third Sunday of Advent." The light of the candles itself becomes an important symbol of the season. The light reminds us that Jesus is the light of the world that comes into the darkness of our lives to bring newness, life, and hope. It also reminds us that we are called to be a light to the world as we reflect the light of God's grace to others (Isa 42:6). "The first candle is traditionally the candle of Expectation or Hope (or in some traditions, Prophecy). This draws attention to the anticipation of the coming of a Messiah that weaves its way like a golden thread through Old Testament history. As God’s people were abused by power hungry kings, led astray by self-centered prophets, and lulled into apathy by half-hearted religious leaders, there arose a longing among some for God to raise up a new king who could show them how to be God’s people. They yearned for a return of God’s dynamic presence in their midst." "The remaining three candles of Advent may be associated with different aspects of the Advent story in different churches, or even in different years. Usually they are organized around characters or themes as a way to unfold the story and direct attention to the celebrations and worship in the season. So, the sequence for the remaining three Sundays might be Bethlehem, Shepherds, Angels. Or Love, Joy, Peace. Or John the Baptist, Mary, the Magi. Or the Annunciation, Proclamation, Fulfillment. Whatever sequence is used, the Scripture readings, prayers, lighting of the candles, the participation of worshipers in the service, all are geared to telling the story of redemption through God’s grace in the Incarnation." The third candle, usually for the Third Sunday of Advent, is traditionally Pink or Rose, and symbolizes Joy at the soon Advent of the Christ. It marks a shift from the more solemn tone of the first two Sundays of Advent that focus on Preparation and Hope, to a more joyous atmosphere of anticipation and expectancy. I hope we sing Joy to the World on that Sunday. It is one of my favorite Christmas songs. The center candle is white and is called the Christ Candle. It is traditionally lighted on Christmas Eve or Day. However, since many Protestant churches do not have services on those days, many light it on the Sunday preceding Christmas, with all five candles continuing to be lighted in services through Epiphany (Jan 6). The central location of the Christ Candle reminds us that the incarnation is the heart of the season, giving light to the world. so with that history lesson on Advent, from my house to yours and from my heart to yours I am hoping that your heart is full this time of year...and it carries on through the year. I am planning on having a Christmas heart all year. That is my Resolution for the beginning of my year. Yep...Christmas heart. I want to love like there is no tomorrow, dance in the rain, smile more...and have no regrets. Bless you all this day!

Thankfulness

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day and I woke up not feeling really in a thankful mood. I woke feeling sorry for myself. My pity party lasted the entire time I was making sweet potato souffle for our lunch...I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into my self made pit of dispair when my nephew David's son, Wheeler came into the room with his daddy. He had on the cutest striped pajamas...and the sweetest sleepy smile and my depression just poofed away. I truly believe that God brought David and Suzanna with my precious Wheeler, and Ramona and Dustin with my precious Drew to Thanksgiving yesterday because He knew I would need them. Shortly after Wheeler appeared, Drew came up too...and my world was at peace. I love those babies. I love their parents...and to be honest...besides Kat never thought I could love anybody as much as I loved David and Ramona when they were growing up....but I do...I love me some Wheeler and Drew. Wheeler has this deep laugh, sweet smile, huge eyes, and looks just like his daddy did when he was little....precious! Drew...(a.k.a. Tomahawk Tommy)has the cutest grin, eyes you can get lost in, the cutest giggle, and looks just like his momma did...precious! The only one missing from my world yesterday was Kat and Brian...my day would have been 100% perfect...but let me tell you it was darn near close. Before my day was over...I was thankful. I was thankful that for 55 years I got to have my father and mother with me. I was thankful that I come from a family who loves each other. I was thankful for the fact that my parents lived life to the fullest with no regrets and taught me to do the same thing...I know when my daddy entered the pearly gates on October 9th...he did not enter them carefully and tell St. Peter what a careful life he had lead...always being the safe one. Nope! Not my daddy! He entered the pearly gates wiped his brow and said..."Man, now that was quite a ride!"...and for that...I am thankful. My daddy taught me to live life so there are no regrets...and even with the past 4.5 years....with them living with me....I would not take a million dollars for any of it. I am thankful today...that I had that 4.5 years. So, if you are reading this today...and you have living parents...or brothers and sisters...tell them you love them...and hug them a little harder today...and be thankful they are there. God bless you all!

The Missing Glasses

They were gone.

I had no idea where they went.

I patted my hand along the counter where I had left them.

Nothing.

Crap.

I had lost my glasses.

Now, to some people, this might not be a big deal. But when your eyesight is something like -1000/-1000, it’s a huge deal. I cannot see without my glasses. Well, okay, I can see but everything is blurry. If I want things to be clear, I have to stand an inch away from the object.

“Why don’t I wear contacts?” I moaned as I squatted down on the floor. I stuck my face right against the floor and realized that ew, it really needed to be mopped.

I had just taken a shower and had stupidly left my glasses sitting on the counter. I assumed the kids would be busy watching the Thanksgiving Parade. But no, of course it didn’t go like that. My two year old daughter Natalie must’ve ran into the bathroom and taken my glasses.

Who knew what state they were in?

I’ve seen how she can destroy things. Her My Little Ponies mainly have matted down hair and drawings on their sides. She can mess up a room in a matter of seconds. So I did not have a good feeling about my glasses.

What was I going to do? I had another pair of glasses but they aren’t the right prescription.

How was I going to make Thanksgiving dinner if I couldn’t see?

“Natalie!” I called out, stepping into my clothes. I made my way downstairs. She was sitting calmly watching the parade.

“Have you seen my glasses?” I asked.

Natalie shook her head. At least I think she did. It was hard to tell.

“Tommy? Have you seen my glasses?” I practically begged.

“No,” he answered.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Tom had been home. But he had to work and wouldn’t be home until 7.

I felt the top of my head. Usually when people misplace their glasses they wind up being propped on their head, right?

But no such luck. I don’t even know why I checked. I never prop my glasses on top of my head.

What was I going to do? I had a meal to cook! How was I going to make it if I couldn’t see the recipe?

I decided to call Tom. Maybe he could ask to be released. He could be all, “My wife can’t see! She’s lost her glasses!”

“Tom!” I shouted when he answered.

“Amber?” he answered, obviously baffled.

“Tom, I’ve lost my glasses and I can’t seeeeeee…..”

“What? How did you lose your glasses?”

“I was taking a shower and left them on the counter and they aren’t there! I think Natalie took them. Could you come over and see if you can find them?”

“No. I’m at work.” Tom didn’t even sound that concerned. Wasn’t he worried that I wouldn’t be able to parent his children properly? I mean, did he not realize that they were just colorful blobs on the carpet to me?

“Some help you are!” I snapped. “Happy Thanksgiving!” Then I hung up and got down on my hands and knees. Maybe I’d stumble across my glasses this way. Natalie probably left them somewhere.

“HORSIE!” Natalie shouted. You cannot get down on your hands and knees in front of her. Otherwise she’ll mistake you as a horse.

“Not right now,” I said as Natalie clamored onto my back.

“Horsie! Giddy up, horsie!”

“Natalie! Not now!”

But she refused to budge so I had to search the carpet with her on my back.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked. I think he was making a face but I COULDN’T SEE so who knows? Tommy has begun to notice that his Mom is a bit eccentric.

“Looking for my glasses. Do you see them anywhere?”

Tommy has perfect vision like his father. I don’t see why Tom gets the perfect vision. He doesn’t even use it properly. All his dirty clothes are always beside the laundry basket and not in it.

“I don’t see them. Mommy, it looks like you’re kissing the floor,” Tommy observed.

It probably did. My lips were about an inch away from the ground.

“HORSIE!”

“I’m not a horse! I just want my glasses!” I wailed.

I debated going over to the neighbor’s house and saying, “Hi! I know we don’t know each other well but could you perhaps come with me and search for my glasses?”

No. I couldn’t do that. Then whenever my neighbors would see me they’d be all, “There goes the chick that’s blind as a bat.”

I continued to look around the house. The kids started to fight but I couldn’t really see what was going on. I just saw blurry limbs racing around the room.

“Let’s calm down!” I said. I walked over and stood an inch away from their faces so they knew I was serious.

“Mommy, you’re in my personal space!” Tommy whined. He’s learned about personal space from school and doesn’t hesitate to let people know when they are in it.

I heard a knock on the door.

I walked over and it appeared to be someone in uniform. I practically had to press my nose up to the screen door.

“Tom!” I said.

“I take it you still lost your glasses?” he wondered.

“Gee, where did you come up with that, Einstein?” I replied. I mean, hello, they weren’t on my face so of COURSE they were still lost.

“I have a few minutes to help you,” Tom said opening the door.

“I’ve searched everywhere!” I said.

“Amber. PU. Your breath reeks. Do you have to stand so close?”

YES! Because I CAN’T SEE!

“Natalie, did you take Mommy’s glasses?” I heard Tom ask.

“Yes,” Natalie answered.

I knew the little minx had taken them!

“Where are they?”

“Snow White wearing Mommy’s glasses,” Natalie responded primly.

“Tell Snow White she better give them back!” I yelled.

“Where is her Snow White doll?” Tom asked.

What part of I CAN’T SEE was he not comprehending? How in the WORLD would I know where her Snow White doll is?

“Shhh. Snow White sleeping,” Natalie explained. She might have even put a finger to her lips.

“Where?” Tom demanded.

“In Tommy’s room,” Natalie said.

So Tom thundered up the stairs. Oh please oh please let my glasses be there…

“Found them!” Tom called out.

HURRAY!

“Are they...intact?”

How was I going to shop the Black Friday sales if I couldn’t see? I wouldn’t be able to drive. Maybe I could get a taxi. Then I’d just have to be creative in my shopping. I could get a cane or something and….

“They look fine,” Tom said. He came over and stuck them on my face.

“I can SEE again!” I said. I tried to click my heels but I missed and nearly went tumbling into the couch.

“Are you sure you can see again?” Tom joked.

Well. You can’t really take the klutz out of the girl, even if she CAN see again…

Happy Thanksgiving?

Help!

How in the world am I supposed to make Thanksgiving dinner when the second I turn around, Natalie is DRAWING on the furniture?



Tom is at work. He doesn’t return until 7 so I’m on my own.

Natalie, sweetheart, PUT THE MARKER DOWN!



Excuse me.

I had to just take the marker from her. I thought I got them all but no, she has a secret marker stash somewhere.

I just know the second I go to prepare the stuffing, she’s going to pull another one out.

Hey Mom, how about some purple walls?

Wait.

What’s that smell?

Does anyone want to cook for me?

Tommy keeps showing me his things that he put together. He’s always randomly created things. I’ve always appreciated them but on Thanksgiving, when his latest creation is being shoved under my nose, it’s hard to be impressed. My hand was deep in the turkey, searching for the neck bag and Tommy stuck his toy in my face.

“Look! It’s Santa’s sled!” Tommy shouted.



I could not find the neck bag. Where was the neck bag? Did it really matter if I pull it out or not? I could just be all, “Stay away from that area. You’ll probably find a cooked neck bag.”

“It’s Santa’s SLED! Did you HEAR ME?”

“I heard you. You did a fantastic job!” I said my hand still in the turkey. WHERE WAS THE NECK BAG?

I eventually found it.

Now I have to go make the stuffing.

Wish me luck.

The Return of Scab Girl

“Oh no. Hide,” I said as she approached us. I searched frantically for a place to duck behind.

“Why?” Tommy wondered, eyes wide in confusion. “Mommy, what are you doing?”

I was crouched down beside the bleachers. A guy was sitting about a foot away and he glanced over with raised eyebrows.

“Good evening,” I said in a businesslike tone as though it were perfectly normal to be hunched over beside some bleachers.

The guy quickly looked away- don’t engage the crazy lady! -and I thought I was in the clear.

But then…

“Do you have hair in your armpit?”

She was back. Scab Girl was back.

You know Scab Girl, right? She’s the girl that told me all about her scabs right before Tommy’s swim lessons one night.

The week after telling me about every little mark on her body, she started gabbing about her hair and should she cut it or should she grow it out or should she curl it or should she keep it straight?

The girl is seven, by the way.

And she likes to talk. Oh, does she like to talk. And because I have a sign that only Strange Kids can see, she always wants to talk to me even though there are a handful of other parents around. It’s like, sweetheart, see that woman over there? She looks like she’d totally love to hear a speech about your hair.

But she won’t talk to anyone else. It’s just me.

“Do you have hair in your armpit?” Scab Girl repeated. She didn’t even look surprised that I was obviously hiding. Maybe she’s used to people hiding from her.

“Um,” I said, straightening up. The guy who had eyed me before now appeared to be positively shocked. He gave me a look like, Now I see why you were trying to hide. But at the same time he looked intrigued on what my response would be.

“I….I do,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure if I should lie. It would seem silly to lie but some parents are so anal about everything. (“How DARE you tell my daughter that she’s going to get hair under her armpit! She’s too YOUNG to hear news like that!”)

“I found a hair under my armpit,” Scab Girl said solemnly.

What do you say to that?

In the end I said, “Oh. That’s nice,” and hoped that she’d go away. But she didn’t. No, she hung around and started describing the hair that she found. Her Mom, as always, continued to read, oblivious to her child’s inappropriate conversation.

“When I’m a few years older, I’ll shave,” Scab/Hair girl said.

It was at this moment when their swim teacher was ready for them.

“I think swim class is about to start,” I said, pointing. I tried not to sound relieved.

“Shaving will probably be scary but I think I’ll be okay,” Scab/Hair/Won’t Go The Freak Away/ Girl continued.

“Er, your teacher is ready for you,” I tried again.

“How old were you when you started shaving?” Scab/Hair/If She Doesn’t Go Away In Five Seconds, I’m Going To Wack Her With My Purse/ Girl asked.

Her Mom seemed to come to at this point when she heard the teacher calling for her daughter.

“Get in the pool!” she ordered.

“I’ve got to go,” Scab/Hair/Someone Needs To Teach Her About Inappropriate Vs Appropriate conversation topics/ Girl told me.

Then she was gone.

Praise the chocolate Gods.

I settled down on the bleachers and watched Tommy. The teacher had them swim on their backs and my kid went quickly across the pool.

“Whose kid is that?” I heard a Mom whisper to another Mom.

My ears immediately peaked. Who are you and why are you talking about my kid?

“I’m not sure. Hers, I think,” the other Mom whispered, nodding her chin towards me.

“He’s really fast,” the first Mom said. Then she realized I was staring and turned to me. “He’s really good. Fast. Are you putting him on the swim team?”

I shrugged. “If he wants to.”

“Put him on the swim team!” she urged.

“If he wants to,” I repeated. I don’t put my kids in anything they don’t want to do.

Tommy has always been fast while doing the backstroke. If he does decide he wants to be on the swim team, I imagine that’ll be the stroke he’s best at. He’s still awkward while trying to do the butterfly and will calmly tell the teacher, “Let’s not do this one. Let’s do the backstroke.”

He still has to take another class before he can be on the swim team. They want the kids at a certain level before they come on the team, you see. He’ll be in the swim lessons for a bit longer just so he can understand the different strokes, how to breathe properly while doing them, etc….

When the lessons were over, I practically ran out of the room with Tommy.

Scab Girl looked like she wanted to continue our conversation about her armpit hair and I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I could have handled anymore hair talk.

There is only so much I can take.

So I Saw New Moon....

Well, I did it.

I was a little afraid, I’m not going to lie.

I went to see New Moon.

I did enjoy reading the books. Sometimes when I write about being terrified of the Twihards, people think that I hated the books. I didn’t. I thought the plot was original and they were entertaining. But I just couldn’t get into the hoopla. I saw Twilight and nearly passed out from laughing so hard. It was terrible.

Amanda and I decided to see New Moon at one. We figured that the teenagers would be in school so that it would be a safe time.

“We just have to worry about the adults,” I said to Tom before I left.

He made a face. “That’s pretty sad…”

“I know.”

Natalie latched onto my leg as I tried to go.

“Mommy will be back,” I promised and unlatched her. I gave her a hug and a kiss and distracted her by saying, “Look, here comes creepy Brobee!” and she whirled around and rushed to the television where Brobee was being all around weird.

I picked up Amanda and we headed to the theater. I was a little nervous that it would still be busy. I pictured a thousand of my Neighborhood Twilight Crazies waiting around for the movie, all clad in Edward t-shirts. This thought freaked me out.

Lucky for us, the theater wasn’t busy.

I got my delicious popcorn slathered in butter. Whenever I’m asked, “Do you want butter on the popcorn?” I always want to say, “Yes! It tastes like Styrofoam without it.”

Before the movie started there were tons of previews.

I know I want to see The Lovely Bones.

Then a preview came on about a movie called It’s Complicated and I saw a flash of John Krasinski. Ahh, John Krasinski. Now he's a man to get excited over. (Although I would never wear a shirt with his face on it.)

Then the movie started.

And, okay, I nearly choked on my diet coke in the beginning of the movie when Edward started walking towards Bella. His shirt blew open, he had a pinched expression on his face...the first thought that came to my mind was, “Ew run!”

Then whenever Edward spoke this cheesy music would be tinkering in the background. When he was all, “This will be the last time you’ll ever see me,” I was thinking, “If he said that to me, I’d have been all, ‘Okay great. I’d rather be with someone who wasn’t as cold as ice anyhow. Bye!’”

When Jacob first took off his shirt a few grown women made some inappropriate sounds. Grown women! The guy is 17. Suppose that were YOUR son? Would you want grown adults making noises over him? Anyhow, that gave me the giggles. And it freaked me out at the same time.

The movie was better than Twilight , I’ll give it that. But I didn’t consider it to be this great movie. A League of Their Own was a great movie. Not this one.

Will I see Eclipse? Probably. I’ll wait to see it like I did this one.

Will I continue to be afraid of the Twihards? Oh, without a doubt.

The Surprise Soup Party

“Remember to come to my Surprise Soup party!” Tommy reminded me as he left for school on Thursday.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I assured him.

I was a little worried though. Surprise Soup? What all was going to be in it? I pictured kids throwing in a bunch of random items and my stomach turned.

Maybe I’d just pass on the soup...

I had to take Natalie.

I put her in this:





When we first got to Tommy’s classroom, he wasn’t there yet. He was finishing up in the resource room where he gets one-on-one help with reading and math.

“Where’s Tommy? Where’s Tommy? TOMMY?” Natalie started to shriek as I led her to the child sized chairs that were set up. It actually smelled good in the room. Perhaps the soup was going to be good...and oh my God, were those BROWNIES? Thank goodness for junk food. I hate that schools are trying to go healthy and try to make it seem like carrots are a proper dessert. I’m here to say that they aren’t. Sorry.

“TOMMY!” Natalie kept calling.

The other kids in the class started to snicker.

Then Tommy walked in and Natalie practically fell out of her chair from excitement. She started pointing wildly in his direction.

“There’s Tommy. There he is. TOMMY!” Natalie rushed over and threw her arms around his waist.

Now, if this were a Hallmark movie Tommy probably would have hugged her back. But this is Real Life so Tommy just stood there with his hands pinned at his sides, looking rather embarrassed. It’s not that he doesn’t like his sister...he just feels that she’s too loud at times, which is ironic considering that Tommy also has a problem with volume.

“Hi Natalie,” he said in a bored done. He pulled free and set his reading material in his cubby.

A few other parents filtered in. Then the teacher announced that the guests were allowed to get their food first.

Awesome.

Standing in line with a two year old was not easy. Natalie wanted to wander off and explore and I’d remind her that we had to get some food.

“I no want food,” Natalie told me seriously.

This is not surprising. Natalie picks at her food and doesn’t seem at all thrilled with it. Did she really come from me? Who doesn’t get excited over brownies? I mean, did she not SEE the brownies?

I peeked in the giant bowl of soup and it appeared to be normal. Wait, what was that white thing? Oh, a potato. Okay.

Basically it was just vegetable soup.

Then we sat back down and the teacher said everyone else could get in line. I took a giant bite out of the brownie—mmmm—and then the teacher was all, “And we don’t eat until everyone is served.”

Wait.

What?

I stuffed the brownie chunk in the corner of my mouth and pretended that I hadn’t eaten a thing. I acted as though I were really interested in my napkin and surreptitiously swallowed the brownie down.

It seemed to take forever until everyone was served.

Finally, it seemed like we were able to eat.

I took another bite of brownie.

“Let’s not eat until we go around the room and say what we’re thankful for!” the teacher called out.

Sonofabitch!

I quickly chewed the brownie and swallowed it.

Most people said they were thankful for their family.

“Family.”

“Family.”

“My health.”

“Family.”

“Family.”

“I’m thankful that I get to see New Moon tonight!”

Seriously?

A few people chuckled and the woman beside me went, “OhmiGod, are you going to see that movie?” and I replied, “OhmiGod, not tonight!”

I may have insulted her. I didn’t mean to but there was no way I’d ever go see a movie like that on opening night. No way in heck.

I wanted to be silly and say that I was thankful for chocolate, but I didn’t want to appear to be coldhearted so I said, “My family.”

Tommy said, “My Mommy!”

(Aww!)

Natalie said, “Beans!” but only because she discovered a bean floating in the soup at that very moment.

Or maybe she is thankful for beans. Who knows with that child?

Then we were finally granted permission to eat.

The soup was actually good. Well, the few bites that I had. Natalie kept taking my spoon from me and I didn’t want to take it back, lest she did one of her famous screams. I didn’t want everyone staring at us. Then Tommy would have gotten humiliated and possibly could have had his own meltdown…

So I just let her have my spoon and ate the rest of the brownie.

Mmmmmm.

“I actually like this soup,” Tommy informed me. He’s a picky eater so this was surprising. Really? He liked the mystery soup but thinks that yams and pork chops taste “funky.” (His words, not mine.)

After we ate, that was it. The bell rang which signaled recess. Tommy threw his lunch away and put on his coat. He was about to run out—

“Um, excuse me? Would you like to say goodbye to the woman you said you were thankful for?” I called out before he darted from the room.

Tommy paused and sighed. “Oh Mommy,” he groaned, but gave me a hug anyway. He tried to run out again.

“BRUDDER, I WANT A HUG!” Natalie shouted.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Here Natalie,” he said, and slung his arm loosely around her.

“Bye, Brudder!” Natalie said, waving.

So the Surprise Soup party was a success. I wasn’t poisoned by strange soup objects and Natalie didn’t throw a gigantic fit.

Always a plus, you see.

Attack of the Scary Twilighter!

“Yoo hoo! Amber!”

Her voice rang out and I instantly cringed. I was checking the mail this morning and I thought I would be safe.

I was wrong.

She rushed over to me clad in a t-shirt that said TEAM EDWARD in red letters. Rob Pattinson’s face stared back up at me from her stomach.

Yes.

It was the local crazed Twilight lady.

I had been trying to avoid her all week because I knew she’d want to talk all about how New Moon was opening.

A few weeks ago she even tried to give me a Twilight sweet tart with the word dazzle on it.

“No thanks,” I had said politely.

“But it says dazzle!” she squealed as though that made all the difference.

I sometimes wonder if she’s all there. I mean, she’s in her thirties and she still walks around wearing Twilight characters on her clothes. And okay, I guess there is nothing really wrong with this. She’s not hurting anyone, right? It just doesn’t make sense to me is all.

“Guess what?” she shouted and did a little bounce.

I blinked as I pulled out my mail.

“Hello?” she said, waving a hand around my face.

I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m a bit distracted. It’s hard to carry on a conversation when Rob Pattinson is staring up at me from your chest.”

She laughed. “Silly! This isn’t Rob Pattinson. It’s Edward!”

See?

Not. All. There.

“Guess what?” she tried again.

“What,” I said blandly hoping that she’d get the hint that I was not interested. (I think this is my main problem with the rude Twilight Crazies. They seem to think that because THEY enjoy Twilight that everyone else must too. I have a lot of friends who would consider themselves to be a Twilight Crazy but they don’t shove it in my face because they’re respectful.)

“I saw New Moon! It was fantastic! I have to tell someone all about it!” Rude Twilight Crazy gushed.

I sighed. “I’m not interested.”

“It was a beautiful movie and oh my Gosh, that Jacob is incredibly hot. The Volturi are frightening and…..”

She prattled on and on. Was she deaf? What part of NOT INTERESTED did she not comprehend?

I wish that I could just turn and walk away when people talk about things that I don’t care about. But I’m too polite. So I stood there and listened to her entire spiel about Bella and Jacob and “oh my God, I’m still wondering if Rob and Kristen are actually dating. They were spotted holding hands on the tarmac, you know.”

When she was done, she looked at me expectantly.

“What? Is my shirt bugging you again?” she asked jokingly when I didn’t say a word.

“A little,” I admitted. I can’t take Rob seriously as Edward.

This icon sort of sums up how I feel:



(Here's another one for good measure:



I did not make these by the way.)

“You’re going to be bitten by the Twilight bug someday!” she sing-songed at me.

I flipped through my mail. Yay, the newest Parenting when the Gymboree coupon inside came.

“I doubt it. As I’ve told you before, I enjoyed the books—” I began.

“That’s where the obsession starts!” she said with a sharp nod.

“And I moved on,” I added firmly. “These days I’m reading books about human beings, you see.” I gave her a thin smile. “Well, I should get home.”

“I’m going to see New Moon again tonight!” Twilight Crazy shouted at my back. “Are you going to see it?”

“When the hoopla has died down. I don’t want to be in the theater with the teenagers screaming over Edward,” I shouted back.

“The shouting makes it fun! You should have heard me last night!” she yelled.

See?

I tell you.

Not. All. There.

The Picture Debacle

The day didn’t start off bad.

In fact, it was going quite well.

I had met my friend Amanda at the park which meant that I got some adult talk in.

Natalie had run around the park which meant that she took a nap.

This made me happy because we had family pictures later in the day. This meant that she would be in a good mood.

But then Tom’s cell phone rang and I knew right away it wasn’t good news.

I could hear one of his co-workers yelling. Seriously yelling. I didn’t know what was happening. Tom kept saying, “Dude, I honestly didn’t know. I didn’t know,” over and over again.

This wasn’t good.

I knew it wasn’t good.

Then Tom said, “I have family pictures today,” and I could hear his co-worker yell, “I don’t give a flying FUCK about your family pictures.”

That’s so unprofessional, for one.

For two, how rude.

When Tom hung up he sighed. “I have to go.”

“Go where?” I demanded. I was already on the verge of bursting into tears. Even though it was Tom’s day off, he was being called in.

“My dog keeps throwing up. Apparently he ate something in the vehicle when I worked with him. So I got yelled at for not noticing. But I just went in this morning to clean his kennel and he wasn’t throwing up,” Tom explained. “I seriously didn’t notice him eating any part of the vehicle. I also got accused of leaving the dog in the car by himself which I’ve never done. Basically I have to drive to Fort Carson to take him to the emergency vet.”

Fort Carson, by the way, is in Colorado Springs.

Colorado Springs, by the way, is about three hours away from here.

(And by the way, Tom is a K-9 handler in the Air Force.)

“I’ll probably have to stay overnight. I was told to pack a bag,” Tom said and then brushed past me to rush upstairs to grab some clothes.

I followed at his heels. “But our pictures are less than an hour away. Surely they can let you take the pictures before you go...” I trailed off, already full aware of what the answer would be.

“I have to go. Now,” Tom said, throwing clothes into a bag.

So that was that.

I called Wal-Mart to try and reschedule. But they were booked. The only day they weren’t booked was Friday but Tom goes back to work then.

So I decided to just go. After all, Tom hates taking pictures anyhow. This was our family picture from last year:



He looks constipated.

Who wants someone who looks constipated in the picture anyhow?

I did.

I told Tom dramatically before he left, “You tell the Air Force that they’ve ruined my day.”

I know.

I need to chill out. I wish I could be like those supportive wives who will calmly press their palms together and say, “Well. Things like this happen and we’ll deal with it.”

When we got to the Wal-Mart studio, the kids were in fairly good moods.

Well, Tommy was ticked because he didn’t like the sweater I picked out for him.

“It makes you look handsome. It’s from Gymboree,” I said.

“I hate Gymboree,” he grumbled.

That’s just blasphemy and I chose to ignore it.

The photographer seemed slightly clueless. She set us up for a family photo and she didn’t do anything to get Natalie to laugh. She just was all, “Smile. SMILE!” Lady, to get my kid to smile, you have to act like an ass.

Another photographer who obviously knew what she was doing had to keep popping in to help. She kept saying, “I’m sorry to interject, but…” and then she’d tell Clueless Photographer what she had to do.

It was when I tried to get individual shots of the kids that everything spiraled out of control.

Tommy did fine.

But then when I set Natalie down, she flipped out.

And I’m not just talking about a minor flip out.

I’m talking about a FLIP OUT. You’d have thought that she was just informed that her favorite character from Yo Gabba Gabba had died.

She screamed at the top of her lungs.

The Smart Photographer came rushing in and tried to do all the tricks in the book to get a kid to smile.

Nothing worked.

I think it made things worse. Because when she started coming at Natalie with a feather duster, Natalie yelped and pressed her face into my knees.

I suppose a feather duster can look quite sinister to a child. Maybe she thought it was a bird that exploded on a stick? Who knows?

I kept saying, “It’s okay. I think we got enough pictures,” but Smart Photographer did not want to admit defeat.

“I’ll get her to smile,” she said firmly. I half expected her to punch her fist in the air. (Faster than a speeding bullet it’s SUPER PHOTOGRAPHER…)

Maybe she’s never dealt with a kid like Natalie.

Natalie is....

Strong willed. That’s a polite word for bratty, right?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, she can be sweet. But she can also be complete and total brat.

So can I.

So can most women.

The Smart Photographer dug frantically through her pile of Stuff that Makes Kids Smile. Nothing worked. She tried to hand over a bear that surely had to be covered with swine flu germs but Natalie wasn’t having it.

“NO BEAR!” Natalie shouted. “NO BEAR FOR NATALIE!”

This is when Tommy had a meltdown. He has Aspergers and can be quite sensitive to loud noises. He especially hates it when people cry. So he covered his ears and started to rock back and forth. Then he shouted, “STOP CRYING, NATALIE!” And then he fell down to his knees and screeched, “Why? Why won’t Natalie stop CRYING?” I’m really not sure where he gets his dramatics from....

It was complete and utter mayhem.

I didn’t think it could get any worse.

But it did.

Because I started to cry. I couldn’t calm my kids down, I was upset that my husband wasn’t with us, the entire world has gone Twilight crazed and I’m afraid.....

“Oh,” both photographers said and gaped at me.

I imagine they are used to children crying.

But adults?

“I’m…sorry…” I sniffled. “I just...I just...”

A tissue was pressed into my palm. Natalie still wailed in the background. Tommy was now balled up on the floor.

“It’s okay. How about we check out the photos we do have?” the Smart Photographer suggested.

I hiccupped. “Okay,” I said meekly and followed her over to the computer.

I showed the kids the playroom and this helped perk them up.

Hey, a bunch of diseased toys we can play with!

The Smart Photographer did the sales pitch about the photos. She mentioned something about a package that was $249 and I giggled. She looked up with a start.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” she asked and moved her tongue over them.

I dabbed at my cheeks with the tissue. “Nothing. It’s just, I don’t love my children’s image that much to drop $249 on them.”

Does that make me a bad Mom?

The Smart Photographer looked taken aback. She quickly recovered and started rambling on about other packages.

This is when Natalie went, “Bye,” and started to walk out of the studio and into the store where the People of WalMart.com lurk.

I grabbed her and she went limp on me. Even though she’s only around twenty pounds, she has the ability to make it seem like she’s 100 pounds. She just drops all her weight so I have to struggle to keep her up.

When I sat back down, the Smart Photographer continued on.

I was distracted because Natalie kept trying to leave.

I think I agreed on something because the Smart Photographer suddenly went, “And we’re done!”

We are?

Then when I went up to the counter to pay, the Smart Photographer slid a Portrait Members Card at me.

“What’s this?” I said, twisting the card in my fingers.

“It’s your member card. It’s only $10 with the package you bought. You said you wanted it,” she said with a frown.

I did?

When?

Probably when Natalie tried to rush out of the store for the tenth time.

Or maybe it was when Tommy started trying to make his armpit make noises.

“So that’ll be one hundred dollars and six cents,” Smart Photographer said.

What?

One hundred DOLLARS?

On pictures?

What in the HELL did I agree on?

I must’ve looked perplexed because Smart Photographer went, “You got the bronze package…”

What’s the hell is that?

A BRONZE package?

“Oh,” I stuttered and slid my debit card at her.

What is GOING ON!?

I guess I’ll figure out exactly what I ordered when I pick up the pictures on December 1st.

Since I spent so much on pictures, this now means I have to cut back on what I buy on Black Friday which makes me slightly cranky.

After the picture debacle, I had to pick up a few things from Wal-Mart.

Tommy threw a fit because I wouldn’t buy him a Transformer.

“Your entire room is filled with Transformers,” I reminded him tiredly.

“But I don’t have the ice cream truck!” he argued.

“Well, I don’t have a lot of things that I want. You have to learn to deal with it,” I said through clenched teeth.

“You’re the meanest Mommy ever! I’m not your son anymore!” Tommy said and stomped his foot.

“Believe me, you’re my son. I have the stretch marks to prove it,” I answered.

“I’m so mad!” Tommy whined.

“Do you mean mad as in angry or mad as in crazy?” I wondered lightly. “In England, the word mad means crazy, you know.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Cheer up,” I said and ruffled his hair.

He just crossed his arms over his chest and pouted the rest of the time. He looks like his father when he pouts.

Tom...

Tom called me later when he got to Colorado Springs.

His dog seems to be okay.

He should be home today.

Since I’m a Portrait Club member (and I’m still not sure what this even means), we’ll try again for family photos at some point.

Maybe when Natalie understands the phrase, “If you cooperate for pictures, you can pick out a toy under ten bucks.”

They're Back!

I wait for them every year.

They are amazingly delicious.

They go fantastically with crackers.

They are....



(Tom looks high with the cheese ball because A) he doesn't like smiling for pictures which stinks because today we have our family photos and I'd rather he didn't look high and B) because he didn't get why I had to take a picture of him with a cheese ball.)

CHEESE BALLS!

I had a hair appointment yesterday at the mall so when I saw the Hickory Farms stand set up my heart started to race.

I had been waiting for them for weeks.

I would even say to my husband Tom, “Aren’t you excited about the cheese balls?”

Then he would be crass and reply, “I wish you were just as excited about ANOTHER pair of balls,” and he’d gyrate his body at me.

Gross.

Anyhow, when I saw the stand, I rushed over and went, “It’s here!” I meant to just think it but I get a case of verbal diarrhea when I’m excited sometimes. The worker was amused. She smirked at me and went, “Can I help you with something?”

I headed straight for the cooler where all the cheese balls are kept. Hello cheese balls. Remember me? I picked up an original one and a sharp cheddar one. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to grab them myself because when I picked them up, the worker made a strange noise and went, “I’ll get those for you.” I wanted to say, “It’s okay. I’m not germy. I don’t have swine flu. I’m just in love with these balls.”

But that probably would have sounded wrong.

I got my hair done after that. This always takes awhile because I have so much hair. The stylist ran her fingers through my hair and went, “It’s so thick!”

It’s also unruly. It’s only cooperative when expensive creams go into it but I’m sorry, I’m not about to drop thirty bucks for cream. So unruly hair it is.

I had my root re-touched. I’m supposed to come in every six weeks to do this.

I usually come in around every 4-6 months.

Ooops.

The thing is, I already have gray hair. I get that from my Dad (thanks, Dad) whose hair started to turn gray when he was 17. But since I don’t come in to get them colored every 6 weeks, they start to pop out and people are all, “What are you doing with gray hair already?” and I’m say quite plainly, “Genetics. And mouthy children and husbands.”

The Princess Dress

When Tom’s Mom was here she bought Natalie a Snow White dress.

The thing is, for four days, Natalie refused to take it off.



Oh sure, she’d allow me to put regular clothes on first. But then she’d be all, “Princess dress.”



“Darling, how about we just give the Princess dress a rest?” I said hopefully on day three.

“PRINCESS DRESS! PRINCESS DRESS!”

“Jesus! Alright!”

She would wear it all day.

Even when she ate.

Even when she went to bed. I mean, didn’t it make her itch? It looks like it would make her itch. But I guess she didn’t care.

She did let me take it off so she could bathe at least. But the dress HAD to be slung over the toilet. If it’s wasn’t, Natalie flipped out.



On day four, I was trying to figure out how I could wash the thing.

Because the dress had begun to emit a smell. It desperately needed to be cleaned. But how?

I even told her honestly that she was starting to stink.

“So I think it would be a good idea to wash the dress? How about we take it off?”

“PRINCESS DRESS! PRINCESS DRESS! PRINCESS DRESS!”

“Tom! A little help here!” I shouted. He was on the computer playing his beloved Call of Duty game. How he tunes all the noise out is beyond me.

“What?” Tom was genuinely surprised.

“Natalie’s dress is starting to smell and she won’t take it off!” I explained.

“She doesn’t smell!” Tom retorted. “Just let her keep it on. All kids go through stuff like this.”

Then he went back to his game.

Gee thanks for nothing, oh wise one.

And of course he wouldn’t think she smells. This is a man who comes home from work with feet that reek from being in boots for hours and seems surprised when I beg him to take a shower so we don’t all keel over from the draft.

“How about we put on another dress?” I tried a different tactic with Natalie.

“PRINCESS DRESS!”

Then she added her Princess boots to the ensemble.



I took Natalie out to Target in her Princess dress. People thought it was cute. But only because they didn’t get close enough to smell her.

“What’s her name?” the cashier asked.

“Natalie,” I replied.

“SNOW WHITE!” Natalie cut in. “Mommy, I Snow White.”

Okay then. Snow White.

I began to think that she’d never take the dress off.

But then this morning she suddenly stepped out of it.

“All done,” she said, handing it to me.

“All…done?” I said this cautiously, worried that she’d turn into a rabid child and beg me to give her back the dress.

“All done,” Natalie repeated.

I backed away with the dress slowly. I kept expecting her to chase after me and try and bite my ankles.

But no. She just calmly started to play with her blocks.

Of course now her latest obsession seems to be not wanting to wear pants. She’s currently sitting in the living room clad in a shirt and her diaper. Her pants have been tossed into the corner of the room. “All done, pants,” Natalie told me seriously.

I think I’d like the smelly dress phase back…

Paranormal Activity

“I’m scared,” I admitted to my husband Tom before I left. I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed the car keys off the counter.

“It’s just pretend,” Tom reminded me.

I took a deep breath before I left. “Right. It’s just pretend.”

I was on my way to pick up a friend. Then we were headed to see Paranormal Activity. See, I love ghost movies. But they always freak me out. I suppose it would be best for me to avoid films with ghosts but I can’t help it. I’m intrigued.

And as for the friend? Well, I met her online. Tom says this is typical of me since I’m such a hermit. I don’t consider myself a hermit. I’m just shy. It’s not easy for me to approach someone and start a conversation. I envy those who can easily do it but I am not one of those people.

The friend and I met at the park a few days prior to the movie. Tom was nervous about this.

“Suppose she kidnaps you?” he said. He thinks everyone on the Internet has evil intentions. He watches too many cop shows.

“She won’t kidnap me, Tom,” I assured him.

“Suppose she kidnaps Natalie?”

“We’re on a military base, Tom. We’ll be okay,” I said.

“Maybe you should bring a weapon. Just in case,” Tom said. He tried to stick his pocket knife into my purse but I moved it away.

“Tom! I’ll be fine!” I shrieked, lifting my purse over my head.

And I was fine. She was perfectly normal. Her name is Amanda and she has two kids of her own.

Of course it was my daughter who threw a colossal fit when it was time to leave the park. It’s like, “Hi, nice to meet you. Don’t mind my daughter’s lungs.”

Then it came time to see the movie. I was thrilled to get out minus children. When I backed out of our driveway I was tempted to shout, “I’m free! I’m free!” But I didn’t. I just thought it.

Amanda and I had a lot of talk about. I kept reminding myself not to act like a complete dork. Sometimes I can say the strangest things. Like one time I went, “It’s too bad you can’t put muzzles on children,” and I was TOTALLY joking but the chick I was talking to looked absolutely horrified that I would even say something like that. Some people just don’t get my humor. Or my sarcasm. So I really do try to tone it down until a person gets to know me.

Then the movie started and I was instantly nervous. I kept reminding myself that the movie was not real. At first I was all, “And if it’s a nice ghost then it’s okay…”

But of course it wasn’t a nice ghost. It was a demon ghost.

I nearly choked on my diet coke when I found this out. A DEMON ghost?

I didn’t understand why the couple slept with the lights off. I’m sorry, but if I were being haunted by a DEMON GHOST I’d keep all the lights on. But they kept flicking off the lights.

I closed my eyes a few times. I did not want to see the demon ghost.

Then the main male character yelled something like, “Show yourself!” I was all, “For the love of chocolate, DON’T show yourself! I don’t wanna see a demon ghost!”

The movie sort of abruptly ended. From the corner of my eye I noticed some teenaged theater workers sauntering in, ready to clean up. I was thinking, “How rude! The movie isn’t over yet…” but then I realized that it was.

It’s just, the movie didn’t have credits rolling and such. It just…ended.

And yes, I was creeped out on how it ended.

When I got home Tom asked me how it was.

“I’m freaked out,” I admitted.

I swore a demon ghost was breathing on me. It just turned out to be the vent. But still.

I swore there were ghost eyes in the corner, watching me.

It was just the cat.

“What’s THAT?” I shrieked as I climbed into bed.

“The toilet,” Tom said tiredly.

Well, in my defense, in the dark it looked quite sinister.

“Oh no, attack of the commode,” Tom said, his eyes closed.

I heard weird thumps. In the movie, the ghost made a lot of noise.

It was a long night.

I think my next movie is going to be a happy one.

That way I don’t start to think that the dresser is a gigantic ghost who wants to eat me.

Me. Next to a Tree.

“We’re not going out for ice cream anymore,” I told Tom last night.

He looked up with a horrified expression as he spooned some dinner on his plate. (Eggs and sausage, thank you very much.) “Why?” he demanded. You’d have thought that someone had died or something.

“Because I bought this,” I said, gesturing to the refrigerator.



Tom frowned. “I’m confused. What exactly is it?” He even poked at it.

“Tommy’s art was turned into a magnet. I had to buy it. What kind of mother doesn’t buy her child’s art?” I explained. There was a whole list of different things you could buy with your child’s art on it. It ranged from a keychain all the way to a blanket.

“Well, how much was it? Two bucks?” Tom wondered.

“Six.”

Tom nearly choked on the mouthful of eggs that he put in his mouth. “SIX? For this? For something that Tommy draws all the time!”

He had a point there. Tommy seems to like to draw that same picture a lot. He says, “It’s me. Next to a tree. Do you want me to draw you me? Next to a tree?” And of course I can’t say, “No. Please no more yous next to a tree!” So I always say yes and now I’m left with a pile of Tommy. Next to a tree.

“So you spent six bucks. That’s nothing. We can still go out for ice cream,” Tom argued.

I shook my head. “Not when we’re saving for Black Friday. We agreed that we’d be extra strict until then so we could shop that day.”

Tom poked at his sausage. “It’s just six bucks,” he muttered.

“I know. But it’s the principle of the thing. Plus we have ice cream here,” I said diplomatically.

“It’s not the same,” Tom fumed. “Plus, it’s YOU that wants to have extra money to shop on Black Friday. Why should I be punished?”

I rolled my eyes. “Tom, didn’t you say that you planned on buying the shit out of Craftsman tools on Black Friday?”

Tom’s face twitched with recognition. He probably remembered his reaction when I showed him the Sears Black Friday ad. He practically drooled over the keyboard as he went down the list and saw all the Craftsman tools there. And then he said, “I’m buying the SHIT out of these tools on Black Friday!”

“I may have said that,” Tom said slowly. “But really, we can go out for ice cream...”

“We’re saving money! Why do you think we’re eating eggs? Because they’re cheap. And we’ll also be having a lot of Hamburger Helper too,” I said cheerfully.

Tom made a face and made a cross sign with his fingers. “Ugh, please no Hamburger Helper. It has a weird taste.”

“Do you or do you not want to buy the shit out of your Craftsman tools?”

Tom gave a big sigh. “Have I ever told you how mean you are? Lucky for you I love my tools so I’m going to drop it.” And then he walked out of the room, probably thinking about his shiny tools that he plans on buying in a few weeks.

I stared at Tommy’s magnet for a few seconds and Tommy sidled up next to me.

“Hey! Do you want me to draw you a picture of me? Next to a tree?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Sure Tommy. I’d love another picture of you. Next to a tree.”

The New Computer Game

So Tom bought the new Call of Duty game.

I always hate when he gets a new game.

When he gets a new game, he hogs the computer and we live in the Stone Age and don’t have wireless internet so I barely get to go online.

When he gets a new game, all his focus is on it. I could walk out butt naked and he wouldn’t notice. Believe me, I’ve tried this before.

When he gets a new game, he curses. A lot. Then he looks surprised when Natalie says, “You shithead!” He’s all, “Where did she learn that?” Seriously, Tom? Seriously? I just wonder.

I get fed up when he spends hours on a game and I tell him so.

“It’s time for you to get off the computer,” I’ll say.

“Why?” he’ll answer.

“Because you’ve been on for four hours and quite frankly, it’s not fair. I would love to spend four hours playing Sims but I can’t,” I’ll explain.

I’ve asked him not to use foul language but does he listen? No, the other players on the game are all *bleep bleep bleepers* and oh, they all apparently cheat too.

He goes online to play with other people and every few seconds you hear, “That’s CHEATING! You can’t just stand there at my spawn point! That’s CHEATING!”

I am so sick of hearing him. His new schedule is that he works three days and then he gets three days off. So he was off yesterday, he’s off today and he’s off tomorrow.

I want him to go back to work so I can have some silence. So I don’t have to hear, “HE'S CHEATING!” every few seconds.

Here’s a thought Tom: maybe they aren’t cheating. Maybe you just SUCK.

Then when he finally pulls himself off the game he starts to talk to me about it.

“I hate when everyone doesn’t stay together. They all go off and do their own thing. We have to STICK TOGETHER,” and here he’ll slap his palm with his fist for emphasis, “or else we’re going to keep losing. We need a PLAN, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, Tom. I don’t play games like that,” I’ll remind him but he doesn’t care. He’ll keep going on about tactics, and cheaters, and tactics, and cheaters...

So if your husband plays the new Call of Duty game and happens to be cheating, please tell him to stop, okay?

Then maybe I’ll get a little peace around here.

To cheer myself up, I’m sharing some pictures. I’m also doing this to bug Tom. He keeps asking if I’m almost done with the computer so now I’m deliberately taking my time.



Here is Natalie's reaction to taking some pictures. She's all, "Say WHAT?" She's wearing Gap. Sometimes I cheat on Gymboree with Gap.



I started to sing creepy Yo Gabba Gabba songs and a smile was beginning to come out....



Crap, maybe not. I was doing a dance and nearly fell on my butt and Natalie was all, "That's NOT how the song goes."



Ahh, here's a smile. She's blowing a few kisses.



It's Dancey Dance time!



Natalie was just as confused as to why Modern Family and Cougar Town were replaced by the CMAs too. Couldn't the CMAs be put on the freaking country channel or something?



I started to dance around around again.

(No, Tom. I'm NOT almost done with the computer. Lalala....this...is....me...taking....my....time...)





Should I be concerned that Natalie always wants to lift up her shirt when I take pictures? Stay away from Joe Francis, sweetie:

The Sad Buckeyes

“Well, there goes the good cook,” I sighed as Tom’s Mom left. She had stayed a few days and yes, she did make a few things. She made me her potato salad. Oh, and these:



Those would be sad buckeyes and chocolate dipped peanut butter Ritz crackers.

I call them sad buckeyes because they weren’t quite working properly since we used margarine instead of regular butter.

(Look. Here’s a picture of a Sad Buckeye with eyes.



It’s all, “Hello! I may look pathetic but I’m still tasty!”)

I ate the sad buckeyes anyway. I couldn’t let them go to waste.

I may have also eaten the leftover melted chocolate that we dipped the things in.

What, like I’m going to dump out perfectly good chocolate?

Anyhow, it was a nice visit with Tom’s Mom.

Natalie took a few days to warm up to her. She’s like that with adults. Like when Tom’s Mom first got here she played shy. Oh, she allowed Tom’s Mom to admire her from afar—but if she got to close, she gave her a warning stare. Come any closer, and I’ll bite!

Actually, she doesn’t really bite.

Well, unless you tell her that you will not put in Snow White for her to watch for the thousandth time.

But she can look quite scary when she wants to.

On the day before Tom’s Mom was set to leave, Natalie decided that she’d allow her to touch her.

So she started to do this:





She’s all, “You’ve been granted permission to touch me. Be thrilled. Now you must catch me.”

She shared herself with everyone that night.

Daddy also had to catch her:



Then I had to catch her.

We’ll all miss her.

Hurry back, Grandma. We already miss your potato salad.

My Little Hero

“I think something might be wrong with Tommy.”

I still remember uttering the words. Tommy was about three at the time. He barely spoke and he did this funny thing with his arms that I realized other kids didn’t do. When I’d bring him to the park he would rarely climb and play on the toys. No, instead he preferred to race around in circles. Sometimes I’d watch him stare at an object and he’d just walk back and forth, back and forth.

“Nothing is wrong with Tommy. He’ll grow out of it,” Tom told me. He refused to believe that anything could be wrong with his namesake. But still, I could see his frustration when he’d try to toss a ball to Tommy. Our neighbor had a boy about Tommy’s age and that boy could easily catch the ball. I could see Tom thinking, Why can’t my son catch a ball?

“Come on, Tommy, hold out your arms,” Tom would coach and Tommy, who wants to please everyone, would comply. But still the ball would slip down his stomach and drop to the floor.

Tommy’s preschool teacher would call at least once per week.

“We can’t get him to sit still at circle time.”

“His speech is incredibly limited.”

“Tommy flips out when we have a fire drill.”

This continued on to Kindergarten. I began to feel helpless. I was trying to do everything I could to help Tommy. He had speech and occupational therapy since he was two, when we realized he was so behind other kids. I’d sit with him on my lap and we’d point out pictures in books.

“Look Tommy, look at the girl in this picture. What is she doing?” I’d prompt.

“Crying,” Tommy said.

“What do we do when people cry?”

And he’d just sit there because he honestly didn’t know. To say, “Give her a hug,” wouldn’t even pass through his mind.

I became lost in various books on how I could help Tommy. I’d search for hours online hoping I’d come across a miracle cure.

“I don’t feel like you’re here anymore,” Tom admitted one day.

“I’ll never be fully here until I know my son is okay,” I answered as I flipped through another parenting book.

“I feel like I don’t have a wife sometimes,” Tom said. “You’re always pouring through books. You don’t...you haven’t asked how I felt about all this. I hurt too. I hurt because I see my son needs help and I don’t know how to give it to him. I don’t know how to bond with my own kid. I don’t....I don’t know how to bond with my own kid.” Tom hung his head and looked away. I was sure he was blinking back tears.

I had been so busy searching for answers that I hadn’t stopped to realize how Tom was feeling. I knew how thrilled he was to have a son. When we found out I was having a boy, he was so happy.

“I’ll teach him to play ball!” Tom had said excitedly. He bent down to talk to my bulging stomach. “Do you hear that Tommy the Third? I’m going to teach you to play ball!”

But what happens when that boy can’t catch a ball? What happens when that boy is trapped in his own world and would rather stare at an object and walk back and forth, back and forth…what happens when your kid has so much energy that he can’t seem to concentrate on basic rules for a game?

This story has a happy ending for us though.

I realized this as I sat on the bleachers for an assembly to watch my son, that same boy who flaps his arms when excited, get an award for being a Persistent Student, a kid who never gives up even if he’s struggling. He’ll keep trying until he gets it right. If he makes a mistake, he wants to know how he can fix it.

You see, we found out that Tommy had Asperger's Syndrome and ADHD. We were able to figure out how to help him. He began to come over to our world.

So I clapped and clapped when Tommy’s name was called, knowing how far we’ve come:





“Is he yours?” the woman beside me asked.

I smiled as wide as I could. “Yes. He’s mine.”

Symbolic Gifts

I was catching up on my blogger buddies posts today and found an awesome one that I want you to read. It is by my buddy over at Easy Giving 101. Her post is all about Symbolic giving and you must go there and read it. The gift that was my favorite was this one: "Butterflies are also symbolic of life metamorphosis, transformation, and hope. A good remembrance of how death is only our gateway to immortality, a transformation to a new way of living or existing. Butterflies are joyous because they represent resurrection and have such a happy, busy way of life." I will probably wear a butterfly everyday for the rest of my life. I have always loved them....and now...they are a connection with my father. Go read her blog...I promise you won't regret it.

Did I Do That?

Oh Lord! My mom has a new trick. She has been most entertaining at the Dadeville Healthcare Center. She sets the door alarms off several times during the day and the little aids, CNAs, nurses, staff...whoever is around ahs to go and get her away from the door and keep her from going outside. She has become a high flight risk. Poor momma. She is just like an incorrigible child. I called on Saturday to see if we could come and see her....the nurse sighed....and said, "she is still asleep....please don't make us wake her us." I realized it had been a long night and thought I would call back later...I did only to find out that she was pacing in warp speed. I called on Sunday only to find out about her new trick. She sets off fire alarms. While I was on the phone she set it off....and the nurse sighed audibly on the phone. I don't know who I feel sorrier for....my mom for being there....or the nurses she deals with on a daily basis. I know it cannot be easy for either of them. Anyways....she is coming to Adam's on Monday...so the Dadeville help....will be able to breathe easy....Everytime my mom makes an alarm go off....she looks at whoever comes to make it stop and says, "Did I do that?" This is very funny to me....my mom....is mischievous. She would never have tolerated this behavior from either my brother or from me...and yet here she is....driving her caregivers nuts. I remember once she told me that when someone takes the easy way out...it makes more work for someone else....I wonder was that a lesson I was supposed to learn...or did she believe it...because you would never know it by her actions....but then...will the real Wilma Sasser please stand up. Happy Monday!

Little Miss Sick?

Natalie woke up screaming at three in the morning on Friday.

She does that sometimes. I guess she has a nightmare or something so I’ll stumble in, assure her that everything is okay and then say that it’s time to go back to sleep.

Tom rarely hears it when Natalie cries. I think he’s going deaf. Because when Natalie started to wail on Saturday, he just rolled over. Sometimes I want to lean over and start wailing into his ear.

I forced myself out of bed and went to Natalie’s room. That’s when I realized she was making a horrible gagging noise.

No…

Please no….

Not barf.

I cannot deal with barf. I can deal with blow out poops any day….but barf? Not so much.

I watched in horror as Natalie spewed all over the carpet.

“Mommy!” she gasped in between retching. “I sicken! I SICKEN!”

I would have gathered her into my arms. But then she threw up down her front.

The smell was….let’s just say I was trying hard not to throw up myself.

I went over to Natalie, who was sobbing, and told her it was going to be okay.

“Mommy!” she wailed and then rushed into my arms, pressing last nights regurgitated dinner all over my front.

“It’ll be okay,” I said in a strangled voice. I was trying hard not to breathe.

“Mommy, I---” Natalie began and then a spew of throw up hit my shoulder.

“Okay, Linda Blair, let’s settle down,” I said, scooping her up. I rushed her into the bathroom.

Of course she didn’t throw up again though.

No, she had done that already all over her room. All over me.

I gave her a quick bath and then stripped her bed and cleaned up her floor.

Then I put her back to bed and took a quick shower.

When I climbed back into bed Tom was all, “What happened? What’s that smell?”

“Natalie threw up,” I explained.

Then he started snoring again.

The next morning Natalie was clearly out of it. Instead of racing around the room, she lounged on the couch. This is unthinkable for my children. My kids are always on the go. They rarely sit for long.

Natalie threw up a few more times. She said she was hungry for lunch so I fixed her a plate—and then she threw up all over it.

“I’m going to be sick,” Tom said, dropping the pizza he was about to eat.

He was still sitting there in horror until I shouted at him to “help clean up the puke, for God’s sake, don’t just SIT there…”

Natalie went to bed early and then woke up calling my name at two in the morning.

“Mommy? MOMMY!”

I braced myself for the vomit.

But thankfully there was none.

Natalie just wanted cold water and a diaper change.

On Saturday morning Natalie was a bit warm but she was behaving more like herself. She was racing around and getting into everything. Towards the end of the night I noticed that she crawled back on the couch and I thought she was feeling sick. I checked her temperature and it showed she was back to normal.

“Mommy. Want water with ice,” Natalie told me primly.

That was something I did for her when she was sick: I’d add an ice cube to keep it cold longer.

When I returned with Natalie’s ice water she went, “Want princess blanket.” So I got that for her.

Then she asked for her pillow.

And I started to wonder if she was pretending to feel sick…..

But then I felt guilty. Of course she was still sick.

But then again…..

She probably loved it when I babied her all day Friday. She could have thought, “Wait a minute. I don’t want to give that up. But if I pretend to be sick…”

On Sunday Natalie did the same thing. When I dared to give her plain water she went, “I want ice,” and handed her cup back.

I took her cup and bent down to her level. “You wouldn’t be pretending to be sick, would you?”

Natalie blinked sweetly at me. “Water. With ice.”

“Amber! Why are you just standing there? Our sick daughter asked for water with ice!” Tom’s voice rang out. He took the cup and gave me a dirty look. He was totally falling for it. Natalie is his little princess. His baby.

“She’s not sick anymore, Tom. Her temperature is normal. She’s been running around the house all day at top speed. She squeezed out the last of the toothpaste all over the bathroom. She’s faking it,” I explained as I walked into the kitchen.

(Further proof: this was Natalie on Sunday. In the background you can see the mess she’s made. PLUS she’s clomping around in her Daddy’s shoes...

)

“She is not! Look at her! She’s laying there all pathetic under her princess blanket,” Tom said. He walked back out with Natalie’s water. “Here you go, sweetie.”

Natalie took it. “Thank you, Daddy.” Then she gave me a Look that clearly said, “Mwahaha.”

She didn’t want dinner. She asked for ice cream.

“Okay,” Tom said.

“TOM! I tell you, she’s faking it!” I argued.

“She’s not. Look at her all pathetic under her princess blanket.”

Of course when I looked at her she gave me another “mwahaha” look.

I walked out and gave Natalie her ice cream. “I’m onto you,” I said.

Natalie grinned at me with ice cream dripping off her chin. “I yuv you,” she said.

I smiled back. “I yuv you, too, little faker…”

Silence is Bliss?

Tom and I were able to go on a date Monday since Tom’s Mom was visiting.

We decided on lunch and a movie.

Sometimes it’s hard to agree on a movie. Tom likes movies where things blow up and guts go flying across the room. I like movies where a woman and a man try to find one another. Granted, I do like other movies. For instance, I love movies with aliens in them but I think they terrify Tom. I also love movies like Austin Powers and Billy Madison. You know, movies that really don’t make a lot of sense but are hilarious?

The good news is, Tom and I could agree on a movie. We figured we’d go see Couples Retreat.

Before that we went to lunch at this small Italian place. It’s awesome. They have authentic Italian food. I ordered the Vodka Rigatoni and tried not to eat too much of the bread they put out beforehand. But it’s so hard! The bread is warm and delicious and…heck, I ended up eating more than I can remember. The thing is, I realized that Tom and I were barely saying a word to each other. So I suddenly banged my hand down on the table and went,

“No.”

This caught Tom’s attention. Before he had been staring intently at a painted picture of a vine.

“No what?” he asked.

“We can’t already be one of those couples who have nothing to say to each other. So…how is your job going?” I said.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You know how it’s going. I’ve already told you.”

“Work with me here, Tom.”

“I would if you asked a good question. Why am I going to waste my breath answering a question you already know the answer to?” Tom wondered as he popped another piece of bread into his mouth.

I sighed. “I just don’t want to sit here in silence.”

Tom shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m enjoying it. We don’t have a kid screeching at us for once. So let’s just sit back and enjoy the quiet.”

I shook my head. “No! The whole point of getting out alone is getting to talk without interruptions. So…tell me something interesting.”

Tom frowned. “Well. This olive oil dip is really good,” he finally said, motioning to the bowl in front of us.

I sighed again. “No! About your life. What’s something that you haven’t told me?” I leaned forward expectantly.

Tom looked perplexed. “Well,” he said slowly. “I need a new pair of pants.”

Good gracious.

Thankfully our food came then. Another silence lapsed but this time it was because we were too busy stuffing our faces. We’re big food people, you see. We don’t like taking a bite, swallowing, talking, and then having to wait forever to take another bite.

My vodka rigatoni was delicious. I was in the middle of moaning because it was so good when the waiter came back to refill our drinks.

“Oh my. Should I leave you alone?” he joked.

I chewed happily. “I’m okay,” I assured him. “This is just so good.”

I really need to learn how to cook better. I mean, I suppose I could but to be honest, I hate cooking and I think being in the kitchen is a waste of my time. I wish I had a passion for it. I have a passion for eating, obviously.

After we ate we headed to the movie theater.

The guy behind the concession counter appeared to be a little bored. When we approached he said in a monotone, “If you buy a large popcorn and drink, you can get a commemorative Twilight glass.”

I made a face. “No thank you.”

This is when he lit up. “Do you not like Twilight?” he practically demanded. I thought he was going to leap over the counter and grab my collar.

“Er…not really,” I admitted and then shuffled a bit behind Tom in case the guy lost it.

But no. Instead he shouted, “Tamara! Get out here! I found one! You owe me five bucks!”

And then another worker walked out from the back with the same bored expression.

“I found one. I told you I’d find one today. She doesn’t like Twilight,” the guy told her, pointing at me frantically.

It was the strangest thing. But the good thing was, I didn’t have to pay for my butter salt. Apparently now they want to charge you $1.50 for it but the guy was all, “Since you earned me five bucks, you can have it for free.”

Yay!

See? It pays to not like Twilight, I tell you.

And guess what? They showed a preview for New Moon and Tom and I both went, “Boooo!” at the same time when it popped up.

Of course then we heard this chick sitting in the back go, “Who said that?” and I motioned for Tom to slide down in his seat with me.

“Twihards can be scary,” I whispered. “It’s best to keep quiet now.”

(I’m not kidding about the scary Twihards either. See, I post over at this clothing forum, right? I went into a Twilight thread because apparently some drama broke out because people bashed Twilight or something and I was just telling them that I meant no harm when I made fun of Twilight since I have this compulsion to have everyone like me. Some ladies were downright mean and told me to go back to my blog and write about my dirty laundry. Some were normal and thanked me for my message but sheesh, there are some nutters, I tell you…I mean, do they realize they’re getting all bent out of shape over TWILIGHT? These are grown ladies I’m talking about. If they were teenagers I’d get it because their brains haven’t formed all the way yet. But adults? I’m still at a loss…)

Anyhow, Tom chuckled softly over my scary Twihards comment.

So yeah, maybe we don’t always have something to say to each other. But we work. Our relationship works.

And that’s all that really matters.

The Swimmer Boy

Tommy has started his swim lessons again.

The first time he went his real teacher was sick so he had a substitute. This substitute was…how should I put it delicately? Scary. She was this older Spanish woman who seemed to snap at the kids if they weren’t doing something exactly right. Tommy is sensitive. He always has been. He hates when someone is upset with him. He’s prone to bursting into tears. It’s just who he is. So when this teacher kept yelling, I was two seconds away from jumping off the bleachers and splashing her face with water.

I know that’s lame. The whole splashing her face with water thing, I mean. I’m just awful with confrontations against people I don’t know well. I never know quite what to do or say.

I did mention her hostility to the front desk though. The woman seemed to know exactly who I was talking about.

“Yes. She’s a bit...strong,” is what I was told which is a polite word for scary bitch. But then I was assured that Tommy’s real teacher would be there next week.

When we went back to Tommy’s lessons on Monday, I pumped myself up to demand a refund if the scary Spanish lady was back. She seriously terrified Tommy. He also said she’d start to jabber in Spanish. I noticed this when I watched from the bleachers. I really should pay more attention to Dora the Explorer. The only word I got from her was “water.”

I was all ready for my confrontation. I had one of my famous Passionate Speeches in mind that I give to Tom when I’m upset. I have no problems confronting Tom. But other people? That’s a bit harder. My speech was going to go something like this:

“I’d like a refund. The scary Spanish lady is frightening my son and I don’t want her to ruin his love for swimming. That woman is going to scare children away! I mean, swimming is already a sport that doesn’t get as much buzz as it is and could use all the people it can get. You walk into a store and you see a shirt for baseball, for basketball, for soccer, for hockey…but where are the swimming shirts? That’s what I want to know. Where are the swimming shirts?” Then I was going to hit the palm of my hand with my fist.

So yeah, the speech was a bit much. But seriously, where ARE the swimming shirts. Some stores have them, I know. But I went into this one store wanting to get a swim shirt for Tommy and they didn’t have one. And when I asked the store worker he looked at me as though I had a thong on my head.

“Swimming?” he barked.

“Yes,” I said. I wanted to add, “You know that thing people do in water.” But some people don’t get sarcasm.

“Why would there be a swimming shirt? It’s just fun and games,” the guy told me.

Okay yeah, swimming is fun and games. But it’s also hard work. I can’t even dog paddle to the end of the pool without losing my breath! There needs to be more swimming clothes. That’s all I’m saying. (Gymboree, take note. If I see one more baseball/football/soccer line I'm going to scream.)

Anyhow, the good news is, Tommy’s real teacher was there and she was nice.

Of course we got there early so I’d have time for my passionate speech. Seeing as I didn’t have to give my passionate speech we had to wait around. This little girl from Tommy’s class marched up to us and went,

“Want to see my scab?”

Obviously she hasn’t been taught people skills. Someone seriously needs to tell her that she cannot start a conversation like that.

“No thank you,” I said but it was too late. She was already twisting around and showing me this disgusting mark on the back of her leg.

“I fell down. It bled a lot,” she told me solemnly.

“Um. Ew,” I answered. Then I figured I should say something Mom-Like and went, “I imagine that hurt a lot. Are you okay now?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah. I also pulled off my fingernail. Want to see it?”

“No thank you,” I said but it was too late.

She showed me her bandaged finger.

I felt faint. I do not deal well with injuries.

“I think the lessons are about to start,” I said hopefully even though I saw that it was still ten minutes before they were supposed to begin. I was just hoping that she’d go away. Kids just seem to gravitate towards me. It’s like I have a neon sign blinking above my head that says, “Random freaky children! Come talk to me!”

“Do you know once I broke my nose? It hurt,” the girl continued.

I wanted to say to the girl’s mother, who was messing around with her BlackBerry and didn’t hear her daughter’s crazy conversation, “Does this belong to you? Could you deal with it? Please?”

I had to listen to her report all of her injuries. It was disgusting.

When the teacher mercifully called the class, my mind with whirling with images of bloody noses, scars..

Yuck.

I am pleased to say that Tommy enjoyed swim lessons this time. He easily dived into the water without hesitating for even a second.

When he gets really good, he’s talking about wanting to join the swim team. He says he wants to race against other people. I’ve reminded him that he can’t always win—that’s another thing, he gets all bent out of shape when he loses. This is why I hate playing games with him. The other day we played Chutes and Ladders and I won and he sulked for nearly an hour. He’s just like his father. I can’t even play the Wii against Tom because heaven forbid that I win. And when Tom plays against the computer and he loses, he’s all, “It’s CHEATING! I’m losing because it’s CHEATING!”

So before Tommy joins the swim team, we’re going to sit down and reiterate that he can’t always win.

Because heaven forbid if Tommy loses and he starts to yelp, “The other boy cheated!” at the top of his lungs.

I think I'd slide down in the bleachers and be all, "Lalala. Whose kid is that?"

On Halloween Day....

“Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat! If you don’t, I don’t care, I’ll pull down my underwear!” Tommy sang.

“You better not say that tonight,” I warned. “And plus, exposing yourself is against the law. I think Pee Wee even got arrested for it."

It was Halloween and Tommy was obviously excited over the prospect of going trick or treating. Every few minutes he’d ask me if it was almost time to go.

“Now Mommy?” he’d wonder.

“You still have five hours to go.”

“Now?”

“You still have four hours and fifty five minutes to go.”

“How about now?”

“Four hours and fifty minutes.”

It was starting to get a little aggravating to be honest. A part of me wanted to shriek, “Never okay! We’re never going trick or treating!” But I didn’t. I swallowed my frustration down and when Tommy asked me again if it was almost time I said through gritted teeth, “Four hours and thirty minutes..”

When it was finally time to go, I insisted on taking pictures.











“Mommy! Batman doesn’t have time for this,” Tommy moaned.

After the pictures, I put Natalie in the stroller. I did this because she tends to get tired after walking for a bit and she’ll suddenly stop, cross her arms over her chest and proclaim that she’s “all done.” She refuses to budge after this. If she’s feeling especially stubborn, she’ll collapse dramatically on the ground. She’s done this once at the mall and I had this old lady ask if she needed to call 911.

Tom’s Mom, who was visiting us a few days stayed back to pass out candy. Tom had to work of course. He seems to always have to work on Halloween.

I had planned on just taking the kids around the block because A) it was cold, B) it was cold and oh right, C) it was COLD. I don’t deal well with the cold. Plus there was still snow on the ground from our big snowstorm and a lot of it still blocked the sidewalks.

So we started ringing doorbells and after the fifth door Natalie said, “I’m all done.” Then she got out of her stroller and started walking towards the direction of the house. The only reason why she ran back over to me was because there was a boy in a monster costume that freaked her out. She threw her arms around my waist and pressed her face into my stomach. “I’m all done,” she said again. “I cold. I go home.”

Tommy stomped his foot. “I’m NOT cold. I don’t WANT to go home!”

I suppose I could have dropped Natalie off with her Grandma. But quite frankly, I didn’t want to have to walk all the way back home. I’m lazy like that. So I dug through Natalie’s candy and pulled out a lollipop. I checked to make sure it wasn’t diseased or poisoned and then I handed it over.

“You eat this. Okay?” I said. Look, I’m not above bribes. I admit that when I go to Target, I usually let Natalie pick something out from the dollar spot so she’ll allow me to shop in peace. I’ll fork over a buck if I get some silence. I know Supernanny would faint but then again, what does she know? She doesn’t have kids. She gets to shop in peace whenever she wants.

Natalie was content with the lollipop. We went to more houses. I had to plow through snow with the stroller. This didn’t always work out so well. I thought I could get through this mound of snow but I was wrong. The wheels got caught on it and Natalie nearly went tumbling out into the snow.

“MOMMY!” she snapped, all insulted.

“Blame the snow!” I retorted.

I definitely got a work out.

Which was a good thing because when we got home, I totally raided the kid’s candy.

“What are you doing?” Tommy demanded as I combed through it. I immediately started setting aside the Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

“Making sure your candy is safe. This doesn’t look right,” I said, as I moved a Milky Way over to my pile.

“That’s mine!” Tommy argued, grabbing a peanut butter cup. The thing is, he doesn’t fully appreciate it. If you eat a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, you have to really love it. Tommy just chews it like it’s an apple or something. He doesn’t savor it like I do.

“Tommy,” I explained. “I get the Peanut Butter Cups.”

Tommy frowned, still hugging one to his chest. “Why?”

I thought quickly. “Because I created you. Therefore, I have dibs on the peanut butter cups.”

Tommy cocked his head to the side, contemplating this. I suppose he figured it was a good enough reason because he handed the candy over. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But only because you created me.”

Ha.

This is what I set aside for me:



Yum.

Is it sad that I’ve already eaten it all? (Plus a few extras that I've swiped..)