Opening Up A Big Ol' Can.

I realize that I am opening up a can of worms that shan't ne'er be closed after posting this question, but I just hafta'. I just really really hafta'.

So Santa brought me a Kindle this year. Did I already mention that? I did. Well, here I go again: Santa brought me a Kindle. (Eat it, Scott Willmon!) And I am looking to fill that puppy up with some new books. So I am needing some suggestions.

Do not suggest Going Rogue. I am exhausted by this.

But before you all leave me a list of books from hither to yon let me tell you what I like in a book, then, if the shoe fits, well, you know the rest...

I like nail biting suspense. But I do not like blood and guts.

I like love stories to some degree. But I refuse to read anything with a shirtless man on the cover.

I like things that make me feel good right before I go to bed, like anything from Jan Karon's Mitford series. I always went to bed with sweet dreams after reading those.

I like things I can't put down (a' la, Twilight).

I like biographies of Dolly Parton. Oh wait, read it already. 3x.

I like any Christian books that challenge me or condemn me. And sometimes I like them both at the same time.

I like books on discipline, raising your children or family living.

I like Biblically based books on child rearing or marriage building.

I would really like that Eat Right for Your Blood Type book, but I don't know my blood type. So if anyone knows my blood type could you leave it in the comment section for me? Thanks.

I don't like Stephen King. Though I'm sure he's a nice man.

I have not, nor am I ever going to "give Harry Potter a try."

Don't suggest anything having to do with History, how Texas seceded from the Union or Betsy Ross. (Somewhere my 12th grade History teacher is cringing.)

And although I like to consider myself intelligent, I reserve Jane Austen for the movies. Sorry, I know this is sacrilege to some, but I have not got enough hours in the day to figure out what she is saying when Keira Knightley says it just perfectly.

And though I love my Kindle I reserve the right to purchase cookbooks so I can hold them in my hand and drool over the pictures.

I like anything, anything at all by Erma Bombeck or anyone even similar to her.

I don't want to read anything having to do with business. Ever. No Bill Gates. No Seven Steps To Having The Company of Your Dreams. No CEO 101. (In fact, I almost fell asleep typing that sentence.)

Okay, so there you have it. Have I quenched any one's spirits yet? If so, then just leave me a comment telling me how disappointed you are in my reading choices. I admit, I will never get hired on as a book reviewer for The Times or The Post, and that's okay. I plan on having a book on the chart someday, so there! And when I do it will be titled...

How To Raise Your Children In a Suspenseful, God Fearing Society

While Falling In Love to Dolly Parton Songs

And Finding Joy In Your Blood Type:

The Story of Anyone Besides Betsy Ross, The Chairman of Enron

or Those Guys Who Created Facebook.

Look for it. It's gonna be awesome!

Twas The Night Before Christmas Eve.

So a week or so before Christmas I had this idea. I would have a Cookie Exchange.

Only one problem.

I have no idea how to do a Cookie Exchange.

But not knowing how to do something and still sailing full speed ahead has never, ever stopped me before. So I sent out my invitations and waited for the responses.

And boy did I get them. (Note to self: Find friends with less opinions. )

Apparently SIX DOZEN cookies is a lot of cookies to make. Hey! Don't shoot the messenger, I found the directions online and was simply trying to follow protocol. However, my evite invitation became loaded down with comments like:

"Are you kidding me? Six dozen? Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?"

"Mel, if I have to make six down cookies I am not coming. Love you!"

"You need to change the number of cookies we bring. Idiot."

Things like that.

So finally I changed the number. Four dozen. There. Happy?

Oh, and then someone asked me to change the night. It went something like this:

"Mel, why do you always invite me on nights when you know I'm working? Change the night. It's not fair. Change the night. Idiot."

So then I changed the night.

Once they got to my house I tried to make everything extra special by making them what the directions called "Pink Panties." You take 1 can of concentrated frozen lemonade, mix with ice in a blender and top with whipped cream. They loved it! Or I'm assuming they did, because they said things like this:

"Oh, my Lord. This is so tart. What is in this?"

"Stir in the whipped cream and it cuts down on the tartness."

"This drink is making my gums hurt."

"Are you sure you fixed this right? Maybe you should have put something else in it, like coffee. Or Valium."

"I would have rather made six dozen cookies than drink another sip of this."

So the refreshment portion of the evening went well.

Then we moved on to games. I made them do a quick little game where they draw a Christmas word out of bowl and have to spell it with their butt. I would tell you some of the things they said about my little game, but this is a G-rated blog. Let's just say it loses something in the translation if I were to try to describe my cousin Michelle writing the word Frankincense with her derriere. Or my mom trying to spell out Nativity. Lord, help us. As the AG said, "It must have looked like everyone was writing in caps." (Truer words have never been spoken.)

We then moved to the cookie portion of our evening. This was supposed to be the part of the evening where everyone brings a cookie / bar / ball recipe that is special to them, along with the recipe. I was doing good just to get this group to make cookie instead of buying them, so we didn't bring cookies that were special to us - we brought cookies that tasted good and were made with 8lbs of butter.

But at the end of the evening they all told me what a wonderful time they had. I knew they meant it. It really was a special night with good friends and family. A lot of laughs and some sweet memories. In fact, I think the spirit of the evening and the holidays were summed up by my Granny who said on her way out, "You're lucky I love you, Melissa, or I wouldn't have come. I don't like things like this and I wanted to just sit home in my chair."

Merry Christmas to you too, Granny.

~~~~~~~~~

Little do they know I plan on doing this again next year. Whether they like it or not. So if you have been to a Cookie Exchange (a successful one, that is) then please give me some tips. Lots and lots of tips. They will thank you for it, as will I.

Santa's Throwing Me Some Mixed Messages.

Oh, is this the blog post where we put up pictures of our kids and our dogs and our family eating pecan pie?

Yeah, I'll get back with you on that.

Just as soon as I find my camera. I think it's somewhere under the wrapping paper, the boxes or the pecan pie.

I really will post pictures this week because, let's be honest, your Christmas isn't complete without seeing pictures of my kids. Is it? It's okay to admit it. It isn't. I get that. That's sweet.

In the mean time I will confess to you that Santa blew in like the raging lunatic that he is and left far too much under our tree. He left games that he forgot to buy batteries for. He left puzzles that he apparently purchased at Big Lots because the pieces were warped and Remi finally said, "What happened to this puzzle?" Before tossing it in the trash. And he left a desk in 48,000 pieces for me and the AG to put together the night before.

Can you believe that?

What happened to the good ol' days, when I was 7,8,9 and Santa came in and did all the work himself? I mean, honestly, how did my Barbie Doll Dreamhouse get put together? SANTA, that's who. But now, the man leaves crap for me to do. What'supwiththat?

And here is the part where I say what every single mother on the face of the planet was saying on Christmas morning:

Why did we spend $400,000 on toys and their favorite thing is the 99 cent foam swords that were a last minute thought at the check-out line at Hobby Lobby? Seriously?

And all God's mama's said, "whoop-whoop!"

I even got fixed up this year - you can see what all Santa brought me over at the side on my little Amazon Ferris wheel. (I worked on that thing for like 45 minutes so would you please just look at it? As you can tell by that sentence I am still kind of peeved about the 1,000 piece desk vs. foam sword debacle of 2009. But I digress...)

My favorite gift was my new Kindle. I have been asking for one for one for two years now and I love it! Because let me tell you, there is nothing more nauseating than having to hold a big, heavy book in my hand while I read. Horrors! Next year I am asking for one of those hospital beds that lift your back up or your legs. And the year after that? A little Rascal. And I can them look forward to my 15 minutes of fame by appearing on a show about "Women Who Don't Move" - its likely to be on Discovery Health.

So I got my Kindle, but I also got a Wii Fit. Is Santa trying to throw me a big hint? Because if he is he shouldn't have filled my stocking with Reese's. I can't decide what to do - eat the Reese's? Plug in the Wii Fit? I'm in a quandary, I'm not gonna lie.

All in all it was a blessed Christmas and I hope yours was as well. Please tell me what Santa left you and if he threw in some mixed messages on you as well. My girlfriend told me she got a Karaoke machine for Christmas, which was odd since her husband bought himself some headphones. Now that, my lovelies, is mixed signals.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas,

May your heart be light...

From now on our troubles will be out of sight.

Your Christmas may be a lot like our little house here:

It may be small.

In fact, it may (literally) be falling apart at the seams.

It may be a mess.

And it may be something that was meant for joy for small children but ended up a wrestling match on the floor over who ate the last gumdrop and who licked the front door.

But it is Christmas, nonetheless.

And so, like our little house, may you find "sweet" joy on the sidewalks, sprinkles in the font yard and powdered sugar when you look out your windows.

And may you remember that no matter how small the house...
it could be a stable.

Love,

Melissa

There's Something About The Holidays.

There's something about the holidays that make me want to run and hide.

It didn't used to be that way. But then I lost something and I've never really ever been the same.

I used to be excited about the shopping. But now I'm old and my feet hurt.

I used to have so many funny things that happened; things I couldn't wait to write about, journal about. Now I find myself saying, "What blog? I don't have a blog."

I used to look forward to that big JC Penney catalogue that came in the mail. Now it's lost in a sea of bills, invites and past due notices.

Somewhere along the way I lost all the feeling that Christmas is supposed to provide. The warm fuzzies. The twinkle toes. The shimmering lights and all that.

Somewhere along the way I grew older, more concerned. More jaded and pessimistic. Somewhere, and at some time, I grew scared of what was supposed to make me joyful. And cold towards what should have made me warm.

And now here I am. Oh, don't get my wrong, I'm not the Grinch or anything. I love seeing my kids look at Santa. And there's nary a carol in the world that doesn't make me cry. But there's still this piece of me, in me, that's missing. A piece that, try as I might, I shall never get back. Not ever.

Loss.

Loss sucks.

Pardon my language (I figure my mom quit reading this post at that exact moment), but truth be told it sucks. It stinks - and big time. It hurts like heck and it never leaves. Oh, it might let up now and then, and from time to time it eases to the point of only a little twinge. But it never leaves, not really. It hangs around, like a splinter that got under the skin and decided to live there. Forever.

My husband has this blue place under the skin, on his knee. I will never forget the first time I noticed it. "What is this? And why is it blue?" I remembered asking. He told me that in the fourth grade the mean little boy that sat beside him jammed his pencil into the AG's leg. (Under further investigation it was finally revealed that the AG was not entirely innocent; as if there were ever any question.) He is nearing 40 now and that pencil lead is still in his leg. Just under the skin. You can tell its there because of two things: 1. it's blue and 2. no hair grows on his leg just over the place where the lead is. A forever reminder that at some point you should quit telling the bully beside you he needs a hearing aid because he might just jam his pencil......

Well, you get the point.

And that's kind of how I feel right about now. Blue and hairless. No, I'm kidding. Well, I don't know, "blue" is a good word to use. But I feel like I have something just below the skin, obvious to all if you look for it. And yet not outwardly apparent if you don't. But there. Under the skin. Blue.

Sometimes when I want to feel better I draw myself a big tub of water. I go buy a People magazine (even though I'm not supposed to spend money on trivial things this time of year) and I read it from cover to cover. I dry off and I hurt less, for almost two, three hours.

Other times I close my blinds, turn off my lights, turn off my phone and watch a good movie.

Other times I pull my children in close. Smell their hair. And pray to God my thanks, over and over and over again.

But around the holidays - when it hurts the most - I find myself wishing I could do something else. I wish that I could walk - alone, with no around me, watching, listening - into the stable. I wish the picture of that nativity scene, for one moment, was frozen in time. I wish that I could bend down under a starry sky. Kneel on a blanket of itchy, smelly hay. And just stare into the eyes of a child.

I suppose it would be a nice reminder that "since the children are made of flesh and blood, it's logical that the Savior took on flesh and blood in order to rescue them by his death." (Hebrews 2:14)

I wish that I could smell the myrrh, touch the gold. Hear the baaahing.

I wish that in that moment everything and everyone were frozen, but He and I. And I could look at Him and touch Him. That I could "turn my eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace."

I don't know, maybe it's just me.

No picture on earth can compare to the one I see in my minds eye of that night, that nativity. And to think about it makes me hurt a little less. And smile a little more. It makes me remember that He came for me. And had there just been me, no one else, He still would have come. That way. That night.

Yes, today's post is kind of personal. But it's Christmastime and well, around the holidays you can expect for me to get all personal and sentimental and sappy. In 2005 the holidays changed forever for me. And whereas you might have found me laughing and giddy and all "deck the halls" back in 2004, a short time later things changed for me. And now my pain lies just below the surface. Blue.

And so may I be so bold as to say:

Thank you Lord.

Thank you, that when I close my eyes and cry at this time of year,

I cannot help but see you in a manger filled with hay.

I cannot help but be reminded that the flesh you wore was mine -

and it was filled with pain and sin and utter disappointment.

And still, you took it on. And wore it.

Making my hurt, your hurt.

Making my pain, your pain.

Making my sin, your reason.

Thank you that every loss I've ever had was no surprise to you.

And every tear I've shed has been saved.

And thank you that instead of coming to this earth in a splash of royalty -

in a palace full of kings and thrones -

you came in a barn.

Full of splinters and straw.

For you knew that one day, when I closed my eyes,

I would need to envision something realistic.

And I know splinters better than I know fine china.

So thank you, for thinking ahead.

All my love, Melissa.

A Dreary Thought On A Rainy Monday.

Me to Meridith:

"Ya know, I have a polka dot swimdress that, at this point,

I would have to lose weight to fit in to."

Meridith to Me:

"Dang."

A Babysitters Guide To Gaining The Upper Hand.

Dear Babysitter,

Babysitter....Do people still call you that? Or is that a term from the 80's?

In the 80's it was cool to be called a "babysitter", but then some really scary movies came out where the babysitters were always killed off in the first 10 minutes, and then I think everyone wanted to be called something different, like "child care provider" or "caregiver." I once heard someone say "au pair" but the AG giggled becuase it sounded like I was saying "a pair" and I can't have him acting like an 8th grader all the time. So I'm stickin' with babysitter.

Anywhoo...

I would like to write you this letter as a guide. Mind you, it is just suggestions really, but feel free to use it as a guide were you to ever keep my children.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #1:

See the little boy with the dimple and the blond hair? His looks are not deceiving. He really is that cute. All the time.

He is sweet and sensitive. If he does something wrong just look at him sternly and tell him "No" in your harshest voice. He will run to you, beg your forgiveness and continue on his merry way.

It really is that simple.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #2:

See that little firecracker with the sugary smile, brown bob and huge blue eyes?

Run.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #3:

If the little boy climbs anything, pull him down.

If he climbs in to anything, pull him out.

If he climbs on to anyone, pull him off.

Really that is it: pull him down, pull him out, pull him off. You will be doing this all night long. Trust me. All. Night. Long.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #4:

If the little girl climbs anything, let her. Chances are she is scheming something and I find it best not to get in her way.

If she climbs in to anything, that's fine. Close the lid tightly and move on.

If she climbs on to anyone then pull them out from under her. Chances are it will be the little boy. But don't be alarmed, he is learning to take good care of himself, I assure you.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #5:

When it is time to eat the little boy will eat anything you offer him. He will eat it all. And he will eat it fast. He will eat it cold. And he will eat it hot. He will eat it from your hand or from your plate - doesn't matter. He will even try to eat it as you are placing it in your own mouth, makes him no difference. Then, he will wash it all down with a gallon and a half of milk.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #6:

When it is time to eat the little girl will likely tell you, "I'm not hungry and I'm not starving." She is not kidding. She could go 18 days without food. So here's how we get her to eat (and this is tricky, so follow closely). Tell her you are going to give her food to her brother. She will go stark raving mad and promise you that she will eat every bite.

However, the food must not be cold, nor too hot.

It cannot be too cheezy - and yet it has to have cheese on it. For hell hath no fury like a child without some form of cheese on their plate (I think that's in Leviticus).

She will not eat it from your hand. So you must place it on a plate. Preferably one with some kind of animated creature on it.

She drinks from a glass now, not a sippy cup. She will spill the glass 15 times in the course of one meal.

She gets to drink out of a Krazy Straw if she has been good that day. There is a brand new pack in the cabinet; they've never been opened.

She will not only eat slow, there is a good chance it will take her close to 3 hours. If you turn on Scooby Doo while she is eating, prepare for a long weekend.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #7

When it is time for the little boy to go to bed just say, "Ok. It's night-night time. Let's go get your blah and go to bed." He will find his blanket and walk with you into his room. Place him in the bed and turn out his light.

Hint/Suggestion/Rule/Tip #8

When it is time for the little girl to go to bed pick up the phone and call me. Place the phone to her ear. Walk away. When the conversation is over she will hand you the phone. She may or may not be crying. Then place her in her bed and turn out her light.

And then, do not, under any circumstances go back in her room. Not for anything or any reason under the sun. Whatever she tells you...it's an untruth. She does not need a sip of water. She does not need to use the bathroom. She does not need her earrings changed out. And she does not need to know whether or not the Christmas tree is doing okay.

And there you have it. That's how you gain the upper hand with my kiddos.

In a nutshell what I've told you is:

• Enjoy him. Lock her in a laundry hamper.


• Feed him the first thing you see when you open the fridge. Pull out my French Cooking for Dummies cookbook for her.


• Lay him in his bed. Call me.

Oh, and one last thing......don't ever, ever say they aren't the cutest things you've ever seen. For that too, will be an untruth.

Top Ten.

So I've read on different blogs where the writer says they are "blogging live." I don't get what that means. Because when you post it then it isn't actually "live" anymore, right? So I am assuming they mean they are typing live? Well, isn't that the only way to type?

No matter. I am still using the phrase for myself tonight, even though I haven't a clue as to what it means. I am blogging "live" - that's right folks, I am going to type this post while watching the Barbara Walters 10 Most Fascinating People of 2009 and I am going to give my commentary right along with it. Because if there are two things I like they are:
1. Giving my opinion on whether or not someone is fascinating.
2. Disagreeing with Barbara Walters.

So here we go...

10. Lady GaGa

Huh? What? Am I 108? Seriously, did something happen last night and I went to bed in my mid 30's and woke up 100 years later? What happened to Natalie Cole? For the love, can I get some Christopher Cross up in here? (Shout out, Tiffany!!)

I know - I'm old. I don't understand the fascination with Twitter and skinny jeans. And yes, I referred to Justin Bieber as Justin Beaver and my little sister laughed for 30 whole minutes, but am I missing something? Help me out here sisters of the 80's...didn't we have someone who came out all outrageous and flashy and didn't they fizzle out just as quickly as they floated in? Can you think of anyone? (Keep in mind Barbara also found Courtney Love fascinating in 1993. Hmmm...)

Maybe not. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she'll be around until the end of time and if so, I promise to write a blog post admitting my mistake. Stay tuned for that, it will be fascinating.

9. Jenny Sanford

South Caroline Governor, Mark Sanford had an affair. His mistress lives in Argentina. She is his sssooouuullll mate. Ahhh. Isn't that sweet?

Thank God, it wasn't HIM Barbara found fascinating. I don't find him fascinating at all. In fact, I find him typical, nowadays. (Shout out, Tiger!)

I find her fascinating. "Certainly, his actions hurt me and they caused consequences for me. But they don't in any way take away my own self esteem; they reflect poorly on him." Well said, Jenny. Now take a golf club and smash out every window on that man's Escalade. You have our permission.

8. Tyler Perry

I do find him fascinating. Coming from nothing to having everything. It's a pulling yourself up from your bootstraps story for our generation, and I find that a tad bit interesting, I must say. I know everyone has a varied opinion about him, and certainly about his movies. But I find them funny. I also find them horrifically melodramatic and cheezy at times, but I say it's worth every penny if you get a chance to laugh.

I find him smart and sincere. And when referred to being raised by all women by saying, "If I had to make one more trip to Lane Bryant I would have just died," I couldn't help but laugh out loud. (Shout out, every woman in my family!!)

What are your thoughts on him?

7. Kate Gosselin

Was there really anything about Kate that, at this point, we didn't know? No, there isn't. And believe me when I say Barbara didn't bring anything else out. I will not disagree that the woman has had a fascinating year. She has been on the cover of more magazines than Brangelina, so that's sayin' something. But would I call her fascinating? Hmmm...I don't know, in all honesty.

Today I stood in my kitchen and looked at two kids rolling on the floor directly under my feet, fighting. I wanted to throw my hands up and scream. But 2 + 6 more????? And she's still standing? Maybe that's fascinating enough.

6. Glenn Beck

So I'm in a hotel room a few weeks ago and I'm flipping channels. I'm hoping to find a good Law and Order, of course, but instead I come across Fox News. I see this blond guy sitting behind a desk talking. I've never laid eyes on him in my life. I have no clue who he is. And still, I sat and watched him for the next 45 minutes. He did nothing, really. He didn't use any props. He had on no special guests. And I didn't even agree with absolutely everything he was saying. And yet, I was drawn in. I found him, kind of, I don't know...fascinating?

And then something happened in his interview with Barbara..........I liked him even more.

5. Adam Lambert

Dear Adam, if you are going to wear make-up, wear lipstick as well. It's killing me. Maybe its the Southern influence in me, but I don't believe you to be totally "made-up" until you've got on some gloss. Love, Melissa

"But it was his ambiguous sexuality that had people talking in the months leading up to the final vote." Really? Was his sexuality ambiguous? I never found it to be. Did you?

I also don't know that I find Adam to be fascinating. I find him to be talented. I even find him to be kind. But what I wonder is whether or not it is Adam that is fascinating or is it our society that is fascinated by someone like Adam? Thoughts?

4. Brett Favre

Brett Favre couldn't make it tonight as he was - even at the prehistoric age of 40 - putting the whoop on somebody, so he was shown in highlight clips and old pictures. Doesn't matter. We know Brett. And Brett? You are adorable.

3. Sarah Palin

If you didn't think Sarah Palin was going to be on this list then you have obviously never seen this Barbara Walters season special before. She has had an interesting year (or two) and we haven't seen the last of her I can almost "betcha." I suppose there weren't any questions Barbara could ask her that we haven't already heard her answer and if she says "running for President isn't on my radar screen" one more time I'm going to start thinking it might be rehearsed. Nonetheless, due to her book and her popularity I suppose she deserves a spot on the list. But I suppose the number 3 spot or the number 9 spot depends, well, on how you vote.

2. The Jackson Children

So Barbara says that on her show "we honor only the living." Dang! That means that I lose my bet that Micheal Jackson would be number 1 but the Attorney General has a chance that Vince Young may, indeed, be the most fascinating person of the year. (Though I wouldn't hold my breath, dear.)

What will be fascinating is if these children turn out to be normal, bless their hearts. Have you ever seen anything so odd? The masks, the veils? The monkeys? And the biological mysteries that surround them? Geez Louise. But they are good lookin' kids and I hope that they find more stability in their lives than they've ever known. What would be fascinating to me is a follow-up show in about 15 years. I hope it's wonderful, but like the AG, I don't know that I should hold my breath.

1. Michelle Obama

Are you freakin' kidding me? I don't mean to be disrespectful in any way, but Barbara, did you not know New Moon just came out? Helloooo??? Taylor Lautner? Rob Pattinson? Anyone? Anyone?

Just kidding.

Michelle Obama is the First Lady, granted. But I feel like maybe I should now be doing some heavy Google research to see if Laura Bush was ever named the most fascinating person of the year. Though I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say, nope. And although I think she is classy and dignified, I am still unsure as to why she is the number one pick. Did she do something I am unaware of? Or has she just been fulfilling her duties as our First Lady? For pete's sake, her husband is the President! Why didn't he make the number one spot? Why her?

This is not a do you / don't you for the Obama's. This is just the cold harsh reality: When a show like "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here" premieres this year and Lou Diamond Phillips wins it and he isn't number one - then where, I ask you, is the fairness?

And the comment section is open.....................................................now!

Santa Really Screwed Up.

Today's post is simple.

I'm going to ask a question and you are going to give me the answer I want to hear. Any questions?

Okay, okay, fine. I will ask a question and you give me your answer, whether I want to hear it or not, which I probably won't because I feel like I know ahead of time what you all will say and it is probably the same thing the Attorney General is saying and whenever he says something and then I say something different and then other people agree with him, well, I get really mad and go to my room and shut the door and then eat cheese toast.

See? Now you got me rambling.

So here goes...

To all of you "Santa's" out there:

Let's say, hypothetically, you have a three year old. And let's say, hypothetically, your three year old is somewhat precocious and attentive and well, quite the busybody. And lets say that your merry little elves made your three year old a Radio Flyer Scooter which she has been wanting for a while.

Now, let's say your elves brought it to town early to put in Meridith's garage - but before your elf could drop it off that precocious little three year old we were talking about spotted it. In the backseat. In the box. And that smart as a whip three year old has now said, not once - but twice, "I got a scooter. Momma, you got me a scooter. I have been being good and I am getting a scooter."

Does that mean that the three year old will see the scooter on Christmas morning, put two and two together and realize that 1.) there is no Santa and 2.) If there is he is driving mommy and daddy's car?

The AG and I are "in one" over this: I say we set the scooter out on Christmas morning and she never remembers she saw it in the backseat out of pure adrenaline and excitement.
He says, "are you a freakin' loon?"

Who's right?

Will a three year old really be able to put all of that together? Or must I do the unthinkable; return the scooter and buy her something bigger, better and something she can't see in the back of the car?

I'm gonna need some personal Santa help on this one. You've all been Santa's before, what do you suggest?

My Lovelies, Meet Leah...

I'm not exactly sure what to say to you all.

I post a blog about my sweet little girls ear infection and how I secretly love Celine Dion more than candy and you all leave me comment after comment about your failings as mothers. Huh? What? What do I say to that?

I'll tell you what I say....BRAVVVOOOO mama's. Bravo!

See? This really is the season of giving and you have all have given me something wonderful: the revelation that I. Am. Not. Alone.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

So as I was reading your comments, your FaceBook comments and your secret, private emails that you thought I would never dare share with anyone (ha! Think again.) I couldn't help but share a couple that, well, made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I might be better at this "momma thing" than I thought.

And so, I've decided to do this all special and fancy-like and lay it out in a countdown format. How Rick Dees of me, huh?

Coming in 3rd in our "Glad It Was Her And Not Me" Countdown goes to....

Sayrah's mom who let our dear, sweet Sayrah walk around for two weeks - fourteen days, people - before she took her to the doctor and realized Sayrah wasn't lying. Her arm really was broken!!!

Do you understand what I'm saying? What I'm saying is that I went to bed crying Saturday night because I thought, just thought, that I might have an ingrown toenail and Sayrah had to walk around for two weeks....

I can't even continue. I'm aghast.

I would normally be really mad at Sayrah's mom, but I'm not. Instead I feel like writing her a thank-you note for a.) making me feel normal and b.) making me laugh.

Sorry, Sayrah. Sorta.

And now, in our "Glad It Was Her And Not Me" countdown, number two. Ladies and gents, here is Karen Carter.

I'll let Karen tell you what she did: My son chad fell on his bike and was complaining about his stomach hurting. I replied "well I told you to stay on the trail with mom - so you push your bike back home if it hurts too much to ride it" After a couple blocks I could see he was hurting! Turns out he bruised his spleen. I still feel bad and its 15 years later. No wonder I spoil him now to make up for all my "mommy dearest" moments!

My favorite moment of this whole incident is that I can just hear her mommy voice (we alllllll know what the mommy voice sounds like, do we not?) saying "well I told you to stay on the trail with mom..." Because as all moms know, and children should know - we. know. it. all.

But a bruised spleen??? Holy mackerel, my kid just had an ear infection. Her kid had a bruised spleen.

Thank you, Lord, that wasn't me.
Did you hear that Lord?
It wasn't me - it was Karen Carter.
That's Karen, with a K, and Carter, with a C.
Karen Carter.
Karen.
Carter.

Enough.

And finally, drum roll please, I'd like for you to meet Leah. (I don't know how to get a hold of Leah. If you know her tell her to come accept her award.)

Leah says, "I'm pretty sure I can claim 'mom of the year' ....... when my son was 12 we were standing in line at school to register. The line was going fairly slowly and my son, who is typically chipper started looking pretty bored and as each minute passed he looked more and more 'disgusted' with the waiting. Very unlike him so I lectured him about standing around looking lifeless and like 'death passed over' and I was telling him that we don't always like what we have to do but we still have to keep a good cheerful attitude and then he tells me he feels very tired so I started lecturing him about how we probably need to make his bedtime earlier and next thing I know he's down on the ground having a seizure and then he quit breathing. Luckily the school nurse was there that day but it required an ambulance and trip to ER. Luckily he is totally fine and healthy and almost 16 and it was some freak thing but I felt SO AWFUL afterwards about lecturing him on his lifeless state.

I feel absolutely horrible for saying this, I really do, but every time I read this I laugh. Mainly because how many of us have given the ol' "you can get glad in the same pants you got mad in" speech. (I see a few hands.) But how many times have they ended up with a seizure and an ambulance?

I mean, is that just a really crappy momma day or what?

Poor Leah, in the south we say "bless her heart" for someone who we know is pitiful or for someone who is going to have a first class ticket to hell. Leah, my love, that is you.

Oh, I'm kidding, you're really not. I am sure, like most momma's, you went to bed that night, balled up into a fetal position and said 45 Hail Mary's over the things you said / screamed at your children. Your sins are forgiven, my child. Live long and prosper.

So thank you all for making me feel like part of a massive army. An army of untrained, undisciplined, misfit soldiers; who when it came right down to it, wouldn't trade their job for anything in the world.

NOW GET UP OFF THAT FLOOR!!!

Ears Don't Lie.

So yesterday Remi wakes up at 4:30 AM crying that her right ear is hurting her. Hurting! Hurting! Hurting!

I call her a "faker" and put her back in bed.

She was up again at 5:30.

She was crying at 6.

And she was in the car, dressed and ready to go to school, by 7:30.

My Mother of the Year award can be mailed directly to my reserved spot in hell. Thank you.

But I honestly thought she was faking it. I can't help it, how am I supposed to tell the difference from when she cries profusely that her right ear is hurting and when she once made herself choke on tears because Scooby Doo went to a commercial. I'm not a mind reader.

So when I picked her up from school she seemed to be perfectly fine. She wasn't mentioning the ear and heaven knows I wasn't going to bring it up. But then on about track 7 of my Celine Dion Christmas CD she starts to cry. Now, maybe I'm a music junkie, but I assume its because it's The Prayer featuring Andrea Bocelli - which, let's just state for the record is a classic and would make anyone with a pulse cry - but she suggests otherwise. She starts screaming "turn it off, turn it off, my ear, my ear!"

Should I have assumed it was her earache?
Or listening to Celine?

Because if it was Celine, then she is going to get a serious talkin' to.

A visit to the Doctor confirmed that one little ear was red and bulging and way infected. And I breathed a sigh of relief that maybe, just maybe, the antibiotics will heal her and I can once again dream about her and I attending a Celine concert together without her screaming, "My ears! My ears! My ears are bleeding!" Because I'm pretty sure that's exactly what the Attorney General said a few years ago when he took me to her concert.

~~~~~~~~~

So can we get honest here people? Who is it that you love? Sure, society shuns them - but you don't care, you love them. Just like me and Celine. I know I should be embarrassed, just like I should be embarrassed that I know every word to Islands In the Stream, but I'm not. What about you?

C'mon, fess up. It's Color Me Badd, isn't it?

Have You Ever Seen Rudolph Get Lit?

Every year the 75904 gets all East Texan on us and has a festive and momentous occasion - one that can only happen here or maybe in Saudi Arabia - the lighting of the *Pumping Unit.

We're a proud people.

And although I make fun on this blog because, let's be honest, nobodies reading this stuff, I'm kind of proud. I mean, look at the wonder and merriment in my child's eyes. You can't put a price on that.

Though you can put a price on this: allowing some other poor sap to take care of your children in a crowd. I mean, honestly, who needs the hassle?

Even Rocco knows "there's no place like home. There's no place like home."

Or maybe he's thinking "isn't it kind of cliche to put something on a babies head and take a picture? Haven't we moved past this?"

Little does he know...we haven't.

And here it is ladies and gentlemen:

Rudolph all lit up.

Rudolph lit like a Christmas tree.

The real reason Rudolph had a red nose.

I got a million of 'em.

And since a lovely time was had by all I would like to go on record as thanking this guy.

He made lugging a diaper bag, a purse, two coats

AND A CAMERA HANGING AROUND MY NECK

totally worth it.

The (rear) End.

*Edited as of 9:06 am. Thanks to Deanna who reminded me that it was, indeed, called a Pumping Unit and not a Fuel Pump. Suppose that's what I get for writing a post after midnight while being "lit" myself on icecream cake.

These Are My Twilight Years.

Today is a very special day for me.
A. I'm turning a year older and
B. There's a good chance ice cream cake will make an appearance.

So please allow me the chance to:

• sleep in
• sip a hot cup of coffee with Peppermint Mocha creamer in it for oh, I don't know, two hours
• enjoy a lunch out with my husband and not with my kids
• take an afternoon nap without my mother calling me 12 times in the middle of it
• a dinner that someone else made
• and a gift that doesn't have to be plugged in or come with a warranty

So thank you to the girlfriend who sent me the pic below. She is someone who knows my love of cupcakes and Twilight go hand in hand. (Pun fully intended.)

Bye y'all!