< Things I Can't Say: December 2009

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Thursday, December 31, 2009

Romance is Overrated

I was reading some posts over on the local mommies board that I belong to(yes, I still gag when I hear the word "mommies"), and I came across a young mom who was asking advice about leaving her husband.

She said that her marriage is not what she thought it would be and that she wants to have a chance to find someone else, someone who is more attentive to her and is more romantic.

I paused, seriously considering if I should reply.

I considered: I don't actually know this girl and being "more attentive to me" might be code for "stop sleeping around with every woman that he meets at the titty bar" or "admit he's gay."

"More romantic" could possibly mean "stop beating the shit out of me and the kids" or "stop spending all our grocery money on booze."

Besides, she was asking about how to leave him, not if she should.

So, I clicked on out of there before I opened by big ol' mouth and inserted one or both of my feet.

But, now that I'm safely back on my blog, where I say what I think, I'm here to tell you: romance is overrated.

We don't live in a chick flick where there are grand sweeping gestures of romance on a continuous basis.

This isn't some Nicholas Sparks novel where everyone weeps at the beauty of the love between a couple.

It's life.

Before you go get all huffy and tell me all about the romance in your life, let me clarify a bit.

I DO love my Hubs. He loves me.

And we do romantic things for each other.

They have just changed as our family has grown.

He did used to do big sweepingly romantic things for me.

Most of the time I laughed at him and told him he was a big cheeseball, though I did appreciate them.

But, flowers, gifts, spontaneous trips, love letters, and other such romantic gestures have been replaced by more practical things.

It's romantic to me that Hubs chooses to come home every night to a house full of children under the spell of the witching hour and a wife who is exhausted. Because no one is making him.

That he works his ass off to provide for us is romantic as hell to me.

He's held my hair as I puked my guts out(morning sickness people, I've told you, I'm not really a lush).

He lets me fall asleep leaning on his shoulder, even though it means that his shoulder will be soaked through with my drool.

I'll even take that he doesn't always fluff the comforter after he farts, as romance.

It might sound boring.

And he does still occasionally throw in a big romantic gesture every now and then.

But, the real romance to me is knowing that I have a husband who will always be there for me and the kids. Who loves us through our worst days and moods. Who is a true friend to me. Whom I don't worry that he'll ever leave us- we're in this for the long haul.

Really, anyone can be romantic in the beginning of a relationship. It's time that is the test for how a relationship really is. I believe that love is a decision and that we'd never stay with anyone if we left every time the romance seemed to fade.

Romantic comedies and novels...well, they can suck it. I have my own version of happily-ever-after here.


Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Nap, Interrupted

The day after Christmas, we were running around like crazy people, getting things together for mil's birthday lunch. She turned 50(a baby still, I know!), so we had her presents, flowers, balloons, and cake, all taken to the restaurant of her choice to surprise her.

We were there for over two hours.

After all that, plus everything that I had done to get things ready for Christmas the previous few days, I was completely wiped out.

Hubs actually made the incredibly rare suggestion that I go take a nap and he'd keep an eye on the boys.

Perhaps he was feeling guilty that he did not come through with the one Christmas present that I had requested, I don't know.

But, I didn't question it.

Promptly stripped down into my comfy clothes and fell into bed.

And into a coma.

The bedroom door comes flying open a little while later and I have to unglue my face from my pillow.

Yes, I drool in my sleep.

I drool a LOT if I'm fortunate enough to reach that coma-like state of sleep.

Hubs tells me that his aunt drove up to surprise his mom for her birthday and she's upstairs.

I consider going back to sleep, but decide that it's not going to happen without mil thinking I'm incredibly rude and throwing that in my face for the next forever or so.

So, I throw my new bathrobe on over my tank and underwear and go up to say hi to auntie.

Um, yeah, except that Hubs neglected to mention that it's not just his aunt, but her whole family.

I did tell you that it was a short robe that Hubs gave me, right?

I mean, I wasn't showing off my next Tuesday(I still laugh thinking about Charlotte from Sex in the City spelling that out), but I would have put on PANTS had I known that it wasn't just her.

Hubs then makes the announcement that "We have enough leftovers here- Shell will be happy to cook dinner here."

Whoa, buddy.

I was just enjoying my coma nap and I had planned on throwing a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner.

And while we did have enough ham, corn, and sweet potato casserole left, that was IT. And the only reason we had sweet potato casserole left is because I purposely made a double batch so that I could eat off of it for days.

It was not enough to feed 12 people.

I DO like to cook for people.


I had just cooked a gigantic meal the night before.

I had NO plans of making another that day.

I was NOT prepared for this- no time for menu planning or grocery shopping.

Yet, I played the good hostess, checked my pantry, and threw together mac&cheese and green bean casserole(both from scratch- no mixes or soup involved, blech) and then sent bil to the store for rolls.

And all I heard was "Oh, good thing you had so much left over from yesterday."


Is it wrong to want a simple "thank you"?

Because I'd much rather have returned to my coma than to cook and have everyone eat MY sweet potato casserole.

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Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Post-its: Christmas Aftermath Edition


Sunday, December 27, 2009

Not enough hands

We showed up at church this morning to find that there was no children's program and that the boys would have to be in church with us. We actually turned to LEAVE, but then found out that there was care for Cub and Bear; only Monkey would have to be in church with us. So, we stayed, but it reminded me of what happened last year around this time, when I had all three with me in church BY MYSELF- a 6 month old, a 2.5 year old, and a 4 year old. So, I thought I'd repost it for your amusement.

I usually know my limitations- what I'll be able to handle with the boys on my own and what I can't. But, my niece was going to be an angel in her church's children's program and I really wanted to be there, even though their church does not have children's classes during the regular service, so I'd have to have all three boys with me. Oh, and without Hubs because he had to work.

I did realize this would be really hard and had thought about bringing the stroller, at least for Bear. Put him in the stroller, hold Cub, and keep Monkey entertained with the children's program and come coloring books.

But, it was really snowy and wet. We had to park down a hill that would be near impossible for me to get the stroller up. I guess I could have done it if I had taken the stroller in first and then come back for the kids. But, Grammy and Papa were supposed to be there and I took Cub inside in his car seat, so I thought maybe we'd be okay.

The three boys and I sat in the last pew. Grammy and Papa showed up, too, and sat in the pew in front of us. Bear went and sat with Grammy for a while. They were all pretty good for the first 45 minutes of the service- really, I was thinking that I don't give them enough credit. Bear was clapping for all the songs and he was making up his own words to sing. Monkey wanted to know why we didn't have angels and kings and sheep at our church. He did stand up on the pew to be able to see, but I let him do that. Better to have him be able to see and have his feet on the pew than to have him get bored.

Then they started to melt down. So, I figured I'd take them home. I handed Cub to Grammy and got Bear's coat on. Then I went to put on Monkey's coat...and Bear crawled underneath the pews. Papa didn't even make an attempt to grab him...my older brother was walking up the aisle, saw Bear, laughed but he didn't grab him, either. THANKS SO FREAKING MUCH, GUYS!!!!

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get him, and Monkey is going down the side aisle, doing a running commentary on exactly how far Bear is getting.

This was all during communion, just the organ playing and people in line to take communion.

Bear made it all the way to the front of the church, behind the prayer rails, to stand beside the pastor while she was giving out communion. NICE. She was telling him that the communion wafers were sort of like cheerios.

The congregation thought this was all pretty funny and were laughing about it. One of the ladies told me when I was on my way out not to worry about it, that all of their kids make it to the front of the church during the service at one point or another.

I would have thought this was hilarious, had it been someone else's child who had done this. Since it was mine, I was just embarrassed.

Some days, I simply don't have enough hands.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!
Yes, I did set out the Christmas presents a night early to take this pic. Then went to icaughtsanta.com(see info on sidebar) to make this, uploaded it to Walgreens, going to pick it up on Christmas Eve, and the pic will be under the tree for the boys to see on Christmas morning.
I really better go put the presents away now, before I forget about them and go to sleep.
I'd have a hard time explaining that one in the morning!
Have a joyous Christmas!


A Shove Down Memory Lane

I didn't think I would be writing today.

Like many of you, I thought I'd take a few days off for Christmas, getting things ready and spending time with family.

But, then, once again, I was shoved down memory lane.

No one called me Emmy this time, although I'm sure she had to make a concerted effort not to.

My old friend Dee(as in D is her first initial- you didn't think I'd actually use a name on here, did you?), sent me a Christmas card the other day.

I just adore her.

But, we have lost touch.

I met her because her husband was best friends with X.

And we became fast friends.

She was supposed to be matron of honor in the wedding-that-didn't-happen.

I tried on the wedding dress that didn't-otherwise-see-the-light-of-day with her.

When I was leaving X, which required a move far away, X, D, D's husband, and I went to lunch together shortly before I left.

D's husband opened the truck door for me afterwards, firmly shut the door to the truck and then he and D attacked X.

"If you let her leave, it will be the stupidest thing you've ever done. And that is saying a lot."

On and on they went.

Even to the point of telling him that they didn't know if they could be friends with him any more if he let me go.

They knew that I loved him with all my being.

But, that I was only leaving because it was too painful to stay. And that was his fault.

They wanted him to fix it.

For quite a while, we stayed in touch.

Because we would have been friends no matter how we met.

They even stopping spending much time with X, disgusted with him.

But, we tried to talk about everything except X.

It became the gigantic, 3 ton, 2-headed, fuchsia with lime green polka dots elephant in the room...who had bad gas...and was sitting on us.

Just way too obvious and painful.

So, we slowly lost touch, only a card here or there.

But, I did miss her.

And now, we're fb friends.

At least enough time as passed that I can look back on that time as bittersweet memories, instead of with any regret.

Because I love Hubs and my boys and wouldn't trade them for anything.

And, this time around, I'm packing an elephant gun.

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Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Sticky Christmas and Other Things


Monday, December 21, 2009

Preschool Christmas Party: Not Me!

This is my first time participating in Not Me! Monday, a blog carnival created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

The boys had their Christmas party at preschool last Thursday. Since they just go on Tuesdays and Thursdays, their classes are small, so they combine the 2s, 3s, and 4s classes for parties. I appreciate this since that means I don't have to decide whether I go to Bear's or Monkey's party. Here are some fun little tidbits that did NOT happen at their party.

To the moms who were busying setting up for the party when I arrived and were bitching about how impossible the juice boxes were to open, that was NOT me who had dropped them off in the morning.

And when they were pawing through the teacher's gifts on her desk and complaining about the mom who had to go be all creative and show up your mugs or ornaments or gift cards, that was NOT me who sent that in with my children.

Oh and it was NOT me who let them go on complaining about it and making snide remarks. It certainly was NOT me who piped up when they were done being petty and said that the present was from my kids.

It was NOT me who enjoyed the looks on their faces.

I had Cub with me in his stroller, so that he would not tear into all the toys in the room or the food. Other moms tell me to go ahead and let him out. Um, NO, he would eat all the food.

When I did actually let him out, that was NOT my child who tried to eat the entire fruit tray by himself.

When I went to put him back in his stroller, that was NOT me who rolled my eyes at the mom who told me that there was plenty left and that I should let him eat it. That was NOT me dreading that nasty diaper that was coming.

It was NOT me glaring at the mom who told me I must have my hands full with all my boys.

And I was NOT waiting with baited breathe to hear if she would ask me if one of them was an accident because it was NOT me who had a snappy retort on the tip of my tongue.

It was NOT my son who burped really loudly. His daddy certainly is NOT proud of our middle son learning to burp on command when he was only two.

It was NOT my son who continued to burp repeatedly when he found out that burping made his classmates laugh.

And on the other side of the table- it was NOT my other son who decided that it would be really fun if everyone decorated their hair with glitter.

It was NOT me who left with my children, thinking that women can be so mean.

And it was NOT me who thought that my kids actually behaved themselves pretty well.

P.S. I usually play along with Supahmommy and MommyBrain on Mondays, but I had NOTHING for their question this morning. But, be sure to go check out all of their worst ornaments.


Sunday, December 20, 2009

How Generous Should Santa Be?

I usually get called a grinch by other moms that I know- though it's more behind my back than to my face. And it's in expressions on faces when we talk about what Santa is bringing the kids for Christmas.

My kids have always had a good Christmas. They've never asked if that was all there was or wondered where a certain item was that wasn't under the tree for them. There have only been 3 Christmases so far when someone was old enough to question, but still.

Santa does bring my kids quite a few presents.

Especially whatever is most important to each child.

But, when Monkey was 2: he wanted crayons. At 3: playdoh. At 4: MORE playdoh. Bear hadn't cared until this year and Cub is still too little.

Here are their lists for this year:

And Cub doesn't have a list, though his brothers have told Santa that he wants bath toys and some more sippy cups.

No, we didn't just buy them those things, nor did we just buy crayons or playdoh the other years. They have a lot to open.

It just isn't a lot when I hear what other people buy their kids or when I see the pics from under other people's trees.

My kids already own a million toys, so I don' t feel the need to double what they have every Christmas.

We also do not wrap clothes and put them under the tree. Maybe when the boys are older and there are certain clothes that they really want, we will. For now, we do get clothes at this time of year because of the sales, but we just give them to the kids. They aren't really excited about opening them anyway. All it would do is to make the pile of presents look bigger.

If we do not have the money for something, we do not buy it. No credit card purchases, so that gives us a more definite budget.

Maybe if that budget were larger, the pile of gifts would be larger, I don't know.

Before you feel too bad for them, know that I DO feel that they get enough. It's not just a few things. But, there are not thousands of dollars worth of presents under our tree. You will not find a gift that cost $500 under the tree along with 57 other gifts.

If that is what you do and you have the money to do it, more power to you.

But, it doesn't happen here. Please don't look at my kids with pity. They DO enjoy their Christmas mornings.

And we do other things as a family that they enjoy: their magic Christmas Elf pjs that we let them stay in all day, cookies and punch all day long, lots of cuddling together, watching movies and playing with their toys. It's not all about the presents.

Christmas shouldn't be all about the presents.

Just because my Santa isn't as generous as yours don't make me a grinch.

Btw- blogger is hating me this morning and making everything be center-aligned, even though I keep trying to change it. Sorry!


Saturday, December 19, 2009

A Glimpse into the Mind of Hubs

Much as he can irritate me, I do love Hubs.

I love how he can make me laugh.

I thought I'd share some of his sense of humor with you- to show you what this man is like who is married to moi.

So, I'll take you through his various comments as he was going through the big V, snip-snip, this summer. Warning: given what this is about, if the words balls or sack disturbs you, you might want to stop reading now.

First of all, when we were talking about it, I got the name of a doctor from my BFF, whose husband STILL hasn't told any family or friends that he had it done. Sorry, dude, but I think I pretty much know which husbands have had it done and which haven't- we women talk.

Anyway, the first time that Hubs met BFF's Hubby was at Bear and Cub's birthday party. Pretty much right after introducing them, Hubs says, "So, I have to know, how much does it hurt?" BFF's Hubby gives him a blank look, so Hubs continues, "When you had your balls cut?" That's more blunt than funny, though if you saw the look on the other guy's face when asked that question, you would have laughed.

It took Hubs about two months after that to call the office to set up an appointment.

As he was talking to the receptionist, he asked "How do they do this, anyway? If you mention a cherry bomb, I'm hanging up right now."

She just laughed at him.

Then, he asked how much this was going to cost him.

He wanted to play let's make a deal, so he asked, "If they don't use any anesthesia, will you give it to me for $250?"

They continued to chat and he found out that he needed to come in for a consultation and then scheduled his surgery. He asked, "So, who all is going to be in looking at my junk?"

C'mon- you know you would have loved to see the look on this receptionist's face during this phone call.

Next, he gets a thick envelope in the mail from the office with info about his snip.

So, he starts asking me about how he should groom himself for the visit and suggests different shapes. I was laughing so hard at his descriptions that I was literally crying.

BFF tells me(because of course I told her about this conversation) about this hair removal stuff called Magic that works really well on coarse hair and he could always use that.

I make the mistake of mentioning it to Hubs and he says, "Peanut, I don't need any more magic down in that area."

Time for the consultation.

He's being examined and he says to the (female) doctor, "Sooooo, while you're down there...." and the doctor burst out laughing.

He schedules his procedure- he can get in in just 2 weeks if he gets the traditional snip or he has to wait 3 months if he wants to wait for the doctor who does the "no scapel" kind.

He opts for the traditional because he wants to get it done soon and besides, "My swimmers are so strong, it will take a scapel to stop them."

He gets the procedure done, comes home and acts like a baby for the weekend, and then goes back to work(I wasn't there for it, so I don't know what he said during it, unfortunately).

Gets the nickname "Cowboy" from people at work...and he tells them, "Of course I'm walking like that, my sack is the size of a grapefruit or maybe a small dog."

Anyway, there's a little glimpse into the mind of the man I've been married to for almost 7 years. How I love him.


Friday, December 18, 2009

Where I Sound Like a Lush and a Snob...

I'm showing you the terrible parts of me today. I try to be a "good person," but I sometimes fail miserably. Last night was one of those times.

Yesterday, I was telling you all how I've become a hermit but that I was going to go to a cookie exchange with women that I've never met from a online message board.

In an effort to get to know people, I decided to go(LMAO if you really believe it's for that reason and not because I just love cookies).

There was a list on the message board of things that people were bringing, including drinks.

But, then, yesterday morning, there's a message that alcohol is NOT PERMITTED at the event.

WHAT is that about?

See how I'm already starting to sound like a lush, getting upset at this?

But, to tell a group of grown women that they aren't allowed to have alcohol is ridiculous.

But, apparently, it's one of the bylaws of the bigger organization that this message board is a part of and they got smacked down by some higher up and told that they can't have alcohol.

Still sounding like a lush for being upset- but, when my hermit-self does get to go out, I do like to enjoy a drink or seven. No, really just one or maybe two, depending on how long I'll be there, since I have to drive home.

I thought maybe it would be a situation where they would say that on the board and then, once we were there, the hostess would say(as I would if I were the hostess), "Sorry that I can't serve you any alcohol. Look at all I bought for the party, sitting right there on the counter. I'm going to go over there while you fix yourself a drink. " *insert cheesy wink here*

But, it was not to be. They stuck to their policy. CRAPTASTIC.

I'm much more relaxed when I've had a drink(see the whole lush thing still?). But, I didn't know any of these women and I tend to be an introverted person. Not shy, but introverted- if you are like me, then you totally understand the difference. So, a drink helps. No, I don't actually need one, so I guess that's why I'm not really a lush, I just play one on tv...sound like one on my blog.

Now let's get to the part where I sound like a snob.

I walk into a room of 11 women. I am not the type of person who is friends with everyone and just loves every single person I come into contact with.

I can be friendly to everyone, but I'm selective when it comes to whom I let into my little circle.

If you are clingy,or say really stupid things or say judgemental things(hello kettle, this is the pot...you do realize you're black, right? Yeah, yeah, I know.), I'm probably going to scoot away from you.

If you make faces about the thought of ever having a boy, I will move away. Especially if you tell me that boys are just so gross and no fun to shop for. Thanks for your brilliant insight on my children.

If you try to engage me in a conversation about how you think that formula is evil and breast is best, while a woman in the room is bottle-feeding their baby, I will excuse myself to get a drink. Darn, have to settle for cider. I did breastfeed my babies, but I am of the mind of what you do with your boobs is your business and what I do with mine is my business(and Hubs').

Speaking of boobies, I don't want to see the gigantic tattoo of your husband's name across your massive cleavage. Put that stuff away.

And, if you are not even of age yet(or even if you are, but said person was not yet 21), I do not want to hear about all the clubbing that you do and how you leave your newborn with a 12 year old babysitter while you are out getting trashed. I want A drink, not to be "smashed." Oh and when you are talking about doing this while your Marine husband is deployed to the Middle East, I really don't want to hear about what your cheating ass does.
Oh, and I think you already know how I feel about people who don't eat a thing at a party.

I did find some nice people to talk to. They were the ones saying they wished we could have had a drink and I told them that we should spike the cider when no one was looking- and they agreed. My kind of people.

So, there you have it- me at my absolute ugliest(or close to it, anyway). I'm not always like that, but it's a side of me that does come out sometimes and I wouldn't be being honest with you if I pretended otherwise.

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Thursday, December 17, 2009

Becoming a Hermit

In our "old life," meaning before we made the move to NC a month and a half ago, we were always on the go.

To the park, to the museum, to the zoo, to the inflatable crazy play place, on playdates, preschool, going for walks, story time at the library, Awana, karate, t-ball, swimming, going, going, going. Each day, the boys woke up wanting to know where we were going to go that day.

If we had a day where we stayed home all day it was most likely because someone was sick. Or because I spent all our money and didn't even have gas money...but that didn't happen often because we could still walk plenty of places.

On those rare days we did stay home all day, I thought I would lose my mind.

And even after the boys were in bed, I was going, going, going.

For a drink with my best friend, for beer and wings with my college buddy, margarita night with the girls(um, really, I'm not a lush...), to my monthly moms' group meeting that I coordinated, monthly book club meeting, Bible study, yoga class, going, going, going.

But, since our move, we don't leave home much.

For the boys, playing out on the beach is enough. That's in our backyard. They aren't getting tired of it.

Even just getting to go out and play on the deck is entertaining for them. I think it's the fresh air.

And the layout of this house is so much better for the kids to have room to play and especially room to play away from each other.

Of course they still go to preschool(tired of hearing me talk about all the preschool drama yet?), but they don't really want to go anywhere else. They want to go to the beach or play in the backyard or on the deck or just hang out in the house. They don't ask if where we're going every day.

And, as for me, BFF and college buddy obviously aren't here, and I haven't found a group of women to go have margaritas with(plus, there isn't a place that has $.99 margaritas that is close to me anymore...and I'm cheap).

I got burned out on MOPS groups after coordinating one for two years, so I'm not really anxious to join another. Though, maybe I would like it if all I had to do was show up, instead of handling all the planning.

No book clubs that I know of and I'll probably join a Bible study when the new groups start up in the new year. Yoga will probably happen again at some point...Hubs does like that flexibility. ;)

But, I don't really have any desire to go anywhere, either.

I love being able to hear the ocean from my house. It brings a sense of calm over me, so maybe that's why I don't feel such a need to find time to relax; I'm already relaxed.

Hubs is also home A LOT more than he was before our move. He used to rarely make it home for dinner- maybe once a week he'd be home before the boys were in bed.

But, he's only missed dinner here once since we moved.

And then after the boys go to bed, we actually spend time together- imagine that!

I'm happy with how our family has been spending our time.

Of course, with 3 boys 5 and under, I'm still busy. I'm ALWAYS busy.

But, I feel less scattered and stressed. I have more time to really focus on my family.

But, when I think about it, I realize that we're turning into hermits.

Should I be worried?

I am coming out of my hermit shell tonight to go to a cookie exchange with 12 women that I don't know(local moms online board) and it makes me nervous. I'll go armed with baked goods and a yummy dip.

But, I figure that I could give them the cookies I baked, grab up my share, and then get a text message shortly after that with some sort of emergency at home if I decide that I'd rather continue in my life as a hermit....

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Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Teacher Gift That's Actually Useful

'As a former teacher, let me tell you how many "teacher" type gifts I was given. Mugs, ornaments, random knickknacks.

Oh, how cute.

And useless.

Yes, here is where I sound like an ungrateful brat. But, really, unless the teacher is a first-year newbie, they probably already have all of that stuff. I was gifted with all that stuff when I was a student teacher and it was cute then, but after that, notsomuch.

I thought it was really nice any time any of my students thought to give me a gift, though.

And some of my favorite gifts didn't cost anything, like the parents who arranged to take my lunch duty for a week as a gift for teacher appreciation week or the mom who wrote me a four page handwritten letter thanking me for all that I did for her daughter.


There were some really good gifts that cost some serious money, too. Woohoo on spa gift certificates for a whole day of pampering and a beach bag full of everything you could possibly need for a day at the beach.

So now that I'm a parent, I feel the pressure to come up with a good gift for my boys' teachers.

I don't have serious cash to throw around, so I have to figure out how to do something nice for not very much money.

Due to all the germ-madness this year, this is what I came up with:

A Germ-Busting Bucket!

Forgive the craptastic job on the tissue paper- I really need to fix that.

I had three teachers to buy for.
Inside each bucket is:

Lysol sanitizing wipes- $2.92 x 3

Big bottle of GermX instant hand sanitizer- $1.98 x 3

Bottle of Chewable Vitamin C- $2 x 3 (found that bargain at Wally World)

Travel-size kleenx-$.99 for a pack of three

5 bags of Yogi brand tea: Cold Season $4.42 for one box, that I split in 3

On the sparkly tag, I wrote "Miss (insert teacher's name here)'s Germ-Busting Bucket."

So, that's three teacher gifts of something that I think they will actually use, for just over $20 total.

Um, not counting the buckets($2.50 each at Wally World- they have a cute lid with a snowflake on it), tissue paper, and the sparkly tags, which bring my total closer to $30. But, by the time that I was shopping for those items, I had picked up the older two from preschool and had three kids shopping with me, so I went for whatever I saw that I thought was reasonable, instead of shopping around for a better deal.

Feel free to steal this idea for your kids' teachers!

I think this is the wordiest I've been on a Wordful Wednesday.

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Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Santa BABY Stickies


Monday, December 14, 2009

Swinging my golf club

Supahmommy and MommyBrain 's question of the week, from the mind of Princess of Sarcasm, is: who are 5 people/things you would like to swing a golf club at?

I'm not normally a violent person, but I'll play along anyway. ;)

There is a person who comes to mind immediately. And not in that joking-around kind of way. More in the if-I-could-get-away-with-it-I'd-REALLY-hit-him-hard-over-and-over-again kind of way. But, since we are currently suing his ass anyway, I should probably leave him out of this(nice teaser, huh? I just hate when people say something like that and then don't tell me the story...but, I will...someday)

Anyway, since I better not let my anger out like that, I'll go a little different route. And yes, I'm aware that this is probably a little bit contradictory to yesterday's post, right? But, I said I am a believer, not that I'm perfect.

I'll take my golf club to:

LONG LINES AT THE STORES. Like it's not hard enough to find the time to get everything that I need to for the holidays. Then we have to deal with the insanely long lines before we can head home. A special whack upside the head goes to the guy in line ahead of me at Wally World the other day who had to further hold up the line by asking about the return policy and needing clarification on what, exactly, a gift receipt is. Get out from under your rock, here's a whack from my trusty golf club, now GET OUT OF MY WAY because it's time to pick up the kiddos from school.

INCREDIBLY EXPENSIVE GIFT WRAP. Like presents aren't breaking my budget enough as it is. You can either buy wrapping paper at the dollar store and find out that it's only a yard long or you can buy the expensive stuff. It's a conspiracy. Oh, and if you are about to tell me that I should have bought it at a 98% discount at the end of last Christmas season, just remember that I have that golf club in my hand...

ANYONE WHO REFUSES TO EAT HOLIDAY GOODIES DUE TO A DIET. Appetizers in all flavors and shapes...how I love you. I could replace regular meals with you. And all the scrumptious desserts: yummy, yummy, yummy! I do not want to hear, particularly when my mouth is full of calorie-laden goodness, how you ate a salad before you showed up, so that you wouldn't be tempted to eat all this junk. I might not take my golf club to you, but I'm pretty sure I'd like to cram a cookie down your throat.

REPETITIVE TOY COMMERCIALS. I know you want to sell a bazillion of your toy this Christmas, so you have your commercial on constantly, so as to brainwash my kids into begging for your piece of crap plastic contraption, but enough is enough already. Lists have already been submitted to Santa, so now it's time to give it up and stop annoying me with all your repetitive jingles.

ANYONE WHO GETS IN THE WAY OF MY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATIONS. Despite the fact that I must sound like a grinch for complaining about all the above, I really do love Christmas. And if you are going to rain on my Christmas parade, you should step away before I get out my golf club.

Now, I'll pass my golf club off to you...who or what are you going after?

Though, could you bring the club back when you're done? I might just need it again....


Sunday, December 13, 2009

I believe,

I hesitated about writing this post.

Because it has to do with religion.

Religion and politics, two subjects we should avoid, right?

But, here's the thing: I started this blog so that I would have an outlet to be able to say whatever is on my mind, without having to worry about what others would think.

I'm not going to change that, just because I have some readers now(love you!), and I'm not just talking to myself.

So, here I go.

I have friends who have similar beliefs to mine, friends who are of different religions, and friends who have no religion. Love all of them.

But, what I've noticed lately is that when someone says that they do not believe in God, they receive a positive and supportive response(in general, anyway).

Good for you- you are so independent.

You think for yourself.

You're such a strong person.

I can understand why you think that way.

But, if someone says that they do believe in God, the reaction is the opposite.

You are so narrow-minded.

You're weak.

Why can't you trust in yourself?

You shouldn't judge others(as if by saying I believe in God, it automatically means that I judge others).

Why do you believe that nonsense?

And it goes on and on.

I just don't get why the attitude is that it's acceptable not to believe in God and that no one should question that non-belief, that we should support people's right to believe that there isn't a God, but the opposite is true if someone says that they believe.

If you tell me you don't believe and we're in a situation where we can have a conversation, I might tell you that I do believe. I won't force what I believe down your throat or try to convert you from what you (don't) believe, but I don't see what's wrong with saying that I believe when you don't.

I don't think that going into great detail about why I believe and specifically what I believe is going to change your mind, though I'm willing to have that conversation should you want to.

All I ask is that if there is understanding for people who choose not to believe, the same courtesy should be extended to those of us who do.

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Saturday, December 12, 2009

The birthday party grinch's heart grows ten sizes

I must admit that I was a bit of an obnoxious birthday party grinch back when my oldest was about to turn one.

I knew other people had huge first birthday party blowouts, but I wanted nothing to do with anything like that.

I called it silly to spend all that money and to have such a huge party when the 1 year-old won't remember it and will probably be miserable during it.

Monkey would have been miserable anyway. When he was one, he did not particularly care for people. A big crowd would have freaked him out.

So, I was a bit smug and annoying with my views on birthdays.

For his second birthday, he did have one friend there in addition to family. They ran around the house and had themselves a good time.

I did think about having a big party at that time, but Hubs had just lost his job and we were living in a small place, so it was more of a matter of being practical at that point.

Then came Bear's first birthday.

He loved people, so we had a bigger party for him. I think there were something like 18 kids running around our house at the time(we'd moved by that point, too).

Okay, so I guess I get why people celebrate like that. Nothing wrong with it.

Birthdays since then: 2 at a kids' gym, 1 at build-a-bear(sounds crazy, but it was actually the easiest AND cheapest birthday party we've ever had, at least counting the ones where the kids had more than 1 friend there), and 1 party at home where we had the gym-bus come to us, all with around 15-20 kiddos there.

The boys have had a blast at their parties.

They start planning early for them, with where they want their party, who they want to be there, and what kind of cake they will have.

I don't feel like it's crazy to have big parties for them when they are so little.

It's more than a little embarrassing when I think about just how outspoken I was on how wrong I thought it was to have birthday parties like this.

I actually feel super guilty right now because Monkey had been planning his fifth birthday party for seven months now. He knew where he would have it(one of those bounce places) and all the other details.

And I was okay with that because it's his fifth, a big deal.

But, we moved a month and a half before his birthday.

And he only started preschool two weeks ago.

So, trying to plan a big shebang for him was hard.

We just had a family party...

But, I'm still considering letting him have a belated birthday party in January and invite his friends from preschool to that.

It's ironic how I can go from a being the birthday party grinch to someone who feels guilty for not having one.

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Friday, December 11, 2009

A Big Milestone

Do you know what today is?

My oldest son Monkey's birthday.

And he's FIVE.

How did that happen????

He went from this...
to this...
and then straight to this...
Or so it seems to me.

It was just yesterday that I stomped down the hall of the elementary school where I was a teacher, threw open the door to the principal's office and informed her that that I did not care that there were still 3 more days of work next week and that TODAY was my last day. Find a sub for me because I ain't coming in. My big ol' preggo self was DONE.

Good thing I gave her the heads up, since I had Monkey the very next morning.

Woke up in the middle of the night with lots of painful contractions...that never, ever got regular. So, until I was in excruciating pain, I didn't think that I needed to get to the hospital.

Woke up Hubs and told him we had to go NOW...and then wanted to strangle him for wanting to take a shower before we left.

Digging my claws into his arm on the short drive to the hospital when I realized that he was taking the back way there. "DON'T GO THAT WAY! THERE'S SPEED BUMPS THAT WAY! I DON'T WANT TO HAVE THIS BABY IN THE TRUCK!!!!"

Fully dilated by that point, they didn't even have time to technically admit me to the hospital before Monkey was born. I had him about a half hour after we got to the hospital. That also means that there was time for absolutely NO pain meds.

I remember looking down at his sweet little face and wondering how anyone can hold a newborn in their arms and not believe in the existence of God.

He was a horrible sleeper, not sleeping any more than 2 hours in a row until he was 6 months old.

He crawled early, walked early, ran early, and climbed over my furniture early. Nothing like discovering your 9 month old has not only climbed up on your couch, but flipped himself over the back of it to land on your kitchen counter and finding him playing in a sinkful of dirty dishes.

When he was just shy of 17 months old, he became a big brother and took that in stride.

Instantly protective, he didn't like when someone would try to reach down and touch his brother.

Even now, with all the fighting, no one else is allowed to touch his brother.

He's the same with his baby brother, born when Monkey was 3 1/2. He was a little disappointed that I didn't listen to him and give him a sister, though.

He's a tough kid. I always said that if he ever actually started to cry after a fall, I better get him to the emergency room because he really must be hurt.

He could have adult-like conversations before he was even 2.

He's grown up so much.

Made his own friends.

Gone to school.

Learning to read, write, multiply(addition is too boring for him), and put together kajillion piece puzzles. He believes himself to be smarter than most adults whom he encounters. I'm working on getting him to stop telling them so.

He has an opinion on everything.

Don't talk to him like he's a little kid because he does NOT like that.

He's 5-going-on-30.

But, regardless of how old he acts, I still can't believe that my firstborn is FIVE.

Pretty soon, none of my babies will be "babies" any more.

Someone stop me before I start thinking it's a good idea to try for that sister that Monkey wants me to give him. Not gonna happen...snip! snip!
Monkey...is me. The child most like his mama. Which is probably why we butt heads so often.
But, I still love him with all my heart.
Wishing my big guy a very Happy FIFTH Birthday!

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