The Most Dreaded Words

 Everybody knows that Christmas is about keeping the Santa Secret and pleasing your children. Therefore, the most dreaded words are uttered on Christmas Eve.

"I changed my mind, I want a [pony, scooter, bike, Red Rider BB gun]"

A close second place winner is, "Can I have a New Year's Eve party?"

Then, "Me, too?"

While We Were Out

Two kids had parties or lateovers on Saturday. Two kids - the imaginative ones - were home alone. I received a call from the 14 year old who sweetly asked me if she could give me an early Christmas present and when would I be home.

Here's what she had to offer. I'd opened the present 2 minutes before so I'd already enjoyed the gift.

Wordful Wednesday and Clever Much? Rarely!

Sometimes my brilliance blinds me! Speaking of brilliance, before we continue this discussion, if you are my mother in law, stop reading. Walk away. At least until after Christmas.

Seriously. My own mother doesn't read my blog. I think it has something to do with words like "socially awkward" and "mortifying." She knows me. She doesn't have to read about me. She can just pretend like I turned out normal.

Anyway, if the mother-in-law has exited the website, check out what she's getting for Christmas!

TADA!

I'd like to give a special shout out to the internet and whatever site I was cruising through last week for planting this idea into my head. Usually not this creative and I definitely don't know where I got the energy to take the kids out for pictures. Or go to Walmart for the frame. And Robert's for the mat. Costco for the pictures. 

Yeah, I painted the frame, too.

So not my style.

Anymore.

I also ordered a canvas print for my husband but I can't remember which picture I used so he'll be surprised as will I. Please note the little one on the right and how happy he looks. I didn't do that, by the way. He fell down and hurt his palm. That's what he told me through the tears.

Ever notice that when a crying child is saying "palm," you hear "bum" and can't stop laughing? That may be why he looks sad and a little mad.

Coincidentally, why are bums so funny?

Fortunately,, we did get a few close shots of him before he fell on his "palm."

This isn't one of them but it might be what will be hanging on our wall 20" x 30" for the next ten years.

Although I'm really hoping I ordered other one.

What do you think?

Wonder Underwear

I have a muffin top. I swallow pride to make that statement but I sunk to a new low earlier this week when I realized I am four years from having a colonoscopy, based on AMA recommendations. I don't love my muffin top, although I believe it should be worn like a badge of honor. According to my source (Chicktionary, Lefler), muffin tops are defined as such:

Muffin tops, noun: Irresistibly attractive yet widely misunderstood "dunes of delight" that can be found nestled above the waistbands of virtually every woman of healthy weight in the continental United States. (At least, the ones you would want to be friends with.) The presence of muffin tops has been positively correlated with such attributes as superior intellect, exquisite fashion sensibility, and shiny, manageable hair. Named for the portion of a muffin that bulges over the top of a muffin pan during baking, it is said that some muffin tops actually do emit the aroma of freshly baked bread.

 Still, I'm following the social norm of watching Hollywood middle aged women age by kicking and screaming and picked up a few ideas short of the extremes like tummy tuck, liposuction or limiting my carbs. Spanx has crossed my mind and I even saw a package of one kind or another at a boutique shop and gasped at the price tag. $50 could buy me roughly 3 and a half pairs of "Mom Jeans" from a clearance rack. Although that would hide my muffin top, I have faith that zippers are getting longer than Brittany Spears 2 inch pair of pants 15 years ago. I don't want Mom Jeans, yet. Well, maybe a little bit.

What I found was a wonder camisole at Costco. It roughly squishes the muffin top and/or redistributes the excess resulting in a much smoother muffin top, rather than the muffin top that spills over the top of my bottoms. This came in handy one Sunday when the shirt I chose to wear with a skirt was too tight to be worn without a girdle wonder underwear.

Putting this piece of clothing on my body required the basic skills of wiggling into a sports bra then tugging the bottom part over the offending body area. The perks consist of the fact that, once pulled down, the garment does not roll and stays securely in place, slightly limiting my lung capacity (note: not as much as a whale boned  lined corset of which I am grateful). Also, unlike the sports bra, the uniboob was less noticeable as the upper part of the camisole was not triple reinforced like the bottom part.

Once my acrobatics of wiggling into my camisole was complete and I finished dressing, my family went to church. Sometime during church, I looked over at my 17 year old. She looked very tired. Not surprising since she came home from her band (last) competition at 3:30 that morning. I leaned over and mentioned she'd either been crying or she was very tired. She answered me by bursting into tears. Well, then. I took her home where she joined me in my bedroom with a box of tissues, blanket and her sweet self while lamenting the end of her meaningful life (marching band season).

Since we were home, I figured I could get comfortable. Crossing my arms, I grabbed the bottom part of my shirt and pulled it off myself, inside out, throwing it on the bed. The teenager continued talking, crying, and lamenting.

Next up was the wonder camisole. I crossed my arms again, grabbed the bottom of the camisole and pulled it upward. It rolled up at this point and got stuck under my boobs. This required a few more acrobatics than I was used to. I pulled, tugged, stretched and succeeded to move the roll of fabric under my armpits and neck. More wiggling resulted in a few scant inches progress but my arms were now stuck over my head and my mouth was covered. The teenager was still talking and crying.

I threw myself on the bed and tried to use the friction to pull it further up. No luck. I tried wiggling it back down so I could breathe through my nose. Again, no luck. Finally, I had to interrupt the emotional tirade. I was stuck, my arms over my head, laying on the bed I muffled out, "I need help."

With all of her muscle, she grabbed the offending camisole and pulled while I tried to slip out of the clothing and onto the floor from the bed. It was ungraceful, humiliating, and should have been caught on tape. On the upside, my muffin top is back and I will wear it proudly under my bulky sweaters until springtime. Then I don't know what I'll do. Be assured then, by the presence of my dunes of delight, that my superior intellect, beauty, and shiny, manageable hair marks me as one of the Chosen Ones. And you want to be my friend.

How's your Muffin Top? Don't have one?  Ahhh. You're not Chosen.  Bummer for you.

My Declining Quality of Life Because of Technology

A couple of days ago, my dad came over to my house just as a new gadget arrived at my doorstep. It's a thingermabobber I can attach to my television and stream Netflix without a Wii (which is downstairs) and Pandora and other crap. My dad sat comfortably on my sofa and watched me attach the HDMI cable (which I already had since it didn't come with the cable, of course) to the television and gadget, plugged it in then programmed the gadget via ONE MORE REMOTE and my computer.

When I finished, I stepped back and said to my dad, "Do you remember when you walked over to the television, turned it on, turned a knob and chose the channel (out of 6 options) and sat down to watch TV?" That was it.

He told me he remembered when his parents first bought a radio that was the size of my big leather chair. They turned it on for the first time and heard President Franklin D. Roosevelt announcing the bombing of Pearl Harbor and calling it "a day that will live in infamy." My six year old father went and hid under the table. His dad became one of the men checking for lights showing through the blackout curtains at night, most likely saving the town of Weston, Idaho (population 425, including cattle) from the Japanese obliterating it.

Ironic that I write this on the 70th anniversary of that day and completely coincidental.

Still, this conversation replayed itself this morning as I was looking for the Ipod charger. I have become a slave to my gadgets and spend an inordinate amount of time serving them. Here are my frustrations that take up my time:

1. Looking for chargers. Every camera in our home requires a different charger. For reasons unknown to me, they each disappear when that particular battery dies. They also show up when another camera is needed to be charged.
2. Looking for chargers, Part II: Ipod and Kindle. Never did find the Ipod charger. Ordered new Kindle charger from Amazon. When it arrived, I found another charger. Coincidentally, I ordered a new charger for my camera. When it showed up, so did my old charger.
3. While I have been typing this, my son has been asking me to turn on Netflix. We tracked down three of the four remotes to accomplish this and I have been fiddling with the correct settings for ten minutes. Can someone please pass the VHS tape and player? Usually, I can figure that one out. Until then, I have four remotes sitting in the cracks of the sofas. 
4. My husband's big pet peeve and I admit we have a problem with this. The telephone rings and none of the cordless phones are in their cradle. I have crawled under daughter's beds, run around the house in a panic, all in an effort to find one telephone. I have seriously considered buying an old corded phone with a very long cord. In our first house, the cord was so long and the house was so small, we could take it into every room upstairs and even downstairs to half the rooms.
5. My GPS in the van lacks some of the newer roads. My "newer", I mean the ones built in the last 5 years. Also, my internal GPS and good sense is better than the GPS in my van which, last year as I drove to my uncle's funeral, it told me to turn where there was no road, recalculated then told me to turn on a dirt road. I was so stupid to do what it said. I got to the funeral on time but the car looked worse for the wear.
6. My texting skills are abysmal. I even have a keyboard. It would be quicker to make the telephone call rather than texting something that, when automatically completed, reads sexually and inappropriately. Confusing to my children. Exciting for my husband.
7. So I'm supposed to put my music onto an Ipod or MP3 player. No idea how to do it. I exercise without music. It's not nearly as much fun.
8. Back to my new gadget - I had set it to Pandora before I turned off the TV. My son turned on the TV a few hours later and was greeted with the current artist's album cover; a woman in red underwear with a clear shot down her bra. He was disturbed. He's afraid he might have looked twice. Now he believes he's going to Hell. May have something to do with the way I reacted when he showed me. I have said, "Whatthehell?"
9. My cell phone contract is up this month. I sat in a conference next to my boss for 7 and half hours yesterday. I don't want to turn off my phone in case my kids need me but T-Mobile called me SIX TIMES in TWO HOURS to offer me a new smart phone with a new contract.

I'm certain there are more ways technology has ruined my life but I have to return to it. The telephone keeps ringing and I keep looking for it. I did find the Ipod charger. And I feel compelled to check my email.

Basic Survival Skills

A friend of mine commented that she doesn't know how I do what I do; work, have four children, read, blog, dance, keep house, keep everybody in clean underwear, etc. I started thinking about this decided it is high time we, women crack open the myth that we can do everything and still maintain a semblance of sanity and your next door neighbor, who you are comparing yourself to, isn't doing it all, either.

So I've compiled a list that sums up a few ideas of how to survive as a working mother. Actually, I think it applies to any mother, working outside the home or not. The bottom line is 1) Lower your expectations and 2) Simplify. I don't do all of these but they are wonderful thoughts and ideas. Here are a few:

1. Use Costco. Orange chicken cooks up in under 15 minutes then add rice and a side of green beans. Truth? I cook up orange chicken and figure the orange is the fruit/vegetable and the breading is the grain. Dinner? Done. 
2. Buy in bulk. If something is on sale, buy as much as you can. I have a couple of cases of cream of chicken soup and black beans in my cold storage. I have over 100 lbs. of bread flour. I will use all of it.  But I don't have to go to the store any time soon for those items. I also buy toilet paper at Costco, soap of all functions, and chocolate chips whenever it goes on sale. You know. The staples.
3. Pre-lit Christmas tree. Besides the fact that I haven't said a swear word while putting the Christmas tree  up the past few Christmases is 'nuff said.
4. Better yet, if you have room, don't de-decorate Christmas tree. Just store it then return it next year in its previous state.
5. Give cash. Tacky, I know. But how many candles or body lotion can a girl collect before she regifts them? (Answer: I've been regifting them for years. Please. No more.).
6. Neighbor gifts: Don't give. It spirals out of control. If you give to the Jones', you have to give to the Smiths and if you give to the Smiths, you have to give to the Taylors. We'll take the gift and regift it to someone else, anyway. I'm just sayin'.
7. Co-worker gifts: Take a plate of cookies or fudge and place a placard close by announcing these treats ARE their gift. Enjoy.
8. Accept a certain amount of chaos. I can't keep my house spotless with six people living in it. Not only that, right after school is homework time. Books, paper, etc. are strewn throughout the common areas. Not a good time to clean the house. I'm raising kids, not trying to be featured in a magazine.
9. School lunches are a blessing. Judge me for wasting so much money on food saturated in fat and high calories, but have you seen my kids? They have no chance at obesity. Few countries offer school lunches. I consider myself very, very lucky. My kids consider themselves very, very lucky when they take a sandwich to school.
10. Not everything needs to be made from scratch. My mother made everything from scratch. She ground her own wheat, made bread, canned food from her garden and trees, sewed all of our clothes, grew our own cows. My children beg me to make bread. My spaghetti sauce is unmatched. I've gone through stages of making my own soap, dipping candles, making homemade pasta and a number of other skills that are nice to know. But not necessary. We live in a different world than our parents and grandparents did. I don't hang my sheets out to dry or squeeze out the excess water with a hand wringer.
11. Stop comparing yourself to your neighbor. We see a snapshot in time of their life and assume things. Wise man say, "ASSUME makes an ASS out of U and ME."

What do YOU do to make life easier?

Writer's Workshop

Tell us the story of how your pet came to be a member of your family.

I know, I know, I posted it before but I think it bears reminding ourselves that stupid dogs make us swear.

No, that isn't what the message is (although they do) but hang in there. It will get better.

How Sunday, whose birthday happens to be today, joined our crew:

I have been thinking about an experience all day and feel that I need to share it. For what purpose and for whom, I don't know, but it's been on my mind. Perhaps it was remembering while driving to work this morning or maybe it was the conversation I had with an old friend later today as she shared with me her very real and difficult struggles.

Five years ago, our old dog, Maggie, died of old age. It was a sad day for all of us. We cried until our eyes were swollen. We planned on getting another dog after an appropriate grieving period. Instead, our lives were turned upside down with events we couldn't control. We went through a very, very dark time where things went from really bad to worse. When we didn't think it could get worse, it did. We seemed to be literally hanging on for dear life. Prayers were more sincere and desperate. Answers trickled into our hearts but nothing concrete seemed to happen. That October, we found ourselves watching conference with hungry souls as Elder Wirthlin delivered his talk entitled, "Sunday Will Come." It was as if he was speaking directly to us. The premise was that Christ was crucified on Friday. All who followed Christ were devastated as they watched with horror the events unfold. But in a short time, Sunday morning came and Jesus Christ was resurrected.

"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.
But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.
No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come. "

We continued prodding through life. We continued celebrating the great victory of getting out of bed every morning and surviving until bedtime that night. Our journey continued and life improved incrementally. We saw blessings and answers to prayers along the way and we continued on knowing that "Sunday would come."

March came. Husband and oldest son stole sneaky looks at each other and disappeared for an hour. When they came home, they looked like they were going to explode with happiness. A little yellow lab followed them into the house. Getting a dog was not the answer to solving our problems and it seemed like an inopportune time. On the other hand, I could not look at those puppy dog eyes (the boys', not the dog's) and tell them to take her back. We discussed dog names. There was Goldie, Lucky, Stupid (that might have been my idea), and finally my husband looked at me and said, "What about Sunday?"

Things continued to get better slowly over the next year and a half but at that moment, in one corner of the world, Sunday had come.