The Eye of the Beholder, Revisited

As we were flipping through Christmas cards, hubby and  I were checking out all of the lovely photos from our friends and family.  Of course, we were also critiquing people's eyes and determining whether or not a person was left eyed or right eyed.  And, if that sounds ridiculous to you . . . then just read the following re-post below and join my everyday insanity.

Enjoy!

The Eye of the Beholder . . .

I am a vain person.  I fully admit it and own up to it.  I care about the way that I look.  So when hubby informed me that I had one eye that was smaller than the other, I thought that he was joking.

Immediately, I put up my first defense, "C'mon honey.  Be serious!"

Cool as a cucumber, and without a hint of his usual sarcasm, he answered, "I am Annie.  Your left eye is smaller than your right."

I searched his expression for any tell tale give away to his obvious joke, but found nothing.

"You're sure this isn't like the "big head" incident?"  I asked, referencing the time that he had me going for almost a week that I had an abnormally large head for my body.  He had seen it on an old Seinfeld rerun.  Elaine's boyfriend had broken up with her because, in his words, she had a big head. Literally.  Hubby had used the same tactics on me once, and my vanity had me believing that my melon was  grossly disproportionate for my 5'2" body.

He patted my head lovingly and said, "Sweetie, it's no big deal."  

Those words did me in.

I won't say that I ran to the mirror, but I did that silly walk run combo you see old men in nylon shorts do at the beach.  And to my horror, I discovered that he was right!  I  pulled the curtain open in the bathroom in the hopes that allowing more light into the room would prove that the mirror was lying.  But alas, it was not.  My left eye was and is slightly smaller than my right.  I was in shock.  How could I have lived all these 35 years and never noticed that I was not proportional?  But more importantly, after almost 9 years together, why was this the first time he had said anything to me about it?  Why not just let me live in my ignorance?  Why alert me to my eye lopsidedness?

I practically slid down the banister rushing to get back to confront him.  "Why didn't you say something?!!!!!" 

"About what?"

"About my eye!"

We stared at each other for a few seconds, probably trying to determine how and what to say next.

Carefully, he started.  "Annie . . ." I always know that when he starts with my name, he is trying to soften me up.  As in, "Annie . . . I wrecked your jeep or Annie . . . what are your thoughts about a 2 day golf trip?"  Starting with my name, usually meant that I didn't want to hear his next words.

"Annie . . . I never said anything before, because it is not that big of a deal."

Easy enough for a non-vain person to say.  I continued my stare in the hopes that he would continue.  He did, but I wasn't prepared for his explanation.

"It really isn't that big of a deal, because  . . ." and here was the kicker, "every person has one eye bigger than the other."

What? What? What?  Was he seriously using that as his argument?

I retorted.  "And I suppose that you look at every person's eyes to determine which eye has the deficit?"

And he shot back, "As a matter of fact, I do.  I always can tell right away a person's smaller eye."

I didn't respond because I was too busy thinking . . .What?  My hubby is weird!  What else don't I know about him?  Is he secretly OCD like Monk on TV?  Does he check out people's other body parts?    I was beginning to forget why I was arguing with him in the first place.  I couldn't let this new tidbit go without some further investigation.

"So you mean to tell me that you analyze people's eyes for symmetry as soon as you meet them?"

"Yep."

"So if I named a person right now, you could tell me which eye is smaller?"

"Yep. Shoot"

So I went for it.

"Abbie"

"Left."

"Ethan?"

"Right."

"Your sister?"

"Oh that's easy. Left."

We went on this way for several more minutes.  I threw in friends, family members, celebrities, and even sports figures until I realized that this was not a function of my husband being critical of other people's  appearances.  This was a game for him.  It was just something to do to pass the time.  Once I realized that, I let go of my vain anger and decided to have fun with him.  It was weird, don't get me wrong.  But once I figured out it wasn't malicious, it WAS fun.  

And now, since I know this latest little idiosyncrasy about him, it is also enjoyable for me to analyze with him.  Case in point, last night at our Valentine's dinner, the waitress took our order and left the table.  All I did was raise my eyebrow at hubby, and he knew.

"Left."

And then we laughed like idiots. 

  

A Father's Ingenuity

When it comes to some things, mothers are just better than fathers.   

Mothers excel at things like finding lost shoes, knowing when a cup of hot cocoa will make things all better, and determining when a kiddie is somewhat less than truthful in his or her explanations.  For some reason, when I became a mother, I developed an all-knowing and all-seeing third eye that helps me find that lost shoe under the sofa.  It helps me see my kiddie's broken heart, even when my kiddie is doing his best to hide  it.  My third eye is also somewhat like a lie detector.  Just the smallest flinch or blink, lets me know that I have someone in my grasp whose pants by all rights should be on fire.

But when it comes to sheer resourcefulness, I think that my hubby has me beat.  

Just today, while I was out at the grocery store, Ethan injured himself. His sister's Wii game remote somehow collided with his face.   His face sported a nice bruise.  He was upset, and even though he did not need one, he wanted a band-aid, because, as you well know, band aids  make things all better!

Hubby quickly discovered that we had no band-aids.  But, being a dad, he had ingenuity on his side.

That is why when I came home from shopping, Ethan sported black electrical tape on his left cheek.

Problem solved!

I love that man!

Annie's 12 Days of Insanity at Christmas

My apologies to the original composer and songwriter of this traditional Christmas carol.

Annie's 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . an attic full of insulation.

On the second day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . two snowbirds from FL for a visit and an attic full of insulation.

On the third day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . three kiddies hyped up on Christmas cookie sugar, two snowbirds from FL, and an attic full of insulation.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . four bags of dog poopie left in my outdoor planter by my parents made by Cappy the dog, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me. . . FIVE minutes to bathe by myself, four bags of Cappy poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me. . . a six piece Chicken McNugget dinner from McDonald's because the kids were going through nugget withdrawal,  FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me. . . seven loads of laundry from our visitors, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . eight bags of wrapping paper garbage, seven extra loads of laundry, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . nine little girls for a second grade Christmas cookie exchange and tree decorating party,  eight extra bags of garbage, seven extra loads of laundry, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . ten days of no school,  nine screaming, little girls, eight extra bags of garbage, seven extra loads of laundry, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . eleven trips to the Home Depot for kitchen remodel supplies,  ten kiddie vacation days, nine screaming, little girls, eight extra bags of garbage, seven extra loads of laundry, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love, hubby, gave to me . . . twelve pounds of Christmas cookies, eleven Home Depot trips, ten kiddie vacation days, nine screaming, little girls, eight extra bags of garbage, seven extra loads of laundry, six chicken nuggets, FIVE minutes to bathe, four bags of poopie, three sugared kiddies, two snowbirds, and an attic full of insulation!

As George from Seinfeld so aptly put it, "Serenity NOW!"

May your holidays be as merry and insane as mine are.  After all, that's how memories are made!  

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

The ANTI-CHRISTMAS Letter

Dear Friends and Family,

This past year has been a blur!  Our clan has all been busy and the kiddies are, of course, growing like weeds.  It is hard to believe that we have an 8, 5, and 2 year old!

Ummmm, let's see . . .  the highlights . . . 

Ellerie, our lovely 2 year old, is such a joy.  She is a budding artist.  Her favorite mediums are food (spaghetti and pudding), new and unwrapped pantiliners, and of course, fresh poopie.  We are seriously thinking of investing in a pre-school of the arts for this lively one next year.  Until then we will keep our eye on her closely as she has a tendency to get into a bit of trouble. (Currently, she is sporting a purple foot cast after breaking her foot.)

Ethan continues to amaze us with his skill and knowledge of the world.  He demonstrated his literal translation of the English language when he was told by his t-ball coach to stand behind Ryan in left field, and Ethan followed his direction exactly and stood 6 inches behind Ryan.  That boy is genius!  He has also announced to many public venues his intent to use the restroom facilities and also, his mother's intent to use the facilities.  With his play by play commentary on the family's bowel movements, he could be the next big ESPN commentator.  Obviously, we are grooming this fine character trait.

Abbie seems to be the resident fashionista of the household.  She has informed me that my hair is "ugly and getting grayer everyday".  What a little Stacy London in the making!  She has informed Paul that what he wears is not fashion. " It's old man clothes," she remarked.  A fashion eye at 8 years old.  Michael Kors . . . watch out!

Paul has been busy with our kitchen remodel.  Throughout his labor, the kids have learned such valuable lessons.  Their vocabulary is so much more colorful with some of the new four letter words that they now know.  Paul deserves all of the credit for that!

I, of course, have been my crazy self , but this year I particularly focused on my health.  For instance, I have single-handedly done my part to eradicate malnourishment by consuming vast quantities of Krispy Kremes and Dove Chocolates.  It is the least that I could do.  I have also actively worked on lowering my cholesterol levels by having a glass of red wine as needed.  I have also worked diligently on my mental health.  Writing blog posts about my everyday life has brought me to the conclusion that my life is insane . . . but . . . so is everyone else's life.  This gives me a sense of peace and joy.

So, all in all, it has been a memorable and fun-filled year for our family!  

Merry Christmas!

Love,

Annie and family

********Disclaimer************ 

 To my IRL friends and family that do bless us every year with an actual, honest-to-goodness, Christmas letter,  I mean you no offense.  My anti-letter is just poking a bit of fun, because I have never been able to see myself writing one of those my kid is on the honor roll kind of letters.  I guess I am just a bit too warped, or my family is.  Whatever.  Forgive me!  And, Merry Christmas! - Annie

Post It Tuesday 12/15

I haven't done Post It Tuesday in awhile, but today . . . brief is good!  Yes, the theme today is short and sweet.  So, if you are feeling the holiday crunch, like me, do a post it note  blog post inspired by SupahMommy! 

 

Deck the Halls!

(My fireplace mantel . . . gorgeous, isn't it???)

I love Christmas.

Seriously, I love it.

I love the jolly music playing everywhere.  In fact, much to my hubby's chagrin, I have my car radio set to a station that plays tunes all day and all night.  My kiddies and I sing at the top of our lungs while motoring around town.  Their current favorite is Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (Sorry Mom!)  Too funny and too fun!

 I also love the lights that twinkle on people's houses.  Now, I will admit, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to stringing lights.  I prefer white, and I like it when it is neat, well planned, and well executed.  I am not a fan of half-way done lights that are strewn over a bush or dangling from a roof line.   I logically can appreciate that someone was in the Christmas spirit to decorate, but I can not appreciate the end result.  ( I know.  I know.  Snob!  Just get past it!) Instead, hubby and I point out, laugh, and generally make fun of some pretty sketchy Christmas light displays. (Which is totally not in the Christmas spirit . . . but I am being honest here, and . . . it is so much fun.  Sorry!)  I mean a blow up of Santa on a Harley next to a nativity scene???  Really??  And don't get me started on the blow up manger scene.  There is just something wrong with Mary, Jesus, and Joseph in cartoon-like bubble form.  I have a feeling that they were not meant to be adored next to a life-size Spongebob wearing a Santa hat.  Just saying.

But, the thing that I love the most about Christmas time is decorating my home.  I have approximately 10 rubbermaid tubs full of Christmas decorations that I pull out each year.  (No.  I am not exaggerating.  And yes, I know that it is excessive.) .  Now, I do not use all of the decor in the tubs.  Instead, each year I evaluate my home and my decorating desires and then I create or add or edit until I get just the right look that I want. I love doing it so much that I have actually considered going into business decorating other people's homes for Christmas.  I just haven't figured out how to do that and continue to decorate mine.  ( That and I'd be afraid that I'd offend someone because I don't like Santa on a harley. ) Sigh.  

Anyway,  I thought that I would share a few pics of some of my favorite spots in my home.

Here are the french doors that lead into my dining room.  

And here is a close up of the goodies above the door.

Finally, here is my Christmas tree.  As you can see, it is not the shrub that hubby likes, so needless to say, I won the battle. (As if you thought I'd lose!  Ha!)  It is all in reds and golds and it is beautiful!  Sparkly, gold, and red!  What's not to love, huh?

And now I am off to more decorating!

If you are in the holiday mood, you can check out The Nester or The Thrifty Decor Chick for more holiday decorations!

Family Pics

Recently, we attempted the impossible.  We attempted to get a family picture.  Not an easy task I tell you.  Not an easy task!  What with squirmy kids (and noses to pick, I might add), it is quite the miracle that we even got any acceptable shots.

This would have been rocking if I would have just looked at the camera!  

Here's one of  the ultimate daddy's girl!

I just love how hubby's eyes are closed as if he is drinking in her delightful, Ellerie esscence.  I feel like that too sometimes when I get to snuggle with her rarely displayed quiet side.  I just love to close my eyes and smell her. ( I know.  I know.  I am probably just weird.)

This one is our Christmas card this season.  All eyes are looking in the same direction, no panties are visible, and all fingers are far from nostrils. Perfect! 

Here's one of my favorite of the day.  Hubby and I snuggling up.  I just love this guy!!

When I told my friend Kim, our photographer, how much I loved this photo,  she let me in on a little secret.  We are airbrushed!  No wonder we look so fresh and young!!  When she showed me the untouched originals, I had my normal, deep worry wrinkle right smack in the middle of my forehead, and my age spot was front and center on my left cheek.  Let's just say that I love digital photography!

And here are Ab and E.  Ab is posing for the camera and wears her forced "model" smile, and E is his normal goofy self.

All in all, a successful shoot I would say.

Special thanks to my friend Kim from Flickers of a Dream Photography for taking the time to deal with our craziness!  Love you girl!! 

Confession Wednesday 12/9

Bless me bloggy friends.  It is confession Wednesday.  A day that was inspired by some of you out there in bloggy world.  Well, that, and the fact that as a kid, confession at catholic school was always on a Wednesday so that you could go to the school mass on Thursday and be pure. ( You know, because there are so many mortal sins that a 2nd grader needs to confess.)  

Anyways . . .

Onto my purging . . .

I confess that even though I embarrass my daughter, I still pluck my eyebrows while I wait for her in the school pick up line. Yes, while the line of mini vans sit and wait for the kiddies, I happily pluck away!  I do this because a) I do not want to look like Bert from Sesame Street.  A unibrow is just not pretty.  and b) The only place that I can see those pesky stray hairs is in my rearview mirror.   I am sure that other moms have seen me do this, and I only hope that they consider using their rearview mirror for vanity too.  I just love to make the world a prettier place.  Don't you?!

Speaking of vanity, apparently I lack any vanity whatsoever in the mornings, because I confess that I have walked my son into his preschool classroom this week wearing my pajama bottoms and my winter coat.  No excuses.  We weren't running late.  I just didn't want to get out of my nice comfy jammies.  As a former Florida girl, winter time weather officially stinks, and I will take any little bit of comfort that I can get.  

I confess that one morning at preschool drop off, I also wore my slippers.  The really sad part about that is that I didn't even realize it until about an hour later at home.  I was stripping down to take a shower and realized my offense when I kicked them off in the bathroom.  

I confess that I did not feel the least bit guilty about the slippers.

I confess that I don't want to hear anymore about Tiger Woods.  He is a famous golfer.  He cheated on his wife.  While I think that he is lower than low for his digressions, I am sick to death to hear about it daily on the news.  Really?!?  Is this news?!?  

I confess that while I am Tiger-ed out, I laughed out loud at the SNL skit about him.  If you haven't seen it . . . it's worth a view. 

I confess that I love Christmas time and all of its little traditions.  Today we had homemade hot cocoa and warm brownies.  Ummm!  Chocolate and warmth and laughing kiddies is just the best!

I confess that I probably won't think this way at 8:30 tonight when Ethan is still awake from his sugar and caffeine overdose.

There.

Much better.

Absolution anyone??

Oh Christmas Shrub! Oh Christmas Shrub!

Merry Christmas SITS ladies and gents . . . here is a peek at some of my Christmas insanity.  (In fact, I think my last few posts are Christmas insanity related.)  And, if you are new around here and are wondering, what is SITS?  Well then . . . you are in the right place!  SITS  stand for the Secret is in The Sauce.  It is a community of bloggers that support each other through comments.  Check them out!

Dear Hubby,

It is that time of year again.  It is the time of singing carols, watching corny Christmas-y movies, and looking for the best  (and worst) Christmas light display.  These are fun times, undoubtedly.  But my favorite part of the holiday season has to be . . . our annual holiday tree fight.

You see dear, every year, as we trek out to the tree farm you bring up the inevitable.  "So, what kind of tree do you want to get this year?"

And, I know that that is really man-speak for, "How far do you want me to trek across the frozen ground to saw down a tree for you?"

Now, I always try to answer you politely with the truth.  "Honey, I'll know it when I see it."  And I do.  I always know it exactly when I see it.  The problem is that I am willing to trek over the river and through the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree.  I am kind of like Clark Griswold from Christmas Vacation in that way.  I will trudge through snow, with children, and with children's frozen body parts in order to find the right tree and have that Alleluia-like moment of reveal.

I am dramatic in that way.

This year is no different.  When we load up the kiddies to get our tree,  I envision the family bonding and the memory-making bliss that we are about to undertake.  I think that you envision . . .a long walk  . . . with 3 kids.  (Let's not forget that one of those kiddies has a cast on her foot, is unable to walk, and weighs 39 lbs.)  I envision a scene from It's a Wonderful Life.  You envision freezing temperatures, runny noses, and complaining kiddies.

Obviously, in this situation, I am the glass half full.

You, however, are the  beer glass half empty,  and you wish that you have already downed the first half.

Am I right??

To make matters worse, your idea of the perfect tree and my idea of the perfect tree are, shall we say, incompatible?

I prefer a tree with a conical shape.  You know, triangular?  Pretty.  Proportional. You are a math teacher.  I know that you get the idea.

You prefer a tree that looks remarkably like an overgrown bush. A rounded bush with long needles and soft limbs.  The kind of tree that can not and will not hold any ornament worth its weight.  If you really want a bush to decorate, we have several . . . in our front yard.  Just saying.

So dear, this year is no different.  I look forward to our little tree give and take.  I am ready to battle wits and words.  It is part of our holiday tradition after all.  And, I love it!

Just remember though,  I will win.  Make no mistake.  After all, if I am in charge of stringing lights and decorations, I will forever be in charge of picking out the tree.

Merry Christmas, hubs!

I love you and our battle!

Annie

Visiting Santa

Yesterday I took the kiddies to see Santa.  Here are some of the highlights of the adventure:

1.  Arrive to see the fat man, himself,  and realize that the line is about 20 people deep.  Actually feel excited that it is only 20 people deep and not 40.

2.  Watch as Ethan systematically knocks over the winding, holding ropes for the line.  (Did you know that when one topples they all topple in domino-like style?  Actually, it was pretty cool.)

3.  Answer approximately 547 people who ask, "Oooh!  What happened to her leg?" when they see Ellerie's neon purple cast.

4.  Receive approximately 547 knowing looks after the explanation, which, oddly, do not make me feel any better about it.

5.  Listen to Ellerie's screams of delight when she spied Santa Claus.

6.  Listen to all of the snickers from the people that heard Ellerie happily call out, "Santa Cock!  Santa Cock!"

7.  Snicker myself at her turn of phrase.  Remember that she will be red-faced and embarrassed when I tell this story to her future boyfriend.

8.  Watch as Ethan and Ab climb up on Santa's lap, and Ethan gives him a full minute long list of his must-haves for Christmas.  

9.  Acknowledge Santa's roll of the eyes and his knowing wink at me at the preposterous length of Ethan's list.  (By the way, Santa's response to Ethan was, "Buddy, I'll try my best.")

10.  Hold Ellerie captive between my legs as she thrashes on the floor in temper tantrum mode, screaming, "No!  Santa Cock!  Noooooooo!"

11.  Accept the polite giggles and chortles that waft their way to my ears.  Realize that karma is a bitch, and they will get theirs!

12.  Discover that Santa brought his real live reindeer. (How cool!!)  Watch as they laze around in the hay.

13.  Discover the nativity scene with real live barn yard animals. 

14. Hold my nose because of the lovely aroma emanating from those same barnyard animals.

15.  Listen to Ethan's exclamation of surprise when he spied the donkeys playing piggy back.  Realize that the donkeys were, shall we say, being a bit amorous, and not, in fact, playing piggy back.

16.   Pee my pants from laughing so hard.

17. Avoid  a full-blown birds and the bees conversation with the kiddies by agreeing with Ethan's piggy back assessment of the donkeys.

And how was your evening?!?!

Confession is Good for My Soul

Bless me my bloggy friends.  It has been 2 weeks since my last confession. I am here today to purge my craziness in the hopes that I get a little self-deserved absolution.

This past week   . . . 

1.  I confess that I broke the Thou Shall Not Steal commandment.  Apparently, I stole a white towel from our last hotel stay, although, I do not remember stealing a towel. (Perhaps  I am a kleptomaniac?!?  Is it still theft if I do not recall the stealing?!?)  The discovery was made when I toweled off after a shower and noticed the word POOL written by a black sharpie on the bottom of my towel.

2.  I confess that I do not feel the least bit guilty that I apparently stole the pool towel.  With the prices that hotels charge lately, they are lucky that I didn't make off with the comforters, pillows, and drapery. ( $5 for a bottled water from the fridge?!  Really?!  They have to put that in writing  on a price list, because if they were to verbally quote the price to the customer, there is no way that they could do it with a straight face.)

3.  I confess that after this week's ER drama with Ellerie, I didn't have the heart to inflict more pain on the poor girl, so I did not attempt to comb the rat's nest that is her everyday hair for the past two days.  Consequently, Ellerie is toddling around on a purple leg cast and sporting a do that is reminiscent of Bill Murray's comb over in the movie King Pin. 

 It is not pretty, but she is blissfully ignorant of its hideousness.

4.  I confess that I am secretly happy that Ellerie broke her foot, because it gives me a valid excuse to skip the gym.  (She can't be in the gym nursery and be immobile.) Instead, I am having fun decorating my house for Christmas.  

5. Which leads me to my  next confession. I ate 47 red and green M&M's this evening before I ate dinner. (Yes.  I counted.) No reason really.  They were just there, so I just ate them.  (And, yes.  They were soooooo yummy!  Thanks for asking.)

6.  Which reminds me that I must confess that I did a Krispy Kreme drive-thru run through today.  After a traveling holiday, an ER visit, Black Friday, an 8 year old with a feverish virus, and a 2 year old with a leg cast,  I think that I deserved it. (Can anyone say stress eater?)  I held myself to only two of those sweet, delicious puffs of fat and flour to get my fix.  I call that a good day.

7.  I confess that I have found at least 5 gray hairs on the left side of my head in the past week.  I do not believe in gray hair.  I will probably only go gray someday if I am kicking and screaming.  So I did one of the only things that I could do.  I plucked those puppies right out.  I confess that I did consider doing my other quick fix, coloring them with a sharpie marker, but I only had black and neon pink, neither of which would have looked attractive on my mop.  If I had had a red or perhaps even an orange sharpie, I probably would have attempted it.

There.

Much better.

Anything you want to confess?  I am thinking of making this a weekly link up.

*****pic by virgin media*******

Merry X(rated)mas

He is known all over the world to both kids and adults, and  he goes by many names.  He answers to St. Nick or Kris Kringle.  He is the Head Elf, the Man in Charge, the keeper of the North Pole, Mr. Santa Claus himself.  Use any one of those names, and you will bring a smile to pretty much any face.

But if you live in my household,  the jolly fat man is not known as Santa.  In my house, Ellerie has christened the toy bringer, Santa Cock.

That's right.

Good old, Santa Cock!  He sees you when your sleeping,  he knows when your awake, and he may very well just bring you some X-rated toys to play with . . . that is, if you've been very good this year ( or maybe it's if you've been very bad?!?  Very, Very bad?!?!  Hmmmm!)

I haven't brought the kiddies to visit Santa at the local mall yet, but this year  . . . it could be interesting!

Youth Gone Bye-Bye

I was pleasantly surprised when Ethan told me that I looked "young" the other day.  I know that I immediately started smiling , and I checked my smiling reflection in the mirror to catch its cheery youthfulness. " Young?!" I thought to myself.  "I AM YOUNG!!"  I finished in positive affirmation.

I was just thinking that I  loved, loved, loved my boy for his youthful comments when he threw his afterthought at me.

"You are young mom, even though sometimes you look sooooooo old!"

Sigh.

Youthful moment gone.

Thanksgiving Week Catch Up

Oooooh!  

So sorry to have been gone so very long.

Did you miss me?

I certainly have missed all of my bloggy friends.  My past week has been crazy.  Insane crazy, you know.  Crazy more than my normal daily insanity, crazy.  

For instance, I traveled round trip for 8 hours with 3 kids in the car. If you do the math, that equates to 247  Are we there yets?,   approximately 10,000 orange barrels, and 2 cranky parents.  Now, normally my thanksgiving trek is around 6 hours, but backed up traffic and 17 thousand pee breaks makes for a longer journey.  Note to self . . . bring ear plugs next year.

I also woke in the middle of the night to shop my first ever Black Friday!  I woke at 3:30 am threw on some  sweats, made myself some coffee (You didn't think that I would leave the house without coffee did you?  Heaven help those other shoppers if I had!), and I was off.  I was accompanied by one of my more experienced Black Friday shopping girlfriends.  She was waiting on her porch at 4:45 when I arrived.  She had all of the ads and circulars with notated post it notes sticking out here and there.  The girl is one serious shopper.  I am in awe, and naturally, I love, love, love her!

So, after getting almost all (Yes!  I did say all.  You are jealous, aren't you?  It's OK.  I'd be jealous of me too if I didn't know what was coming.)  my shopping completed for Christmas.  I trudged home, ate, napped and got busy with some Christmas decorations.  A pleasant day all in all until the most insane thing happened.

Ellerie.

It was bedtime, and I was trying to get Ellerie undressed and then dressed again for bed. (Never an easy feat!)  I pulled Ellerie's shirt over her head, and when I did, she giggled and then she took off running.  Her shirt was over her head and resting on the back of her neck, and  her arms were still in their sleeves and pinned quite tightly to her sides.  As she ran, she turned and looked over her shoulder, and when she did, she slipped on the area rug and fell face first.  Hard!  Her hands and arms were pinned by her silly shirt, and she was unable to catch herself when she went down.  Immediately, she started screaming.

I knew I was in for it, because Ellerie does not scream.  I have seen her fall down a flight of stairs, get up, and say, "I OK Mom!"  The girl is usually indestructible, so when she was inconsolable and continued screaming, I knew she was hurt.

She was.

According to the Emergency Room docs, Ellerie probably has a broken foot or ankle.  Apparently, it is pretty hard to see broken foot bones in a 2 year old's X-rays, but based on their physical exam of El, they are pretty sure that it is broken.

Her appointment with the Orthopedic Doc is tomorrow.

So, this weekend has been full of an angry, hurting  two year old who can not move.  Initially, I thought, "Great!  This will slow her down a bit."

But really, this has slowed me down immensely.

My girl has only wanted to sit on my lap on the sofa.  She is currently there as I type this post.  I am feeling quite trapped by all of this.  I also feel so guilty that this even happened.  Mostly I feel for my baby with her little left leg casted.  She is miserable, and I am too.

So there you have it.  My past week's insanity. 

I'll keep you posted on this week.

Home Sweet Clean Home

We are traveling this Thanksgiving.  My sister in law has graciously offered to host the family, and we quickly accepted!  No cooking.  No washing sheets.  No preparation, really.

So why am I running around the house going crazy?!

Simple.

I don't like to leave my house dirty when we travel.

I know.  I know.

No one will see it.  It will just sit there, bright and shiny and sparkly for no one to appreciate.  It will exude fresh smells for no one's nose to sniff.  It will be empty . . . but clean.

And frankly, that's what matters.

Because nothing, nothing,  puts me in a foul mood faster than returning home from a trip to a dirty house.  Seriously friends, traveling with 3 kiddies, is stressful enough.  There's the funk that the family is inevitably in because we are out of our routine.  There's the mountain of dirty clothes that follows us home.  There's the sleep deprivation we all experience from sleeping on pull out beds and sofas.  It already is an ugly picture folks.  But if you factor in a dirty house . . .egads!  You may as well just take away my Krispy Kremes, because I wouldn't be as cranky as if I returned home to a mess.  

Home is, well, home.  It is my haven.  My favorite place, really.  And when I am gone, I long for it and all its prettiness that hubby and I have created.  

When I walk in the door, I just want to kick off my shoes, sink into my sofa, and sigh.  That's it.

I don't want to tackle the dishes that were left in the sink or vaccuum up goldfish crumbs that adorn my floor.  I want to just veg and appreciate my home.

So, I will continue to run around like a crazy woman these next few days to clean my house.

It will be worth it when I get home.

Here's Johnny!

Johnny Depp was voted the People Magazine's Sexiest Man of 2009, and I only have one thing to say about it.

Seriously?!?

Johnny Depp???

Is it me or does that guy weird anyone else out?  I mean, back in his 21 Jump Street days,  my teenage self drooled all over his messy do and earring wearing self.  He seemed like a bad boy.  A rebel.  What's not to love about that?

But then,  as he aged, his movie choices just seemed to get odder and odder. 

Cry Baby?  I actually left the theater for that one. 

Edward Scissorhands?  A man with scissors for hands . . . hmmmm. . . really?  Just say no to foreplay with him!

And let's face it.  He ruined the whole Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for me.  As far as this girl is concerned, Gene Wilder will always be my favorite Willy Wonka!   Johnny's version of Wonka made me feel like I needed to take a shower after I watched it.  

Creepy!

Finally, there was the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy and Captain Jack Sparrow.  Was  Jack drunk?  Was he gay?  Was he drunk and gay? 

Each time I try to watch it again, I still scratch my head in wonder.

I guess I just don't get Mr. Depp or his sexiness.

Now,  give me a  Matt Damon or a George Clooney, I would heartily agree.  They are, in my estimation, sex worthy.

But Johnny?

Say it ain't so!

Confession Wednesday 11/18

It's Wednesday, and I am ready.

For what?  You may ask.

Well, my lovelies, I am ready to confess my insanity sins.  

1. I confess that I hate to mate socks.  I have a basket of approximately 10,000 unmated socks. ( Okay.  Okay!  I am exaggerating. . .  but . . . not by much.)  I think that this is a hereditary trait, because I remember my mother had a pile of unmated socks just like mine when I was growing up.  Obviously, it is in my genes.

2.  I confess that I steal my hubby's socks in the winter time, because I don't want to go through the sock basket for mine.  He hates this.  

3.  I confess that despite the fact that I know he hates me stealing his socks, I still do it, and when I do, I secretly smile at my naughtiness.

4. I confess that if hubby stole my clothing, I would ask him to get some professional help.  Quickly.

5.  I confess that I let Ellerie eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

6.  Consequently, I confess that I sometimes eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

7.  I confess that I let the macaroni that lands on the floor dry for at least a few hours before I attempt to sweep it up. (Have you ever tried to sweep up wet macaroni?  Yuck!)

8.  I confess that there have been days when lunch rolls around and the macaroni is still on the floor underneath Ellerie's chair.

9.  I confess that on those days I try not to let the drying macaroni bother me.

10.  I confess that, often, it doesn't work, and I get on my hands and knees and pick up the macaroni.

There!

Much better!

Happy Early Christmas

Recently, I have been scouring the Sunday ads and circulars in the hopes of finding some good deals for Christmas presents. Last Sunday, a store in our area had Star Wars figurines for $3.00 each. Ethan is a complete Star Wars nut, so, I was excited to get such a good deal on something that I knew that he would love. After scouring the store shelves, I found a few of the figurines left waaaaaay in the back, and I purchased three of them. Then, I left the package in my van's stow-n-go area under the seats, well concealed from Ethan's prying eyes.

That is . . . I thought it was well concealed.

But, apparently, it was not.

Because today, while out running errands, Ethan shouted with glee from the back seat.  "Mom!  There are some Star Wars men back here!!  Thank you mom!  Oh thank you!"

And, before I could say anything, he ripped into the packaging and started to play with those men.  Those Christmas presents.  He was so very excited and animated that I just didn't have the heart to tell him that he would have to wait for Christmas.

Sigh.

Happy Early Christmas E . . .   now, I am back to square one with my shopping.  

I guess Santa Claus and I will just have to be a little more clever this Christmas.

Any ideas on hiding places???

Falling for Him

How could you not fall for this boy?

This photo is being entered into I heart faces autumn week.

Happy Birthday Hubby

It's hubby's 40th birthday today.

A momentous birthday in the scope of birthday celebrating, yes.  But hubby doesn't really like birthdays.  

I know. I know.

What's not to like about birthdays? 

In my estimation, any day that has cake and presents and people celebrating you being in the world is, well, a great day.

Hubby doesn't think so.  

I think that he gets flustered by all of the attention and would rather just treat his birthday like any old plain day.  In fact, when he was a kid, he apparently went off to play with his friends and completely skipped out on his family birthday party.

I don't get this.

I would never miss a party, let alone a party in my honor.

So,  being that we are polar opposites, we both have to compromise.  He has gotten quite good at cards and birthday dinners.  And I have practiced toning it down on his birthday.  

It has been painful at times.  

Sigh.

So, in honor of his birthday today, there will be no big party and no cake.  But, he didn't say no to a blog tribute.  (Alright.  Alright.  I didn't ask him about a blog tribute. So sue me!)

To my hubby,

I love you.  You know that.  You make me laugh with your crazy ways, like how you check out people's eyes.  It's crazy.  But it's you!  I love your passion for things . . . like your sports.  You wouldn't be you without it.  I love that sometimes you embrace your inner geek, and you spend hours solving a rubik's cube,  and you think Pam Dawber is hot.  You know how that nerdiness make me smile.  Finally, I love what a caring and sensitive man you are.  You are the perfect husband for me and my insane ways.  Always patient and loving.  What more could the kiddies and I ask for?

Happy Birthday baby.

Let's go celebrate with some wings and beer!

Love,

Annie

*****And for those of you that are new and don't know all about hubby yet, just click on the above links for a taste of his insanity.  If you think I am crazy, then he is nuts too!

Wasting Some Time

My Friday the 13th is starting out to be wonderful.

What?

You couldn't understand me?

Oh.

It's probably because of my tongue firmly planted in my cheek.

There.  That's a bit better. 

Anyway, I have just spent the better part of 20 minutes scrubbing E's right cheek.  After it looked quite red and raw, I asked him the obvious question.  "Ethan, what in the world did you get into that could possibly get you this dirty?  This dirt is not coming off of your cheek!"

He looked at me and answered the typical boy answer, "Nothing mom."

"Nothing?"  I questioned in disbelief.  "Then what is this on your cheek?"

He answered me in his regular, matter of fact, Ethan way.  "Oh.  That's is where I ran into the dining room table yesterday.  I think it's a bruise."

Quickly, he was up and off to play, and I was left wondering why I just spent 20 minutes of my busy morning scrubbing a bruise off of my son's face.

And if that wasn't bad enough, after showering (with both kids in the bathroom talking to me, I might add),  I started to get dressed.  It was only as I was pulling my shirt over my head that I noticed my other morning faux pas.  Yes,  I noticed that I had, in fact, shaved my arm pits.  Unfortunately, I had shaved the right pit twice, and left the other side to continue growing its hairy forest.

Not pretty my friends.  Not pretty.

I am hoping that the rest of the day doesn't bring any broken mirrors or black cats.

Confession Wednesday 11/11

Bless me blog readers for I have sinned.  It has been 1 week since my last confession.  And since today is Wednesday, I declare it to be Confession Wednesday.

Onto my secret craziness . . .

I confess that not once, but twice, last week I allowed Ellerie to wallow around in a mildly offensive diaper, because I knew that hubby was moments from being home, and I felt that it was his turn to change her.  I am an equal opportunity parent like that.  

I confess that instead of doing laundry this morning, I watched my DVRed Grey's Anatomy episodes, drank coffee and did pretty much little else.  El was napping because of a cold, and Ab and E were at school.  Consequently, it was blissfully quiet and wonderful!

I confess that I did not feel guilty at all for the above confession.

I confess that I also consumed a large chocolate bar at 9am during my couch potato moment.

Which brings me to my next confession . . . I have not been to the gym in ages.  When my trainer texted me about the next time that he would see me, I didn't recognize his number it had been so long, and I thought, for a moment, that I had a mysterious stalker.

I confess that I was a tad disappointed when I realized that I did not, in fact, have an admirer, but instead, I had a mildly ticked off personal trainer.

I confess that I considered telling my trainer that my family had had the swine flu as my reason for my lack of attendance.  I didn't do it though, because I was afraid that that would jinx me into actually getting the swine flu.

I confess that at times I am ridiculously superstitious.

I confess this embarrasses me.

I confess I am pooped, and it is only 8 pm.

I confess, I am giving in and going to bed.

Aaaaaah.

Much better!

Prince Charming . . . The Idiot

While watching Disney's Cinderella the other day for the 16th gazillion time, I had a thought.  (I know.  I know.  A rare occurrence!)  What is the big deal about the prince anyway?  Yes.  He is handsome.  And, yes, there is that whole royalty thing, which could be nice ( A butler and a maid?  In my dreams!) but, in reality, he is not all that.

Quite honestly, the prince is an idiot.

Yes.

That's right. 

I said idiot!

Consider this . . . Cinderella dances with the prince and only the prince for the entire evening at the ball.  Shouldn't that amount of physical and emotional contact lend itself to allowing him to remember what she looks like?  Instead of searching the kingdom for the beautiful blonde girl that stole his heart while he danced with her, the prince uses a shoe to determine if he has the right girl.

Really?

A shoe??!!

Even my eight year old daughter knows that a beautiful pair of shoes is not just owned by one woman.  If that were the case, Manolo's would never have achieved their cult status.  Women love beautiful shoes. And, women buy beautiful shoes at any price!  After all, a savvy shoe will never be too small because you ate your weight in french fries.  So, chances are  good that  another lovely lady may have had a pair of glass slippers somewhere in her closet or under her bed, saving them for just the right occasion.  

By using a shoe as his meter stick, the prince was taking a serious chance with fate.

Furthermore, didn't the prince and Cindy talk at all during the evening?  Didn't they stop to get punch and chat about their hobbies ( him-playing polo, perhaps, at the castle and her-sweeping up ashes)?  If he was really interested in her, wouldn't he have tried to find out about her hopes, her dreams, her loves? 

Isn't it possible (even probable) that the prince was completely superficial.  That he was a pretty boy that wanted a pretty girl on his arm.  He only judged Cinderella on her outer beauty.  Clearly, if he would have met her in her ashy, non-fairy godmother attire, he would have walked right by her.  By only dancing with her and not finding out about the real Cinderella, the prince just proves that he was only out for a nice piece of ass.

But before you say, poor Cinderella . . . consider that she wasn't innocent in this either.

Cinderella was a hard working, self supporting girl.  She could cook, she could clean, and she was a seamstress.  This girl needed a spot on Project Runway, not a night dancing with the royal idiot.  Yes, Cindy sold herself short.  She fell for the pretty boy.  And, she lived happily ever after.

I guess that is why it's called a fairy tale.

Personally . . . I'll take my not-so-pretty boy that gets me coffee, plays cards with me, and makes me laugh any day. 

He may not be royalty, but at least he is not an idiot.

She Picked One for You Too

Continuing on the theme from my earlier post today . . .

Ellerie walked up to me and smiled.  It was obvious to me that she had something in her mouth.

"What are you eating, silly girl?"  I questioned her.

She smiled and said, " MMMMmmmmm.  Yum.  Boogie!"

My sanitary, germ-a-phobic self almost passed out at the explanation.  And, it dawned on me that  . . .

1) Piggies will surely fly at my house, and my kids WILL inevitably get the H1N1 flu at this rate. 

or

2)My booger obsessed kids have the strongest immune systems of any kiddies around.  Their little systems look at those big bad flu germs and laugh in their faces!  Flu germs, ha!  They have been taking their boogie vitamins!!!

I am hoping for number 2! 

I Picked This One For You

Hubby clipped Ethan's fingernails this weekend.  They were in desperate need too!  His nails were sporting that little boy, dirt packed hue that totally gross me out.

So, this morning on the drive to school, Ethan threw out this gem.  "Hey mom!  My nails are so smooth!"

Trying to encourage his good hygiene I responded, "I know.  Isn't that nice when your nails have smooth edges?"

I could see his grimace in the rear view mirror when he stated emphatically, "No!" 

"No?"  I questioned.  "Why not?"

"Because if my nails are smooth then there are no sharp points to help me . . . (wait for it) dig out my boogers."

Yes, dear friends.  

By encouraging cleanliness, I apparently have deprived E of one of his favorite pastimes:

booger picking.  

I do not know how I will live with myself.

Tooth Fairy? Anyone???

Ethan is a maniac . . . about his teeth, that is.

The kid brushes, flosses, and uses mouthwash twice a day, no fail, with no prompting.  Pretty impressive for a 5 year old!  Even our dentist, Dr. McKay (who Ethan lovingly refers to as Dr. Decay) was amazed at how well he does with his teeth.

That is why I shouldn't have been surprised when Ethan, well, pulled a typical Ethan.

Yesterday, while speaking with the butt-cleavage-displaying drywall man, Ethan said matter of factly, "Hey!  You are missing a few of your teeth!"

I could have crawled under my couch and died amongst the discarded goldfish that have gone belly up.

Fortunately, dry wall man is a very gentlemanly man who has many children and grandchildren.  He handled Ethan's comment with grace and said, "You are right!  I didn't take care of my teeth and that is why you should!"

Ethan, of course, detailed his teeth routine, and then gave drywall man a glowing recommendation for Dr. Decay.

At least he hasn't noticed the man's butt . . . I do not know how that one would have played out!

Confession Wednesday . . . Part 2

Since I loved, loved, loved confession Wednesday last week soooooo much . . . I decided to keep it going!  You really should try it.  

Really.

You should.

So, up for my absolution today are the following:

1.  I sneak and eat my kids' Halloween candy at night after they are asleep.  So far, they are clueless to the fact that their stash is slowly dwindling, and clearly, I am not going to let them in on it.  If they ask, I will lie.  I am not proud of this.  OK.  OK.  I am a little proud of it, but mostly I just like getting my chocolate fix.

2.  I have considered pulling up the drywall man's pants so I don't get flashed with his ever-present hairy, butt cleavage.  I have considered it, but I have not done it.  I am too chicken . . . but I play the scene over and over in my mind.

3.  My friend's kids have the swine flu.  When she told me about it, instead of feeling empathy for her hard week of sickness ahead,   I mentally calculated the last time my kids had played with her kids.  Then I breathed a sigh of relief that the kids' playtime was not within the H1N1 contagious window.

4.  When hubby decided to go as The Pope to a Halloween costume party, I actually considered going in the following costumes . . .  a pregnant nun (bad!), a prostitute (worse!!), and an altar boy ( I thought for sure I would go to hell for this one!!!)

5.  I accidently threw out hubby's issue of Sports Illustrated.

6.  When asked about said Sports Illustrated, I promptly walked over to the garbage can, pulled it out, dusted it off, and brought it to hubby.  I am not sure that he knows where it was, but I do not intend to tell him.  

Hmmmm. 

 That's all I can think of at the moment.  

But really, after lying to the kids and hubby . . . isn't that enough???

Happy Wednesday!

Post It Tuesday

How about a fun, fresh idea for a Tuesday?

Let's try it!  If you'd like to play along, check out Adventures of a Wanna-Be Supah Mommy.   You can also check out The Mother Load  for more Post It fun!  On to my short, but sweet Tuesday thoughts . . . 

Whew!

I feel better now!

36 . . . 24 . . .36????

My birthday was on Saturday. 

 I am officially now 36.  (Thank you for asking!)

And while I am not that phased by the passing of another year, I am phased by the fact that I am no longer in the 24-35 year old demographic.  Nope.  I am now in the 36-45 year old portion of the population.  Just one, tiny 1/4 of an inch separates the two check-off boxes on official paperwork, but in reality, I am finding that these two boxes are worlds apart.

For instance, at 24, it was an accomplishment to hold my pee during a rowdy night of beer drinking with my friends.  We teased each other about "breaking the seal".  No one. No one wanted to be the first to break her pee seal, because we all knew what would inevitably follow.  Once a girl relieved her bladder, she would be back and forth to the bathroom for the rest of the evening.  At 24, I could hold my bladder like a champ!

At 36 . . . not so much.

At 36, I am lucky if my bladder holds my first cup of morning coffee, let alone a night of beer.  In fact, the old girl seems to be rebelling at me at any chance.  If I sneeze, I pee.  If I cough, I pee.  If I laugh, you guessed it, I pee.

I am heading towards the Depends aisle in the grocery store, my friends.  

This.  This does not make me happy.

At 24, I got my eyebrows waxed regularly, at a salon, by a professional.

At 36, I wax my own eyebrows.  Consequently, I have burned the skin between my eyes more than once.  At 36,  not only do I have to wax my brows, I also have to wax my lip . . . a duty that I had once relegated to the ranks of my old and hairy italian aunts.  Apparently, at 36, I am now part of those ranks.  I carry a pair of tweezers with me at all times, and I pluck stray hairs in the car while I am stopped at red lights.  It seems that the magnified rearview mirror is the only place that I can see those pesky hairs that pop up!

At 24, I colored my hair for a change of pace.

At 36, I color my hair for necessity.  While I have very few grays (hooray!), I am not above plucking out a stray gray.  And now that sharpie markers come in so many different colors, I have and will continue to use a sharpie to color in a strand or two of offensive color.  I love my sharpie marker!!

At 24, I had no idea about who I wanted to be, or, for that matter, who I was at that moment.

At 36, I am comfortable being me.  I love my life of wife, mom, teacher, tutor, instructor, friend, laugher, lover and blogger.  My life is full of daily silliness, laughs and hugs.  I never knew I wanted to be a stay at home mom with 3 kiddies, but I wouldn't change it for the world.  I am blessed!

Because at 36,  my boobs may be way lower than they were at 24, but there are better things than perky boobs.  

I am wiser.

I am more appreciative.

I am thankful.

So, I don't mind checking off that 36-45 box in the slightest.

But, I won't take plastic surgery off the table either!