Cover Art

I've been in a funk. A real funk. Everything is just blah, eh, and plain uninspiring. 


I'd like to blame it on the weather, but that'd be hard to do given that we've spent most of this winter at about 50 degrees. 


The kids and the husband have been all sorts of grouchy too. I think that after the cheer of December that the few months following just seem bleak in comparison - no matter what the weather.


With all of our funkiness, I was overjoyed when I found Hadley and Cameron coloring together in the toy room. They were laughing and playing like the best of friends, and I think everyone's spirits, on that particular day, were lifted by their giggles.


Then, in a fit of laughter, they proudly presented their artwork: 

I kind of liked it. In case I write a book someday, I now have its cover art. 

Quack The Halls

Christmas came, it went and I'm left with a metaphorical and a slightly literal holiday hangover. However, I'm also left with a few gifts that I that I will always look at with reverence as I remember Christmas 2012.


1. From my husband......A 64oz Big Swigg Cup. Yeah, I like fountain drinks but I wouldn't be caught dead hauling this thing around. 

2. From my father-in-law.....A pair of ear plugs and a cupcake-shaped stress ball. I'm pretty sure this speaks volumes about my life. PS. The cupcake shaped stress ball was swiped immediately by the girls - haven't seen it since. 

3. From my daughter....A mallard. And not just any mallard, but a porcelain mallard with a poinsettia print. Now, that is going straight to my mantle.

I have always believed that it is the "thought that counts," that is unless you have crazy thoughts that might persuade you to by someone a Big Swigg for Christmas and in that case, perhaps, you should give gift cards. 


Disclaimer: As to not totally humiliate my husband, I would also like to disclose that in addition to the Big Swigg he also bought me many other perfectly acceptable Christmas gifts, like a remote starter for my mini-van. So, with luck, there will be no more frozen van doors, seizures or traumatized children in this new year.

Our Sunday Best

"You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? 

You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. 

I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable.'"

                                                                                                             - Jerry Seinfeld

Last Sunday I busted my butt to get my family to the children's Christmas program. Busting my butt includes, but is not limited to, the following: finding the girls' Christmas dresses, finding coordinating tights, hair accessories, and shoes, finding dress clothes that fit the toddler/man-child; finding something that fits me, having the children memorize their lines and songs, buying and wrapping gifts for Sunday school teachers and Program Directors, and making sure my husband is appropriately dressed.

All of these tasks were accomplished without incident until it came time to dress my husband -  who declared he was wearing jeans. An argument ensued. I was handicapped by lack of time and patience so I conceded the fight and off we went - the children and I in our Sunday best, and Justin in his finest pair of Wranglers. 

The program went well. Cute kids, screaming kids, booger-picking kids, bored-looking kids, memorized lines, flubbed lines, paparazzi parents ....Then came time for the adult choir to sing a song that they had learned with the children. 


The adults made their way to the choir loft when I spotted my dad, a 30+ year member of the choir. The infamous words of Clark Griswald then ran through my head:  "Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol? " He was wearing sweatpants. A T-shirt and sweatpants.

I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't mind my Dad's sweats, but I'm quite certain my mother did. As Dad made his way into the choir loft, I could literally feel my mother's rage from across the church. 

What in the world was going on? Was he sleep-walking? Was he sick? Did he know where he was? Had he become senile since I saw him earlier this morning? Had God appeared to him and told him to wear sweatpants to the children's Christmas program? Was he making a political statement?

Well no to all of the above, but apparently Dad had came from his bowling league (where I guess he wears sweat pants?) directly to the church. And he must have had some nachos, because I'm pretty sure I could see some cheese dried on his thigh. 

I don't think Dad cared one bit about his sweats - he sang with gusto. I think he was pretty pumped up about the birth of the Christ child, or maybe his bowling team won? Or perhaps he was just happy that he had had some nacho cheese? 

He later explained that he thought the choir would wearing choir robes, and he'd be able to slip in and out of the program without showcasing his bowling wardrobe.

As we left the church, Justin's grin was so big that I knew that he was not smiling about the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, but for the redemption that had been brought to him by my father and his nacho-cheese stained sweatpants. His Wranglers had never looked better. 

The Elf Went For a Drink

The Elf on the Shelf is one of those genius ideas that makes me want to slap myself for not thinking of it first. 


Not familiar with the Elf on the Shelf? Here's the idea - The elf is purchased with a book that explains to children that the elf will watch them throughout the day and then, at night, fly back to the North Pole to report to Santa their behavior. Then they are to find the elf sitting in a new place each morning. 


This idea assumes just one thing in order to work - that kids are idiots. There are so many holes in that story that I sometimes look at my kids as they marvel at the elf each morning and think "Really??? No - Really??? You're really buying this?"


Well, this morning our Elf on the Shelf quit. 


The girls found this note on the table:

With the weather taking a turn for the cold and rainy, my kids have tipped the naughty meter to a whole other level. They've been cooped up - the girls have been running through the house flinging green snot around while the baby has a found a new favorite past-time - digging through the garbage can. The poor elf just couldn't take it - he hauled his elf ass outta here.

He left me a little note too: