Welcome to Crazy Town

About a year ago, on a rather traffic-clogged road trip that was full of screaming Comedians and whiney Dictators, and me trying to claw my way through the upholstery or squeeze through a vent.  Any vent!  We all felt like we were about to lose it.  TD asked for the ninety-millionth time the classic line of, "Daddy! Are we there yet?!  Where are we going?!" 

H bellowed out, "Crazy Town. We are going to Crazy Town."  "Yippie!" She yelled. "Crazy Town! I can't wait until we get to Crazy Town!!"  It was just the levity we needed at that moment.

Crazy Town.  It's our house, at any given moment, especially during the dinner hour when everyone is hungry, no one wants what I'm cooking and everyone is overtired.  Crazy Town is our life on a daily basis it seems. 

For this new decade, with the housing market and our lives the way they are right now, we have decided to make our home a bit less crazy.  In the long run at least.  We are going into 2010 simplifying some areas (no large birthday parties, no toy stores barfing up their warehouses into our home.) and creating a bit of chaos in others.  We are re-vamping our house.  We need more space. It is as simple as that. 

It began last weekend when we cleaned out the basement.  Then the attic storage space.  Unstoppable I attacked TD's closet.  The trash men deserve a sheet of gold stars and some booze for picking up all that crap this past week.  Last night after three and a half hours in the car coming home from grandma's we pulled into Lowe's parking lot "just to look at paint samples." Pfffttt... Sure, I got the paint samples.  But we also walked out with laundry room shelves, basement shelves, a bathroom wall cabinet and a new faucet.  The kids were in meltdown and I was feeling wild-eyed and slightly crazy as we checked out.  Being near so many powerful saws and nail guns wasn't helping.  It was time to go home. To Crazy Town.

I have a feeling I will soon be the mayor of Crazy Town.  2010 here we come!

Drive-thru Schmive-thru

So, I was sitting on the couch the other night watching VH-1's 'Behind the Music' story on 50 Cent, (Yes, really, I have the tweets to prove it) and I saw the Drive-thru Diet commercial from Taco Bell.  See the story here.

Ummm..what?! 

Oh, right! All the items on the 'Fresco' menu are under 9 grams of fat.  Makes total sense now. Whatever.  I  get so burned up seeing this type of advertising ploy.  Do people really think this kind of thing works?  I don't want to hear one peep about that Jared guy either.  I got a whole bag of "Shhhh" sitting right over here if you are going to drag that tired example out.  You can't just order a bunch of soft tacos without sour cream and think you are going to be in a two-piece in no time. The only way real, healthy weight loss occurs is eating right, working out and keeping a positive frame of mind. 

Or you could just your bike through the drive-thru.  Heh.

This ain't no Billy Blanks Kickboxing

Five minutes of jumping rope.

100 push-ups.

150 squats.

200 sit-ups.

That's how kick-boxing class started.  That was just the warm up.  After that?

There was still another forty minutes left of class.  Oh, and an ab routine.  Did I mention the murder on my post-two-baby abs?  I felt like such a wussy weakling. 

My tailbone is so sore today.  It hasn't been this sore since I fell on the ice at age eight and chipped it.  Oddly enough, that is where I am sore the most.  I feel like I need a little pad attached to my butt or one of those inflatable donuts to sit on. 

Before the class I felt like a scared little bunny.  After the class I felt taller and like I could really kick some box!  Like a cardboard box post-Christmas that's been sitting on the curb waiting for the trashman.  Yup, I would really tear that cardboard box a new one.

2009- It Hasn't All Been Bad

2009 is wrapping up and everywhere I look there is an article or recap about how sucktastic this past year has been.  Truthfully, there has been a lot of sadness, worry, woe and hard times for so many.  The media, left and right, loves to report on all of it every milisecond too.  It is hard to see or remember the good that has happened.

- In January we were all about hope and change. We elected our first African-American President.  A truly historic moment that revitalized the nation.  We need to remember that feeling, regardless of who you voted for, you cannot deny the air did feel electrifying and full of possibilities. 

- Data and news in the fine print shows that the Dow is up, real estate sales are climbing, the economy is coming back and unemployment is down.  We are coming back. Slowly, but we are coming back. We dug ourselves in real deep and it will take a while to come back, but we are getting there.  Have patience. Be strong and keep up the good work.  Good things are happening. 

- We are learning to save again. 

-Lady Gaga had a break out year.  Enough said.

- Bloggers accomplished great things this year too.  The Shredheads proved that losing weight is fun and easier when done in a group.  Jillian Michaels approves and we accomplished goals we never thought possible.  Kristen from Motherhood Uncensored published her first book, The Mominatrix.  Blog with Integrity was created.  Blogher 2009 was HUGE.  Confessions of a Pioneer Woman made Time's 'Best Blogs of 2009' list.



-Social media went beserk with Twitter actually accomplishing more than us letting the "world" know what our cat is doing right. this. very. minute. 

-This guy's had a particularly good year.  He played Jacob on Lost, had roles in The Mentalist, Supernatural and CSI too. He's like the Jude Law of small part actors. He's everywhere.

-The Comedian turned one.  She's practically running now and saying her first word, "Uh-oh."  Seeing milestones like those or TD learning to write her name makes 2009 all the better.

2010 is just around the corner.  We're all on pins and needles and full of hope that it will be better than '09.  "It has to be!" I keep hearing and all the while I am thinking, "Well, a large part of that is on us as individuals  now isn't it?"  It's a new decade.  Let's attack it like we do a bag of chips!  Heh.
 

Taking a Break and Some Guilt

After riding behind someone driving a Nissan Xterra who put their hazard lights on to drive through slush, grocery shopping through the holiday melee and putting up a good sweat at the gym I felt a bit addled yesterday.  Wanting to beat someone for driving badly in slush is not on par for this time of year.  My black heart was still neatly intact.  I needed to squelch this irritable air. Fast.

I unpacked the groceries, skipping over the black ice, fed the kids lunch and then put them down for naps.  Instead of running to my laptop to get work done, putting away laundry, toys or cleaning up other areas of the house and our life, I grabbed a copy of Elle and a cup of coffee.  Then I sat my butt down on the couch and read the rest of the magazine, which I had been trying to do for weeks.  When that was done, I put my feet up and picked up the Travel and Style & Arts section of Sunday's paper.  I didn't get up and do other things halfway through it either. I refused to get distracted.  I looked out the window, I sipped my next hot drink and read some more. I read until I was done.

I took a break.

Guess what? I felt immensely better too.  My frame of mind was much more positive.  I felt a bit like a moron for realizing that what I probably need to do is 'take a lunch break' each day instead of eating while standing as I feed the kids.  When I mentioned this to H he went on about how multi-tasking doesn't work... umm.. yeah. Not exactly my point.  My point is that I feel guilty for ever sitting down during the day.  Even to eat.  I feel that staying home with the kids and working from home isn't enough work to allow for a break.  Because isn't that all I do all day anyway?  You know, frolic with the kids, eat sand from the sandbox with them and make cookies all day. Why sit and collect my thoughts when I need to fold dish towels and clean
toilets, make beds, prepare food and run errands?  Or try and find new work and keep up with the work I have.  Oh, and those kids. I need to like read them stories and stuff.  Block castles don't build themselves.

Not taking a break?  It's crazy.  Everyone needs it, but the guilt I feel is still there despite knowing I need it. 

Finding My Holiday Spirit

You would think with all the snow we just had, which has effectively made our street a winter wonderland, complete with tons of black ice, I would be ecstatic.  "It's a white Christmas, everyone! Ho, ho, ho!"  Bah.  I still have cookies to make, presents to put together, and to wrap and lay lovingly under the tree. I say 'lovingly' because right now they are about to be chucked under it while taking a few ornaments off the tree as they find their landing space. 

I am positively dreading the grocery store today.  I imagine after the blizzard and it being the week of Christmas the place will be prone to riots over honey-baked hams while other duke it out for the last wedges of brie.  While I go find my holiday spirit (Does Target still have some? Is it on sale yet?) today I give you this- My Black Heart from December 2006. It's vintage Mummy.  Oooh....


You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.


Ooh I'm feeling awfully Grinch-like the last few days. I tried in vain to get into the Christmas spirit by wrapping presents. We've decorated our tree. I've baked cookies, made candy and tied it all with a bow. All to no avail. I just can't seem to pump some well-needed holiday cheer into my now tiny, hardened black heart.


Maybe it's our insane, disjointed schedule. Maybe it's the fact that H and T.D. are always sick lately. Maybe it's the overtime without pay I keep putting in, the endless meetings and rounds of changes at work and lack of gym time. My body hurts from lack of movement. If I don't get my yoga class asap I might snap. Either that or my shoulders will. I am literally on the verge of having a massive temper tantrum the likes of which have not been seen in anyone over the age of three. Unless of course your friends with Paris Hilton perhaps.


It all just came to head today when I realized I still have to buy some gifts, I can't find time to buy groceries again, and I'm already sick of wishing holiday goodness to people. I would rather box their ears. After which I will then crawl into my cave above the town and frown.


I don't know the remedy for this. It might be some vacation time. I have some but I can't take it. Maybe I should just say to hell with it and do it. Just one day. One day to find my holiday spirit and make my heart that has become two sizes too small go back to normal.

Snowy Day

It is ironic that TD came home from school on Friday with the book and DVD, The Snowy Day.  A gift from her teachers we have already worn this book/DVD combo out.  We did, indeed, have a "Loaf Seven" weekend. 

Mid-storm. We used my neighbors Hummer to go get pizza.  Hangovers need pizza. Blizzard be damned.

The Comedian literally gets stuck in the snow.

TD:  "Eeehh, it's 8:30! I want to go inside? Why is my Pep shoveling the deck?! I have the weirdest family."

I am 12.  My need to build a tunnel/igloo is too strong. H and I were the only adults playing outside without our kids.  TD went inside for "hot chocoh" after only an hour.

I Hear Tell of a Nor'Easter

I couldn't sleep when I got home from girls night last night.  Instead I turned on the tube and did some work.  After a few minutes I noticed that I had the local 11 o'clock news on and there was talk of a Nor'easter in these here parts. 

And a bread index.  Yeah, you heard me.  A bread index.  The weatherman, who likes to be called "Topper" (don't get me started) has an image of a stack of bread loaves all piled up and he measures the severity of a storm by how many loaves of bread we should all go nutty and buy.  Apparently, we are at 'loaf seven'.  Can I coin that?  "We're at loaf seven, Captain!  She won't hold out much longer!!" 

What the.... I thought.  Pffftt.. I don't buy it.

I'm a New Englander. I cut my driving teeth on one of the worst winters we had in over a decade.  I learned to drive on ice-filled potholes and roads with jagged cracks so deep you thought it was 2012 and the earth was going to swallow you and your car up whole.  The hill near my house that I had to climb up every day on the way to school, Oh yes, I'm going there, was so steep and slicked with inches of ice, that I once slid all the way back down it. Backwards.  In my car.  All part of the daily drive to school.  High school.

Driving in snow doesn't bother me.  Watching plows put sand on 95 AFTER it's begun snowing? That bothers me.  Seeing maintenance men put clumping kitty litter down on a sidewalk?  That bothers me.  Seeing a bread loaf index?  Yeah, that kind of bothers the cantankerous New Englander dwelling inside me too. 

Remember people, pump the breaks. Just pump it.   

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I Have Issues

Clearly, I have issues.  I realized this at two different times today.  First, I yelled at the gym television that was playing Fox "news".  I yelled, "Shut the F*ck up!  You are so IGNORANT!"  I mumbled something about "fallacies, bad research and fair and balanced my ass" when I realized that my right hand was extending and giving Fox the bird. 

It seems I have some built up testosterone in my system this week.  The cold that has be flagging has also taken me away from any gym time.  I didn't make it to kickboxing. I haven't gone on any runs either.  The idea of Body Pump or Boxing is just laughable.  I kept thinking if I just took it easy, as much as you can with two small kids, I would feel better.  The. Cold. Is. Still. Here. 

I'm going to have to move my treadmill.  Clearly, this is the problem. It's not that Fox is craptastic network full of lies or anything. I'm blaming this all on my "lucky" treadmill at the gym.  If I get kicked out of my gym for bad conduct it is this treadmill's fault.  It's right square in front of the television that plays Fox News.  Since it was the first and now only treadmill I have ever run on I am a bit scared to move to a different one. One that would be out of my comfort zone and possibly place me in front of the less inflammatory television that plays 24 hours of ESPN.  Except, stupid ESPN keeps playing these schmaltzy, 'arrow to the heart' feel good stories about athletes helping sick kids realize their dreams and I end up sobbing.  I feel the need to yell, "it's sweat, not tears!" while I run. 

Aliens in My Bathroom

I went into my bathroom last night and discovered this-

Aliens?  I am thinking aliens.  Aliens or OCD preschooler.

Kick Some Box

Despite the fact that I'm under the weather (sigh, again.) I'm going to try kick boxing tonight. 

My attempt at boxing last week was sweat-inducing, red-faced fun, boredom and exhileration all roled into one hour.  While it is definitely an incredible workout I really was loathe to having a basketball being bounced off my stomach.  Yes, you heard me.  It came out of nowhere and immediately pissed me off.  If the instructor wanted to get more fire out of me he got a big ol' FAIL.  I don't play that way.  I felt all at once invaded and angry.  I didn't want to try harder I simply wanted to yell at him, "WTF! WTF is WRONG with you?! Are you MAD?!  I had a baby just a few... oh, wait, it was a year ago...STILL.  You don't just bounce balls off someone!!"  Get your mind out of the gutter.  You just don't do that.  When he came around again I played dead.  Back to kickboxing.

When I was fifteen, I saw an article in my local paper ran a story about teenage girls and kickboxing.  My tiny, 90-odd pound self cut the article out and savored it.  I wanted to do this in the worst way, but there was no local place to be found in the tiniest state in the country (No, I do not know what it is like to live on an island.) I felt boxed in and wanted out of my little world.  I had more aggression than was probably normal and I wanted and needed an outlet.  Kickboxing seemed perfect.  Instead, I took hangers and beat my bed working myself into a Ms. Piggy style frenzy complete with heaving breaths and wild hair. I broke glass and generally beat the crap out of inanimate objects for a few years as well.    Smoking helped too. Heh. 

I don't have so much of that agression or violent tendencies anymore.  OK, maybe just a little.  I still like to beat the crap out of stuff and bite things.  That's just my nature, I suppose.  It's one of the reasons why I like to run.  I think kickboxing will be a good thing.  I just hope I don't snot all over my gloves tonight. 



Check out my post, Ms. Anti-Princess Does Disney, over at DC Metro Moms.

Jingle All the Way 10k

I had my first 10k this weekend.  For so many months I have been training, then side-tracked, then training again, gearing up for the cold, dealing with my nerves and all this time fretting and fretting about my time.  I was using this particular race to qualify me for RunDC next year.  Then something happened.

H found out about a work trip to Florida that I could accompany him on.  One week in the middle of my least favorite month of the year, March. Sorry March birthday goers, but that lion/lamb thing just messes with my SAD-effected brain.  The whole month is like a giant hangover to me.  Kind of like how August is just one giant Sunday.  Oh, is that just me?  Back to the work trip then.  A whole week of sunshine, time alone with H, sunshine, ocean and tranquility.  Also, sunshine. I was in!  As I reviewed the dates I realized that we would be coming back the day of RunDC.  I wouldn't be able to do that historic run through my favorite city.  Immediately it took off so much of the pressure I was harboring towards Sunday's 10k.

Suddenly, I felt excited about the run instead of anxious.  The weather situation was a whole other story.  100% chance of rain, sleet and wintry mix was predicted with a high of 41 degrees.  That sounds like so much fun!  Yeah, freezing rain all for me.  Did I mention that the run was also on the water?  I could feel the icy rain drizzling down my back each time I thought about the impending race. 

The day of the race I woke up early and got dressed in my warmest running gear.  It was only after I was fully packed up that I realized I had forgotten to put my shoes on.  We got the girls up while it was still dark and got their drowsy, questioning selves dressed and packed in the car for the drive into the city.  Soon after we found ourselves touring the city at dawn while waiting for the start time to draw closer.  Gazing at the National tree all lit up and driving past the Washington Monument completely dissipated my nerves and I was ready to get started.

I met up with a fellow Shredhead, dealt with bag check, long queues at the port-a-potties and a suspicous vomit smell that pervaded the air, we got in line.  Late.  I started to get chilled to the bone and wanted to get started.  Fortunately, the air was cloudy but clear.  Fused with adrenaline and excitement I started out faster than I normally do and was feeling really good, despite the nagging feeling of a cold beginning that morning.  I was sure I had gone two miles when I saw the ONE mile marker.  Doh!  Throw in one runner who had already completed the course and was on his way back and I felt a bit defeated.  For some reason about five minutes later seeing the DC's Mayor run by me motivated me again and I past a few people.  The loop felt long and as I got close to the turn around I felt impatient.  I wanted to yell at people to "Move! MOVE! MOVE!" The air turned cooler as I ran along the water. I took in the sights of the city as I tried to temper my aggravation at the congestion of other runners.  Finally, coming in at 34 minutes plus I got to the turnaround point. 

Then something happened.  My competetive edge, rarely seen, came out.  I looked at the runners still trucking along to the turning point and thought, "Suck it!  I'm faster than you! Bwwahahaha!"  Where did that come from?  I passed people on the right, the left and went up off the street and onto the grass and wet leaves to blow by others.  I wanted to make my qualifying time no matter what.  1: 05 was my goal.  I needed to do it despite not making the March marathon.  As I neared mile four I found myself slowing down. I tried to pick other runners out in the crowd that I wanted to compete with but my motivation was severly lacking.  I just wanted to be done. I wanted to see my family, the crowds and the finish line. "Damn it!  Where was the finish line!?! Where the hell was mile five?! I am such a wuss!  WTF is wrong with me?"  I kept internally yelling at myself Jillian Michael's style to combat that thinking.  That helped momentarily and got me through to mile six.  Point two more miles to go.  Whew!  Santa and his reindeers ran by me and it pissed me off.  I ran faster.  A bit.

Then I saw my friend. He had already completed the 10k and came running along the finish line.  I needed that encouragement.  I knew I was so close but I felt so slow.  My left hamstring felt ridiculously tight and I was cold, wet and tired.  While my body might "know" this run, it didn't much care for it at that particular moment.  He kept yelling, "Run! Run faster!" and I did. I tried and suddenly I was crossing the finish line.  I saw my time and felt relief and a bit of dissappointment.  1:08 and something seconds...Oh well.  I did it. My first 10k.  It was now raining as steam poured off my body.  I gnawed on a bagel and felt exhilerated.  I'll definetly be doing that again!

Later in the day my official time came through- 1:05, 14 seconds.  14 seconds barring me from RunDC but whatever.  I'm going to Florida! 

Your Mom's a Dork

While making dinner the other night I was simultaneously finally getting around to watching the HBO mini-series about John Adams.  Just into the first disc and rummaging through the pantry TD caught me off guard. 

Coming to my side, she asked, "Momma?  Momma! What is wrong?  Why are you crying?"  I looked at her as I wiped a tear away and took a deep, cleansing breath and said, "Oh it's nothing, TD.  Your Mom is just a giant dork. A giant dork who gets really into history. The Revolution, the sacrafice, the birth of our nation, all of it."  I sighed again as I thought about how our world has changed since Adams time.  Tom Wilkinson plays Ben Franklin and he states, "It is no small thing to build a new world."

Is that what we are doing once again?  Sometimes I feel that way. 

The Bad Lady Gaga

Now, I know I am clearly a Lady Gaga freak, but the Tiny Dictator has become a tad obsessed. 

Who am I kidding?  Dictators are never a 'tad' anything.  All I get all day long is one request, "Momma! I want Lady Gaga.  The bad Lady Gaga! The bad Lady Gaga LOUD!"

So, here is what I see about a bazillion times a day. 


Apparently dictators also like to try their hand at break dancing.

Paging Billy Blanks

Remember Tae-Bo? Billy Blanks sweaty, bald head bobbing and weaving as he "punched it out" via my VCR. Oh! Remember VCR's?


I digress.

I faithfully did Tae-Bo back when I was in college in hopes that I would build up some arm muscles. I no longer remember if I obtained those results. I think I only achieved those through Power Yoga a few years later.

I should probably break out those old tapes and find myself a VCR so I can try to brush up on "my moves" because today I will be taking my first boxing class. I recently won a free month at my local boxing gym and while I am a bit scared, it might be good for me. I can get out some of that holiday stress, work off that giant candy bar I ate yesterday and pretend that the punching bag is H's "holiday beard". Grrr... I hate that thing. It is as if we have added a fifth member of the family. I swear it is going to start talking one of these days. Every time it scratches me, I want to sedate H and shave it off. Preferably in a goofy pattern so that he will never grow it again.

It's Just Sad

Blatantly stealing from Jodifur's post today because I can't crawl out from under my own conundrums here is what is "Crazy Sad".

- I asked for a Polder meat thermometer for Christmas. I would rather it not be a gift but since I can't cook a chicken to save my life, I might actually need this thing.

- Asking for a meat thermometer makes me feel like I'm 87 and should be named Pearl. I think patent leather box-shaped handbags are all the rage.  My best friend's name is Madge and she smokes Salems.  My 14 cats hate her and our long games of Canasta.

- I can't for the life of me think of what to buy a one year-old at Christmas.  Still I would feel just awful if years from now she didn't see any photos of her unwrapping a present, just photos of her eating the wrapping paper.  Hm.. I think I see a roll of green colored paper under the tree for her.  Sweet! That stuff is wicked cheap!

At least I solved one problem for the day. 

A Barbie Dream House for Me

A reprint of a post from the past- all about a Christmas past.  Enjoy!  Be sure to check out MPR's Holiday Gift Guide- new items have been added!

There it sat. Huge and under the tree. The tag insisted that I was correct, this big box from Santa/my grandparents was intended for only me. My five year-old brain was buzzing with ideas. I could barely contain my excitement. My mother kept warning me to stay away from the tree, "It's not time to open presents yet. Stop touching things and back away from the tree!" I think I might have done a little dance of protest before I backed away.


I sat on my grandmother's paisley and floral couch and wondered, what could it be? A pony? It was certainly a large enough box. Then my mind settled on it. The only thing it could be. The only thing I really wanted. A Barbie Dream House. A Barbie Dream House! That had to be it! Satisfied with this idea I got off the couch and joined the rest of my family for dinner.

All through dinner and dessert I couldn't sit still. I squirmed this way and that in my seat at the dining room table. Dinner went on forever! Turkey and all the trimmings. Fine. Shovel it in. C'mon! We've presents to unwrap! They drank wine and then coffee! Would this dinner ever end? My grandfather lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. The nerve of him! It was never ending. Didn't these people know that a BARBIE DREAM HOUSE was less than two rooms away?! What was wrong with them? How could they not feel the ants in my pants excitement that I did? Didn't they want or need to unwrap their own presents? I NEEDED to unwrap that present! My brained screamed, "Time is of the essence here people!" Finally, my grandmother rose from the table and asked us if we wanted to sit by the tree and look at the lights. Yes! At last! We're going to get to the good part.

I watched my cousins and some of the adults unwrap presents. I received a few smaller items I can no longer remember. Then, my grandparents with big smiles on their faces, pushed the big box out from under the tree. Everyone speculated on what could be in such a large box. I nearly shredded the wrapping with my tiny frenzied hands. Huh. Wait. What's this? This is not some pink full of pictures Mattel box. It's just a regular old cardboard box. Uh.. heheheh something isn't right here folks. Slowly I opened the big box hoping against all hope that inside it was another box. The right box. The Barbie Dream House box. As I lifted the lid I noticed something red and wrapped in plastic. It was a coat. A winter coat. My heart seized. The wiring in my brain misfired and I swear I saw stars. This was all devastatingly wrong. A coat?! Who gives a little kid a coat for Christmas and smiles about it? What fun is a coat? It's not a toy! I have to wear this to school too? For the love of...

My heart just sunk. I lifted the red coat out of the box as my grandmother, all smiles, removed the plastic wrap. Oh look! It has a giant fur trimmed hood. Great. A belt too? Wonderful. I don't even think I tried to smile at my mother's prodding. I just remember the room feeling darker. I was so disappointed. How could they not remember to buy me the one thing I really wanted? Surely this coat costs as much as the dream house. It had fur for goodness sake! I hated that coat instantly. I wanted to throw it in the back of my closet banishing it to the dust bunnies forever. Scowling and refusing to mask my extreme disappointment and at the insistence of my mother, I thanked my grandparents. This was the worst present ever! The worst Christmas ever!

Weeks later and still playing with my cardboard box Barbie dream house. At least with the addition of the brand new giant box that the coat came in I had added an addition onto her house turning it into an apartment complex that her other friends could live in. To me that was the only consolation. No dream house. Just a giant red coat with fur on the hood that got in my mouth all the time. Awesome. I vowed never to forget this error in judgement by the adults in my life. I knew for sure that my parents were involved and had ok'd this gift. What was wrong with them?

Then one day as I stood in line waiting for my school bus a boy in my class began to make fun of my red coat. Being only five about all he could make fun of was the fact that it was big and red. Big Red he called me. Ha Ha. This kid was destined to be class president. He started pulling on the fur and telling the other kids it was a dead animal. Slowly, I turned around to face him and said in the most haughty voice I could muster, "If you must know that is REAL fox fur your hands are pawing. It was a gift from my grandparents and it is VERY expensive. It came in a GIANT box." Oddly, that shut him up. Then little girls began to crowd around me and they wanted to come and touch the soft fox fur. They admired the cute little belt and the fashionable buttons on my new coat. They wanted one just like it! It was a rather beautiful shade of red. Very complimentary to my hair color. Suddenly, I felt like a princess in my new red coat.

From that day on I loved that little red coat with the "fur" trim. I was sad when I outgrew it. I kept it for longer than necessary in the back of my closet. We had some good times me and that red coat. I believe it was the first lesson I consciously remember about finding the best in something and looking at the brighter side of things. A Barbie Dream House I came to realize was just a bunch of plastic. My coat kept me warm and regal. I could take it everywhere, something I couldn't do with the Dream House. Besides, I had a whole apartment complex to manage now with my imagination and that was better than just a single Barbie Dream House.

Civics 101, Please.

Come closer.  Closer.  That's it.  Now, let me school ya on something.  Obama? You know, that man that was elected President?  He's been in office for a little over 320 days now and he hasn't accomplished ANYTHING, has he?  Geezy-peets! No, he hasn't.  It's all I hear, all the time.  It makes me "smash your forehead into a hard surface" angry.  I want to ask them if they thought Obama would pay off their mortgage or car loan too when he was elected into office. 

Oh wait. They didn't vote for him.  That's what it is. 

Fine.  That's fine.  That doesn't bother me. To each their own.  What gets me it is that no one seems to remember Civics 101.  Like I said in 'I Am Not Un-American', things do not happen over night for any government official, regardless of their political affiliation.  Changing policies, creating new programs and initiatives, fixing the massive problems that our broken nation has tried to shove under the rug since the 1960s takes time.  Most likely more time than Obama will have or be alloted.  It isn't like buying a latte or downloading a new itune.  Remember this- Clinton had a rough and lagging 100 days.  Anyone remember George W's?  There was a lot of brush hauling.  Get a history book out, dust it off and do some reading.  Every President has not done everything they promised. Even when given eight years.  It's partially due to that stubborn 'checks and balances' thing we have in this country.  Partly because other issues take precedence and need to be addressed.

When I see bumper stickers that state, "Want your change back now?  Ask Obama."  I want to yell to the driver, "Hey! Come here!  I got a treat for you!  It's called...SCHOOL."  Because clearly you have no idea what you are talking about.  This economic problem isn't Obama's creation.  The last eight years (and us) are to blame for a lot of that.  Just like it wasn't Clinton who gave us that 90's economic boom.  It's like real estate or anything else.  It is all cyclical. Next thing you know we will forget that Al Gore did not create the internet. Gah. 

So what has Obama done this year?

January- He signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.  Five days later he reauthorized the State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) giving four million uninsured children health insurance.  In March, he repealed the embryonic stem cells issue.  Federal funding and strict guidelines will now go to the research for this cause.  May saw a new nomination for Supreme Court Justice.  There is a whole lot more- the economic stimulus package in February, new global warming proposals this past September, universal health care reform is in the works (Do some research on how it works for other countries, it's a good thing.  Then come fight me.) and there is so much more.  It's not like he is sitting back eating bon bons.  He and many other government officials, from both parties, are working hard.  It just takes time.  More time than it does to blow $100 at Target at least. 

And to think that I was going to write about Christmas's past and childhood wishes today.  Maybe what I really want for Christmas is a government funded civics class for the nation. 

Thank you to PunditMom and Jodifur too for such a wonderful mention today.  It made my day. 

Rudolph Gets the Axe

The holiday season is upon us.  Cards are arriving in the mailbox, we have broken out the advent wreath, candles and calendar.  I'm dreaming of not just a white Christmas and sugar plum fairies but homemade marshmallows, snickerdoodles, fudge, peppermint bark....mmm peppermint bark...marshmallow goodness...

Wait. Where was I?  I was busy wiping my saliva off my keyboard before I shorted out my laptop.

I truly love this time of year for quite a few reasons.  I like shopping, I like giving, the songs, that special glow from the lights.  Home Alone.  The Muppet Christmas Carol.  Emmett Otter's Jugband Christmas.  I love them all.  They never fail to put me in the mood of the season. 

Notice something missing though? That would be Rudolph.  Don't get me wrong. As a kid I was convinced that those red lights on the high electrical towers that ran along I-95 just had to be Rudolph making the early Christmas rounds.  But those 1960s specials they replay ad nauseum each December make me feel all stabby. I want to claw my eyes out and smash the TV. With an axe.  A special Christmas axe.  Yes, indeed Virginia, Rudolph and the Abomidable Snowman make me violent.  Like Jack in 'The Shining' violent. The holidays are stressful enough. I don't need to wreck it with my twisted tendencies.  I cannot be the only one who loathes these specials. Right?

Tell me internets that I am not alone on this one.  Can we form a club, perhaps?

Black Suction a.k.a My Bad Place

You know what sucks?

My house smells like I have a pot roast in the oven and I can't figure out why. I didn't buy a pot roast. But it's either a pot roast or a hobo. I can't decide.

When you start fighting before you even make it out of the bed in the morning. You then spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to solve the problem, hating yourself and wishing you were one of those women who was smarter, didn't say what she was thinking and could stop hurting the other person.

Waking up at 5:15. For any reason. It's still dark out. You had the "state of our finances" discussion the night before and you drank a few glasses of wine to help you formulate the numbers. What? It works! Wine makes financial discussions Hell-ari-OUS. Trust me. It also makes sitcoms funny. Heh. Remember those days?

Feeling like you can't get anything right. Not enough work- Are you just not cut out to being a writer. Really? Your kid is always whining, crying or throwing a tantrum- Will you ever figure this parenting thing out? No? Then can you at least feel like you are doing something right with her? Your chicken cooking skills suck. Too too too done or not done enough. I can't even make chicken tenders for crying out loud! Your Christmas present should be a chicken cooking class, as well as one on how to chop.

Realizing that book club is finally going to meet and discuss the book you chose and you still haven't finished reading said book. Did I mention we are meeting tomorrow?

I feel like Eyore lately. And I hate Eyore. He kind of sucks.

I Am Not Amused.

I saw a t-shirt the other day and I think it was supposed to be amusing. As in, "Ha, isn't it funny that I do this? Come on! You know you do it too."

Except it just screamed, "Ha! I control everything! I can't let anyone do anything for themselves and I enjoy stunting my children for life." Well, that is what it screamed to me. Anyways...

The t-shirt said, "Wink if you do your's kids homework." Oh you, cheeky t-shirt,you.

I thought that we were supposed to be out of this helicopter "trend".