Rambling commentary I blame on cabin fever.

Do people really lay awake and look at the ceiling at night?  I have never done that.  I might be awake, but I always close my eyes at night, whether or not I’m asleep.

Here’s yet another New York Times article about mothers in which I am not quoted.  It’s just another example of what happens when you don’t drink to cope with your children, I guess.  (Not only are you unpopular among the cool mothers and assumed to be judgmental, but when you use donuts to self-medicate instead of booze, you get fat.  Where is the article about mothers who use brownies to get them through another dreary afternoon?) 

For instance:

Happy-hour play dates are here. Between runs to soccer and ballet classes, fund-raisers and homework projects, some stay-at-home mothers are gobbling brownies at afternoon spa parties, nibbling homemade chocolate chip cookies at play groups and toting pints of Ben & Jerry’s premium ice cream and can of Pringles to parks and friends’ decks while their children frolic nearby.

(See?  So not cool to overeat if you’re a mom.  Much better to get tipsy.) 

I was able to sleep in today (until 7:41 a.m., which is kind of funny considering “sleeping in” used to mean something entirely different).  We had a cabin-fever kind of day, stuck inside because of the rain and wind and circumstances.  A child I babysat arrived at 10:30 a.m. and I assumed he’d be with me all day–he left a couple of hours later.  Another set of kids was due to arrive at 1:00 p.m., but they never did . . . to my daughter’s great dismay.  (She didn’t take the news of the cancellation very well.  “When are they coming?” she kept asking, even though I told her they weren’t.)

The afternoon was full of boys.  Four neighborhood boys were in and out, leaving a trail of Douglas fir needles and damp footprints.  One of my boys left at about 4:00 p.m. for a birthday party . . . but still, I had six boys here playing video games and computer games and making so much noise I kept yelling, “CLOSE THE DOOR!  CLOSE THE DOOR!” 

Not that my day was void of accomplishment.  Oh no, not at all.  I cleaned out my laundry room (so that’s where those Judo pants were!) and also the boys’ bathroom.  I know you are impressed . . . and if you’d seen the bathroom before I held my breath and scrubbed, you’d be even more impressed.  (And I have a cold.  Be impressed.  Be very impressed.)

Tomorrow, I’m taking the children out of the house.  The boys don’t know it yet, but we’re going to a big rummage sale.  I may regret this adventure, but at least I will not go insane a la Jack Torrance.

Oh, and I have to ask if anyone else’s kids are ready for Christmas.  My four-year old daughter has a plan.  She intends to give Santa Claus a present (dollies and stuffed animals already stuffed in a festive gift bag), and then ask him if she can go to the North Pole.  “He’ll say yes, Mom.” 

This amuses me because I make a point of never bringing up Santa Claus, never taking my children for pictures with Santa Claus, never leaving any presents under the tree from Santa Claus and never including Santa Claus in any of our celebrations. 

And yet, my daughter follows in the footsteps of her siblings who were all fervent believers in the jolly white-bearded guy.

Finally, this is the stupidest investigation of all time.  Vanessa Minnillo dons a “fat suit”–which transforms her into a *gasp* size 12–and catapults her into the hell of being “Ugly Vanessa” (aka normal life for a great majority of women.)  The fact that they need to do some “investigation” to learn about how people are treated who are not television-beautiful makes me want to slap some producer somewhere who came up with this nonsense.  

And Vanessa certainly didn’t look “ugly” even with the “fat suit” (SIZE 12!  Reality check in aisle seven, please!).  It took her six hours to look like a normal person instead of a thin beauty. 

Get a grip, television-producer people.  Aren’t there some celebrity divorces to cover or something?  Can’t we just hear more about Danny Bonaduce?