Snow covered our world today, but just barely.  Nonetheless, school was canceled, much to the joy of children and school-at-home mother alike.  By 9:15 a.m., we were all out in the winter wonderland, me snapping pictures, the older children flinging snowballs and the youngest two stomping circles and following tracks.

At one point, I looked up from my muffin-making in the kitchen and saw an unfamiliar face.  I asked his name and said, “Who is your brother?”  He said he only had a sister and I said, “Have you been here before?”  He hadn’t. 

That means, this neighborhood has fourteen boys between the ages of 8 and 13 . . . more, if you count the family I don’t know in the corner of the cul-de-sac whose boy doesn’t really come out to play and the boys who only come to visit their dad occasionally next door. 

My 8-year old couldn’t stop lamenting the totally unfair snowball fight in which he and the little kids fought against the big kids (four of them).  He said, “I was pelted by about 637 snowballs.”  Then he lifted his shirt so I could check his back for bruises.  (Bruise-free.)  I thought about bawling out the big kids, but then decided that boys need to sort out these things for themselves.  And one day, the little kids will be the big kids and maybe they’ll be more compassionate.  Or they’ll get revenge. 

What this blog needs is a little drama.  And so I offer “alma’s” comment on this post from 2005.  As you can see, I felt like leaving “alma” a little comment of my own since her email address was fake and I wasn’t able to email her directly.  Seriously, what kind of moron leaves comments like that on a perfect stranger’s blog?  I’ll tell you what kind:  a coward.  I can’t stand a coward.  If you want to insult me, at the very least, leave me your actual email address and your blog address and, what the heck, your social security number. 

So, last night, the face-numbing drugs finally wore off at about 7:30 p.m. . . . at the moment I realized I had sensation in my face again, I was in a racquetball court with my 4-year old daughter who thought that throwing the ball and then flinging her body to the floor was the very pinnacle of hilarity.  I played my own private game of keep-away . . . whenever I got my hands on the ball, I hit it to the wall until she’d grab it again.  We only stayed in that room for twenty minutes–the rest of the hour we pranced around the track, drank from the drinking fountain, watched kids swimming in the pool before we sat down to watch the last fifteen minutes of Judo. 

When my daughter sits on my lap, her fuzzy curls are right in my face and if I move to one side, she moves that way, too.  If I move to the other, she veers.  Then she wiggles and squirms and leans and frankly, it’s very unpleasant as she is not a cuddly, still child.  So, I did not enjoy holding her bony butt as I perched on the hard metal bench while she threw herself toward the floor, depending on me to stop her from cracking her skull open.

However, we were home before the college championship football game was over, so I was able to catch the last minutes of Florida State wiping up the floor with Ohio, which was rather delightful because our youth pastor (who is from Ohio) has been insufferable all fall as he’s boasted about his team.  I think I speak for many of us when I say that we look forward to harassing Jeremy and taunting him with the same measure of venom that he has taunted us (and when I say “us”, I mean a random collection of us, we know who we are).  All in good fun!  Gotta root for the underdog, you know.  (GO BOISE!)  Most of you are looking around wondering what I’m talking about.  Okay, moving away from football and onto other topics.

Uh, other topics. 

Let’s see. 

Weather:  We had a storm today, one of those blustery, rain-beating-sideways, cold, please-trees-don’t-fall kind of storms.  The stars are visible tonight, but supposedly, snow is falling somewhere in this area (but not at my house) and then tomorrow, our high temperature is supposed to be thirty.  Which is cold for those of us with webbed toes who live in the rainy Pacific Northwest. 

Television shows:  Only five days until “24” starts!  “Apprentice” . . . how annoying is that Frank guy?  Will “The View” survive the Rosie/Trump/Barbara Walters debacle? 

Today’s lunch:  Canned tuna.  Triscuits with melted cheese.  Walnuts.  Orange.  Diet Coke.

Reading:  Pat Conroy’s Prince of Tides.  (For the second time.)

Last movie seen:  “Children of Men.”  Disappointing, but I ordered the P.D. James book to read, hoping to redeem the experience. 

Tolerance for anonymous commenters:  Zero.

What I did today:  Oversaw math, grammar, literature, history, science, art lessons.  Babysat two kids.  Answered a ton of email (except for those who don’t leave an address, YES, I MEAN YOU, ALMA).  Washed laundry.  Dried laundry.  Cooked dinner (chicken, roasted potatoes, roasted sweet potatoes).  Exercised 45 minutes.  Shopped for groceries.

People I like:  Everyone but “alma,” Osama bin Laden and Borat. 

What I’m wearing:  Ralph Lauren khaki-colored denim pants, long-sleeve t-shirt with tiny black, brown and khaki stripes.  Tan sweater from Lands End. 

Why I allow stupid comments on this blog:  I must be bored.  Also, sometimes I like to provoke people who sit in judgment of me because oddly, I find those dimwitted people amusing to watch when they realize they just threw a rock at the wrong target.  And, also, this is a fair and balanced blog where we offer the opposition a chance to make fools of themselves at no extra charge. 

If you could hear me speak now, you’d think I am recovering from a major stroke.  When the dentist jabbed my gum-line and said, “Can you feel that?” I yelped out an indignant “YES!” and so he asked for the long needle and stuck me again.  That’s why my whole face, including tongue, is numb.  It’s 5 p.m. and the appointment was at 2:30 p.m.  Will I ever have feeling again?  

And while he was drilling on my right bottom molar (the unequivocal Worst Sound in the World), my left ear canal tickled and itched.  My hands went to sleep, I reclined so long with them folded on my chest (like a corpse in a casket).  My neck popped like someone’s knuckles when I was finally able to move again.

All in all, what a delightful day!

My husband ordered pizza for dinner.  He wants to watch some sporting event (football, most likely) and thus, has asked me to take our son to Judo.  And he actually suggested I might want to take our daughter and the boys so we can all swim.  Uh.  No. 

I’ll take our daughter so she can chatter and run and beg me for a treat out of the vending machines.  I mean, I’ll take her because I’m a kind, giving, generous wife who will do unto him as I would have him do unto me.  (He’ll owe me.)  I’ll take her because she’ll think it’s Fun and I want to make sure she has enough Fun in her little life. 

If I were a kid, someone would have bought me a milkshake and let me watch television for the rest of the day. 

Those were the good old days.

The problem is that I suffer from a lack of imagination.  While women are rising through the ranks of government, I can’t stop wondering whether growing out my bangs was really such a great idea.  While some women believe they can make eggs looks like festive little packages, I consider whether mopping the floor really matters when you have four kids and half the neighborhood running through the kitchen.  While yet others open schools for underprivileged children (spending forty million dollars in the process), I decide to let sleeping teens lie at least a little longer before forcing them to confront math and their arch-nemesis, composition.

I have low standards.  I wasn’t always this way, but I have sunk to this level after time and kids have eroded the walls surrounding my long-nourished perfectionism.  Now, the flood-waters of mediocrity have seeped in and I have flung myself into the murky soup in complete resignation.  Face it, I’m not raising the singing Von Trapp family or managing an obedient houseful of seventeen children like Michelle Duggar.  I’m just flailing around, trying to stay afloat.

A greater imagination would elevate me above my current cluttered surroundings and into the realm of accomplishment.  Remember that saying you probably encountered in high school:  “If you can believe it, you can achieve it”?  Do you believe that?  I don’t.  But then again, I suffer from a lack of imagination and even worse, a healthy case of pessimism.

I really did think I’d be a better mother than I am.  (I believed it . . . did I achieve it?  See how that saying breaks down under scrutiny?)  Now, midway through the years of having children at home, I wonder if I’ve squandered the teenagers’ childhoods.  Did I do all I could do?  Do they have enough happy memories to sustain them through the rigors of adulthood?  Is the foundation of their childhood strong enough to support the rest of their lives?  When you have a 13-year old, are you supposed to be able to peer into their eyes and see a successful adult lurking somewhere in the shadows of their futures or do all mothers despair of their kids ever voluntarily wearing deodorant and putting their shoes away?

These thoughts brought to you by a mean headache gripping my forehead, jarring my brain and reminding me what happens when I run out of Diet Coke with Lime.

Updated:  What do you know?  Someone knocked at the door, just after lunchtime, and it wasn’t a neighborhood boy.  It was a friend who brought me a 12-pack of Diet Coke with Lime.  What a delightful surprise!  Thanks, friend.

We’re back to our normal routine.  Waking early, shuffling one kid off to school, sending off two to P.E. at the YMCA, dodging the preschoolers and toddler as they careen around the house, doing laps.  Laundry, more laundry, dirty dishes, literature, math, grammar, neighborhood kids who just walk in the front door without even knocking, rain hurtling itself at the ground with such vehemence and force that I have to wonder why the weather is so angry with us.

Meanwhile, a high school kid in Tacoma shot and killed another high school kid in the school hallway. 

Unthinkable.  Incomprehensible.  Tragic.

Last year on this day, I wrote this totally entertaining description of our lovely time at the shore with our perfectly adorable and bestest friends in the whole world who had invited us to dig razor-clams over the New Year holiday.  This year, I have no such tale to tell.  We’re home.  And in fact, the boys aren’t here at all–they’ve all gone to play with friends, so they are making noise in someone else’s house.  Which is awesome, if you ask me. 

My daughter woke up at 6:40 a.m. for no apparent reason.  I rocked her for a few minutes, intending to return her to bed, but she asked in a sweet little voice, “Can I sleep in your bed?  I will not wake you up.” and I answered with some relief and utter fatigue, “Sure.”  She snuggled next to my back for about five minutes, then whispered, “I’m hungry.”

And her day began with a crunchy granola bar and television while I returned to bed for sporadic stretches of sleep until 9 a.m.  Predictably, she was crabby midway through the day and fell apart entirely when her adored brother left her to go play with his friend.  She couldn’t stop crying, so I persuaded her to lay down and watch Spongebob.  A while later, she drifted into my room where I was perusing my bookshelves, weeding out books I’ve already read and preparing a stack to give away on this very blog.  She sprawled out on the floor, right where I’d been standing, and fell asleep with her face tucked neatly under the bed. 

In the subsequent quiet, my husband said (from the comfort of the bed where he was watching football), “So this is how it will be when the kids are gone, huh?” and I said, “Yes, except you’ll be asking me every fifteen minutes what we’re having to eat.”  And he said, “What are we having to eat?” and I . . . well, I can’t tell you exactly what gesture I made, but those of you with impure minds can guess.

(We’re having leftover lasagna, which he won’t eat because of its heavy cheese content.  I’m having salad.  I guess he’ll starve to death.)

The stillness in the house is broken only by the tick-tocking of the kitchen clock and the phantom sounds of the Nintendo Wii bowling game which seems to play itself in the absence of children.  I hear the faint rumble of a football game on the television upstairs and the reedy hum of an airplane flying above the dark grey clouds outside.  And the heat just clicked on.

I could get used to an empty nest.

(Don’t tell the kids.)

My Fairy Blogmother (the one who got me started in this whole blog-thing) tagged me to do a meme and how can I resist when it comes from her?  So, Brandie, this is for you!

I’m supposed to list six weird things.  I believe I’ve done this before, but off the top of my head, here are six weird things about me that you might not know.

1)  I have a huge head.  Hats never fit me.

2)  Hearing silverware click on teeth drives me insane.  God gave us lips and tongues for a reason–to stop the tooth-silverware click!

3)  I hate playing board games, with the possible exception of Blokus which has been fun both times I’ve played, even though I’ve lost.  I also like Cranium played with adults.  Perhaps the truth is that I just hate playing board games with kids.

4)  I don’t listen to music much and can’t imagine why I’d ever need an iPod.  Yet, I love music–I play the piano, I sing.  I just can’t stand competing noises and in my house, there’s too much noise to appreciate music.

5)  I go to movies alone.  In fact, I prefer going alone.

6)  I’d rather shop in a thrift store than a department store.

There you go, Brandie!

As it turns out, my blog host got a new server and consequently, my blog was disconnected from all things internet for a few days.  Did you miss me? 

When I was in high school, one of my writing teachers had us do “free-writing,” an exercise in which we just wrote without pausing to even think much.  That, I’m afraid, is what this blog post will be.  So, prepare for the ramble.

My teenage twins spent the night at their friend’s house last night.  This was their first-ever sleep-over and they took full advantage of the freedom by staying up until either 4:00 a.m. or 6:00 a.m., depending on which twin you ask.  This evening, at 5:00 p.m., I returned home from a little shopping excursion (fifty-percent off!) and found both boys engaged in tidying up the house, under the direct orders and supervision of my husband.  As it turned out, he found them both sound asleep at 4:30 p.m. and woke them up and got them moving again, telling them they couldn’t sleep until 8 p.m.  As we watched them drag around, we cracked secret jokes about their fatigue and snickered as all good parents would do in similar circumstances.

A few weeks ago, on a Friday night, I went to Target.  To my surprise, I found a line of camping chairs outside the entrance.  As I passed by, I said to a bundled-up woman, “What are you waiting for?” and she informed me that a new shipment of Nintendo Wii consoles was going to arrive Sunday morning.  This was Friday night.  FRIDAY NIGHT.  She intended to sleep on the sidewalk for the privilege of purchasing the console Sunday morning.  She said, by way of explanation, “I have a twelve year old.”  I said, “I just told my boys they’d get it after Christmas.”

And so, Tuesday afternoon, my entire family went to Target to spend Christmas cash.  While standing in the video game aisle, my 8-year old looked down and spied the Nintendo Wii.  Ta-da!  I got a Wii and I didn’t even have to stand in line or sleep on a sidewalk to do so!

In the hours between midnight on Christmas Eve and 7:20 a.m. Christmas Day, my daughter woke me up three or four times.  Nothing says Christmas cheer like delirium.  However, Christmas Day was a quiet oasis of peace and calm in our house.  After a childhood and adolescence shuttling from one divorced parent’s house to the next, I relish staying in my own home with my own family on holidays. 

Two nights ago, my daughter woke me up every two hours to request a tissue.  Seems she had come down with a little cold.  Finally, I overcame my sluggishness and put the whole box of tissues next to her pillow.  Duh.

My husband played Monopoly tonight with the four-year old and the 8-year old and apparently felt not one whit of guilt over beating the pants off the 8-year old.  If I’d been playing (fat chance as I hate board games), I would have let the 8-year old win as I can’t bear to see him cry.  And he did cry because he hates to lose.  When I was growing up, I used to play Monopoly with my brother, but I’d get so bored and I’d say, “I’m done.  Want my money?” and he’d be furious. 

I saw “Dreamgirls” this week.  Jennifer Hudson should be billed as the star of the movie–she was remarkable.  Her performance caused the audience at the theater to break into spontaneous applause.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  The woman who stole my right armrest offered a running narrative throughout the movie, from “OH NO HE DID NOT!” to harmonies sung in key to an arm raised as if in a Pentecostal church service.  I quite enjoyed the audience participation.  Jennifer Hudson had better win an award for this movie.  She outshone Beyonce’, Eddie Murphy and Jamie Foxx. 

I really hate television during this season.  I am eagerly awaiting the premiere of my favorite show, “24”, as well as “The Apprentice,” “Survivor” and “American Idol.”  What shows are you looking forward to watching in 2007?

By the way, I have to say that Rosie O’Donnell seems to have committed the ultimate sin, according to Donald Trump, which is to be fat and average-looking.  I hate men who consider women worthwhile only if they are thin and beautiful.  I find it insulting and I find men like Donald Trump disgusting, although I like to watch “The Apprentice,” anyway.  Go figure.  I also like to watch Rosie O’Donnell on “The View” (when I remember and when I have time), even though I can’t understand why she wants to pick a fight with a slime-ball like The Donald. 

Well, there you go.  The most incoherent post ever. 

You’re welcome.

Click here for pointless, holiday fun. 

Last you knew, the children were licking green frosting from their fingers.  Since then, the following events have occurred:

1)  I visited the dentist for the first of many appointments.  Although the dentist is gentle and cheerful and looks a little like Santa’s younger, fitter brother, I did not appreciate the drilling and grinding of my molar, nor was I thrilled with the news that the tooth is beginning to crack and that a crown will be required eventually.  I tried to distract myself from the ungodly noise by thinking up words adequate to describe how I could feel the grinding of the drill in my frontal cortex, just beneath my eyebrows.  But I couldn’t think because my brain was rattling.

2)  I treated my kids and one neighborhood boy to see “Charlotte’s Web,” which was a delightful movie.  This was my four-year old’s second movie in a theater and I am happy to report that we didn’t leave the movie for a bathroom break (only once for a popcorn refill).  Afterward, I even let them play one arcade game each in the lobby.  I rock.

3)  I took three of my kids to Christmas pageant practice.  One of my sons is a speaking angel, one is a king.  My daughter might have been a sheep, but as it turned out, she enjoyed being the understudy for Mary much more.  During the second run-through, she sat on “Mary’s” chair and cradled a doll who filled in for Baby Jesus.  She sat so quietly the whole time, taking her role very seriously.  I don’t think she’ll go back to being a sheep.  We’ll probably just watch the pageant from the front row.

4)  I shopped.  Several nights. 

5)  I slept in!

6)  I baked cookies, three different kinds, plus a pan of brownies.

7)  I diagnosed my computer problem which was an allergic reaction to the security program that came installed on this computer.  After several hours of frustration, I figured out how to uninstall the program and get my regular firewalls, anti-virus programs and anti-spyware programs running properly.

8)  My daughter and I went to the zoo.  (Forty-degrees!  What fun!)  She had a great time and I discovered my camera’s batteries were run down.  And I didn’t have my spare batteries because they were in my purse and I left my purse at home and only brought essentials in my pockets.  Oops.

That’s all.  I think.  I can’t believe tomorrow is Christmas Eve.  We’ll have church in the morning and at night.  Christmas Day will be quiet, spent at home with just our little family.  I am looking forward to that day and all next week when my husband will be on vacation from work.  I intend to hit the after-Christmas sales and see more movies. 

Meanwhile, laundry beckons and what do you bet the teenagers will be clamoring for dinner soon?