I’m back!

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.

Updated

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?

The fun never ends around here.

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And today, the children decorated frosting Christmas trees, constructed with royal meringue icing and candy.  It’s like gingerbread house decoration, only without the architecture.  The smaller trees are upside down ice cream cones.  The larger ones are Styrofoam cones. 

I used to think my life as a mother would be one craft project after the next . . . reality is that one craft project over the span of a Christmas break is all I can manage.

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Tomorrow?  Cookies, I think.  Brownies, for sure, for a church family with a new baby.  After that?  A mandatory Christmas pageant rehearsal.  Ho ho ho. 

But right now . . . David Letterman.

 

Oh really?

The thing is, I parked within the lines at Costco last Sunday . . . contrary to the accusations of the anonymous commenter on the previous post who determined that I deserved to have my vehicle “keyed” in five separate places.  I suspect that commenter has personal experience . . . otherwise, how would he/she know what, exactly, the criteria is for vandalizing another person’s property.  What a dork.  I only published your comment so everyone could see what an idiot you are.

I managed to get my Christmas cards in the mail today.  Yesterday, I devoted myself to preparing three packages to be sent to Texas to relatives . . . and wouldn’t you know, they’ll be late anyway.  Oh well.  Tomorrow, I’m thinking about making Christmas cookies for the neighbors . . . a gesture to all the families of the boys who tend to hang out here.  (Yesterday, two brothers were here for almost an hour and NONE of my boys were even home.  How funny is that?)

Our church is having a little pageant on Christmas Eve and I’m telling you, the daily practices are really cramping my style!  (Even though I personally don’t have to attend.)  At least we’re only having one service this Christmas Eve.  Usually, my husband is gone from the afternoon until after midnight.  That’s why I instituted our annual Christmas Eve meal:  nachos.  I wanted our Christmas Eve dinner to be festive, easy and kid-friendly.  They think it’s really cool to have nachos for dinner and it’s really easy (they mostly like the fake-nacho cheese that comes in a can, which I hate . . . but boy, it’s simple!)  I make fancier nachos for myself. 

Saturday night, we went to a dinner.  Guess where it was held?

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And I found the sign I’d like to have hanging over my room in the nursing home:

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I found that sign very amusing, almost as amusing as anonymous commenters.

A letter to a most despicable dunderhead.

Dear Damnable Defacer,

How dare you? In the darkling dusk, you dragged a dart-like device across my Disco van.

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Did you dash away after your dastardly deed? Are you dense? Daft? Devious? I dabbed at the disfigurement, disturbing the dust, but the destruction didn’t disappear. A deadbeat like you deserves a dropkick into the depths of hell, detouring around the Day of Judgment.

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You, dear decerebrate, define degeneration. I decry your decided decrepitude and decree that you shall receive a decupling of defecation upon your dirty, dirty, downtrodden, deformed dodo-head. I despise you. I deplore you. I hope a dump-truck lands on you and that your dirty sins haunt you forever.

Drop dead, you dull-witted dunce. May you suffer from dyspareunia daily.

With Deep Loathing,

Disco-Van Driver (who wasn’t even parked over the line, you idiot)

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The Pastor’s wife hates Sunday mornings. True or false?

I really despise Sunday mornings, especially since I’m now teaching Sunday School. I have to get up extra early and since my husband, the pastor, is already gone, I have to motivate, push and cajole my children into getting ready early, too. Here’s how this morning went.

7:20 a.m.: I wake up and tell myself (I’M A LIAR!) that I can sleep longer.

7:30 a.m.: I hear my 8-year old head to the bathroom, so from bed, I call out, “Hey, can you take a bath?” So he does.

7:45 a.m.: I crawl from bed and turn on the hot water for my shower. Apparently, my dear son has had a deep, hot bath because even after five minutes of running, the shower is tepid.

8:00 a.m.: I wake the boys and ask them to shower. I think by now the water might be hot enough for two showers. I’ve decided to skip mine–I took one last night before we went out–and so I proceed to get ready.

A few minutes later, one son is in the shower and I am putting on contact lenses. That’s when I drop one into the murky water pooling in the sink. I wore glasses to church today because that was my last contact lens.

8:30 a.m.: I am about ready. The boys are ready. My daughter is asleep. I attempt to wake her. She begins to cry. I agree to cover her back up and let her sleep a bit. I give her a few minutes. Five minutes later, after assembling all her clothes, I tell her she has to get up. She protests, but I swoop in and before she knows what’s happening, I have her in tights, her jumper and Mary Janes.

9:00 a.m.: We arrive at church only ten minutes late.

After we arrive, I don’t mind Sunday mornings. But I hate, hate, hate getting up on Sundays.

I am so grateful for two weeks of vacation from school. I am so grateful for electricity. (Some people in our area still don’t have power.) My gratitude helps me overlook the dastardly deed that occurred this afternoon . . . and which I will describe in lurid detail tomorrow. (Or at least I’ll describe using a few choice adjectives.)

Well, blow me down!

I am a big whiner.  I have realized how ungrateful I am for the simple niceties I enjoy in my everyday life.  I assume I will have light when I flip a switch, and heat blowing from the vents.  I take hot water for granted.  I believe I deserve a high speed internet connection and a cute pink cell phone that works at all times.

And then, all of that is blown away by a super-duper windstorm and I wonder how people survive without modern technology?  My husband happened to bring home a battery-powered radio yesterday and I’d filled the two flashlights I could find with fresh batteries and placed three tea-light candle-holders with new candles on the counter.  Still.  When the power snapped off at 9:52 p.m., somehow it took me by surprise and I did not take it well.  For one thing, the kids had been up late watching “The Polar Express” on television and they had just turned it off.  Even my daughter was still awake and I had had my fill of children.  In fact, I was full to overflowing with the abundance of children.

I had so been looking forward to stretching out in the recliner with a bowl of fat-free popcorn, watching “Real World Road Rules Challenge” on MTV.  (My husband cannot stop mocking me for watching shows on MTV.  I say, hey, at least I’m not watching city council meetings on television like some people.)  Anyway, instead of watching television, I crawled into bed at a little after ten and listened to some crime show in CBS on the radio.  Then, I listened to the news at 11:00 p.m. on the radio.  Then, I listened to David Letterman on the radio as I half-slept the fitful sleep of the terrified.

Because I was terrified.  I’ve always been a big fan of storms, especially noisy storms.  I once slept my way through a hurricane.  One time, I ignored a tornado watch or warning–I can’t remember which–because I wasn’t the least bit worried.  (And I didn’t want to wake my babies and take them to the basement.)  I love storms.  I used to love storms.  I loved storms until last February when a sudden, frigid, mighty wind blew through my little town and knocked over trees right and left as if they were toothpicks stuck in a sandcastle.  A very big tree hit my neighbor’s house and her neighbor’s house, too and very nearly crushed her van while she and her children sat in it. 

Now, I’m not such a big fan of storms.  And while I listened to the news on the radio and they mentioned trees falling and gusts up to 40, 50, 60, 90 miles an hour, I feared that the enormous bursts of wind rattling my windows would knock over the trees that stand in my neighbor’s backyard. And those trees, naturally, would fall onto my roof, causing extensive damage and–just for fun–kill me.

My husband went downstairs to sleep, but I stubbornly stayed upstairs, near my two youngest children.  And I worried.  I fretted.  I could feel adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart pumping extra hard.  I tried to do that deep breathing thing to fake myself into calmness, but really, I just knew that for sure, a tree would crash down on my house.  How much does it cost to repair a broken house?  Probably more than it costs to repair broken teeth and frankly, we don’t have the money.

Oh, and speaking of money and repairs . . . before the power went off, I noticed a wet spot on my  bedroom ceiling, a little smaller than my fist.  Yes, just what we need . . . a leaky ceiling!  Which means a leaky roof!  Which means I’m going to go sell my plasma and then my hair and eventually my kidneys.  What next?  Oh, strike that.  I didn’t ask.  I don’t want to know.

So, I hardly slept all night, but somehow I was asleep when morning came.  I was in a dream, apparently in New York and my husband had rented me a hotel room for $499 and I couldn’t get to it and furthermore, FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY-NINE DOLLARS?  Are you INSANE? 

The kids I babysit arrived right on time . . . moms and dads have to work, even if the power’s gone off.  So, I leaped from bed, ran my hands through my troubled hair and opened the front door to welcome them.  My phones didn’t work.  The temperature in the house had dipped to a chilly sixty degrees.  I took a fast shower, thankful for the hot water stored in the tank, and dressed warmly.  And so the day began.

My husband went to buy flashlights and Duraflame logs, which provide light but no heat in our worthless glass-front fireplace.  He bought milk and turkey lunch-meat, donuts and bread, crackers and summer sausage.  He rocks.  Even though I was completely crabby to him when he was here and he make a crack about never being able to retire because I am so unpleasant to be around.  Well, it’s true.  PMS happened to coincide with the absence of electricity and my lack of sleep.  I wish I could get away from me, too.

I spent the morning tidying the house . . . because if we were going to be without power for a second night, we needed to be able to walk without stumbling over things.  And because I needed some order around here.  So I cleaned up the boys’ room and piled all the laundry in one place and put away all the toys that have migrated to all corners of the house.  I also made the boys do two lessons of math so we’d be done with the unit before Christmas break next week. 

The boys were outside cleaning up the branches and mess from the storm (orders from their dad, ha ha!) and I even went out there and in a big, dramatic huff, showed them how to do it.  While I was straightening up my daughter’s room (she finds it necessary to empty her toy-box and pull all the videos from their cases at least once every two weeks), the power came back on!  Which was a direct result of my husband returning home with the aforementioned flashlights, batteries and logs and telling me, “We probably won’t have power for a second night.”  If only he’d done all that sooner!  Who knew he had such power? 

Anyway, so the kids let out a great whoop of celebration and came tumbling into the house–including two extra kids–and I started the dishwasher and the clothes washer and dryer and fixed myself a giant glass of Diet Coke and turned the heat up a notch. 

I have never been so happy to have electricity as I was today after being without it for thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes.  And I am extremely grateful that I wasn’t crushed in my sleep by a tall Douglas Fir and that the wet spot on the ceiling only got a tiny bit bigger overnight and that the rain has stopped and the sun is sort of shining through thin clouds today.  Oh, and the fact that tomorrow is Saturday?  I am delirious with joy.

Now, if I could just get all these kids (my four, two babysittees, four neighborhood boys) quiet, how great would that be?  Ha ha.  A girl can dream.

Movie Reviews

This afternoon was not good.  My daughter, the inappropriately named Grace, kept grabbing toys from her “best baby” who is two.  He’d shriek each time and I’d reprimand her and try to talk her into sharing nicely and would offer substitute toys to the boy.  Then, it would happen again.  Finally, fed up, I said, “That’s it!  If you take another toy from him, I will pick you up, take you to your room and put you in your bed!” 

Then she’d whine again.  “I want that toy!” and I’d say, “What am I going to do if you don’t stop whining?”  And she’d stop long enough to say, “Put me in my room.”  Then she’d pick up where she left off until my scalp actually detached from my head in a bloody, unfortunate display of annoyance.

No, actually, I scooped her up, she writhed in defiance and screamed and I marched her upstairs and dumped her in her room.  She screamed and cried for quite awhile.  The two year old looked at me and said, “G-acey cry?  I have toy.”  Over and over again. 

Eventually, she appeared, tearful and asked to be rocked. 

As you can imagine, that was about the time I decided to go to a movie tonight.  I won’t mention the details, but some of you are familiar with the irrational time of month when you understand why some people snap and throw their televisions through their plate glass windows.  Or not.  Anyway, I knew I needed to get out of this house, STAT!

I saw “The Blood Diamond,” which stars Leonard DeCaprio, Jennifer Connelly and Djimon Hounsou.  All three actors were remarkable . . . the film was very violent, as it was set in 1999 during the Civil War in Sierra Leone.  At its heart, it was a movie about a race and a chase.  You can check out reviews for more details, but I liked it.  Be warned that the violence is very intense and the subject matter disturbing (child soldiers, etc.).

Last weekend, I saw Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto.  This was also an extremely violent movie (a creatively violent movie, even) and also about a chase, but it was also a visually memorable and stunning movie shot on location in South America.  Think what you might about the private life of Mel Gibson, but he is a brilliant director.  I couldn’t help but be amazed at the scope of his movie.  Again, be warned that this movie is not for the faint of heart.  Oh, and it’s all in subtitles.  

Did I mention that I saw “Babel” a few weeks ago?  I’m not sure it’s still in the theaters, but I did enjoy it.  Three seemingly separate stories unfold, taking place on three different continents and you don’t really know how they are intertwined until the end.  Mostly, though, I enjoyed seeing Brad Pitt look every year of of his age.  I could have done without the extraneous nudity which seemed very exploitative to me, but I overall, I liked the movie. 

This is the time of year when I try to see movies that I think might be nominated for Academy Awards.  I like to see all the nominated films and actors before the awards show . . . it’s sort of a hobby for me, I guess.  I don’t always succeed, but I like the challenge of guessing who will win.  (Last year, I was absolutely correct, too, picking “Crash” over the common expectation that “Brokeback Mountain” would win.)

Anyway, that’s where I was tonight.  I hurried home in time to watch Barbara Walter’s special while putting in thirty minutes on the exercise bike. 

Only three more days of school before Christmas break.  I don’t think I’ve been this excited about Christmas break since I was fourteen.  Or since last year at this time.

Christmas Card Shortcomings

I love receiving personal mail as much as the next person.  Thus, Christmas-card season is one of my favorite mail-times of the year.  However, when I open up a card from an old friend and all I find are signatures . . . I am disappointed.  I want a breezy summary of the year or at least a few bullet points or something!  How about a handwritten sentence or a promise to email or visit?

I hate the Christmas newsletter bragging as much as the next person . . . my blood turns green from envying all the Hawaiian vacations and tropical cruises, but still, I’d rather have that kind of news than no news at all.  Tell me how much smarter your kids are than mine and how they were invited to a Hollywood premiere based on their cuteness alone.  But tell me something.

At the very least, send a picture!  Preferably one of someone with a finger in her nose.  (Ah-ha!  An excuse to post this picture again!) Nosepicker.jpg

Now, I must go write my amusing, informative and yet completely devoid-of-bragging newsletter.  You should, too!