It was DADDY!

We put our Christmas tree up the day before Thanksgiving this year, but ran out of ornament hooks.  I finally got some, and we decided to finish decorating our tree tonight.

Halfway through, I spied something odd on the couch.  

"Is that...an apple seed?" I asked, puzzled.  

Sound parenting advice:

NEVER, EVER PICK UP ANYTHING DARK BROWN/BLACK IN COLOR.

It squished between my fingers instantly and smelled very, very bad.

"NOAH!" I yelled.  I'd like to say I was patient and gentle, but I'm pretty much at the end of my POOP rope.

"WHA-AT?" he sing-songed back.

"Why is there POOP ON MY COUCH?"

"It was DADDY!" he shouted, and ran the other way.

My poor husband.  He is usually the smelliest one of us, but he just didn't deserve that.

Photo Time!

Today was Holiday Picture Day for us.  It was decided that my sister, my sister-in-law, and I would group up and share an appointment.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I hate photo "places."  They are always crowded, and I seem to have a special Super Vision power for seeing the germs coating all surfaces and even floating in the air.  We went with a photo place, of course, because it's really much easier for everyone that way and because, you know, we wanted to be able to pay for the pictures.  That seemed key.

I knew about this appointment weeks in advance and picking out Christmas outfits was an enormous pain in the you-know-what.  We all agreed we wanted the kids kind of "matchy" this year, and even though were going with standard Christmasy colors, I felt insane levels of pressure in choosing the just-right outfits for the boys.  By the time outfitting was done, I had ordered online from three different places, made one return, and had to hit up one store in person. (And then, my husband saw the outfits and said, "I don't like them.  Why didn't you ask me?")

This morning, I timed everything out perfectly.  Our appointment was at ten, so I considered dressing times, bathroom times, and coating up.  We were leaving the house by 9:45, which felt safe.  Until I realized I had no idea where the photo place was.  I thought it was by Target, but when I got there, I couldn't find the photo place anywhere.  I reached for my cell phone to call my sister, but I didn't have it.  In fact, I didn't even have my own car.

"Take my car, hon," Joe said.  "It'll be much easier because...." I can't remember the rest.  It doesn't matter.  A) I hate driving Joe's car, because it's fancy.  B) My cell phone was in the cup holder of MY car.

I looked at the clock and saw it was 9:58.  So much for being on time.  Without a cell phone, I had to go all the way back home.  I HATE being late for anything, so my heart began skipping beats and my foot sank down on the accelerator a little harder.

"Why dontcha just CALL them?" asked Joey unhelpfully in the backseat.

"No, I can't," I said.  "I don't have my phone."

"Can you turn on the radio?" whined Noah.

I huffed.  "I don't know HOW in Daddy's car."  It's true.  Joe's car has so many darn buttons and gadgets and lights.  Anytime I try to do anything, I end up resetting the seat settings (while the car is still moving), squirting windshield washer fluid, blasting the air conditioning in the dead of winter, or turning on a seat heater that totally scalds me and even leaves welts.  I find it's much better to just leave it all alone.

"Doesn't Daddy's car have a MAGIC PHONE?" asked Joey.

OnStar.  Yes, it has OnStar!  I pressed the little button on the rearview mirror.

"Thank you for using OnStar."

"PHONE!" I said loudly.  I couldn't waste time being misunderstood.

"I'm sorry.  Please give a command."

"PHONE!"

"I'm sorry.  I didn't get that.  Did you say, 'Help'?"

"PHONE!" I shouted.

"You're being very clear, Mom," said Joey.

"Thanks."

OnStar interrupted us, "Please give a command."

"PHONE!"

"Would you like to use the phone?"

"YES!"

"No?  Please give a command."

At this point, I was halfway home.  But still, it would be way easier to reach my sister than it would be to drive all the way home.  For once, the boys were being blessedly cooperative and quiet in the back while I argued with the frustratingly solicitous computer voice of OnStar.

"PHONE!" I shouted again, leaning over now so my forehead was bumping the rearview mirror.

"Phone?"

"Yes," I said in what I hoped was the same accent as the computer.

"Please give the full phone number you'd like to call."

GLORY!  I spit out the ten digit phone number.  OnStar repeated an eleven digit number back to me.  In other words, the wrong number.

"NO!"  I shouted.

"No?  Thank you.  Goodbye."  And OnStar hung up on me!  I had to start OVER!!!?

I'll save you the frustration of my re-do.  I finally got through to my sister's cell phone, and not knowing Joe's car phone number, she let it go to voicemail.

I then repeated the entire OnStar experience calling Christine.  Thankfully, she answered.  "Where ARE you?" she asked, either appalled at my lateness or just feeling serious pressure from Jane, who tolerates lateness even less than I do.

Where did she think I was?  The moon?  Having coffee with old friends?  "I'm lost!  Where IS this place?"

"It's by Target," she said.

SERIOUSLY???


As I whirled Joe's big fancy car into a U-turn (some wild driving I'm sure its never seen before), I said to the boys through short, frantic breaths, "I'm so sorry Mommy was yelling at the phone, boys.  I really, really hate being late.  I just want to get us to our pictures!"

"Mom, MOM," said Noah in his most authoritative voice.  "It's OKAY.  You're doing FINE.  You can do this, I know you can.  You're the best mom."

That kid!  Do you love him or what???

Anyway, here's a little practice shot from home:

P.S.--The pictures turned out great, but the wait to CHOOSE our pictures was atrocious.  Not to mention the EMERGENCY when Noah almost drank from a public water fountain.  We all recovered, but it was a close call.

Cwazy

Driving with my two boys in the car drives me I-N-S-A-N-E.

Let me back up.  Last night while eating dinner at my mom's--which is a regular thing for me, since NO ONE likes my cooking--I received a message on my answering machine.  It was about the Christmas Wreaths I'd bought as part of a fundraiser at Joey's school.  Pickup had been between 4 and 6 pm yesterday.  Somehow, I'd missed it.

I'm just not really good at the whole...Billions of Papers Coming Home In Joey's Backpack thing.  Seriously, the schools are all supposed to be on board with saving the environment, and they kill more trees than anybody.  I can't believe what comes home in Joey's backpack.  As a working mom, I totally gave up and figured that if something was THAT important, I'd catch it on the fiftieth notice or else he would just tell me.  I like that better than what I'm doing this year, which is Trying To Keep Up.

I thought I was doing okay until last night's message.  The people in charge, parent volunteers, were very polite when I called them back.  "I have no idea how I missed this date," I apologized over the phone.  They did not say, "It's okay, don't worry about it."  Instead they said, "We brought them home with us.  When would be convenient for you to pick them up?"

As an English Major For Life, I tend to read into people's tones and word choice, and I was totally picking up on a vibe with these folks.  They did NOT think it was okay that I'd missed the big Wreath Pickup.  (I swear to God I never saw a notice about it.)  All the same, I tried to maintain a level of sweetness without becoming phony (which is really hard for me since I tend to blurt and/or say exactly what I'm thinking).

I was super nervous all day about having to pick up the stupid wreaths, it having been decided that after 4 pm would be best.  Noah was actually kind of wonderful today.  We had our first real snow of the year, and ran around in the driveway catching snowflakes on our tongues.  Then we warmed up and played Mickey Mouse all morning, had a great nap, later sang Christmas songs and played more Mickey Mouse.  When Joey got off the bus, things were a little crazier, since coming home from school seems to let loose some sort of mania inside him that he's been keeping at bay for his teacher all day.

I got Joey changed, loaded them into the car, and sped off through the streets of our town in search of the Wreath House.  I was feeling anxious about the unhappy Wreath People, since they were specifically unhappy with me, and decided a quiet drive might calm my nerves.

"MOMMA!" shouted Noah.  "TURN ON 'SUMMER OF '69!!'"

"Mom," said Joey, "Do you know what happened at school today?"

"SUMMER OF '69!  SUMMER OF SSSSSSSIIIIIIIXXXXXXTTTTTYYYYY NIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!"

"MOMMA!  DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AT SCHOOL TODAY???"

"What happened at school, Joey?"  Now I'm fiddling with the radio, watching the road, my windshield wipers start randomly going, and Noah is still screaming "Summer of '69."

"Well," Joey says conversationally, like it's just me and him over a cup of coffee on a desert island, "I decided to tie my shoes together because I was bored, and my teacher caught me, and she had to cut my shoelaces off, and--"

So, it wasn't a peaceful ride.

The Wreath People, upon my arrival, were actually smiley and rather pleasant, so it turned out my Professional English Major vibes were off.  It happens.  But on the ride home, the boys got even worse.  "Summer of '69" was playing on repeat, Noah was belting it out, and Joey was trying to tell me about a picture of a rash he saw in his DEAR book that he was sure he was going to contract from touching the pages, and it was getting dark, and Joey actually starting crying about the rash, so Noah sang louder, and then Joey thought his gums were hurting, and finally I lost it.

"HEY!" I said over the noise.  "LISTEN! DRIVING IS VERY SERIOUS BUSINESS!  I canNOT listen to you, answer your questions, AND safely drive this car, so YOU NEED TO BE QUIET!!!"

There was a moment of beautiful, loud silence until Noah said, "Mommy, you are CWAZY."

I Forgot

A list of things I routinely cannot find:
Car keys
Credit card
Cell phone
Cordless home phone
Driver's license
Wedding rings
Remote control
Any important documents I will ever need again
A pen

Things I most say to my husband most often:
Have you seen...?
Where is my...?
Did you move the...?
Can you help me find...?
I'm going to be late and I lost my...!!!
YOU MOVED IT!  I KNOW YOU DID!

Last spring, I bought my father-in-law a great birthday gift.  I dressed my boys up for his party, and we drove over a half hour early to spend extra time with him on his special day.  It was the wrong day.

I once sat in a doctor's waiting room for a half hour before someone came out and told me my appointment was the following week, and they'd be happy to see me then.

Several times a day, I enter a room and immediately forget why I'm there.

This probably all seems very frightening to other people, but I can tell you when it began.  Or rather, with whom.  He is three years old and believes that sleeping is optional.  If you are up for a rock concert at 2 am, he'd be happy to oblige.

I'm pretty sure that given a glass of wine and a solid night's sleep, my keys would be on the hook by the door, my purse would hold my credit card, license, and cell phone, my wedding ring would be on my hand, and I'd know where to find a pen.  A pen that works, even.

A

St. Somewhere

I have a plan.

Joe and I are going to pack up the kids, sell our house, and move to a tropical country that is relatively safe and germ-free but needs an accounting overhaul.

I figure if they need an accounting overhaul, they'll also need a few lawyers, so that means the rest of my family will need to move to this place, too.  They don't know about this plan yet.

We will all move to said tropical place, and then my mom and I will open a school for the adorable, underprivileged, and underestimated children.

We will become the royalty of this tropical nation, and have lots and lots of money.  We might live in a giant, state-of-the-art tree house like Swiss Family Robinson, or we might live in a massive chain of beach bungalows.  I haven't really decided yet.

My mother will cook.  Everything will be fruity and delicious.  She will teach the natives about good spaghetti sauce and they will teach her the secret of serious jerk chicken.  The natives will give us rum and there will be daiquiris and delights.  I will be in excellent shape because I will beach-walk and swim often.  I will own big sunglasses and have a sarong.  My children will wear straw hats and run barefoot out the front door every morning to beautiful weather.

We will always be miraculously missed by hurricanes and other tropical storms.  We will have a boat, a jet ski, and an exotic pet.  Like a macaw, or a zebra.  If I let my brother come, he will NOT bring his dog.

I will ride my zebra down the beach at sunset, and Joe will ride an ostrich.  Because he's that kind of guy.

And working will be fun, and life will be great, and most importantly...

I will never be cold again.  I hate winter.

No Matter What

Today I felt like a total failure at being a Super Amazing Stay-At-Home Mom.  It really began yesterday afternoon and then just bled over into today, and I'm pretty sure that while I feel in my heart like a moronic seventeen-year-old without a clue, I look like a seventy-year-old life-long chain smoker.  With bad hair and no makeup.


To help you gain perspective, here is the body of text from an email I sent to my sister and to Joe at work yesterday:

Noah just pooped ON THE FLOOR, NEXT TO the toilet.

He's been constipated all day, and kept sneaking off to do his pushing in other rooms. Every time I'd put him on the toilet, he'd suck it all back in and announce, "I'm better now!"

Finally, I was unyielding. Gates up, game on. I was in the next room when he called. "Mom! I goed! It's HUGE!" I said, "You pooped on the potty?" He said, "No! On the floor! Next to the potty!"

His tone of voice completely showed that he was having a "Why haven't I thought of this before?" moment, and it was so completely disgusting and unacceptable, I can't even tell you the freakout I had. He had also stepped in one large, deliberate blob, and then denied it, despite the fact that it was all over his sock and ground into--wait for it--the GROUT.

I freaking hate everything.

Oh, yeah, and the toilet is now plugged.  I can see the massive poop blocking everything.

Here is the email I sent him today.  

You're going to come home one of these days and I'm going to be dead, and Noah will be standing on top of my corpse, smiling.

Still, despite the fact that Noah's personality and mine seem to mix as well as oil and vinegar, let's not forget that oil and vinegar make really, really good salad dressing.  Right?  There were a lot of tears in our house today, and at one point, Noah looked at me and said, "I don't even need a mommy."

At bedtime, I had to do something to make him know that everything was okay.  That we all have really bad days, and we yell and we feel crazy, but we always love each other.  Is there any better book in the world for that than Love You Forever by Robert Munsch?  I don't think so.  

And when I read, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living--" Noah interrupted me by grabbing my face and kissing me.  Then he said, "I'll love you forever, too, Momma.  You're a good Momma."

Crazed Shopper

I have always found "The Ungettable Get"--that one gift every year that people fight over, but can't find in stores or online--to be nonsense.  Year after year I think, "Come on, people.  Just wait until after Christmas."  The Year of the Wii, Joe was ALL over it, and I thought HE was being nonsensical.  I mean, do we really need it NOW?  And at least that's a gaming system that's, you know, pretty cool.  What about the Tickle Me Elmo Year?  How lame was THAT toy?

But this year, I've been...affected.  With Noah desperately trying to read, he has actually taken up a serious interest in all the learning devices in our household.  These are the toys that are meant to "make learning fun" and encourage your child to "learn without even realizing it!"  And Noah actually DOES play with these toys...for hours.  You have to understand then that when he saw the commercial for the latest Leapfrog device: the Leappad, he freaked out for it.  It's like the iPad of learning toys, and Noah has gone so far as to say, "All I want Santa to bring is the Leappad.  Maybe some other cool stuff, but really just the Leappad."

Well HOLY SMOKES.  Now I understand.

Yesterday it came to my attention that Noah's ONLY requested Christmas gift (and he's three--don't three year olds usually want ANYTHING and EVERYTHING???) is this year's Ungettable Get.  Ugh.  At first, I decided I must be much more Shop Savvy than any of my friends, and proceeded to visit all conceivable websites and stores, expecting to just be lucky.  Then the panic set in, and I realized, I'm just one among millions (a totally different meaning for the phrase, "one in a million").

This morning, I hopped on the Internet, trying all the different sites again.  Sold Out.  Out of Stock.  Sold Out.  Not Currently Available.  I began to despair.

The only store I hadn't tried was Target, and I thought, "But of COURSE Target will be sold out.  Everyone goes to Target."

But I had to try, so I typed it in.  I searched.  To my shock, I saw: In-Store Only.  My heart raced as I ran a search for our zip code.  Of the five closest stores, the one nearest me had "Limited Stock."  The next nearest said, "In Stock."  All the rest: "Out of Stock."

I quickly ripped Noah off the potty, figuring if things had happened for him yet, it was safe to wait.  He had to go to school, and of course, today is "J" day and we had bring something that started with J, and I hadn't done that yet, so I tossed a picture of Joey into his backpack (to which Noah replied, "Uh, no thank you, I'd like to bring a toy," and I ignored him).  I had him bundled and in the car in under sixty seconds, and was racing toward his school thirty minutes early.  But it had to be done.  Luckily, my mom is the owner and the teacher is a close friend, so they were very understanding about watching Noah for me.  Then, I was off.  To the races, as they say.

By the time I arrived at "my" Target, it was a mob scene, and it had only been open for an hour and fifteen minutes.  I fast-walked into the store.  On the one hand, I wanted to break into a full out run, but on the other hand, I didn't want to clue anyone into my "secret" info.  Not like all the other parents in a 100 mile radius weren't doing exactly the same thing as me.

I tore through the store, no cart.  Other people were shopping around, so I felt hopeful.  I was sweating through my fleece, thanking God I decided to wear my running shoes (like I've ever run anywhere).  I made it to the Leapfrog aisle only to see a salesgirl regretfully telling another mom, "I'm sorry, we just sold the last one."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But there was no time to lose!  I raced back out of the store, not worrying about running anymore.  I'm sure people thought my pants were on fire, but I didn't care.  It was off to the next Target!  I hopped in my car and revved the engine.  As I flew onto the Thruway, Marky Mark was singing "Good Vibrations" on Sirius radio, and it was possibly the best "Get Psyched" song ever for my heated mission.

I was slowed down only by an indecisive State Trooper who finally must have felt the vibes of my Shopper Anxiety all the way in his patrol car and finally veered off to rest in a U-turn stop.

When I arrived at the store, I was pleased to see it wasn't nearly as crowded as the last place.  It was in a bit of shady neighborhood, so I felt that running into the store was more acceptable, and I clutched my purse in double paranoia, eyeing up any competition.  There were definitely some characters standing out.  A couple of men in their thirties wearing pressed khakis with their hair gelled had clearly been sent by their wives for the Leappad.  A messy-looking mother of twins (what must I have looked like at this point, all sweaty and frazzled?) making her way slowly to the back of the store.  


To the Leapfrog aisle!  I moved quickly through the store, thanking God that its layout was identical to my home Target.  As I approached, another woman, looking as determined as me, was coming from the opposite direction.  I ducked down the aisle, and saw the boxes gleaming at me from the bottom shelf.  Good GOD!  


I snatched up one, and behind it saw one more.  I knew my really close friend hadn't been able to find one for her daughter, so I grabbed that one, too.  My mission can't have been all about me, after all.  That's not how heroes are made.


Holding the boxes tightly in my arms against my chest, I dared not slow down.  To the checkouts I hurried, not messing around but going straight to the Express Lane.  The fellow BEEPED! the boxes over the scanner, and, with shaking hands, I ran my credit card through.


"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the fellow.  "Your card has been denied."


W. 


T. 


F.


"What???" I screeched.  "I'm sorry, there must be a mistake."  Yes, there must be, since I'm married to the Spreadsheet King of the Universe and this just simply wasn't possible.  And how could such a STUPID thing be happening to me NOW?


"Well, we can try again," he said helpfully.  We re-did the transaction, same result.


I breathed a huge breath.  "Can we please keep these boxes RIGHT HERE?" I asked quietly in my scariest Teacher Voice, leaning close to him.  "So I can call my husband?  There seriously must be a mistake."

"Okay..." said the fellow uncertainly, clearly afraid of me.  I wondered if he had a security buzzer next to him, and if he might use it.

I stepped out of the way and dialed Joe's number.  Joe, incidentally, was working in Pennsylvania this morning.

He answered in a frustratingly lazy voice, "Oh, hey.  How's it going?"

"JOE!" I said.  Unfortunately, I had taken on an alter ego: Hysterical Mary.  My family are constantly trying to squash this persona out of me, since it leads to totally Unacceptable Behavior, but once she comes out, there's no turning back.  It's my version of Hulking Out.  When it happens, I honestly can't even see anymore. I lose all vision and all sense of good, common sense-abiding behavior.

"YOU NEED TO CHECK THE CREDIT CARD!  I HAVE THE LEAPPAD HERE AND IT'S THE LAST ONE!!! OUR CARD ISN'T WORKING!!"

You can imagine this may have come out slightly slurred in the state I was, so I had to repeat it.  Twice. I was becoming desperate, and the checkout fellow moved me solicitously to Customer Service.  With the Leappad boxes, since I clearly refused to be separated from them.

Joe, in the meantime, was looking at our credit card account online.  "You won't believe it," he said.  "You and I both used our cards at the same time.  Since I'm in Pennsylvania, the company thought your purchase must be fraudulent."

Ugh.  Do you KNOW how much I hate when Joe works out of town?  And now THIS?!

"Okay," he said easily.  Easy for him, since he wasn't in this state of EMERGENCY.  "I verified the purchase.  You should be all set."

I stepped up to the counter, and, I must tell you, the Customer Service Guy was extra nice.  He didn't treat me like garbage for having my card denied (which I felt like, even though it was a misunderstanding).  He was very kind, and rang up the purchase like this sort of thing happens all the time.

By the time I left the store, I was trembling.  My shirt was soaked and I was breathing hard.  I held my packages tightly, and raced all the way home, not willing to feel any relief until the Leappads were safely inside my house, hidden away for Santa to wrap.

Next year, I'm encouraging my children to become artists, and they're getting a paint set.  And that's IT!