Wheezing Pachyderms

I so effortlessly managed to eat my way into my “Winter Pants” during Christmas, so I sucked it up and on New Year’s Day I stepped on the scale.  Without naming any numbers, let’s just say it was WAY WORSE than I thought.  I was beside myself, I knew I had put on a few pounds, but had no idea that it was that bad!

Due to eating my willpower along with everything else I could get my sticky little hands on, I decided I would make a few New Year’s resolutions.  I sometimes do very well making resolutions and sticking to them.  I do my book work the old fashioned way in a ledger, and then enter it into the computer for taxes.  The year RJ was born I would do my monthly ledger every month, but then waited until tax time to enter it all into the computer.  It was brutal!  So last year’s resolution was to enter all my bookwork into the computer at the end of the month.  I did really well.  It was wonderful to not have to start from ground zero for taxes this year.  So hopefully I was faithful enough to have made that resolution a habit.

So this year I want to lose all the weight I gained from June until January, but more importantly my resolution is to just be more conscience of what I eat, and make an honest effort to move more.  The most difficult part about this resolution is the being patient, just because I ate on this weight in what seemed like a matter of days doesn’t mean it will come off that way.

So the first step to my resolution: Watch what I eat.  Of course I had been doing this.  I watched my hand put food in my mouth over and over again and the little voice in my head that is supposed to say STOP must have been on vacation somewhere.  Since New Year’s Day I have been trying to be more conscientious of what goes in my body, it is just so hard!  The Husband could eat breaded cheese balls, a cheeseburger and have ice cream afterwards every day and still keep his youthful figure.  Me, I just smell it cooking and lick the spoon we used to scoop the ice cream and gain 5lbs.  It’s really not very fair.  I made lunch for the 3 of us, RJ, The Husband and I last week.  I made jalapeno poppers and corn dogs for the two of them, and I had a grilled chicken breast and asparagus.  I know for a fact I had not only the healthier meal, but also just a better meal.  Yet I sat and drooled over the jalapeno poppers and corn dogs as if they were having a gourmet meal and I was eating dog food.  The ironic part of it is I don’t even like corn dogs.  It’s just the idea that I wasn’t supposed to be eating them.

Then there is the whole exercise part of the resolution.  After I had BR I was very dedicated to walking on the treadmill.  I worked at it, and it was just part of my day, I made it important and made a point to make time for it.  For the Labor Day celebration one summer our town held a triathlon.  We could compete in teams or individually.  I swim like a rock, so we put together team and actually competed in the triathlon. We weren’t winners by any means. There were actual real athletes competing against all us redneck athletes.  It felt so good though! I love the way a good run makes you feel.  I was in the best shape I had probably been in since high school.

I was finally down to a size I was proud of, I felt good, and I was in good shape.  Next thing I know I am pregnant...again.  This is not the first time this has happened to me.  After I had TB I lost a bunch of weight and then got pregnant.  I’m beginning to see a pattern develop.  Maybe I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to take this weight off?  Now, RJ is 18 month old and I am nowhere even close to being in shape.  The only shape I am is round. 

This time around I am finding it very difficult to stick with the exercise.  I still like the feel after a good run on the treadmill, but I’m having a hard time doing it.  I use the term “run” very loosely. I imagine when most people picture somebody running for exercise they see a graceful marathon runner running towards a finish line.  In all actuality if somebody were to come in and catch me running I am sure it more closely resembles an elephant with asthma.  I plod along like an old plow horse on my super noisy treadmill while gasping for air.  It’s so bad that if the phone rings while I’m running, I won’t answer it.  Who wants to listen to me breathing hard long enough to catch my breath enough that words can come out?  So leave a message, I will call you back when I don’t sound like a balloon somebody is letting all the air out of. 

Then there is that damn Jillian Michaels.  My sister says “Oh yeah get a Jillian Michaels video, they’re great!”  Yes if you are willing to try to kill yourself while somebody tells you how you should be able to do jumping jacks because she knows 400lb people who do jumping jacks.  Well I may not be 400lbs but I have delivered 5 babies, and there are some things I just don’t do anymore, and definitely don’t do them unless I have an empty bladder.  I can’t even jump on a trampoline with the kids anymore, and jumping jacks aren’t a whole lot better.  When you watch those workout videos you kind of imagine to yourself that you look like they do. First you gracefully stretch down and touch your toes then walk out and do a push up then walk your hands back up until you are standing again, then repeat gracefully.  Ha Ha Ha.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good view of my toes let alone to bend down and touch them without pulling something.  Oh to be a fly on the wall, I probably look more like a bowling ball with legs rolling around on the floor fighting with some imaginary being.

Well I’m going to try to stick with it even though I look and sound like a wheezing pachyderm.  With any luck by summer I will be in shape or at least a different one.

The Wonders of Being One!

This is what I was greeted to when I got out of the shower today.  Not pictured, the one year old chewing on a tampon! 

I have 5 kids, I’ve been through 4 of them being toddlers, yet somehow I have forgotten how absolutely exhausting having a one year old can be.  There is a 5 year gap between the last two; I was completely done with diapers, terrible two’s and tyrannical 3 year olds.  Everybody could wipe their own butts, shower, and stay with me when shopping. Now I’m back to square one.

 I would almost prefer an infant to a busy one year old.  You turn your back for just a couple of minutes and they are dancing on top of a table!  I try to tell myself they are building important motor skills. Really? Come on, after falling off the chair or table two or three times I would’ve just given up. If nothing else they are tough and resilient.  I have seen those kids hit their heads or fall down, run into walls (and refrigerators, that was funny!) jump up and take off like nothing ever happened.  If I ran into a wall I would have to lick my wounds for a little while.

They love to climb, it’s the getting down that’s tough.  Once they’ve scaled to the very top of a bunk bed and then realized there is now where to go. They have 2 choices: 1. yell for help, or 2. fall.  Since they can’t talk yet and can’t yell for help, that leaves falling. I try to be diligent about shutting bedroom doors so they can’t get into bedrooms when I’m not looking, but I’m only human.  They are smarter than we give them credit for; it’s almost as if they lay in wait for us to slip up.  That, and they have the selective memory of an elephant I’ve decided.  As soon as she discovers that bedroom door has been left open, some magnetic attraction drawers her to that ladder, and says “climb me...again!”

Bouncy Balls!  I don’t even know how or where we obtained an infinite number of bouncy balls in this house.  It’s almost as if we have a bouncy ball fairy.  Every time I turn around, that kid has one in her mouth!  I throw them away when I find them, and before you know it she has another one.  I honestly have no idea who has the stash of bouncy balls or where they are stashed at, but seriously it’s ridiculous.

Another great skill a one year old possesses, the ability to clean out a cupboard or drawer in a matter of seconds.  This would be especially useful if I felt the need to clean the SAME cupboard every single day, maybe even 2 to 3 times a day.  This would be fine if she would pick one cupboard or one drawer and focus on that.  No, she’s not partial to any specific cupboard or drawer.  In the kitchen she loves to get out the plastic forks and spoons and scatter them across the kitchen floor until she finds the exact one she needs to pretend to eat imaginary food out of one of the 50 disposable cups she’s scattered around too.  As you can see above, the bathroom favorite is the pads and tampon drawer!  Not sure what pretend play that will lead to. And I can’t imagine a tampon would taste good enough to want to taste more than once, yet it seems to be a big hit!

They are also very fickle, what we liked today, we don’t like tomorrow.  Yesterday we had mandarin oranges for a snack, I thought (silly me) she might enjoy a handful of Teddy Grahams with the oranges.  Boy was I wrong, not today!  She got mad, scowled at me and picked every last one up and separated them from the orange slices on her tray and placed them in the cup holder.  I guess I won’t make that mistake again.  Heaven forbid we would eat oranges and Teddy grahams together. 

Since RJ has 4 big sisters, she has no need for words.  They do all the talking for her.  She grunts, signs or points and they seem to know exactly what she wants.  And if they are ticking her off, she screams.  If somebody is packing her off where she doesn’t want to go, no words needed, just screaming. 

Oh and the temper tantrums start already! For those of you who don’t have kids, and you thought this didn’t start till they were two or three, ha, ha, ha. NO.  One year olds have an extreme dislike for the word no, which usually leads to a temper tantrum.  I once had somebody recommend that instead of using the word no with toddlers you should use the words “Uh-Oh”.  Really?  Just because they don’t like to hear it and they will probably repeat it back often we shouldn’t say it to them?  They may hear it almost every 3 minutes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use it and they shouldn’t learn what it means.  No means No!

The first tantrum they throw they throw down where ever they are at.  Kitchen floor, carpeted living room, or pavement in the driveway, it doesn’t matter.  They are smart though, after the first few times they learn quickly to pick a soft surface to throw down on. The other day I took RJ out of her high chair and stood her on the linoleum in the dining room, she wanted to be picked up and held, but I had to fix hair and get everybody else ready for the bus.  She got mad, took one big side step made sure she was on the carpet in the living room and threw down!

Remotes and electronic devices are not safe either.  I remember BR having a small obsession with remotes as well.  I was making Christmas goodies in the kitchen and had my hands full of food.  BR had gotten a hold of the remote, and then she decided she should take off her diaper.  I yelled to the husband to hurry quickly and get her diaper back on.  I knew that this situation required immediate attention!  Dad did not, I had my hands full and couldn’t get to her fast enough, however dad wished he had seen the urgency.  Before either of us could get there she peed on the television remote.  Which I found ironic since that is dad’s favorite household appliance, and he wasn’t worried or watching her at all.  He quickly took it to the bathroom and dried it out with my hair dryer.  To his relief it worked again.    

I’m sure there are more things to come that I haven’t even thought of yet.  At this point though, not much would surprise me.

2 Choices...

I’ve been doing some thinking, which usually gets me in lots of trouble, but none the less hasn’t stopped me yet.  I was asked an interesting question, the other day, which has made me pause and think. 

I want to start out by saying my children are no angels, and by no means perfect.  And if anybody knows this to be true, it is me, their mother.  I have seen them at their best and I have seen them at their worst.  I will be the first to defend them and the first to put the smack down if they deserve it.  With that being said I will continue my story.

I was visiting at my sister’s house, and she had a friend visiting too.  After spending some time around my children and I she stopped me and said, “I want to ask you a question.  Your girls are all so well behaved, how do you do it?  Are you strict with them or do you beat them?”  First of all, I had to make sure we were talking about the same kids. ;) When I recovered from the shock of her question I stopped for a moment, for one, I take the beating part very seriously.  My father was pretty heavy handed, and that is something I never want my kids to experience.  Strict though, I guess you could say that, but it’s not like I make them raise their hands at supper table to talk.  However, next time the noise level at the kitchen table gets out of hand, that’s not a bad idea. 

I was flattered that she thought my kids were well behaved.  I see the worst, and they often “save” all the naughty up for me.  I wouldn’t have it any other way, I am their mother and there isn’t anything they could do that would make me love them any less, but because I love them it’s also my job to teach them.

After she asked me what I did to make my kids behave so well I started thinking about it.  I never really had given it much thought before.  I looked to my closest friends, who all have children who are close to the same age as mine, and I never thought our parenting styles were that different.  They have well behaved, respectful children, so I thought my parenting style was something that most people do.  What I’m learning is… maybe not. 

I know I wrote a blog post called Big Expectations.   I still hold true to that, if you expect a lot from your kids, you will get a lot in return.  Another important rule I have is consequences.  EVERYTHING you do in life has some sort of consequences.  My writing of this post might ruffles some feathers and the consequences might be I have some negative feedback to deal with.  It all depends on what you do, whether the consequences are good or bad.    You never outgrow consequences.  When you are two, your consequences may be time out, and when you’re 22, depending on your crime, your consequence may be jail. 

I took a parenting class several years back, the program was developed by a couple of yuppie dads.  I’m sure they had never raised their voice at their kids or ever lost it and went all “psycho mom” on their kids. These guys probably live in Colorado now that it is legal to smoke a joint there, because that’s the only way one could be that calm ALL of the time.  I mean if we are really going to be honest who hasn’t lost it a time or two, and if somebody says they haven’t, they’re a liar.

Back to the parenting class, I took one rule away from it, but put my own “Real Mom” twist on it.  I will share it with you; this rule applies to almost any situation and any age.   We call it at our house, “You have two choices…” 

I’ll give you an example.  The four year old is expressing their independence and has decided that no matter what you say plead or beg they are not putting clothes on to go to school today.  That’s fine.  Very CALMLY, (because at this point he/she has done this every morning for the last week) explain to them in 15 minutes you are leaving this house, and he/she has two choices.  1. Get dressed and be ready to leave like the rest of the family.  2. Go naked or in pajamas, you don’t care.  And YOU DON’T CARE!! Really you can’t care.  When the 15 minutes are up, you go! No arguing, no talking, and absolutely no bargaining or begging.  If they aren’t dressed you pick them up and take them just like they are.  They will realize you are serious, and next time they will be dressed.  If not oh well! They just get to go in pajamas again.

They are free to make their choice, but also have to pay the consequence that is attached to that choice.  The key to making it work is making the consequence for not following the rules so bad that the choice to follow the rules looks pretty good.   And they must believe that you will follow through with the consequences for not following the rule or doing what is asked of them.

Another example: The teenager in the family wants to argue with you about chores they were asked to do that day.  That’s fine…arguing with their mother or father will get them nowhere as long as you give them choices, and follow through with the consequences for their choices.   I always start out with “You have two choices.  1.  Do what I ask without complaining and rolling your eyes or arguing. Or Choice 2, I take away all your electronic devices the rest of the week, and you can do the chores the rest of the month all by yourself.”   Then just for fun I would add, “I know what I would choose.”  Then follow through.

I’ve given my kids some pretty miserable consequences, they’ve scrubbed toilets with tooth brushes for potty mouths, scrubbed the kitchen floor on their hands and knees for lying, weeded the garden for fighting.  Whatever it is that they are doing, or not doing, the consequences must be absolutely miserable enough that they remember not to do it again!

I was watching TV while folding clothes today. They were interviewing a juror that was on a jury that convicted 3 young teenage boys for the death of their friend who was shot while they attempted to rob an older gentleman.  The 4 boys were bored and decided to attempt to rob somebody for “fun”.  The gentleman heard a noise in his house and armed himself, shooting and killing one boy and wounding another.  However, the three boys were sent to jail for the death of their friend, and what I found astonishing was, everybody wanted to blame the consequences of these boy’s actions on the gentleman whose house THEY had decided to rob.  If these boy’s had been taught the value of consequences at an early age, maybe one of them wouldn’t have been shot dead in the middle of a burglary.  Now they are paying a very hard and terrible consequence. 

I tell my girls all the time when they think they can hit each other because they are mad, when you grow up and get mad at somebody, and punch them, you go to JAIL.  There are consequences for every action, no matter your age, your sex, or race.  We all will be held accountable for our actions. You are not doing your children any favors by not teaching them that fact at a young age. 

Like I said I’m flattered, that somebody thought my children were well behaved. To answer the question, yes, I guess I am strict, and NO I don’t beat them.

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7 Rules To Make You Think

I had a friend recently post The Seven Rules for Life on her Facebook page.  And while I laid in bed tonight I couldn’t get them out of my head.  There are some I struggle with a lot, and a couple that I think I do alright at, and maybe one that I can honestly say I have conquered.

The first rule:  Make peace with your past so it won’t disturb your present.  I have had a lot of good things happen in my past, and a number of bad things.  Things I’ve had no control over, and things I wish I did have control over.  I’ve made mistakes and said things I wish I could take back.  I didn’t have the kind of childhood that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside.  I don’t have many good memories of being a kid.  However, I think it is just in my nature to remember the bad.  I have a tendency to be a glass is half empty kinda girl sometimes.  Now as an adult, I think I’ve made peace with my past, and it is just that…my past.  We all make mistakes no sense dwelling on it.  I learned a lot of lessons from my past that make me who I am now.  I am sure I have many more lessons to learn, but dwelling on the mistakes doesn’t make them go away.

Rule #2: What other people think of you is none of your business.  Ok here is one I struggle with, sometimes.  I mean, come on, who doesn’t.  We all want to be liked, and it kind of bugs us to think there is somebody out there that doesn’t like us.  We want to know why, and fix it. Make them see us like we want to be seen.  Then there are times, when I honestly don’t care.  I am who I am and I make no bones about it.  You either like me or you don’t.  I suppose it all depends on who is doing the thinking or what it is they are thinking.  I honestly try not to care, but we all want to be liked for who we really are.

Rule #3: Time heals almost everything. Give it time.  The definition of healing is “the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.”  Healing is a process, and sometimes that process is a long one, and sometimes it just doesn’t happen. It really just depends on how deep the wound is.   I do believe though in order to follow rule #1, sometimes rule #3 needs to be finished. 

Rule#4: No one is in charge of your happiness, except you.  This one I struggle with.  I have so much to be happy for and about.  I have a wonderful family.  I love my husband and my children, and wouldn’t trade having them in my life, but every once and a while I throw myself a great big old pity party.  I know I don’t have any reason at all to feel like I do.  I should count my many blessings, but once I get started it’s like a giant runaway train.  The more I think about it, the worse it gets, and then the more miserable I feel.  Which leads me to rule #6, but we will get to that in a minute.

Rule #5:  Don’t compare your life to others and don’t judge them, you have no idea what their journey is all about.  Now here is where it gets tough.  We, and I mean everybody, myself included would like to believe that we don’t judge people.  But I will be the first to admit, I have.  What is the old saying when you assume you make an ass out of U and Me?  I have made an ass out of myself a number of times.  We should never judge a book by its cover, we never know what other people may be struggling with, but hey we are only human.  I can only hope that when given the opportunity, I do better next time.

Rule #6:  Stop thinking too much.  It’s alright not to know the answers.  They will come to you when you least expect it.  And here is probably my biggest downfall!  I am a thinker, I over think everything!  I think things to death.  It doesn’t matter what it is, it could be as simple as the shirt on the clearance rack all the way to something as important as taxes.  It doesn’t matter what it is I will over think it.  I have a tendency to really over think things people say or do.  In fact this has been my problem for the past four days (combined with the fact that I haven’t had chocolate for the past 4 days).  I have been in a rather foul mood because of a phone call I had, which got me thinking, which led to me thinking about 400 other things that made me grumpy.  Which has gotten me nowhere but being grumpy, which has led to headaches and insomnia.  You’ve heard the expression “like water of a ducks back.”  Well this duck tries to let it roll off her back, but eventually I’m standing in a puddle and it’s either sink or swim, but first I’ll have to over think it.

Rule#7: Smile, you don’t own all the problems in the world.  Well isn’t that the truth.  It’s amazing how contagious a smile can be.  Think about babies, and how no matter how bad your day is, if a baby smiles at you it warms you right up from the inside out.  It’s amazing how a little smile, some laughter or compliment can not only make our day a little brighter, it can make somebody else’s day a little brighter too.  We might not own all the world’s problems but maybe we could make them better if we smiled more often.

Just thought I would share my thoughts, I was lying in bed thinking, and just getting grumpier and I was reminded of these rules I read.  They hit home for me, just a little something to think about.  Just what I need…more to think about!  ;)

 

Winter Pants!

Well it is official!  I fit into my winter pants!  It’s never a goal I have but every year I manage to accomplish it.  The stinky part is, I will probably fit into them until Spring.  March will roll around and I will start getting busier outside and spend less time in the house and in the kitchen.  I won’t crave the warm comfort foods of winter and will instead be craving the fresh vegetables from the garden. By June I should be able to get into my Summer Pants (maybe)!  Then the cool Fall weather will start and without even trying I will start working on getting into my winter pants again!  Do you see a viscous circle? 

The growing into the winter pants is usually accompanied by my addiction to fudge during the Holidays.  I usually make my first pan of fudge for Thanksgiving.  The second pan gets made the first week of December for whatever reason: company coming, a school function or just because I feel like it.  Then usually by the 15^th of December we will have made one if not two more, this depends on how many people we decide to give gift baskets of baked goods to.  And if necessary I may make a couple different flavors. Cherry fudge topped with chocolate is one of my favorites!  When Christmas rolls around so does another pan of fudge, and if that one gets eaten by New Years, we just have to make one more. 

By the first of the year I’m contemplating checking into some sort of fudge rehab center.   Really if they have drug and alcohol rehab centers, it only makes since they would have one for fudge.  It’s just as addicting and can have devastating effects.  When the pan is close to empty I start hording it.  I tell the kids that it’s all gone so I don’t have to share, or wait until nobody is around to eat it.  If nobody sees you eat it, did you really eat it?  As soon as the pan is empty, I try to not think about it. I tell myself I don’t need it, and nothing else I eat fills the void left by the missing fudge.  I will start to get a headache, I start to get the shakes and become really, really crabby! I wander aimlessly around the kitchen looking for something to satisfy my craving, but alas nothing but fudge will work. 

My only hope is to run out of marshmallow cream or evaporated milk.  Since the closest grocery store is at least 30 miles away I stand a chance at kicking this addiction.  I mean who really drives 30 miles for marshmallow cream?  People do crazy things for their drugs, but thank the lord, I’m too tight to drive that far for the sake of a pan of fudge.   My WONDERFUL mother in-law gave me a Keurig coffee maker for Christmas.  Nothing goes better with a cup of coffee than fudge.  So for the last week, I’ve done nothing but drink coffee and eat fudge.  When the fun of making cups of coffee at the drop of the hat and the last piece of fudge wears off, this could get ugly! I am still working on the last half of the pan from Christmas, and New Year’s Eve is only a couple of days away.  So until then, my family is oblivious to the ticking time bomb they are living with.

I had plans for kicking this year’s addiction with the new treadmill I was going to get for Christmas, and dates with Jillian Michaels.  I can still hook up with Jillian Michaels, when she doesn’t tick me off for trying to kill me. However my plans for a new treadmill fell through.  For months before Christmas I told the girls to tell The Husband that I wanted a new treadmill for Christmas. The one I have was a pretty cheap one to begin with, it’s duct taped together, I can’t read the screen anymore and the motor and belt make so much noise I can’t hear the TV over the top of it. TB told me “Dad doesn’t have that kind of money, Mom.” When I mentioned that they suggest it to their dad.  One day on the way to the bus, BR was putting a bug in Dad’s ear about what he should get me for Christmas.  TB pipes up in the back seat, and says “Don’t worry Dad, I already told mom you don’t have that kind of money!”  So needless to say I didn’t get the treadmill I had hoped for.  The husband said I didn’t ask for anything realistic…I’m not sure what’s not realistic about a new treadmill.  It’s not like I asked for the new body I wish I had after having 5 kids, now that would’ve been “not realistic.”

 I guess I will just have to annoy the crap out of my husband with the old treadmill enough to get a new one.  Maybe I should run on it while he’s trying to watch football.  Nothing says “I love you” like a little payback paired with a New Year’s diet.  

Wishing everybody a Happy New Year and here’s to fitting into your “Summer Pants” before summer!

Unwrapping a Secret

Secrets are so hard to keep!  TB stinks at keeping a secret, plain and simple.  Great Grandpa used to say he loved when Tessa would come to visit because she was like a little newspaper.  She loved to tell Great Grandpa what everybody was up to around the ranch.  TB also has a memory like a steel trap.  So when she tells a story she rarely forgets a detail.  TB also gets very excited about the stories she tells and often spits them out as fast as she can.  The trick is to follow along fast enough to get what she’s telling you.

If you tell TB something is a secret, that’s almost worse.  It’s made more difficult by the fact that she remembers every detail, and loves to share stories.  I have said, “Now don’t tell Dad what we did today, it’s a surprise.”  She will sit down at the supper table and without a second thought tell him every last detail of what we did.  Nothing is a secret.  I would love to be a fly on the wall at school.  I sometimes wonder what details about our family life have been shared at school.  Or maybe I don’t want to know!

When The Husband and I found out we were expecting baby #5 we (or maybe I) didn’t want to tell everybody right away.  We knew that if we spilled the beans to the kids, TB would never ever be able to keep it quiet until we were ready to tell.  So we opted not to tell the kids for a while.  We were right.  We sprung the news on the kids at supper one evening and that was all we had to do to get the news out.  Taking an ad out in the local newspaper wouldn’t have been nearly as effective.  I picked the girls up from school the next afternoon, I hadn’t even pulled out of school parking lot and my phone was already ringing asking if the news was true.  It probably doesn’t help that we live in a really small tight knit community, and news about a family having the FIFTH baby is big news.  And BIG news travels fast, really fast!  The Husband and I’s phones rang off the hook with people calling for conformation for the next 3 days, and Facebook was on fire!  The funny thing is, The Husband and I never told a sole, just the kids!  

I don’t know how many times that TB has spilled the beans at Christmas.  It doesn’t help that The Husband is a big kid at Christmas too.  He loves to try to find out what his gift is, I don’t know if I have ever really surprised him.  Somehow he always finds out.  His favorite source of information is my little open book, TB.  He starts out nonchalantly asking all of them questions. They have all been given coached answers, because the coach knows his play book.  They hold out as long as they can! Then out of the blue he trips them up and the cat is out of the bag.  There is a pretty good chance that TB was the one duped.

This year was no exception.  I had even contemplated not letting the kids help wrap his gift.  Part of the love that goes into a gift is the wrapping of the gift. It’s not really fair to deprive the girls of that joy, just because their father will want to find out what the gift is.  There is also joy in seeing someone’s face as they open the gift you gave them.  I always figured he was the one ruining his own surprise and if it didn’t bother him it shouldn’t bother me.  So all 5 girls helped me wrap up the gift, and they so proudly put it under the tree, just knowing that dad would be so surprised.

So tickled about their recently wrapped gifts, they sit down to supper that night and tales of wrapping gifts ensued.  It isn’t long at all before dad has them “wrapped” around his little finger.  They are chattering on and on about what they wrapped for classmates, 4-H members, teachers and friends.  I can see the writing on the wall. He casually starts asking if they wrapped one for him.  Of course 4 little mouths answered “Yes!” as quickly as they could.  (The 5^th one would have piped up if she could’ve.)  I can see an almost devilish smile cross The Husband’s face like, “GAME ON!”  The questions started like a firing squad, and my troops took them on just like I had instructed.  One at a time they gave him the prepared answers to his quiz.  Like a clever fox he makes his way around the table, it doesn’t take long to spot the weak link.  He hones in on TB like a magnet.  I remind him that it’s not fair to quiz the girls, that he should just let it go and wait until Christmas gets here… like grown-ups do!  Nope. On goes the inquisition.  So “Is it a shirt?” the fox says to the mouse.  “No!” TB says.  “New boots?” he asks.  “NO!” she answers again.  “Oh I know! It’s a pair of chaps!”  “Yup!” and then it hits her like a brick, and the look on her face says I just ruined Christmas. 

She started to tear up, so sad that she couldn’t keep the secret.  She says, “Mom, I don’t like to tell a lie.”  I hugged her tight and said “Everything will be alright, If dad wants to spoil his surprise that is up to him.  It’s good to be honest.”

Moral of the story, we don’t have many secrets at this house.  Just ask TB!

Christmas "Spirit"

I’ve been making an attempt to get ready for Christmas.  So much I should be doing, so much not getting done.  So instead of being productive, I’ve chosen to sit down and do this.  Actually the kids get out of school early today and I will have to run to the bus shortly to get them.  So really no point in starting something I know I won’t finish.

So glad I won’t be having Christmas at my house this year, simply haven’t had the time to do a deep cleaning on my house.  That or maybe I just haven’t made an attempt at deep cleaning my house.  Either way a clean house would be so much more fun if somebody else would do it for me.  It actually seemed easier to keep things cleaner when the kids were tiny, now they are big enough to drag lots more stuff out and make even bigger messes.  Yes, they do their fair share of cleaning around here too.  But let’s be honest, their idea of “clean” and my idea of clean are two different things. 

I’ve learned to live with their idea of clean to a certain extent.  To be honest I can’t keep up with everybody.  So sometimes half-assed is better than nothing.  I often have to remind myself when I walk into their bathroom and can’t see myself because they’ve used Commit to clean the mirror; at least they tried to clean it.  When I look at the balls of clothes lying on the coffee table, at least they tried to fold them. Or as I walk across the kitchen floor and step in a big puddle of water, I try to convince myself it’s cleaner than when they started.

 Even though we don’t plan on having Christmas at our house, we do plan on hosting the 4-H Christmas party.  So I still need to spruce up a little bit.  It may be a good idea to fold the pile of laundry looming on the couch. For some reason I think the families in the 4-H club may appreciate having a place to sit, no need for the piles of underwear folded up on the coffee table to be the center of conversation.  At least it would all be clean. We wouldn’t be airing out our dirty laundry! (HA HA HA)

I use to be a stressed out mess during Christmas.  I had this preconceived notion that all “good” moms made and decorated sugar cookies, homemade Christmas tree ornaments and other “crafty” Christmas items.  What I found out is I am not one of THOSE kinds of moms.  I’m not crafty, at all!  I can bake a thing or two, but don’t bake anything that requires being decorated or made to resemble some sort of Christmas character.  (This also includes Birthday cakes!!)  Remember…not crafty, at all!  So why stress about it.  I can admit my short comings, and have resorted to buying bottles of wine for Christmas.  Really who doesn’t love a bottle of wine?  I’d rather have a bottle of wine over a sugar cookie any day! 

In fact, the kids got out of school early yesterday and wanted to do some baking so Santa had some cookies to eat.  It was snowing and cold out so I made a pot of coffee and we started to bake, we even turned on Pandora and listened to “Traditional Christmas Music”.  This was my attempt at getting into the spirit!  After a short time I could see we were going to need something stronger than coffee and Christmas music to get through the baking, and get into the Christmas SPIRIT.  Not 5 minutes in they were at each other’s throats!  Of course each one wants to bake their own kind of cookies, so we can’t just work together and make one or two.  Long story short we made 3 different kinds of cookies and a pan of fudge. When we were finished the counters were covered in powdered sugar, and you could hear the sugar on the floor grinding under your shoes.  All the while I think, “Where did the tradition of leaving cookies for Santa come from?  All Santa really wants is a big glass of wine!”  At least all mom really wants is a big glass of wine! 

I guess the vision of a drunken fat man sneaking into your house through the chimney shouting HO, HO, HO, even if he does leave presents, doesn’t paint the coziest of pictures.  Hey look at it this way at least he would have eight designated drivers. 

Ok so that might not be such a good idea! But please, if really love mom and want to get her something she will appreciate and use for Christmas, all you have to do is wrap up her favorite bottle of wine!  Because if she is a stressed as most of us get, it will make it all OK!