Clark, Is this the Airport?

Today was Christmas, the season of perpetual hope if you will. Some are celebrating the birth of a baby, some are celebrating the solstice and still others are simply celebrating a day off work or school (or not). Whatever your reason for the season, if you are glad it is over, you are not alone.

As parents, we look forward to Christmas. We plan and we save, we start buying gifts early, we bake and we shop and we scheme to keep that one guy alive and going... you know who I'm talking about... not Elvis, the other one. We spend months figuring out what to buy, hiding the gifts, adding our special touches, and developing family traditions. It's a lot of pressure, though, Christmas. If you get the right gift, your kids will let you know, if you don't, they'll definitely let you know. How do you keep them from becoming too materialistic like Lucy? Poor girl never gets what she really wants... real estate. Do it right, don't get caught. Oh, please don't get caught... you'll kill the magic of Christmas. Don't. Get. Caught.

If you add family into the mix, it turns into raisin bran with two scoops of fruit. Holy cow. I know in my family, there is more planning that goes into Christmas logistics than a troop movement into Afghanistan. Grandma one has to have this day, but Grandma two only has that day off, and Grandma three just went to the hospital, but Uncle five is only in town for three days, none of which correspond to anything, and my brother's hairdresser's uncle's aunt's boyfriend needs this friday, but the dog has worms. Cue head exploding.

All of this. ALL of this, the craziness, the stress, the poorhouse, just for a few hours (if you're lucky) of smiles (again if you're lucky) from the people you love. You have to ask yourself, is it worth it? Is it? Well, is it??? One could argue that it is not, the commercialism has taken over the holiday that is supposed to be about family and togetherness and salvation and love and stuff. It would be very very (VERY) easy to fall into that when you've just witnessed the little kid equivalent of a lion on a wildebeest in your living room with the poor shreds of snowman paper littering the floor and piles of dolls twist tied into their boxes just beckoning for you to come and say colorful and unchristmasy things to them while wondering why a barbie needs this much security.

But... just take a step back. No, a bigger one. Now a deep breath. I said breathe, your lips are turning blue. In, out, in, out (do the hokey pokey and turn yourself about), and look at the people around you. Those crazy kids on the floor in the middle of the worst paper massacre you've ever seen, ignore the paper. Look at the kids. They're smiling aren't they? Yeah, I know. And feel that swelling in your heart? You did that. For just one day, you brought magic to their lives, you made them think you are the coolest person ever, and let's face it, you are. You pulled off another Christmas.

So, breathe, drink some eggnog and dedicate this house to the Griswold Family Christmas. Remember, it's all about the experience, Russ.

Does Your Friendship Have a Large Carbon Footprint?

I've been thinking a lot about friendships. In a way, friendships sustain us. It is free therapy for sane people. It is validation for all of those crazy overwhelming moments. It is a comradery that says, "You're not alone." Friends are vital to living a happy life. The reason I've been thinking so much about friendships is because we have just moved (That's a whole different post), and I find myself in the same boat as my kids. I have to *gulp* make new friends. As moms, we're worried about our kids making friends, but what frequently slips our minds is that we need friends. We need a break from all the "Mommy, I'm hungry", "But I don't want to", and "Mama, I gotta go POOP!!!" Sometimes you just have to talk to someone whose butt you don't have to wipe. And I'll admit, there have been days when I have hung on every pleasantry given to me by the check out girl at the Walmart because she was the only adult I got to speak to that day. I will also admit that I probably over shared with her too. Oops. Making friends as an adult is hard. There's more social stigma attatched to everything and you're so concious of how you are perceived that sometimes it doesn't seem worth the risk to put yourself out there. That's how I was before I had kids. I just didn't get out of my house. But as a mom, I get out of my comfort zone much more often. I don't know if it's the freeing notion of nothing possibly being as embarrassing as cleaning up a pee puddle at a restaraunt or having to claim the kid that just stripped down to his bare behind at the playground, but I've found it easier to make friends. There are some perks to being an adult-friend-maker. First of all, you have a kind of litmus test for personalities. Through trial and error, you've kind of whittled down the types of people you get along with the best. You know what works for you. So... after a few days of eavesdropping, you can tell if someone is friend material. The second and probably most beneficial thing is school. Not yours, your kids. The preschool pick up line was just like a bar, you could pick up anybody there. You immediately have something in common. Oh, your son's in Mrs whats-her-face's class too? How does he do with nap time? And POW! Before you know it, you have a new friend. Which leads me to my last and final plus for us friendless grown-ups, it may seem obvious, but... KIDS!!! You have kids?!? Me too! Let's sit at the park and talk about them! I don't know the number of times I've made playdates for myself and just dragged my kids along. And it never fails, their kid does something crazy that your kid does, and you laugh about it and mutter something like, "Oh thank God, I thought I was the only one!" POW! Friend time! That's how the best friendships are formed. They're just kind of organic. They just happen. Sometimes completely by accident. Something else I've learned from my extensive friend trials is that it's totally okay if your house was hit by Hurricane (Your Kid's Name Here), mine was too! You know, except my kid... until we have a play date, then it was both Hurricanes (babies qualify as Tropical Storms, just fyi). But, that lady on the bench has the knees ripped out of her jeans too (I'm sure there are a million moms who are anxiously awaiting the return of grunge... just so we're in style again.), and if you look a little closer at the woman at the store, there's a spit up stain on her shirt, and Lord help you if you open my closet door (THAT'S how my house "stays so clean".). We all have our things, and the sooner we own them and accept them, the more fun we'll have! So... whether your friendship was organically grown or factory farmed, go have fun with your friend and try to remember that it's rarely socially acceptable to pick another adults nose.

Tales from the Icebox Lagoon.

Refrigerators. We all have one. We all love them. They came about out of necessity like toilet paper and ear plugs. Let's face it girls, all that salt preserving our food wasn't doing much for our water weight either. And then the bright shining moment came. An icebox! Now you can keep things cold. Then it got bigger, better, more amazing. But, every advance has it's own flaw. They now make refrigerators that have a freezer on one side, fridge on the other, one with a freezer drawer, and even one with two fridge doors and a freezer drawer on the bottom. As a housewife, I lust after the latter, but as a military housewife on base housing, I have the standard freezer on top fridge. At least it's not "avocado" (read, baby poop green).

I have nothing against a refrigerator, except, well, let's go back to the beginning. The beginning of my housewife training. My mom used to tease me an say she didn't need a dishwasher, she had me. Thanks Mom. But there was this strange phenomenon that only happened when I was in the home stretch of a marathon dish washing session. My pile would multiply. Oh, yes, you guessed it, my mother would choose that moment to clean out the fridge. Opportunist.

And that is where my beef is with the refrigerator. Somewhere between the second shelf and Cassiopeia is a black hole that renders bits and bowls invisible to the searching eye. Making the fridge look full of food just waiting to turn into some culinary masterpiece, or at least a sandwich. What you find, though, upon further inspection, is some fuzzy applesauce, a bowl of moldy chopped tomatoes and s dish of... whatever that used to be. Even the occasional "when did we have soup?"

And then when you have kids you get the added benefit of reaching to the back of the fridge to get out those stale french fries that they just had to save for later. And the plush ice cream cone that they couldn't let melt. That one was in there for a month. I still haven't cleaned the shelf of the remains of their Valentine's Day suckers. Thanks, Mom.

I guess the good vastly outweighs the bad. Especially if you have one of those swanky new ones. But for now, I guess I'll just have to settle for the Tales from the Icebox Lagoon.

Sharing is caring... psst pass it on.

We're taught from a very young age to share. Our teachers and family "encourage" it. We all have things that we love that we want to pass on to other generations be it through a sibling, classroom, or through your own children.

My favorite things to get passed to me are from my grandparents and they have no monetary value. I've inherited my army of Christmas cookies and the best peanut butter cookie recipe in the world from a grandmother. I've gotten lessons on pies and making noodles from scratch from my grandfather. I've learned many Thanksgiving lessons from my other grandmother. In fact, it sometimes seems as though I've got grandparents coming out of my ears! But they all pass on amazing things.

We have traditions that have been passed down from parent to child for who knows how long. They're all things that make us feel warm and cozy. I recently decided to pass something on to my daughter.

The Wizard of Oz! My favorite movie and that of many many others. It was an event when it was on tv. Even when I was a kid, The Wizard of Oz being on tv meant that all other plans changed. Now, it's on blu-ray collectors edition, but it's still just as amazing every time. I always remember being afraid when the witch threw fireballs at the scarecrow (overkill maybe?), I want a flying monkey and think the poppies are pretty. It brings up so much goodness for me. Now my little girl is sitting way too close to the tv (a whole other story) resting her head in her hands content in a childhood rite of passage.

It feels good to have shared this... but the disc is still mine!

Three little words

Words are amazing. There are some who think that without words, we are animals. There are three specific words that make a huge and changing impact on our lives. Not "clean your room" or "eat your peas". No, I'm talking about "I love you".

Those three simple words mean so many many different things. And the meaning morphs over the years. Consider this, as a child, I love you has a completely innocent meaning. You love your parents, and your friends, and you even love that kid you just met at the park. When you get older, in those dreaded teenage years, you love your boyfriend. (Lord help us.) Then you get, you know, old, and you love your spouse and junk. And when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much... Yep, kids. And you love them. And then they learn to talk... and it's all over from there.

At first they love you for real, and then they learn. Oh ho, do they learn. When my babies tell me they love me, they either actually mean it, have made a truly epic mess or really really want something. When my daughter painted the dining room with chocolate syrup, she loved me. When my son desperately wanted some dumb toy he saw on a commercial, he loved me. And when he got a boo boo and I made it better, he loved me.

I know from experience what it will soon turn into. I love you Daddy, give me money. I love you Mommy, I failed science. I love you guys, I wrecked the car, got a tattoo, ran over the neighbors dog, got arrested please bail me out did I mention I love you. And then the cycle will repeat and I will get as much joy out of laughing at my kids becoming parents as mine get from watching me. And yes Mom, you were right. I love you (I'm sorry for ever being a teenager.)

A word on television

Back in the day, it was all black and white and there were only like three channels. Then came color. OMG! It's like blowin' my mind. Then cable, satellite, and now you can watch television shows online, on any number of mobile devices, or stream television shows from the internet to your tv. Yes, it does seem redundant, but a LOT of us are doing it. I'm guilty. It truly is turning into more than an idiot box. It's like an idiot world. (and I am an idiot girl.)

The other issue, other than Jersey Shore, is monitoring your child's overall consumption of waves from the tube. Television is a dangerous place to leave your child. Some of our favorite programs that are seemingly benign, turn into loaded weapons in the hands (or brains) of children. I'm not saying that by watching CSI, your kid is going to grow up to be a murderer. It's more a problem of nuance and content. My son has lovingly dubbed every show I watch as a "creepy show". It sometimes bothers him that all I watch are creepy shows. He has a point. Dead people are creepy... as are police officers stuck in the 1970s.

There is an attitude out there that "We saw that stuff, and we turned out fine". I think that's fine until my kid is snarky like Dr. Greg House. That being said, I am not above using those beautiful kid channels as a temporary babysitter. PBS, Disney and Nick Jr. are like magic. Like a ray of sunshine in a crazy day. Who knew that a mother could be so happy to have their child learn about dinosaur poop or a talking sandwich having a party in someone's tummy. We, as parents mercilessly mock children's shows. I think it's because we're secretly jealous. Jealous that we can't make them behave as well as Dora and Boots.

So when you really really have to shower (by yourself), the kitchen is still dirty (from last week) or your brain is going to explode, turn on the good ole television, run away and know that your children will be learning... something (not the least of which is a song that will make you hate them). Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggety dog!

Every Mom's Crazy ('Bout A Sharp-dressed Kid)

Jammie's, PJ's, pants, shorts, t-shirts and skivvies, nightgowns, unmentionables, ooh la la or footies, whatever you wear, pajamas are an important part of the day. For those with outside jobs, pajamas symbolize the glorious end of the day. For we stay-at-home moms, they sometimes are our only reminder that we forgot to shower today.

For my childrenthough, they have many different meanings. My daughter who is both quite contrary and often convinced she is a princess, loves changing clothes. To her, her pajamas are the clothes in her dresser that she can reach. To me, her pajamas are what she puts on to spite me and slow me down when we're trying to go somewhere and are running late. She mostly sleeps in her diaper and whatever bit of clothing that managed to make it to bedtime.

My son is a completely different story. On nights between baths, he sleeps in his clothes. He hates his pj's. Hates them. This is a kid who is afraid of his skull and crossbones underwear, but still I see no threat looming from his Batman pajamas. Granted, they lost a lot of their cool factor by not having a cape, so I suppose that is warranted. If I even suggest that we might want to maybe start thinking of putting on pajamas, a noise erupts from him that is somewhere between hurt little girl and a banshee.

I used to worry about their weird Jammie attitudes, their jammatudes if you will, but really, how are pj's that much different? Who says you have to sleep in pajamas? At least that's what I'm telling myself today.