Mamma Mia!

Andy went hunting last weekend and no sooner returned home than he "asked" me that he was going again tomorrow.  I know that's not a grammatically correct sentence but since questions involving things like hunting, fishing and golfing are generally framed as statements, it's the only way I knew how to put it in prose.  These "conversations" usually go something like this (and usually occur less than 24 hours in advance of said event):

Him:  "Oh...hey....I might have "forgot" to mention it to you but I'm going hunting/golfing/fishing/to the Auburn game/to the Grand Canyon/________ tomorrow/tonight/in five minutes.  Hope that's ok."

Me: "!^&@* *&$@! ^&*!  !^&*@*!  !&*#&*(@ !!!!!!!!!!"

Except this time he added, "And to help you out, I'll take William with me."

Yes.  That will be a HUGE help.  Take the only one who can (in theory but not usually in practice) wipe his own hiney and who can also (in theory) help me wipe someone else's hiney.   

So, alas, Andy will be taking my firstborn on his first hunting expedition tomorrow.  I don't know how long he thinks a five year old will stay quiet in a tree stand.  My guess is 4.2 seconds but Andy's a pretty good shot so maybe he'll hit his target quickly.  

To celebrate New Year's before he leaves, as a surprise I rented Mamma Mia for us to watch together tonight.    He's going to be sooooooo excited.   I have a bottle of champagne too.  Not sure which he dislikes more.   Bubbly or Dancing Queen.   He can detox in the woods tomorrow.

Happy New Year, y'all!    

~"you can dance, you can ji-ive, having the time of your life....ooh, ooh, ooh, see that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancin' queen....." ~

Dear Santa, I want some Loritab and a nice big bottle of Crown Royal. Thanks.

So yesterday I get a phone call from my dear husband and I could tell he was a little bit not himself.  Come to find out, he cut his hand open, is bleeding profusely and is trying to get to the emergency room.

This was more than a little alarming to hear him even mention the ER because this is the same man who practically cut his finger completely off his hand a while back and, as the finger is dangling with blood shooting across the room and bone exposed he calmly asked me to run get one of William's spiderman band-aids.  Of course I couldn't hear him because I was in an unconscious heap in the floor. 

He called me an hour or so later and said he had 5 stitches in his hand and was on his way to the liquor store to pick a little something up in case he started hurting later.  But he also had a prescription for a pain killer.  

I hope he wakes up in time for Christmas.

I may be taping a note on the bicycle boxes that says something like, "Dear kids....Santa was too tired to put these together.  Instructions are in the box.  Good luck.  Love, Santa."

But now that I think about it, the bikes won't even make it out of the attic.  Maybe I'll just draw an arrow on the note pointing up.  I'm sure they'll get over it....  one day.

Awww Foot

Thought I'd share a few of the happier scenes from the season....the kids' Christmas program, breakfast with Santa (and no there was NO WAY I was taking that "paaa" out of his mouth), baking goodies, roasting smores over the fire and singing Christmas carols 'round the tree holding hands.  No pictures of the snacks, smores and songfest?  Hmmm, musta gotten lost somewhere.

I've really tried to make some fun Christmas memories this year but Christmas is HERE.  And I'm not ready!  I need more time!  

 

My Granny used to say "aww foot" whenever she was over it.  Whatever it was.  And as for the busy-ness and madness that has taken over what should be a peaceful, restful season spending time with those you love most?  I say the same thing.

Granny had another great saying too ~ "I'm gonna whip your little hiney if you don't shape up!"  I use that one often too.  That's another post though....

I think tonight I'm going to finish wrapping gifts and decide that if it's not bought, baked or done after tonight, it's going in the "to be continued next year" file.

Can I get an amen?

&#*@(!&@ Paaaaaa

Please don't judge me on this post...I offer this account not to seek advice but rather to entertain you.

Stuart is nearly 20 months old and is hopelessly attached to his paci. His "paaa" as he calls it. I know, I know...some people find it appalling (including my dear Dr. Rosemond) to see the silly thing in the mouth of a child older than 6 months. But sleep is a precious commodity around these parts and if it means the difference between sleep or no sleep, I always opt for sleep.

We have at least 4 "paaas" for Stuart but for some reason the other night we could only find one. Not a good thing when I usually ensure that a spare is left on the kitchen counter for those 3 am wake up calls when the one he went to sleep with is lost.

So there we were...Sat. night...sleeping peacefully when we heard the preemptive whining through the monitor. This is the point that he's not fully awake so you can usually dart upstairs, grabbing the spare "paaa" along the way, tiptoe into his room and plug up the cry pipe. But remember I told you that we'd gone to bed with no spare.

So I crept into the room and started feeling the floor near the crib hoping to find the missing "paaa." Nothing there. I ran my hand under the crib and drew it back with nothing but a handful of fuzz, dust, and a random Barbie shoe. At this point I was beyond the window of opportunity to send him back into dreamland because I looked up and found him standing in the crib, looking over the side at me saying "paaaa....PAAAAA!"

Ugh.

So I leaned over to the monitor and got right in the microphone where I knew it would blast at top volume in our bedroom and said "Get up here and help me look for the &#**^# PAAA....and bring a ##&!^@ flashlight!"

So there we both were with little penlights looking under the bed, the rug, under the furniture, lifting up the crib mattress and saying things like "where the ^#$% could it be? Did the #$!@& ELF take it?" And the whole time Stuart is jumping up and down in his crib laughing, thinking it was a party. Woo-hoo!!

Finally I remembered the diaper bag, dug around the bottom and found one. Of course it had probably been on the floor of the Dr. office and never washed which is why it was in the bottom of the bag. But I was so happy to see it ~ rotavirus, influenza germs and all ~ and ran back into the room only to realize that it was way, way too late. Stuart was ready to get up, watch Dora and eat a waffle.

Not only did I lose a half night of sleep, but the infected "paaa" will probably lead to the next round of stomach virus for our family. Maybe it's time to heed Rosemond's advice and endure a couple of sleepless nights in order to get a string of sleep filled nights.

Or better yet...I think I'll just be accepting donations to replenish my stash of "paaaas."

Smile Anyway!

We had pictures made on Saturday at the Grand Hotel. My friend Brandi, who has just started her photography business did them. I would encourage you....if you have small children...and want family photographs (which is akin to saying "if you want a double root canal")...call Brandi because she has three children of her own and she is gooooood with kids. She came bearing candy! Which is the only way we were able to get a smile out of some folks.

Of course, I have a confession to make. Catherine was sick, Stuart had an ear infection and Andy had a terrible sore throat. But by golly I'd scheduled the photographs and nothing was going to keep us from having them made. It would be easier to organize a summit of world leaders to discuss the effect of global warming on the temperament of toddlers than it is to get the family together for pictures.

These are just a few pictures I snapped myself while we were there. Notice Catherine sitting in the stroller wrapped up in Brandi's thick blanket she brought (she was more thoughtful than I....I didn't even have the kids' coats on hand). And try not to notice the green stuff coming out of Stuart's nose.

At least it coordinated with the Christmas theme.

Evil Elf

Hey, did you know I have a blog? Apparently I FORGOT. Wasn't until Mary Anna reminded me that Halloween is over and I don't think I recorded any of the November antics here. And there were antics. Trust me. There are always antics with us.

I swear I don't know where the time goes. I only thought the days flew by when I was lying around eating bon bons and watching Oprah all day. I am really enjoying my job. That is, when I actually make it there. Take one day this past week, for example. Let's say....Wednesday I believe it was.

We were running a little late and I was still running around in my big pink poofy bathrobe trying to get William to pick his pajamas up out of the middle of the floor and brush his teeth so we could finish getting ready to get to school on time. Stuart and Catherine were (amazingly) already dressed and weren't (as of yet) demolishing anything. William (predictably) was dilly-dallying (I just love that word) around. I hollered (sweetly) "William....go straighten up your bed and get your shoes on!" Here's what he must have heard: "WILLIAM....go saw your fingers off one by one with a rusty pocket knife and when you're finished, do your toes!" Because he hurled himself into the sofa and started wailing and weeping and yelling "Nooooo......NOOOOOOOOO!"

{Give me a break.}

"NOW~!" I hollered (sweetly). And off he went into his room. And then there was a loud crash. More weeping and wailing. And I went in to find that an ornament had mysteriously jumped off the Christmas tree in William's room and shattered all over the floor. SO....I grabbed Stuart, threw him in his crib, grabbed Catherine and threw her (sweetly of course) into her room, ran to the carport (flashing the neighbors I fear) and grabbed the broom. Ran back up into the room to clean up the mess and a FRIGGIN' FROG jumped out of the broom. I screamed. William screamed. I captured the frog into a plastic playdough container, set him free out the front door, set Catherine and Stuart free, dumped the shattered glass, got myself dressed, changed a poopy diaper, loaded the wrecking crew into the van, dropped them off at school, and walked into work calm, cool and collected. They have NO IDEA. NONE!

Because I'm gooooooood.

Speaking of being good. Let's talk about Santa's little elves. Particularly that creepy little plastic faced Elf on the Shelf. I thought it was a great idea...a way to make the kids behave during the holidays if they thought the little elf was watching them to report back to Santa if they are naughty or nice. We named him Rufus. And he comes out every Thanksgiving and hangs out until Christmas. But this year William is a little smarty pants and is on to the whole gimmick. He just isn't buying it. We were on our way to school the other morning and he asked if the elf really comes alive and leaves every night to talk to Santa. Of course, I told him. He then asked what he does when he gets back. I don't know, I said. Whatever elves do.

"He eats our cookies," Catherine said matter-of-factly.

Uh, no, that would be Mama, I started to say but instead I agreed. "You're right, Catherine. He's a bad little elf. Bad little elf who eats all the cookies." I wiped some crumbs off my lips as I blamed Rufus.

Later that night I started to move the elf again and I swear he gave me the evil eye.

I swear he did.