Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To love Yankee Candles. I currently have the buttercream one lit and it smells fabulous.


To have survived on four hours of sleep on Friday since I went out shopping at 2 AM.


To hate having to lug out all the Christmas decorations but love the outcome when everything is all out.


To love the cheeseballs from Hickory Farms. I’m buying one this week.


To be annoyed that girly magazines are still telling women to not forget the man’s balls during sex. I’m sorry, but I AM going to forget about them for the last time. And stop telling me to mess around with the anus. No. Just no.


To already have some ornament fatalities since Natalie doesn’t understand that you don’t sleep with ornament Rudolph.


To think it’s amusing that The Today Show had a segment on how to dress like Kate Middleton. I mean, really? I’d rather NOT wear those silly hats that she puts on. If I did, my cat would surely try to attack it, because he’d assume that I was wearing a toy on my head.


To be bummed that Leslie Nielsen died. He was a funny actor.


To be irritated that The Event is on fall hiatus. I guess viewers have been dropping and NBC wanted to see if this helped ratings. I am not amused.


To wish someone would order me some cookies from Cheryls.com. The cookies and brownies are amazing.

The Coldest Black Friday

I was cold.

The coldest that I had probably ever been. My fingers were going numb and I could barely feel my toes.

Oh my God. What if I got Frost Bite and lost my toes? Would Tom still love me without my big toe? Or would he gag and beg me to keep my socks on at all times?

Was this worth it? Was standing in a line outside of Kohls at 2:02 in the morning on Black Friday worth it? Did I really need to find deals? I peeked inside the window and saw the sale signs up and my heart raced with excitement. Yes. The deals were worth it. So what if I lost a big toe?

A gust of wind brushed against my face. It felt like a slap and I recoiled. Why didn’t I live in a warm state?

“The wind makes it worse,” I said to my friend Amanda as the people behind us bumped into our backs. Again. I think it was because one of them was all, “If we all stand together, we won’t be as cold.” I thought she just meant the family members she was with. But no, I think she intended us to join her circle and get friendly, real fast. It seemed like they kept inching closer and closer to us to the point where I wanted to turn around and snap, “Hey! Personal bubble, people. You’re in my personal bubble.”

I stomped my feet, one after the other. I probably looked like I had to pee, but I didn’t care. It kept them warm.

“It’s cold,” I whined, stating the obvious. This was my first time ever standing in line outside a store. Usually I go to Black Friday around 7, when the doors are already open. But this time I had the opportunity to go first thing. The kids were with Amanda’s husband (fast asleep) so I decided to see what it was like being out extremely early.

I was finding out that it was very, very cold.

And that perfect strangers were trying to bring me into their circle to keep warm.

And that parents sent their teenagers out to save a spot in line for them, which sort of irritated me. That’s called CUTTING, people. You can’t just slip in line even if someone is holding your spot. It’s rude. It was on the tip of my tongue to shout that. “It’s RUDE, ma’am, you get in the back of the line. I don’t care if you had your son save a spot for you. You haven’t been out here freezing your ass off and having a stranger grope at you for warmth.”

I didn’t though. Because I heard stories from when people snapped on Black Friday. Suppose I said something and was beat up? It was too early to fight; I’d probably just stand there stupidly and take it. And that’s even if I felt it. My entire body felt numb.

Time seemed to pass by slowly. I would think that ten minutes had passed and it would turn out that only two had.

Was this WORTH it?

I stomped my feet even harder and tried to shift away from the woman in back of me who attempted to rest against my arm.

“Now I know what the people on the Titanic felt like,” I said to Amanda. “When it sank, I mean. Freezing like this. And being tossed in the water, no less. If I had been Kate Winslet, I’d have gone, “Sorry Jack, I don’t care what I promised, I’m just going to die on this door. I’m too cold to care.”

I sipped some hot chocolate that we brought with us. It wasn’t really hot anymore though.

Finally, FINALLY, we had five minutes left. And that’s when I saw them. People, who had been sitting in their warm, toasty cars, standing at the end of the parking lot, waiting to rush inside as soon as the doors opened.

Um.

Some other people in line noticed this too. Evil looks were exchanged. I narrowed my eyes towards a woman who looked like she was going to race inside Kohls as soon as the doors were unlocked. I silently told her, “Don’t you dare. You haven’t been standing outside for an hour like I have, freezing.”

Seriously, what is WRONG with people? You can’t just CUT in line. And if you’re reading this, and have cut before, shame on you. There are no excuses.

A Kohls worker approached the door. Murmurings rumbled through the crowd. It’s opening, the doors are opening, we can finally get warm!

Once the doors were clicked open, those people waiting at the ends of the parking lot did try to get in front of us. But thankfully, a Kohls worker kept them back. And a couple people in line seemed like they’d fight the people who tried to cut. One guy shouted, “GET IN LINE LIKE THE REST OF US!” My hero.

I found a cart, which is a rarity for Kohls on Black Friday. And then I started shopping. I didn’t have a set plan, like some people. I noticed other people had a list written out. I did not. I’m not organized. I try to be, really, but it doesn’t work out. My mother, she’s the queen of lists.

“Let’s go to the toys first,” I said to Amanda. I figured that would be the best place to start.

By the time we were done shopping, the line was stretched all around the store. It took an hour to get through it.

Then we went to Target. It was busy, yes, but not as bad as Kohls. I managed to find this Princess set for Natalie:



And this Toy Story set for Tommy:



Both on sale.

I found a couple of other things too. The line was long, but it moved quicker than Kohls.

And then that was it. Black Friday. Was it worth it? I’d like to think so. I did find some good deals. Would I ever do it again? Probably not. I’d probably stick to going at 7 AM.

But was it exhilarating? Oh yeah.

It's Turkey Day! (Gobble, Gobble)

Happy Thanksgiving

I decided to make a list of what I’m thankful for.


Tom—for defending his country and being proud to stand up for it. And yeah, he still doesn’t seem to grasp the point of a laundry basket, but I am thankful that he speaks car so he can take care of mine when he gets back.


Tommy—for being an all around cool kid and not letting having Aspergers hold him back. And yeah, he may talk about his butt and ask inappropriate questions about his boy bits, but I am thankful that he hasn’t asked me about the hair ‘down there’ for two weeks now.


Natalie—for not being afraid to speak her mind. If she’s pissed, well, she’s going to say something. And yeah, maybe the fact that she has to see the bathroom of every place we go gets old but I’m thankful that at least she’s out of diapers.


John Krasinksi—for being nice to look at. And for having a sense of humor. Many of the Hollywood types do not. And yeah, he might be married, but then again, so am I. Plus, Tom practically drowns himself with his drool when he spots Megan Fox, so it’s all good.


Chocolate—for being my friend when I’m overly stressed. And yeah, Dr. Phil would say that I shouldn’t medicate myself with food but frankly, Dr. Phil can kiss my pale ass.


Nick Jr—for giving me a few minutes of peace. And yeah, a lot of the shows drive me crazy (what is up with those Yo Gabba Gabba thingies, really?) but I’ll take the crazy for five minutes of quiet.


Cranberry Sauce—wait, oops, I’m not thankful for this at all. It makes me gag, which is odd, seeing as I love cranberry juice.


Black Friday--I've always shopped it BUT not at 3 AM. I'm doing that tomorrow. So wish me luck, pray that I don't get trampled on or my glasses tossed off, because if that happens, I'll be nearly blind. I mean, I'll still be shopping, but I'll be in the corner and not know it...(and no, the kids won't be with me, they will be at Amanda's house with her husband while we battle the crowds..)


I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving!

And if you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving today, have a wonderful Thursday then.

Things That Make Me Go Huh?

The world can be a strange place.

The following things have made me pause and think, “Huh?!”




Kirk’s chest. Kirk is a character on one of my favorite shows Gilmore Girls and whenever he bares his chest, I think, “The eff is going on with it?”





Why Natalie feels the need to get into my chocolate. And then LEAVE said chocolate just sitting there. I didn’t waste it, don’t worry, though I still have no clue where she put that Santa Claus. I don’t think she ate it, so several months from now, I’ll probably find an old Santa behind the couch or something.





The woman with the tape on her fingers. I get that she’s teaching kids sign language, which is awesome, but she irritates the ever loving crap out of me.





Magazines that claim to have recipes for an “easy” Thanksgiving and then ramble on about herb and ricotta seasoning. I’m sorry, but no. Easy means just putting butter on the turkey, as I do, and then putting it in the oven. And then the magazine continued to suggest ways to allow your child to help out. Um, no. I want my child as far away from the kitchen as possible.





Angelina Jolie. Shiloh asked for a dead pet, so Angelina got her one.






The fact that Natalie felt the need to mess up my living room and then take a nap—on a cushion that she took from MY couch. And to think I only left her alone for 10 minutes. Imagine if I had left her alone for 20. (And yes, that is a bag of shredded lettuce. I’m just as baffled as you are..)

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To feel sorry for Eva Longoria since she just filed for a divorce from her husband. It’s been alleged that he was exchanging inappropriate texts to a female friend or something.


To be all ready for Black Friday this week! I’m not going nuts or anything, I just stick to Target and Kohls. I’m not brave enough for Wal-Mart.


To love the show Cougar Town. It’s hilarious. PENNY CAN!


To be ready for Thanksgiving. I’m going to a friend’s house so this means I’m not in charge of the turkey this year. Whoop whoop!


To still be working on getting my novel published. Chick lit, I’m continued to be told, is hard to sell. *Le sigh* But come on, surely people want something light and breezy, something that will make them laugh.....


To think it’s awesome that Oprah gives away so much cool stuff on her Oprah’s Favorite Things show but get annoyed with the audience screaming over everything little thing. Yay! It’s a sweater! Yay! It’s a bejeweled toilet cleaner! Maybe that’s why I don’t watch Oprah anymore. The audience....hmmm....


To have not watched the American Music Awards. This is mainly because I’m not a huge fan of a lot of the popular music that is played today. I like some artists (Train, to name one) but a lot of them just make my head ache.


To love those sour candy strip things. Probably more than my kids. I still get excited going into those candy stores in the mall.


To be a little jealous that Kate Middleton is marrying Prince William. Not that I wanted to be Queen, it’s just, she probably has access to cool Henry VIII stuff since she’ll be royalty. So if she’s all, “I’d like to have Hampton Court to myself,” they’d be all, “Of course!” Lucky duck.

But I Love Her!

I gripped the coupons in my hand excitedly as we headed inside Target. I was all set to score some good deals. Finding good deals is like a high for me. And it turns out, Target was having a pre-Black Friday sale, complete with awesome coupons that were found in the Sunday paper. One of the coupons was 50% off any Disney princess toy—and Natalie loves Disney princess toys so I knew that would make a good Christmas present. Another coupon was money off a Lego set—which is perfect, because Tommy adores Legos.

The only problem was, would anything be left? I didn’t stand outside waiting for the Target to open at 8 like some people said they were going to do. No way. I move slowly on Sundays. So by the time we got there, it was a little after 9.

The parking lot wasn’t full so that gave me hope. But…but…a woman walked out of the store with two gigantic bags. Did she take all the deals? What if she took all the deals and there was nothing left? What if there was nothing left?

“Come on kids, we have to hurry,” I said dramatically. I had Natalie on my hip and hurried and stuck her into the cart. I started to head for the toy section.

“Mommy,” Natalie said. “I have to pee.”

Oh no. Seriously? Remember how I wrote how Natalie had to pee everywhere we went? Well, she still does that.

“We need to get to the toy section or they might be nothing left,” I said seriously. “No princess stuff. Nothing.”

Natalie didn’t care. “I have to pee.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh, Natalie.”

Off to the bathroom we went. My heart was thumping with anticipation. Would there be any toys left? I mean, if there weren’t, who cares right? Natalie wouldn’t die if she didn’t get a Disney Princess toy for 50% off. But it was FIFTY PERCENT off. That was an excellent deal!

“This is disgusting,” Tommy complained. “I’m not going in the girl bathroom.”

“You have to. Someone could swipe you,” I said.

“I’m not going in the girl bathroom!” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest.

I sighed. “Fine. Don’t move and if someone tries to take you, scream. If someone asks if you want to see a puppy in his car, you scream. If someone asks if you want to become an actor and tries to hand you their card, you scream.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, resembling a teenager. “I know not to go off with a stranger.”

So I went in with Natalie. I told her she had to hurry, so her brother didn’t get kidnapped.

She didn’t care. She took her time, sitting on the toilet that was probably covered in germs.

“Hurry up, Natalie. I don’t want your brother to get kidnapped,” I said frantically.

“I’m peeing,” Natalie answered even though she wasn’t.

Ten minutes later she was done. I hurried out and Tommy was where we had left him, slumped against the wall, irritated.

“That took forever,” he said.

Tell me about it, son.

Back in the cart Natalie went. I rushed into the toy section and…

….there was a lot of stuff left!

I showed Natalie a Rapunzel doll from that movie Tangled and Natalie started to reach for it...but then she spotted a My Size Rapunzel doll and grabbed for that.

“I want this,” she said.

I frowned. “That’s too big. This doll is the perfect size. She fits in your toy chest and everything!”

Natalie hugged the My Size Rapunzel box. “I want this. I love her.”

“Natalie, you don’t understand, that My Size doll will scare Mommy at night. It’ll be standing there in the corner, I’ll think it’s a ghost and I’ll scream.”

“I LOVE HER!” Natalie didn’t care that her doll could give me a potential heart attack. Rude.

“Can we look at Legos now?” Tommy asked, shuffling his feet impatiently. “This is all girl stuff.”

“Are you sure you don’t want the perfect size Rapunzel?” I tried one last time.

“I.LOVE.HER!” Natalie said, nodding at the My Size Rapunzel box.

So fine. She got the My Size Rapunzel doll (ended up being only $25 with the coupon), Tommy picked out a Lego set, and I also got the Nintendo DSi since it was on sale for $119, the lowest I had seen it. Tommy has a DS now, and the kids fight over it to the point where I want to hurl it out the window and scream, “You see? Now NO ONE has a DS. Are you happy?”

It was a successful trip. But as we stepped out of Target, my stomach growled. I checked the time. Nearly 10, most places weren’t open yet. IHOP was though. Granted, IHOP on Sundays is a scary place indeed. Still…pancakes sounded good. So I brought it up to the kids, who clapped and said that yes, pancakes sounded good to them too.

The second we stepped into IHOP Natalie went, “I have to see IHOP’s bathroom. I have to pee.”

Of course.

“Oh my God, Natalie,” Tommy snapped.

“Tommy. Don’t say that,” I lectured.

“She JUST went in TARGET!” Tommy fumed.

Actually, I wanted to basically say the same thing. “Natalie, you JUST went in TARGET!” But I knew there was no point in arguing. Natalie has to see the bathroom and that’s that.

Into IHOP’s bathroom we went. Tommy waited outside the door again.

“I can’t believe you, Natalie,” he said before we went in.

“I can’t believe YOU, brother,” she answered sweetly.

It took awhile, but the good news was, after we were done with the bathroom a table was ready for us. I ordered the blueberry pancakes.

“Now Tommy,” I said after the waitress walked away. “Since I got you the DSi for Christmas, you probably won’t be getting any other big gifts.”

Tommy frowned. “The DSi isn’t big.”

Oh, right. The literal thing. “No, I mean, you probably won’t get any other expensive things.”

“That’s fine,” Tommy shrugged.

Natalie handed me a Sweet N Low packet. “I think I need to pee again.”

“No, the bathroom is closed,” I said. If she peed all over the booth, I’d deal with it. But I highly doubted she really had to go.

Natalie handed me some Splenda. “I want my Rapunzel when we get home.”

“No, Rapunzel is going away until Christmas.”

“But I want her,” Natalie whined.

“I’m sorry, she’s for Christmas.” I stuck the packets back.

“But I WANT her,” Natalie cried.

“And like I told you before, Veruca Salt, you can’t have her now,” I replied.

I held my ground too. When we home, I took the box from Natalie and said that Rapunzel was going away for awhile.

“But I LOVEEEE HER!” Natalie crumpled to the ground. “I JUST LOVE HER SO MUCH!”

She was behaving like I behaved as a young teenager when I had a crush on Macaulay Culkin.

“She’ll come back next month,” I promised.

“I loveeeee her!” Natalie carried on for about a half hour before admitting defeat. She got herself off the floor, brushed off her legs, and went to sit on the couch, acting as though she hadn’t just been acting like a complete lunatic.

It’s a good thing I also bought a thing of chocolate at Target.

Do You Have To Go?

“Are you almost done?” I asked Natalie.

She grinned up at me, her legs swinging as she sat on the toilet. “In a minute,” she lied. She wouldn’t be done in a minute. It would be more like ten minutes.

I drummed my fingers on the silver stall door. We were in the Wal-Mart bathrooms, a place that I’d prefer to avoid. But the second we stepped in the store, Natalie had claimed that she had to use the potty. So here we were.

You see, Natalie has become serious about potty training in the past two weeks. She knew how to go before that, don’t get me wrong, but she went when she felt like it. Meaning she probably went in the toilet about once per day. The rest went in her Pull Up. I figured, fine, I wasn’t going to press her even though the experts all suggested keeping her in underwear and just letting her go in them until she understood that she had to use the potty.

I’m sorry, but no. My husband is in Korea, therefore I had no patience to follow her around with a paper towel and Resolve.

So I just waited until the flip was switched, the flip that told her that it was time to use the potty. All the time.

And then it happened.

I made the mistake of telling her that all stores have a bathroom. Natalie made a point of wanting to see all these bathrooms. She had gasped and went, “Wal-Mart has a bathroom?” and I had hesitated before admitting that yes, it did.

Now we have to see the bathrooms wherever we go. We’ve seen Wal-Mart bathrooms, Target bathrooms, commissary bathrooms, Petco bathrooms....

And like I said, she rarely even goes in them. She just walks in, gazes around in awe as though she’s never seen a toilet before in her life, plops down and just SITS.

“Natalie,” I groaned, in the Wal-Mart bathroom. “Are you almost done?”

“Not yet,” she answered.

“Look, five more minutes, and then we’re going,” I said firmly.

Natalie shook her head. “Nope.”

I gritted my teeth. Was this how it would be from now on? And ew, I spotted a brown stain and hoped to God it was mud. How could Natalie find public bathrooms thrilling?

“Okay, all done.” I tried to lift Natalie off the toilet but she gripped the sides.

“I.AM.NOT.DONE!” she screamed. Her voice echoed around the bathroom. I overheard a person mumble, “Someone is mad.”

“Natalie, I just want to get this over with. It stinks in here.”

“It smells nice,” Natalie insisted.

In the end, it took another ten minutes before Natalie reluctantly admitted that she didn’t have to go. (“The pee is not coming now,” she informed me seriously. No crap, Natalie.)

The other day we went to Target. I held my breath as we walked through the doors. Please, don’t let Natalie want to see the bathrooms…

Actually, she didn’t say a word about them and I thought, hooray, maybe her infatuation with public toilets was waning. I headed over to my section where I was admiring some sweaters. I was in the middle of deciding whether or not to get one when Natalie said,

“I have to pee.”

I pretended I didn’t hear her. You have to understand, she LIES when she says that half the time. I didn’t WANT to stand in a stall again. So I just lifted up a sweater and held it against me.

“What do you think?” I asked Natalie.

She frowned. “I have to pee. I HAVE TO PEEEEE!”

An old woman walking by tossed me a mean look as if to say, “Why are you shopping when your precious daughter is informing you that she needs to urinate?”

“She’s lying!” I wanted to shout back. “She’s most likely LYING through her baby teeth, I assure you!”

“Do you really have to pee?” I said to Natalie, putting the sweater back.

Natalie nodded.

So into the dreaded stall we went.

“Five minutes,” I said.

Natalie arranged herself on the toilet, her little arms clasped in her lap. She looked as though she could stay there all day. She probably could, if I let her. Those creepy Yo Gabba Gabba characters should do a show on the germs found in public restrooms.

“Natalie, are you done? I’d like to shop. We’re in Target, the land of awesome-ness.”

Natalie didn’t seem moved. “I’m peeing,” she said seriously.

Only she wasn’t.

“Don’t you want to look at some cool stuff? We’ll even look at the toys,” I bribed.

“After I pee.”

Five minutes later, Natalie was all, “I peed!”

When I peeked in the bowl, I saw nothing. “Are you sure?”

“I PEED!”

“Fine, great, you peed. Whatever gets us out of here,” I agreed, bringing her to the sinks where we’d spend another five minutes since she thinks public sinks are fascinating too.

Tomorrow we have to go to the grocery store.

And I can almost bet we’ll be making a trip to the restrooms.

Inside Natalie's Closet

It's no secret that I love to buy clothes for my kids. So I'll occasionally post fashion shows of them in their latest outfits.

Today Natalie is in Gymboree's Tres Fabulous line.


Hey, Natalie, want to take some pictures?



Um.

You might want to remove that finger first. Ew.





She’s all, “What do you mean? I wasn’t picking my nose.”

“Natalie. I have some bad news. It turns out you won’t be Queen of England after all. Prince William has proposed to Kate Middleton.”



“But it’s okay. You still have a small chance with Prince Harry.”



“Or, you know, Tony Parker just became available since Eva Longoria just filed for divorce. However, I hear that it was because he was sending inappropriate texts to another woman. And that, my dear, is a no no.”

After the matchmaking talk, Natalie insisted on having a photo with a rock.



Then I had to run into the side of the house.



“No, Natalie, you can’t have DJ Lance Rock for Christmas. Sorry.”



**Shirt change**



“So how is life going for you?”



“I like coloring.”



“Awesome, Natalie.”



“I like pizza but I don’t like peppers.”

“What? Then you surely can’t be related to me!”

I ran into the house again.



Natalie is probably thinking, “My Mom is crazy but at least she doesn’t throw a fit if someone wants to bring in cupcakes to school. Vegetables are NOT the proper way to celebrate ones birthday, sorry.”



“Love you, Natalie. Even though you do make my ears ring on a daily basis.”

And then she saw a bird and ran off....

The Jewelry Box

It was hidden in a small white box that I picked up and examined closely.

“What is it?” I asked Tom over Skype.

“You have to wait until Christmas,” he answered.

“But,” I complained. “I’m not sure I can.” I am not a patient person when it comes to presents.

“You can wait,” Tom said. “Put the box down and just forget about it until Christmas.”

I shot him a Look. How did he expect me to forget about a present? Was he insane? Did he know me at all?!

“Oh fine,” Tom relented. “You can open it.”

Did I hear him right? Did he say I could—I immediately started opening the box before he changed his mind.

I found this.



“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, running my hand over the smooth service.

It took me a few minutes to figure out how to open the thing.



“Where’s the hole?” I grumbled, but then I brightened. “That what he said!”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re a nerd.” He explained how to open it and when I did, I found this:



“You wrote me a letter,” I said, surprised. I picked up the piece of paper. It wasn’t just a short letter either. Tom’s familiar penmanship stared back up at me and I started to read.

“So do you like—” Tom began.

I lifted up a finger. “Shh. I’m reading what you wrote.”

A few minutes later I looked at Tom, with tears in my eyes. “It was very sweet. Thank you. I love when you show your sweet side. Doesn’t it feel great?”

Tom made a face and scratched an inappropriate part of his body.

Here’s part of the letter...

I love you more than any words could ever describe…..you are my beautiful wife. It has been 9 years now that we have been married…and I have loved you every day for those 9 years. I can never thank you enough for the sacrifices you have made in support of my job…the two birds on the boxes are you and me, always faithful and together. I love you forever....

“Thank you, so much Tom. Really,” I told him.

Only now Natalie keeps trying to steal my box. She hugs it to her chest and goes, “This is mine.” I explain that no, actually it’s not and then she huffs off and gives me dirty looks for like an hour.

So Tom thinks it might be wise to get Natalie her first jewelry box. They make smaller ones.

And as for the letter? I think I’ll always have it in the box. So I’ll always remember.

And also, because if he royally pisses me off when he’s back from Korea, I can maybe read it and think, “He’s not an ass after all.”

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To hate when shows or movies depicts a couple making out the second they wake up in the morning. Ew, morning breath.


To be wary about going on a cruise since that Carnival one got stranded at sea. The news stations all say that everyone was calm on board. I would not have been calm. I’d have been pacing while screeching, “What’s going to BECOME of us all?”


To think Kanye West is an ass. I mean, he freaked out because The Today Show dared to show that video of him taking Taylor Swift’s moment. Hello, Kanye? Don’t be a complete arse and there will be no video like that to air. Thanks.


To wonder what it would be like to kiss in the snow. Cold, probably.


To not be surprised that Jessica Simpson announced her engagement soon after her ex-husband’s engagement announcement.


To hate having the chore of shoveling snow. Tom used to do it, now it’s passed onto me. I like it for all of two minutes and then I’m all, “Stupid snow!”


To have thought that Skating With The Stars was a joke, something uttered on Saturday Night Live. But no, it’s real, on ABC.


To get annoyed when I hear people complain about the full body scans at the airport like it showed on The Today Show. Yes, they are uncomfortable. But if they keep me SAFE, then I’ll do it. I’d rather a few minutes of being uncomfortable to being blown up. But that’s just me…


To have kept wondering what Tina Fey was doing on Sarah Palin’s Alaska.


To love hot chocolate in the fall and winter. With lots of whipped cream.

A Date with My Boy

I honestly thought she would cry but she didn’t.

No, instead she looked at me and said a quick goodbye. In fact, she seemed a little irritated that I wasn’t leaving.

“And you understand that I won’t be putting you to bed?” I questioned Natalie. I was dropping her off for her very first sleepover with my friend Amanda’s two girls.

“I know.” Was it my imagination or did Natalie roll her eyes at me.

“So if you get scared in the middle of the night, I’ll come get you,” I promised passionately. “No matter what the time.”

She wasn’t even listening. She rushed off to play with her friends.

Okay then.

I left soon after that and Natalie barely even noticed.

“Ready for our date?” I asked Tommy, who nodded enthusiastically. I was taking him out, just the two of us. I feel bad but sometimes a lot of my attention goes to Natalie because she’s the smallest and the loudest. Tommy never complains about it, just goes back to flipping through his weather books or creating something with his Legos.

We decided to go to Perkins. When the waitress came, I ordered what I wanted and started to order for Tommy. But then he cut in.

“I can order for myself. I’m going to be nine soon,” he said seriously.

I was taken aback. I suppose he was right, he is getting older, therefore he should order his own food. But I’ve just been doing it so long, it’s become a habit. I sat back and watched as he ordered his burger “with no cheese, because cheese makes me gag on burgers” and then followed it up with a “thank you so much.”

I felt a surge of pride towards my boy. He’s come so far. When he was little, we had so many struggles with him. He wouldn’t talk, he’d do this stimming thing where he’d walk back and forth, ignoring all the other kids his age, lost in his own world. And now look. Nearly nine and ordering for himself.

“So, what’s new with you?” I asked Tommy when the waitress left.

He shrugged. “I like division.”

Yes. He was able to move onto division in his math class since he finished all the multiplication that he needed to know.

“Um. What’s new with you?” Tommy continued, stilted. It’s hard for him to be social, seeing as he has Aspergers. But in school the counselor comes in and helps him with social situations. And one of the things she teaches him is to ask others questions.

“Well,” I began. “I’ve just been busy taking care of you guys. And also, and I know this is weird, but I was watching Gilmore Girls the other day, the very first season and I have to say that Lauren Graham looks exactly the same as she does now that she’s in that show Parenthood. It’s like she hasn’t aged. Is she some freak of nature or what? Or maybe she just has a fabulous plastic surgeon. Maybe it’s good genes. Who knows? Do you know what I mean?”

Tommy blinked at me. “I don’t.” Aspergers causes him to be blunt which is why I’m thinking it might be better if he dates a woman with Aspergers. If he dates a typical woman and she asks if she looks fat in something, I fear Tommy might give her the honest truth and when she hit him over the head with her purse he’d shriek, “I’m just being honest!”

“Never mind then. I was just being silly. I have silly thoughts in my head and—”

“I can’t wait till we get to Oklahoma and see all the tornados!” Tommy cut in. He noticed that he had interrupted me and sat back. “I’m sorry. You were talking. Go on.”

Again, I was floored.

“You have wonderful manners, I must say,” I said. I don’t always get to see them, because I’m dealing with his dramatic sister.

“Thank you,” Tommy said. “Now about those tornados…” And he proceeded to go on and on about them, using some words that I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before. We’re moving to Oklahoma during the summer and Tommy is thrilled about the prospect of tornados. I am not. But ask him anything about them, and he could probably tell you.

When our food came, we ate and made small talk. And then when that was done I suggested we get an ice cream sundae.

“I think I’m full,” Tommy said, rubbing his stomach.

“I have a secret,” I whispered and Tommy leaned forward. “There is always room for ice cream.”

He grinned as I ordered a sundae for us.

When it arrived, we dug in.

“I’m glad we’re on a date,” Tommy said. “My sister is kinda loud.”

I nodded. “That she is.”

“And sometimes she grosses me out.” Tommy made a face.

This is true. Natalie likes to chew her food and then open her mouth to show Tommy the contents inside of it. This seriously grosses Tommy out and makes him gag. Then he’ll screech, “She’s GROSSING me out!” and I’ll be like, “Knock it off, Natalie,” and she’ll chase after Tommy, mouth open, while he freaks out. It’s not fun.

“That isn’t very nice of her,” I said sympathetically. “You are a great big brother though.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed.

We left soon after that. When we got home, I kissed Tommy’s cheek outside the front door.

“Why did you do that?” Tommy asked.

“That’s usually what happens on the end of dates. Thank you for coming with me. So what lesson did you learn tonight?”

Tommy tapped his chin. “That Lauren Graham looks the same?”

I laughed. “No. That there is always room for ice cream.”

“Oh right. Yes. There is always room for ice cream.” Then Tommy tossed his arms around my waist and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Mommy.”

My heart melted. “You’re welcome, Tommy.”

And as for Natalie? She had a fantastic first sleepover. She didn’t cry once.

Your Teachers Are Coming!

I vacuumed.

I swept.

I mopped.

I vacuumed.

I swept.

I mopped.

“Does the house look okay?” I asked Tommy.

He didn’t bother to look up from his Nintendo DS. “I guess so.”

Ugh. That wasn’t a good response. I surveyed the room and sighed. Everything looked clean enough. It’s just, it had to be perfect. Or close to it.

Why?

Because Natalie’s teachers were stopping by for a home visit. Natalie got a grant that allowed her to go to preschool for free and one of the stipulations was that parent/teacher conferences had to be held at my house.

I know. I was baffled too when the teacher called and told me.

And it was on the tip of my tongue to ask, “Do you go room to room and make notes? Because I admit it now, I’m a pack rat and if I open my closet, things will fall out and attack us.”

I swallowed that back though. Instead I agreed to a visit and then cleaned like mad.

I even got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor. Natalie took this as an opportunity to jump on my back.

“Horsey!” she bellowed. “Horsey!”

“Natalie, no horsey right now. I’m trying to clean. For your teachers!” I thought she’d be moved by this but she wasn’t. She just rubbed my head and went, “Go horsey!”

I was nervous. On the day they were due to arrive, I kept cleaning. This is not easy when you have a three-year-old who feels that everything belongs in the living room.

“My Dora wants to be in here,” Natalie said, dragging her doll from her room.

“Fine. But no more toys. I need to keep this area clean. Your teachers are coming!” I must’ve said that sentence over 50 times. But it just didn’t seem to compute with Natalie, who wanted to continue bringing her toys down.

“Brobee needs to come,” Natalie said, racing up the stairs.

“No more toys! Your teachers are coming!” I sounded like Paul Revere. Only instead of shouting that the British were coming, it was teachers.

I knew I had an unrealistic expectation in my head on how the visit would go. In my mind, Natalie would be standing solemnly in the room, dressed in an adorable pinafore and she’d say, “Good day, *insert her teacher’s names here*” and then turn and walk silently to her room because she’d understand that we needed to talk without a child screaming in the background.

But that would never happen. For one, Natalie doesn’t have a pinafore. Two, she’s never been quiet for more than 5 minutes. Unless she’s sleeping. But even then, I find she makes noises in her sleep.

“Brobee NEEDS TO COME!” Natalie screeched at me from the top of the stairs. She even stomped her food. “BROBEE NEEDS TO COME!!”

She looked frightening. I had put her hair in pigtails but one was ripped out. And she had a smudge on her face that she refused to let me wipe off. The second I came at her with a washcloth, she had freaked out and told me NOT TO TOUCH HER!

Ugh. I didn’t remember Tommy being like this. Granted, when he was three he barely said a word and I remember wishing that he’d talk to me. I’d look into his blue eyes and go, “Please talk to Momma. I just want to talk to my boy.”

And then came Natalie, who started speaking early, telling me quite frankly that she was mad at the age of one.

“Natalie, fine, bring Brobee but no more!” I peeked out the window. The teachers would arrive any second.

A few minutes later Natalie returned with the entire Yo Gabba Gabba gang in her hands. I could barely see her face over the creepy characters that she held.

“Natalie,” I groaned. “I said just Brobee.”

“No! Everyone!” Natalie set them down. “I need my books.” She started to head for the stairs again but I grabbed her.

“No more toys. There is enough,” I said firmly.

She scowled and writhed in my arms. “I NEED MY BOOKS!”

My ears immediately started to ring. She’s been making my ears ring since the second she came out of me. Soon I’m going to be permanently deaf.

“Natalie, no more, okay? Your teachers are COMING!”

“I NEEEEEEDDDD MY BOOKKKKKKKKS!” Natalie’s lip began to quiver. Shit. This meant she was about to have a meltdown. T-minus 10 seconds. And…oh no, oh no, her teachers had just pulled up.

“Natalie,” I said frantically. “You can’t cry now. Your teachers are HERE. Let’s go say hello!” I steered her towards the door.

“NOOOOO!” Natalie shrieked. “I DON’T WANT TO SAY HELLO!”

Oh man. It’s times like those when I wished I could afford a nanny. Then I could have asked the nanny to take Natalie into another room. Kelsey Grammer’s ex-wife admits to having four nannies. And she only has two kids. Surely she could spare one?

I held the door open for her teachers and pretended everything was peachy even though Natalie was wailing in the background.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully. “How are you?” I scooped Natalie up and she sobbed into my shoulder.

“Hi,” one of Natalie’s teachers said. “Aww, what’s wrong Natalie? I’ve never seen her upset before.”

This is because she tricks them at school, behaves like an angel, and the second I pick her up she starts in with the whining.

“She’s had a rough morning,” I explained.

Natalie sniffled.

We all settled down on the couch. Natalie broke free of my arms and ran into the dining room. Oh well. At least it would be quiet.

It turns out Natalie is doing well at school. She’s eager to try everything and is even speaking up more. Before she would barely speak, which is amusing to me, considering that she likes to make my ears ring. The teachers also mentioned that she’s one of the most popular girls in school. Everyone wants to be around her. I sort of hope this doesn’t carry through till high school. I’d get annoyed if teens were all over our house, messing with our food, calling and texting all the time...

So bottom line is, Natalie rocks at preschool.

Cool.

And she eventually even came back into the living room and said hello to her teachers.

Before they left, they gave me this report on Natalie:



I’m still laughing over the fact that she has to be reminded to speak up in class.

She definitely does not need any reminders at home.

My ringing ears can attest to that.

Should I Do It?

They were set out in front of me, one by one.

I chewed my lower lip, contemplating.

What should I do?

I twisted my fingers together in my lap.

What should I do?

“Here are the prices.” The woman slid the paper over to me and I tried not to pass out. The lowest package started at $119. Was that the real price? I blinked, trying to will a better number to pop up. But no. There was $119 staring back up at me.

As well as the various photos of my children that the woman was hoping I’d purchase.

You see, awhile back I brought the kids in to take some antique-style photos. It was a thing a local church did and $10 would get you a 10X13 along with multiple other photos shot. I figured, okay, I could spare $10. It’s a church, and I like churches.

I glanced down at all the photos of my children. The ones of Natalie were easy to pass on because she looked baffled in most of them. The photographer had tried to get her to laugh and spouted out funny words and Natalie had frowned and probably thought, “Why isn’t this woman running into a wall?” Because that’s what I do to get her to laugh at home. The photographer had handed Natalie a silver tea set and implored Natalie to play with it so she could get a shot.

Natalie just gaped at the woman. She opened and closed the teapot before setting it down.

Tommy did a little better. He did not like the overalls they made him wear.

“These are not cool,” he kept whining, tugging on the straps. “These aren’t cool at all.”

When the photographer had plopped a newsboy cap on his head he balked. “What is this? I didn’t agree to this! We didn’t talk about this!”

“Just…wear it,” I begged him from the sidelines.

The photographer had handed him a fake fishing pole with a fake fish attached.

“What’s going on now?” Tommy complained, taking it.

In short, none of the photos wowed me. But it was awkward sitting there, as the woman waited. Would she think I was a terrible Mom if I turned down photos of my children? Oh God. Why wasn’t Tom here to help me? He has no qualms turning people down. He’d have stroked his chin, glanced at the pictures and had gone, “I’m not interested, thanks.” And because Tom looks like he could snap a person in two, the woman would have merely nodded and kept silent.

I stroked my chin, like Tom would, in what I hoped was a businesslike manner. I kept thinking, “How much longer should I sit here?” Should I just grab the 10X13 that I already paid for and go?

Across from me another woman was surveying the photos of her kid. Her son stood beside her, pointing out the ones he wanted.

“It’s just, we can’t afford them all, baby. They’re expensive.” The mom whispered the last word, so as not to offend anyone. But she told the truth. If you wanted all the photos they were over $300.

Then the kid actually started to sniffle.

“Don’t cry. It’s not like I don’t like them. It’s just...” The mom lowered her voice again. “..expensive.”

Wow. Would Natalie cry if I didn’t buy her photos? Tommy was thankfully at school but Natalie was....

...oh, she was spinning in circles beside me. She could care less.

“Weeee!” she bellowed, turning around. “Weeee! I’m dizzy!”

“Um,” I said, swallowing. Why couldn’t I say the words? Why? I wasn’t interested in the photos, thank you. It was simple. I just hate disappointing people.

Maybe I could get Natalie to say it? It would be cuter coming from a three-year-old with jelly smudged on her cheek.

I sighed. No. I had to do it on my own.

“I think,” I croaked, grabbing hold of the envelope that contained the 10X13. “I think I’ll just take this.”

The woman pursed her lips. I thought she might lecture me. Don’t you want pictures of your kids? You do know these are destroyed right? But no, she silently started gathering the photos up.

“Okay,” is all she said.

“Okay,” I repeated dumbly, standing. My heart did tug a bit as I saw her sticking all the photos in an envelope. The poor things, about to be destroyed because I didn’t want to fork over the money for them.

Oh well.

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing Natalie’s hand.

And then we left. As we stepped outside, I let out a deep breath. It was over. I had done it.

I pulled out the 10X13 and smiled.

“There’s me!” Natalie said, pointing at herself. “And I have a hat on!”



I grinned.

“Tommy has a hat on,” Natalie continued.

Ahh yes, the dreaded newsboy cap.

It was a decent photo of the two of them. I’ve tried to get a good photo of the two of them, but they usually argue. Tommy will say Natalie is breathing on him, Natalie will say Tommy poked her and it’ll just go downhill from there.

So I think it was $10 well spent.

Really.

The Hairy Purse

I’m sorry.

But I don’t understand a lot of the trends.

Like these:



I guess these fringe bags are “in” right now.

I personally wouldn’t know whether to wear it or pet it.

(And PS—who would pay $1800 for a purse with strings?)

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

--------------------------------

To wonder what in the world is going on with Randy Quaid. I mean, he helped save the world from aliens in Independence Day. Why is he spouting on about a secret mafia called the Star Wackers?


To not be sure if I’d like the vanilla lavender flavored donut that a magazine mentioned.


To enjoy watching the show Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.


To not understand why people layer their beds with all those decorative pillows. I tried to do that once and it lasted two days.


To love Pixie Stix. I sort of stole them out of my children’s Halloween bags.


To have been craving chicken in a bucket for the past week. KFC anyone?


To sometimes want to go, “I’m in the depths of despair, thanks,” when someone asks how I am. Just to see if they catch the Anne of Green Gables reference.


To wonder if Nicholas Sparks is romantic since he writes such sappy books.


To wish I could afford a makeup artist.


To know that Tom and I are not mature enough to ever try that Love Dare.

My Dear Letters

Here are some letters I wish I could send...



Dear House (my actual house, not the House from the TV show),

Please stop falling apart on me. I know you think it’s funny but it’s really not. And that stunt you pulled when the hot water suddenly went out while I was in the shower? Not cool.

Signed,
A-doesn-t-like-to-scream-while-bathing,
Amber

---------------------

Dear Natalie,

What was up with the meltdown earlier? All I said was that it was time for a bath. The last time I checked, you love taking baths. Carrying on for 20 minutes about how baths are not fun was not an enjoyable time for Mommy.

Signed,
A-Bathtime-Is-One-Of-The-Few-Times-She’s-Contained,
Amber

------------------------

Dear Tommy,

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sit on your latest Lego creation. I didn’t see it on the couch. If it’s any consolation, it really hurt my butt.

Signed,
A-Need-To-Be-More-Alert,
Amber

-----------------------


Dear NBC,

Please don’t cancel Parenthood. It’s been said that you won’t be ordering any more episodes. Don’t give up on such an awesome show.

Signed,
A-Will-Really-Be-Bummed-If-The-Show-Goes,
Amber

-------------------------

Dear Tom,

I wrapped up your Christmas presents. Don’t make fun of my wrapping. I know I suck at it. I do try though.

Signed,
A-Sucky-Wrapper,
Amber

-------------------------


Dear Glen the Antelope,

Look, I know you find it amusing to eat all the plants in my yard. But it isn’t. Go bug someone else. The woman down the street has all sorts of delicious things growing in her yard.

Signed,
A-Glen-Is-Lucky-I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Make-Jerky,
Amber

-------------------------


Dear Totinos Pizza Rolls,

Why can’t I quit you?

Signed,
A-They-re-Just-So-Easy-To-Make,
Amber

--------------------

Dear train that likes to rumble past my window and blare it’s horn at 3 AM,

Knock it off. We get it. You’re coming through. One blare of your horn is enough. Maybe you’re pissed that other people get to sleep at 3 AM while you have to go through boring states and I apologize for that...but still, shhhh. Repeat after me: one blare of your horn is enough. One blare of your horn is ENOUGH!

Signed,
A-Doesn't-Like-Her-Sleep-Interrupted,
Amber

The One with No Pants

“Natalie, you’ve got to get your pants on. Someone is coming over to check on the heater and you can’t greet him in your underpants!” I shrieked, waving her jeans in the air.

Since I live on base housing, someone comes out to do a yearly maintenance checkup on the heater and fire alarms. I didn’t want the worker to be shocked by my kid with no pants though I’m sure he’s probably seen worse.

“No pants!” Natalie shouted in return. “I don’t like my pants and I don’t WANT my pants.”

She’d fit in with those starlets in Hollywood who like to stroll along in dresses that I swear are just oversized t-shirts since they barely cover their thighs. I wonder if they dress that way because their parents never emphasized the importance of pants.

“You will wear your pants,” I said firmly. I grabbed a hold of Natalie and tried to wrestle her pants on. I figured this would work out because I’m bigger than her. But no, she squirmed, she tried to bite, and she managed to wiggle under my arm to freedom. She raced to the end of the hall.

“NOOOOOOOOO PANTS!” she bellowed.

I rubbed my temples. I was so not in the mood for this. It had been a long morning of scrubbing the floor where the heater was because I didn’t want the worker to think we were pigs. Then I had to make sure the other rooms looked presentable, since there are fire alarms in each of those. Now my daughter was refusing to wear her pants.

“I am the parent and I say you will wear your pants!” I boomed. I held her jeans in the air like they were a trophy.

“Nope,” Natalie said simply, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nope, nope, and nope.”

I could feel my anger start to boil. I always thought that I had a lot of patience. But this was before I had children.

I charged at Natalie like a bull and she darted away. I managed to grab her waist and held her down with my leg.

“NOOOOOOOO PANTS!” Natalie screamed. Her face was red. “NOOOO PANTS!”

Then the doorbell rang.

Crap.

The worker was here. And he probably heard Natalie freaking out. I stood up and Natalie rushed off. Her pants were only on one leg.

“Hello,” I said in what I hoped was a cheerful tone as I pulled open the front door.

“What’s that man for?” Natalie asked, sidling up beside me. She still just had her pants on one leg.

The worker blinked at us.

“Well, come on in,” I said brightly, acting as though I wasn’t just begging for my three-year-old to put on her pants a minute ago.

The worker stepped in and surveyed the room. It had been clean ten minutes earlier. But then Natalie decided that all her stuffed animals needed to form a line across the living room.

“It’s a party in here,” I joked.

“Huh?” the worker answered.

“It’s a—never mind, the heater is down the hall,” I said dumbly.

The worker gave me one last puzzled glance and headed for the heater.

I stared at Natalie. “Will you put your pants on properly now?”

“All I want is my princess dress,” she said.

Fine. I guess that was better than nothing. I helped her into her Snow White dress and reminded her to stay away from the man and let him work. She actually listened but Max the cat kept popping his head into the room the man was in and then he’d startle himself, backing up with his fur on end.

The good news is that everything is working perfectly.

The bad news is, I still can’t get Natalie to wear pants.

Man For Hire?

Stressed out?

Tired of cleaning?

Feel like you’re going to lose your mind if you pick up ONE MORE abandoned sock?

Well, have no fear!

Hire a dude to clean and organize for you.

No, seriously.

Look:



I mean, I know it says that it’s just to help you move. But I’m sure the guy would tidy up if you asked.

For a while I played around with calling the number and having a guy come over. Then I figured I’d call him John, after John Krasinski, but then I realized that he’d probably have his own name.

But then suppose I was talking to Tom on Skype and he happened to see John walk past with his tools. He’d lose his cool for sure, probably rip off his shirt and challenge John to a duel.

Oh wait. We’re in the year 2010 not 1610. So maybe no duel but Tom would definitely swear and threaten divorce if I didn’t get John out of his house and away from his tools.

“He’s just helping me clean and organize,” I’d insist. I would leave out the part about giving me something nice to look at. Not because John would have abs, but because he’d just be lean and basic looking. Men who are really buff actually make me nervous. I prefer the lanky ones who can make me laugh.

In the end, I knew it just wouldn’t work out. I couldn’t hire John.

It’s too bad. I had some chocolate and peanut butter cookies I could have made as a payment.

Ahh well. More cookies for me.

What Are You Wearing?

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Tommy said, his lip pulling upward in disgust.

I glanced down at the shirt I had on. It had an orange on the front with a glass of orange juice and the orange is looking at it going, “Mom?” I find it hilarious.

“Er...yes?” I answered. I was tempted to say something sarcastic like, “No, I just put it on for decoration,” but Tommy has Aspergers which means he takes everything literally. So had I said that, he’d have been all, “Decorations? Like Christmas?”

“Oh.” Tommy frowned.

“Is there a problem?” I asked impatiently. We were about ready to leave for his parent/teacher conference.

Tommy shuffled his feet. “It’s just, none of the other mothers wear shirts with fruit on it.”

That’s because they aren’t cool. I once saw one mother wear a collared shirt with a CARDIGAN tied around their neck. I thought only rich people did that on TV.

“It doesn’t really matter what I wear,” I insisted. I mean, my shirt could be worse. I have one that says “Save the trees, wipe your ass with an owl.” I’m smart enough to know that it’s not appropriate to wear in a school.

“It’s just, the oranges aren’t cool,” Tommy said primly. “The shirt isn’t cool. The glass of juice isn’t cool. The—”

I wasn’t about to stand there and be insulted so I cut in. “Hey, Randy Quaid, I get it. I’ll change.”

As I thundered up the stairs Tommy shouted, “Who is Randy Quaid?”

Parent/teacher conferences always make me a little nervous. I never know what the teacher is going to say about Tommy. In preschool it was mainly, “He won’t talk and he won’t sit during circle time. He prefers to do a dance.”

Well, sometimes I prefer to do a dance instead of sit.

Tommy and I waited outside of his classroom until the teacher called us back.

“Anything I should know?” I asked him.

“About what?”

“About...what the teacher might be telling me?”

Tommy opened his mouth to say something right as the teacher called us. Crap. What was he going to say? Was there a problem? When the teacher presented me with his report card and it had horrible grades on it, should I slam my fist down and screech, “I disagree!” Or should I sit there with a plastic smile on my face and mutter, “His grades are like this because he was dropped as a baby. My apologies.”

But it turns out I didn’t have anything to worry about. Tommy is doing great. His grades are mostly 3s (out of 4s), which means proficient. And his teacher raved how responsible he was. She did say that he got frustrated with his work sometimes and she’d notice tears in his eyes—so they are working on getting Tommy to raise his hand more and ask questions.

I relaxed a bit after I saw his report card.

“Great job, Tommy,” I said, as we walked back to the car.

“Your welcome.”

I bent down and kissed his cheek.

“Mom!” Tommy wiped it off while his eyes darted around the parking lot.

“Oh, come on, I can’t wear oranges on my shirt and I can’t kiss you? What’s with all these rules?” I griped as I unlocked the car.

Tommy slid into his seat. “I’m getting big now,” he said matter-of-factly. “Soon I’ll be nine. And then ten.”

“So I guess you’re getting too old for me to massage your head,” I said.

“Well. You can still do that,” Tommy responded grandly. “And if you really want, in private, you can call me your baby.”

My heart melted a bit. “Thank you, baby.”

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

---------------------

To chant “Go, go, go” to the team you want to win in The Amazing Race.


To think it’s ridiculous that Charlie Sheen’s people are saying that he acted bizarrely while staying at the Plaza Hotel due to adverse reactions to medication. Please. It’s called drugs and booze.


To love the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It made me appreciate Windex.


To have battled the crowds to check out the 50% off Halloween stuff. Didn’t find much though. Bummer.


To still wonder why people refuse to use their turn signals.


To not get half the fashion that’s shown in Cosmo or Glamour.


To like the show Hollywood Treasures where old props from TV shows and movies are sold. They showed a prop room filled with stuff from the show Lost. I want some!


To be grateful that neither of my children like Justin Bieber.


To wish I had more time to read.


To have enjoyed watching the cast of The Sound of Music reunite on Oprah last week.


To have had more Halloween candy than the kids. I can’t believe there are parents out there who suggest getting rid of some candy so there won’t be any temptations. Waste perfectly good candy? I think not.

Anne, Gilbert, and Pinecones?

For awhile I toyed around with dressing up as Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables on Halloween.

I had it in my head that I’d sew a blue dress with puffed sleeves—and then I remembered that I didn’t even know how to sew.

So then I thought about buying a drab dress, the kind that Marilla dubbed acceptable, and having Tommy be Gilbert. He’d be easier. I could stick him in brown pants, and a white shirt with suspenders.

But do you know how weird store workers look at you when you ask if they carry slates? Slates, because in the movie, Anne smacks a slate down on Gilbert’s head for calling her Carrots due to her red hair. In my mind I would shock other Trick or Treaters by banging Tommy’s head with a slate—and then I thought, oops, this could be conceived as child abuse and actually, a slate to the head would probably hurt.

So no dressing up as Anne. No Gilbert. No slates.

I just wore normal clothes. I could have put on my Anne Boleyn dress but when I wore it last year, Natalie tried to take off on me a few times and do you know how hard it is to run in that costume? I kept tripping over the skirts to the point where I had to lift them WAYYY up and hope I wasn’t flashing anyone.

Tommy dressed up as a creepy Skeleton.



And Natalie, as I’ve mentioned before, was a peacock, and it was especially fun to have to explain to the person exactly what Natalie was when she left out the word ‘pea.’

I tried to get a good photo of them together. This was not easy:





After that we met up with Amanda and her family.







Trying to get a group photo is also not easy.

And then it was time to Trick or Treat!







This amused me. The sign said “Billy Bob says just take one!”



And look at this dude’s décor. A giant propeller!

We were out for nearly 2 hours.

This is the final tally of candy for the both of them:



Do you see the giant pixie sticks? Some wonderful person was passing them out and Tommy said I could have his.

I’m hiding Natalie’s unless I want her dancing off the ceiling.

Yes, that is a pinecone in the corner. Natalie insisted on keeping it.

And I’m so claiming the Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. I birthed them, therefore the chocolatey peanut butter treats belong to me.