I Resolve...

So New Year’s is approaching.

I figured I ought to make some resolutions. Or try to, at least.

So here we go.


I resolve NOT to give up fast food.

The people who can do that are heroes in my eyes. Who could go without delicious fries covered in salt? Or Big Macs? Or..or...the grilled stuffed burrito from Taco Bell?


I resolve to NOT give up cursing.

I can’t do it. I tend to have a potty mouth when I’m playing video games which is why I play them when the kids are in bed. Or try to, at least. I was playing Angry Birds the other day and dropped a few inappropriate words. It’s just, those green pigs were MOCKING me.


I resolve to NOT give up my diet coke.

That’s how I get my caffeine. Without it, I’d be terribly cranky. And I’d probably curse a lot more.


I resolve to NOT stop buying ultra adorable clothes for my children.

I can’t help it. And I know that there will come a day when they won’t let me dress them anymore. Actually, Tommy is kind of like this now, but for the most part if I set something out he’ll put it on.


I resolve to NOT stop laughing at farts.

I know. I’m 28. Farts shouldn’t be funny anymore. But they are.



I resolve to get an agent to believe in me and my book.

After all, there has to be SOMEONE out there for me. I mean, if someone like Snooki and Paris Hilton can get a book published, by God I can.


Happy New Year, everyone. See ya in 2011.

The Fake Mile High Club

“Mommy? I need to pee,” Natalie said seriously.

I winced. “Natalie. You don’t want to pee in here. This is an airplane. Airplane bathrooms are scary. And small. And Mommy has indulged herself while we were visiting your grandparents so I’m not quite sure my butt would even squeeze into that tiny room with you. So if you could just hold it—”

“I.need.to.pee.” Natalie gave me her scary look. The one that said if I didn’t take her to the bathroom, that she’d pee all over herself and then scream about it the rest of the way.

I didn’t have a choice.

“Are you absolutely positive? It’s really small and there’s usually a smell. I don’t know how people join the mile high club. I mean, how would they manage?” I rambled. I ramble on airplanes because flying makes me nervous. Rambling helps me forget that I’m thousands and thousands of feet in the air and could pummel to the ground at any second.

“What’s a mile high club?” Tommy wondered, looking up from his Nintendo DS game.

Crap.

“It’s um…when people go into the airplane bathrooms and…play monopoly.”

It was the first thing that popped into my head. So great, now if anyone is like, “We can play Monopoly on board!” Tommy will say, “Oh cool, you’re joining the mile high club then.”

Fantastic.

“Pee, pee, pee,” Natalie chanted.

I sighed. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tommy, you stay here.”

Normally I drag him along with us. But we were in an airplane. If someone took him, where would they go?

I led Natalie towards the bathroom. I’m not sure how, but we both squeezed inside of it.

And yes, there was a smell.

Plus a pee soaked tissue in the toilet.

Ew.

“Hurry it up,” I begged.

“I like it in here,” Natalie said happily. Of course she would. I mean, she thinks going to the dentist is pretty cool so why wouldn’t she be disgusted by an airplane bathroom?

When we go back to our seats, Tommy was still there and Natalie went, “The bathroom is cool, Tommy.”

Were we in the same one? I would not qualify it as cool.

We had to take a shuttle service back home when we landed. I was nervous about this, because driving with a stranger wasn’t my idea of fun. But this shuttle service works with the military a lot, so I figured we’d be safe. Still, I had my guard up when I found the guy. I was prepared to attack if need be. My purse was full of change, my suitcase was heavy, and my daughter had a scream that could pierce an eardrum.

He was nice though.

Only, when I first got into the car, I realized he had on one of those CDs that basically say, “Don’t focus on the negative. Focus on the positive. I visualized having a skirt one day and a week later, I had that skirt because I thought positively about it.”

Um.

I was a little nervous then. Who was this guy? Why was he making me listening to this?

“Have you heard about The Secret?” he asked.

I blinked wondering if he was coming on to me. Then I remembered a popular book coming out called The Secret. Or something. “I think so?”

“This is the CD from that.”

Oh. Well.

The lady on the CD was British and sounded a bit like Angela Landsbury. I wondered if she was still alive. She was so cute on Murder, She Wrote.

“Don’t use words like horrible, awful, or terrible,” Angela Landsbury told me. “Use words like wonderful, fantastic, and great.”

Oh my God. What if this guy was listening to this stuff to control his anger? To keep himself from lashing out and abducting us all?

Or what if this was how he lured his victims? By playing affirmations and then when they were lost in all the “think happy thoughts” bit, he struck?

I griped the handle of my purse in case I had to swing at him. What if he took us all into a ditch and left us there with the CD playing? Death by affirmations?

I nibbled on my fingernail as Angela Landsbury told me a story about how she visualized having flowers and then a bouquet showed up at her house a little while later.

So if I think about having tons of cash, a bunch will show up at my door next month?

Sweet.

I tried to calm myself down by playing Angry Birds on my iPod Touch. But the birds were making me angry when they wouldn’t do what I was asking them to do. And then I worried that I wasn’t paying enough attention to Affirmation Dude and figured I ought to stop playing. I needed to make sure he was taking me home and not someplace in the opposite direction.

Oh my God, he’s taking me to Longmont! Where is that? Where is—oh right, it’s on the way home. Phew. Everything is okay.

And everything was okay. We made it home and the house was still here with the contents inside of it, so I was pleased.

Though truth be told, I did have dreams of Angela Landsbury reminding me to think positive thoughts, because negative ones will get me no where.

Okay, Angela. I’ll think that even though I consume a lot of chocolate that it won’t make my thighs expand.

That’s positive, yes?

I'm Here!

I'm alive!

I made it home safely, so no need to alert the authorities.

I'll be back on tomorrow to post a longer entry but for now, I'm in desperate need of a shower.

I smell like airplane.

Huge Menus and Oversized Baggage

The menu was almost as big as a book.

Mom opened it gingerly, flipping one page at a time. "I'm not sure where to even begin," she admitted.

I opened my own menu and my stomach growled. Mmmm, just look at all the goodness. We were at The Cheesecake Factory, one of my favorite restaurants. Unfortunately there isn't one where I live, so since I'm visiting my Mom, I insisted that we go.

"I'm getting the white chili," I said, shutting my menu with a flourish. My tongue watered over the thought of the chili. It's perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, perfectly everything. "And of course, there is dessert."

Mom turned another menu page. "I don't know if I'll have room for dessert."

"There's always room for dessert!" I insisted. I always make room. When I'm at Olive Garden and have consumed more salad and bread sticks and pasta than I care to remember, I STILL order dessert.

Gosh, if I didn't love food so much, think about what my body could look like. I could be toned! I could wear bikinis! Only, even if I were toned, I imagine my stretch marks would still remain and kids would point and go, "What's wrong with that lady's toned stomach? Is it diseased?" and I'd be all, "No, this is what happens when you carry two human beings, you insensitive snit."

But oh well, so I'll never be toned. I'd rather be flabby and happy than toned and pissed off that all I can have is wheatgrass and cereal that looks like tree bark with a couple of nuts tossed in.

My white chili was fantastic and when I was halfway through, I leaned over and asked Mom if she would share a slice of cheesecake with me.

"No. I'm full," she said.

So I got a slice to go, because it's sort of a sin to go to The Cheesecake Factory and not get some cheesecake.

After we ate, we did some shopping since we were at the North Star Mall. Obviously I went into Gymboree mainly because they are having their Red Balloon Sale where they mark old lines really cheap....I look forward to this every year, and normally at home my store has a fairly good selection.

....but the Gymboree in Texas, did not have much left.

In fact, I circled the store three times, thinking I must've missed something. All I had were a pair of fish sandals for $4.99 in my hand I was all, "Yes, but, where is the rest?"

It turns out that a bunch of Mexicans came and took all the deals.

And I'm not being prejudiced, that's seriously what the worker told me when I asked where all the deals were.

And look, I get excited over deals as much as the next person, but I SHARE. I don't take it all. That's just...rude.

Oh well. At least I had fish sandals.

We went into The Disney Store, where Natalie proceeded to tell me that she wanted basically everything inside of it.

I let her get a tiny Mickey Mouse doll.

And..well, actually, I didn't get too much.

Then I came home and had to start packing, because I leave tomorrow. Well, technically today since I'm writing this a few minutes before midnight. I hate packing, as I've said before and now I really think my suitcase may be over 50 lbs. I thought that coming over here, and it turns out it was only 32 lbs, but now I'm for certain it's up there. But at least I can zip it closed and not have to sit on it. I've done this many times before while screaming, "Zip it, Tom, zip it now while we have a chance!"

Ugh.

Maybe the worker will be all, "Aww, since it's Christmas, we'll waive the fee."

But I doubt it, because airline workers seem cranky and ready to grope.

I also hope that the shuttle driver that's taking me home is sane. See, I fly into the Denver airport but my home is in Cheyenne, Wyoming, almost two hours away. I could fly into Cheyenne, but that means more money and one of those itty bitty planes that look as though they'd fall apart if they are looked at funny.

So Denver it is.

I called the shuttle company many times to confirm, and they don't seem totally organized even though I'm promised someone will be waiting.

In the 5th story parking garage.

Which sort of sounds like a set up to me, like the guy is going to whip out a gun as soon as I approach. If this happens, I'll use my oversized suitcase as a shield.

But just in case, I'm using Cowboy Shuttle and the drivers name is Sam.

If I don't update on Thursday, alert the authorities.

I'm kidding.

Sort of.

It's just, people are crazy these days and you never know.

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 have liked the movie Little Fockers but not as much as the second one, Meet the Fockers. What can I say, I cracked up each time that little kid went, "Ass. Hooooooolllllleeeeee."


To want to see the new Adam Sandler movie, the one where he pretends to be married.


To still think of Jennifer Connelly as Sarah from Labyrinth. "You have no POWER over me!"


To not be able to figure out Tommy's Kung Zhu Zhu pet game. I tried to play a level and I sucked. I still am the champion of MarioKart on Nintendo 64 though.


To have finished 3 out of the 4 books that I checked out at the library while visiting my parents. I have until Wednesday to finish the last one. (The books I finished are Not My Daughter by Barbara Delinksy, The Bright Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes, and Big Boned by Meg Cabot. All enjoyable. All I recommend.)


To be curious about that oatmeal that McDonalds now serves. Normally I'm not a fan of oatmeal unless it has lots of sugar in it. Like I LOVE the strawberries and cream oatmeal and always wondered how people could eat the plain crap and like it.


To have actually won Yahtzee when I played with my Mom and Nana Jo. I mean, okay, it was the very last game but still. And I didn't curse when the dice wouldn't listen to me either even though I wanted to call them all sorts of awful names.


To be taking my Mom to The Cheesecake Factory for lunch. She's not entirely thrilled as she says that she seems to gain weight whenever I visit. Gee, wonder why ;)


To have picked up some Sketcher Tone Ups today. The Shape Ups are nice, but I sort of feel like I'm in heels, and I teeter every which way and I worried I'd go careening into a stranger if I got them. So I went for the Tone Ups, which feel more like regular shoes. That was another gift from my parents. Now I can tone my buttocks, as it said on the box. Neat.


To be ready for television shows to come off of Christmas break.

The Christmas Twisty Ties

"You're lucky you don't have to pull these toys out of their packaging," I told my husband Tom as we spoke via Skype on Christmas Day. "I'm about to murder the person who invented those plastic twisty ties. I feel like I'm untwisted so many, that now my hand has turned into a miss-shapen claw." I held up my hand dramatically, my fingers curled into a C.

"You're overdramatic. Your parents are there to help," Tom reminded me.

"Miss-shapen CLAWWWW!" I bellowed. "This is what'll greet you when you return home. I hope you don't mind."

Tom leaned close and whispered, just so no one would overhear, "By the time I get home, I wouldn't care if you had lost all your teeth and were extra hairy." He gave me a seductive smile and I blushed, dropping my claw.

"Speaking of extra hairy, I got a razor in my stocking. It even does bikini lines," I added seriously.

Tom blinked. "Well."

"So I won't be hairy at all. Lucky you. I also got a Coach purse."

This is true. It was a total surprise. I didn't even know it was a Coach purse at first, I just thought it was a nice purse and was thinking, "Nice, a new purse," and then I saw the tag and was all, "And it's a COACH!"

"Open the purse," my Mom had urged.

I thought she just wanted me to check out the inside and ooo and ahh over it. Did Coach have fancy insides? I wouldn't know, I never owned a Coach before. My purses all come from the Target clearance rack. Or Kohls. From the clearance rack.

Inside the purse were gift cards! I don't care what people say, gift cards are a fantastic present. Those old experts drone on like, "Gift cards mean the person didn't care to think about your gift," but I think those old experts need to shut their old mouths. Gift cards are fantastic. And I had three of them.

$25 for Olive Garden.

$25 for Gymboree.

$25 for Barnes and Noble. My heart lifted at that one. I could spend all day in Barnes and Noble. I already had plans to spend it. I'd drop Natalie off at preschool and then head right for the store where I'd wander it for two hours. Well, more like an hour and a half so I wouldn't be late for picking Natalie back up. I imagine her teachers wouldn't be amused if I were all, "I apologize that I'm late, it's just I got caught up in Barnes and Noble! So many books, so little time, you know how it is." They'd probably be thinking, "Actually we DON'T you idiot stay-at-home-mom who doesn't have to deal with angry parents, teacher meetings, angry parents, children who spit and pee on us, ANGRY PARENTS who freak out if little Suzy was looked at funny by another kid..."

"I also got a Ped Egg," I said to Tom. "To shave my feet dry skin."

Tom made a face. "That's gross, Amber."

"And I got chocolate. Santa knows me well," I continued. "Plus a few clothes. And of course, the Sesame Street martian that you bought for me. Yip, yip, yip, uh huh, uh huh."

"I'm glad you had a fun Christmas," Tom said.

"I wish you were here though. It wasn't the same."

"You just wanted me there to deal with the twisty ties."

"Well," I shifted. "That too. But mostly just to have you here. Do you know that I have this shopping cart for Natalie that I have to put together when I get back home and I have no clue how to do it. If you were here, I'd push the box towards you, bat my eyelashes and beg you to do it."

"And then I'd remind you that you were quite capable, that I have all the tools you'll ever need..."

"But you know how I get when I put stuff together. I yell, I throw things, I curse, I cry, and then I end up giving up and using the box as a foot rest," I said.

"It's a shopping cart for a child. You can do it," Tom said, popping a handful of M&Ms into his mouth.

"Well, if Scarlett O'Hara can manage, I suppose I can too," I sighed.

"Who is Scarlett O'Hara?"

"She's from Gone with the Wind. You remember that movie I made you watch, the one that you said if you had to watch a minute longer that you'd pass out from boredom? The one where Rhett Butler said, 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn,' which you applauded and said that the bitch deserved it, and to which I threatened to divorce you if you ever said such a thing in my presence again?"

Tom rolled his eyes as his candy crunched in his mouth. "Oh. That movie."

"So I will put together the shopping cart and then I'll show you when I get home," I said proudly, getting all excited over putting together something. Surely it wouldn't be that difficult. It was just screwing pieces together. Simple. "Wish me luck."

Tom scratched his arm. "Good luck."

"And Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas. Next year for Christmas we'll be together again."

"Unless I have to work."

"Let's not think about that. Just think that we'll be together again."

"Unless I'm at work. It's happened three years in a row," Tom shrugged.

"Just think that we'll be TOGETHER, dammit!"

"Okay. We'll be together," Tom obliged. "Unless I'm at work."

"You bug me."

"I know. Merry Christmas."

It's That Time Again

Holy crap.

Christmas is basically here.

Normally I'd be running around the house with my hands waving about my head shouting profanity words because I've realized that I still have tons of presents to wrap.

Not this year.

Since I'm at my parent's house, my Mom did most of the wrapping.

And normally I'd be panicking about Christmas dinner...would it burn? Would I burn? Would the house burn? WHAT IF THE HAM CAME OUT HARD?

This year, I don't even have to worry about dinner.

Mom is making it. Prime rib. Oh, I'll probably help a bit, but nothing serious.

I did pick out the dessert though. A fabulous looking cake found in the HEB bakery. A triple chocolate cake. I almost drooled over the display case and the baker kept flicking looks in my direction as if to say, "Is she...okay?"

Yes, this Christmas will be more relaxing, but I'd take all the stress if Tom were able to be here.

Only he can't, because he's stuck in Korea. But at least we'll be able to talk to him on Skype. I did open the present he sent me and laughed, because when I saw what it was, I knew that he understood me.

It was one of those Martians from Sesame Street.

You know, the ones that go, "Yip yip yip, uh huh, uh huh." They've always made me giggle and he sent me one. He watched as I opened it and went, "Do you like it?"

I held it close. "I love it."

He got Tommy a Lego set and Natalie a mini jewelery box so she'd stop taking mine. He even had a plaque placed inside that said, "Daddy loves you."

I'm with my family, so I know I will have a wonderful Christmas. Tomorrow we're going to see my Grandma, who I call Nana Jo, and she'll be spending the night with us. This means I have to watch my tongue and not curse which will be hard when we play Yahtzee at night. I tend to get pissy when the dice won't listen to me.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas! And if you don't celebrate it, have a lovely weekend.

I have some old pictures I found of Natalie. Since she was a tiny thing, I've been dressing her up.

And, well, she wasn't always thrilled:



She'd give me this look as a baby often, like, "Seriously? THIS is the woman that has been left to take care of me?"



Big blue eyes that have now turned hazel but look blue if she's wearing blue:



And yes, I stuck her in a teacup:



Tommy was roped into the pictures too:



Baby Natalie says "Merry Christmas!"

To Tell You The Truth

I have a confession to make.

I'm not the best with small talk.

So when I went in to get my hair done last week, I was nervous about how I'd converse with the hairdresser.

The person who did my hair was a gay guy who had done my hair before. He just reminds me that I need a gay best friend, and stat. He's done my hair another time and remembered me because, well, I have a lot of hair. And it's ultra thick. I don't have the same hairdresser because I never know when I'll get to go in and get my hair done...so when I call and make an appointment, I ask for whomever is available.

It's pretty easy to talk to the guy in the beginning, but then silences fall and I'm always like, "Should I keep talking? Should I stay silent? WHAT? WHAT should I do?"

The people around me seem to know exactly what to do. They'll ramble on and on and, well, I'm not much of a rambler unless I'm drunk.

"So...um....have you ever been to London?" I finally spit out and then felt like an idiot. I mean, who asks that? I could have inquired about what he was doing for the holidays but no, I asked if he had ever been to London. And he hadn't, by the way.

Then another silence fell.

Crappity crap.

But then...

Then the hairdresser started telling me about a client who came in and said she wanted her hair cut short to her shoulders. So they cut her hair short and now she's complaining that it's TOO short and is expecting them to pay for extensions.

"Like Paris Hilton has?" I asked dumbly. Seriously, I am SUCH an idiot. It's like I don't get out enough. And okay, I really don't but still. I should know how to talk normally to people.

"Yeah, like her," the hairdresser laughed. "But that's like a $1500 job so of course we're refusing, and she's raising more of a stink and...it's probably going to come down that we'll have to have all our clients sign permission slips before we can do anything with their hair."

"That's a shame," I mused. It really is. What is WRONG with people these days? It seems everyone wants everything for free. They'll complain about everything to get the free stuff.

My hair, by the way, was getting much needed highlights. See, I have gray hair and no that's not a figure of speech. I literally have GRAY HAIR thanks to my Dad, who got gray hair when he was seventeen. Did I get his straight teeth? No. Did I inherit his awesome eyesight? No. But I DID get his gray hair. Thanks.

It had been...oh, six months since I had last had my hair done so it needed it.

Here is the outcome:



Much better, no gray.

And yes, still somewhat long, but only because I really don't have the face for short hair. It's like round and puffy. My face, not my hair.

Plus, I sort of like having long hair, since so many people have short hair. People usually remember me thanks to my hair.

It's probably because it's long and frizzy, but still. If I could afford to fork out the stuff they use in my hair at the salon, it would probably be tamer, but I refuse to fork over forty bucks for a bottle of shampoo.

We Have To Talk

"We have to talk," Tom said.

Crap.

He knew.

"Look, I couldn't help it," I blabbered. "Gymboree was having a 50% off sale, plus I had a 20% off coupon, so I had to shop." I threw my hands in the air. "It would have been a crime NOT to shop the sale. I certainly don't have that kind of willpower. If you had seen the clothes, you'd have understood."

Tom blinked at me from the computer screen. We were talking via Skype, and he seemed at a loss.

"I wasn't talking about that," Tom finally said.

Double crap!

I had assumed he had checked the bank account and had seen the charge from Gymboree even though I had promised PROMISED that I wouldn't shop there again until it was time to redeem my Gymbucks. But that was before the sale. The FIFTY PERCENT OFF sale. (Actually, the sale is still going on now. If you're wondering.) I didn't feel too guilty about going back on my promise that I wouldn't shop, mainly because Tom vows that he won't buy anything else, and then he'll go, "Oh, but then I saw these shoes, and I needed shoes so..." And then he'll shrug sheepishly as if to say, "What did you expect me to do? Say no to the shoes?" Same with video games. He'll vow that he won't buy anything for many months, and then he'll see one on the shelf, hug it to his chest and go, "Can I? It looks awesome. There's a sinking BOAT on the cover."

"Well...since you weren't talking about that, can you delete it from your memory?" I tapped the air with my fingers and went, "Click, click, DELETED!" just like Jim Carrey did in Liar, Liar. I love that movie. I've seen it more times than I can remember, and it always makes me laugh. Especially when--

"I'm being serious," Tom said.

Oh. Okay. He was being serious...

Oh my God, was he having an affair? You hear about that sort of thing happening all the time. Granted, it's usually the spouse left at home, but it can happen out there. I started to chew on my fingernail. If he had an affair, I'd fly my ass to Korea and attack the chick with my chewed on nails. I may look weak, but I have a pointy elbow and a purse filled with loose change.

"What?" I nibbled my thumbnail.

Tom took a deep breath. "You know what's been happening over here, right?"

I nodded. "North Korea is starting shit." God, North Korea was like a spoiled child, the one kid in playgroup that everyone cringes when he or she approaches. Nothing seems to make the child happy, so it causes mayhem.

"That's right," Tom said. "And...well, we're on high alert here, as I'm sure you're aware. It's just, if they need volunteers to go to North Korea, I'm doing it."

My heart dropped. "But that's dangerous. Did you not see what they did to Lisa Ling's sister? I mean, I don't think they did much, just kept her captive, but that was pretty rude in itself, don't you think?"

Tom shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "I'm being serious."

"Me too! Poor Lisa Ling's sister! And her friend. Can you imagine being stuck in North Korea? I bet it stinks. I saw this special on MTV about it, and it's so quiet there, hardly anyone walks around so you could walk into a coffee shop and be the only one there."

"I'm volunteering, Amber, and I just wanted you to know. I joined the military to defend my country," Tom explained.

I knew this. All along Tom had told me this. In fact, it killed him not to go to Iraq or Afghanistan. He tried to go, several times, but wasn't needed. He did eventually get to Qatar and did some missions in Iraq, but it wasn't enough for him. He'd watch stories about his fellow soldiers fighting and dying, fighting and getting injured, and I could see this disturbed him. Why should I get to sit on this couch, enjoying life, when they've lost theirs? When they've hurt themselves?

"Could you maybe just let a group volunteer first, see what happens to them, and THEN volunteer?" I asked meekly. "Like the people who have no families, surely they can go first?"

"Everyone has families, Amber. Maybe not their own, but mostly everyone I work with, they have loved ones."

I knew this too. I knew I was being selfish in my thoughts.

"Yes, but, they don't all have a little girl who would be crushed if anything were to happen to her Daddy."

Tom swallowed. I knew he was picturing Natalie, arms outstretched, calling for him. "If anything did happen, she'd be proud of me."

"She would, but she'd--I'd--" I could feel my nose start to prickle and had to stop or else I'd surely burst into tears.

"You'd be fine. You'd go on with your life," Tom said knowingly.

"I wouldn't WANT to go on with my life," I replied stubbornly.

"You would. Look, nothing may not even happen. I'm just telling you if it does. I'm going. I'm going to North Korea."

I sniffed. "I'd love you if your face got melted off."

Tom's eyebrows shot up. "EXCUSE me?"

"On Oprah awhile back, there was this soldier, and his face got melted off due to an explosion and his wife stuck with him. He literally had no face left, just...well, I think there was a hole made for the mouth, but as I've said before, I'd love you if you didn't have a face," I said grandly.

"Um. Thank you?" Tom answered. "But I do love you. I just wanted you to know."

I sighed. "I sort of suspected, Tom. We've been together awhile now and I...sort of suspected." I was quiet for a few seconds. "Want to hold your hand up to the screen and I'll do the same? It seems like something that would be done if we were in a movie with soft music playing in the background."

Tom shook his head, unmoved. "No, thanks. It'll make my screen all smudgy."

Somehow, I don't think the male character in a romantic comedy would say that. But oh well.

"Just...if you did volunteer, don't offer to like, be the hero or anything. Don't risk your life. Don't drive your spaceship into the alien spaceship to blow it up for the sake of all mankind," I said passionately.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Have you been watching Independence Day?"

"Maybe. But still. That sort of applies here. Only no spaceship. Or aliens."

"I'll do what I have to do," Tom said. He was acting like Yoda. Ugh.

I just hope nothing does happen.

I hope he'll be able to come home in August, as planned.

I just hope.

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 be amused that Larry King has a kid who is 55 and another one who is 10. And to sort of wonder who would hit that, when he looks a little bit like a prune.


To really like the movie As Good As It Gets. Everytime I watch it, I always debate getting a dog like the one in the film. Then I remember that tiny dogs can be very annoying and change my mind.


To have enjoyed the movie How Do You Know? even though Owen Wilson's nose is distracting.


To be thrilled that I don't have to cook dinner every night since I'm visiting my parents. And on Christmas, we're having prime rib. This is exciting, seeing as I can't afford prime rib. Nor do I really know how to cook it.


To have weird things pop into my head at times. Like today, Natalie wouldn't listen so I was taking deep breaths, because I'm working on not yelling so much. And as I was composing myself, the song Shall We Dance? from The King and I came into my mind and I was all, "Shall we dance, one, two, three and...."


To hope Natalie listens when we go to the zoo today and not try to join the bears in their pen.


To still be annoyed that I had to pay full price when registering the truck. Usually we get a military discount (normally we pay $30, that time I had to fork around $260) but because Tom is in Korea and technically not stationed in Wyoming, they made us pay the full price even though I explained we were still on military pay. The legal office tried to help, but we were told it was some dumb Wyoming rule.


To go into a bit of a shock to go from 30 degree weather in Wyoming to 70 degree weather in Texas. My body is all, "The eff is going on here?"


To be excited over going to The Melting Pot this week. I love it and want to marry the cheese fondue. Or the chocolate, depending on my mood.


To not be looking forward to taking all the Christmas stuff down when I get home. The tree likes to attack me as if to say, "No, no, I won't be taken down!"


To hate how everything has to be so PC these days. It makes my head hurt.

Come Fly With Me

She had to have the Superman backpack.

I tried to hand over the Panda one, but she refused, clutching the Superman one to her chest.

"I want this," she told me firmly. "Not the panda."

I didn't feel like arguing. We would be leaving for the airport in two hours and there was no way I could deal with a meltdown. I was already on edge because I'm not a fan of flying to begin with. If the plane gives a jolt, I assume we're about ready to spiral to the ground.

"Fine. Use the Superman one. What toys do you want to take to play with on the plane?"

Bad move.

Stupid move.

I should have known better than to say something like that. You NEVER give a three year old a choice of toys.

Because...

"I want this, and this, and this," Natalie said, pointing to various toys. She lifted her My Size Rapunzel. "I want this." Her voice was muffled against Rapunzel's hair.

Wouldn't that be hilarious to see someone carrying a My Size Rapunzel around the airport? Actually, if I spotted someone with a giant Rapunzel, I'd at first assume it was a blowup doll. Then I'd snap a picture of it, post it on Facebook and say, "Someone was in the terminal with a blowup doll. Ew."

"No Rapunzel doll. She's too big. And you can't bring all your toys."

"Fine," Natalie grumbled.

We were getting ready to fly to Texas, to spend Christmas with my family since Tom is in Korea. I'm an awful packer. My suitcase was sitting on my bed, already stuffed. I was worried that I had gone over the fifty pound limit but I had to take all the stuff. I needed my jeans. I needed my shirts. Okay, I didn't need my straightener...actually, I did, because what if my hair turned into a giant puffball?

Natalie's stuff was in the suitcase too. (Tommy had his own.) Did she need all the cute clothes? Surely she could wear something twice. Yes, so I could pull out the shirt that says Fashionista...no, but wait, she needed that shirt, it was adorable. Hmm. Perhaps the jean skirt, she didn't need the jean skirt...but...the jean skirt went with the Fashionista skirt really well...and she needed the brown boots, the brown boots made certain outfits.

Oh, well. If I had to fork over the cash if I went over, I'd do it. I couldn't get rid of a thing.

The drive to the Denver Airport went well.

And then we got into the Southwest line, and the worker told me to put my suitcase on the scale.

Moment of truth...

"You're over the limit," he told me.

What?

I mean, I suspected, but since I could still pick my suitcase up, I figured it may NOT be over fifty pounds. Usually I know it's over if I can't lift it. I could still lift my suitcase so...

...but wait, maybe it WAS over and I was just getting stronger! Yes! I had been lifting five pound weights around the house...

Okay, it was only like two times in the past month but still, maybe that was enough. And I've had to carry Natalie more than usual, since Tom isn't around to do it.

I'm getting stronger! Sure, it means I have to pay a hefty fee for my bag but--

"I'm kidding," the worker smirked. "It's only 32 pounds."

Oh. So I wasn't any stronger.

Damn.

At least I didn't have to pay. That was something.

"Your flight is delayed though," the worker continued.

"Oh, haha," I said, not believing him.

"No really." He twisted his computer screen around and tapped it. "Delayed till 720."

My heart dropped. Our flight was supposed to leave at 5. And now we were meant to entertain two children until 720?

I wanted to call up the pilot and shriek, "What is the MEANING of this nonsense? I demand the plane to leave at the scheduled time."

Thank goodness my Mom was there to help. She'd take the kids around to help get their energy out.

Finally, it was time to board, and a couple of hours later we were in Texas.

I never want to fly again.

Unfortunately, I have to get back home on the 29th so I have no choice.

With no help this time.

I'm scared.

The One Where I Get Pulled Over

I’ve never been pulled over by a cop before.

Until yesterday.

There I was minding my own business, with my visiting mother in the car and my son in the backseat and then....

....a cop car with the lights flashing behind me.

The funny thing was, I had spotted the car sitting down the street from where I turned off and even made a comment to my mother that they were there.

And then the lights swirled behind me.

“What did I do?” I shrieked to my Mom. My mind raced. Did I use my turn signal? Yes, of course, because it bugs me when people don’t use their turn signal. Did I come to a complete stop at the stop sign? Yes, I remember placing my foot on the brake and waiting.

“Don’t panic,” Mom said calmly.

My first time being pulled over and of course my Mom was there to witness it. I mean, how embarrassing. It didn’t help that Tommy kept saying, “Are you going to be arrested?”

WAS I going to be arrested?

No, of course not, I didn’t DO anything…

Or DID I? Maybe I smacked into an antelope? You can get into a lot of trouble for hitting an antelope that roams the base. But…but…but…the car didn’t shudder as though I hit one.

WHAT DID I DO?

“Calm down,” Mom said. She could tell I was close to losing it. I don’t know how people go through this multiple times. And how do those women flirt with the cops? There was no way I could possibly flirt in the state I was in. What I wanted to do was scream, “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” which would NOT be appropriate to bellow at a police officer.

It didn’t help that the cops were taking forever in getting out of their vehicle.

“What’s going on?” I asked my Mom. “Why aren’t they coming? What did I DO?”

“I can’t recall you doing anything wrong,” Mom answered.

Oh, God. I started to chew on my lower lip. This was cruel, making me wait like this, wondering what I did wrong. Maybe this was part of the punishment.

“My registration. I’ll need it and I don’t know where it is exactly.” I reached over and opened the dashboard. A bunch of paper popped out. “It’s somewhere in all of this.” I started to dig through it. And you know, the ironic thing is, Tom has always complained to me that he HATES when people aren’t organized and don’t know exactly where their information is.

Sorry, Tom. Since he’s been gone, I find that I’m unorganized. I do try to be organized, like my mother, who would probably have all the information neatly encased in a folder labeled REGISTRATION.

“They’re coming,” Mom said.

“I can’t find my registration. And my insurance! Oh my GOD, I don’t know where my proof of insurance is. I may have to call them and—”

“Hello ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

The cop was talking to me.

Asking me a question that I had NO IDEA what the answer was to. I had a flashback to my high school French class when my scary old gimlet of a teacher banged her wrinkled hand on my desk, demanding a question to me in French. I had stared at her blankly, with wide eyes, as she screamed, “VITE, VITE, Mademoiselle, VITE, VITE!”

“I have no idea what I did,” I answered, and hoped that it didn’t come out snarky. I didn’t mean to be snarky, I really had NO IDEA.

“You were going 24, and the speed limit is 15.”

Oh.

OH.

It’s just, going 15 is hard.

“I’m sorry,” I said meekly.

“I’ll need to see your ID, license, registration and proof of insurance.”

I looked at my Mom. “Any luck?”

She was going through everything. “Amber, you have papers from 2003 in here.”

The cop snorted with laughter.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Normally I’m more organized, my husband helps me out but he’s in Korea.”

“It’s okay,” the cop said, smiling. At least he was a friendly cop.

I handed over my ID and license. I found the registration paper I needed and gave him that. But the insurance paper was still missing.

“It’s here, somewhere…” I mumbled.

“This insurance is from 2008. You really need to clean this out,” Mom said.

I finally found what I needed and the cop looked it all over. “Your last name sounds familiar.”

“My husband was…well, still is a cop.”

“Ahh, okay, I think I worked with him.” The cop handed my stuff back. “Look, I’ll let you go with a warning this time. Us cops, we take care of our own. But just make sure you mind the speed limits, okay?”

I nodded. “Of course. Yes.”

“You have a good night.”

“You too. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

And then that was it. My first experience being pulled over.

“You need to be careful, Mommy,” Tommy said from the backseat. He had been observing all of this with saucer sized eyes.

“I will,” I promised.

“How come you didn’t get a ticket?” He almost sounded disappointed.

“Because I lucked out since your Daddy is a cop.”

“Are you going to get under arrest next time?”

“No. I’d probably just get a ticket if it happens again.”

Tommy gasped. “And then you could go to jail?”

What was with him wanting me to go to jail? I mean, how rude!

“No, Tommy.” I drove along for a few minutes.

“Make sure you’re going the speed limit. Be careful,” Tommy warned.

“I am , Tommy.”

I have a feeling that he’s not going to drop the whole being pulled over thing for quite some time.

And I can only imagine what he’s going to tell his teachers.

Inside Natalie's Closet

It’s no secret that I love buying my children clothes. So occasionally I’ll go into their closet and have them put on an outfit for a fashion show.

Today Natalie is wearing a dress from Gymboree’s Holiday Friends line.

“Hey Natalie, let’s take some pictures!”



“Don’t look at me like that. It’ll be fun. I mean, you’re in a dress with a matching hat. Isn’t it the cutest?”



"Ahh, come on Natalie, you know you love it."



Then this was Natalie’s reaction when I told her that Ryan Reynolds was single again.



Then she showed me some bark. Lovely.



“I’m eating snow!” (Er…there was no snow, it was most likely dirt flakes.)

“Hey Natalie, do you want to pose for me?”



“Can you give me a smile?”



“Okay, getting closer…”



And then she did these poses:





“Now can we go inside and get some cheese?”

“Sure Natalie.”

So hey, Gymboree? Wanna hire my kid to model your clothes?

She’ll work for cheese, apparently.

Swinging for Daddy

“Mommy,” Natalie said, frowning at the uniformed man who came to pick up his daughter at preschool. “Why is he here and Daddy is in Korea?”

My heart squeezed. How to you explain deployments to a three-year-old? She understands that her Daddy had to go away for work and will be away for a long time. But sometimes, her tiny mind doesn’t compute the exact reason why.

“That Daddy is here because he didn’t have to go to Korea,” I said gently, pulling up one of Natalie’s socks that had slipped down around her ankles. “But your Daddy did.”

Natalie stared as her friend ran into her Daddy’s arms. “I miss my Daddy,” she said. “Is he coming home soon?”

I bit my lower lip. “No, baby. He won’t be home until August. But we should be able to talk to him on the computer later.”

Natalie’s shoulders sagged. “Alright.” While she loves talking to her Daddy via Skype, it’s not the same. She and her Daddy used to do a lot together. He’d come home and scoop her into his arms, pressing kisses on her cheeks. “How’s my girl?” Tom would shout as Natalie giggled happily. Natalie would snuggle onto Tom’s lap and they’d watch boring World War 2 programs on The Military Channel. I’m not sure if Natalie was fully amused by these shows, but she was always content on her Daddy’s lap, resting against his chest.

I try to cuddle with her and she lets me for a little bit, but then slides off. My chest isn’t like Daddy’s, it’s just not the same.

When we got home, Natalie sat on the couch, her mind remaining on the fact that her friend still had her Daddy around. I managed to cheer her up a bit, and she actually cracked a smile.

But then something happened, she hit her head, she banged her knee, I wasn’t quite sure. Suddenly she was screaming, howling, and I hugged her close as she sobbed, “I want my Daddy.”

“Me too,” I answered. “I want him too. But we have to be strong, okay? He wouldn’t want us to be sad.”

Natalie sniffled as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Is there anything you want to do? To help you feel closer to Daddy? Maybe draw a picture?” I pressed.

Natalie thought about it for a second. “I want to swing.”

I glanced out the window. The wind was howling, rattling them. At best, it was thirty degrees. “I’m not sure if—” Natalie’s hopeful face stared back at me. “You know what? Okay. Let’s swing.”

We slipped on our winter jackets, put hats on our heads, slipped gloves over our hands and then made our way to the park.

A genuine smile appeared on Natalie’s face when she spotted the swing. She ran to it, pigtails flapping against the back of her neck. She scrambled onto it and I began to push her, ignoring the bitter cold. Yeah, it might have been uncomfortable standing out there as the wind brushed against my cheeks.

But Natalie was laughing. And as I pushed her up towards the sky, she waved her legs around and shouted, “I’m getting closer to Daddy, aren’t I Mommy?”

“Yes, baby, you are.”

After swinging, we returned home and Natalie said she was going to draw a picture. A few minutes later she handed me a drawing that looked like a bunch of squiggly lines. But she pointed seriously and said, “That’s me. Swinging. I was getting closer to Daddy. Can we send this to him?”

I felt a lump form in my throat. “Of course we can, Natalie. I’m sure he’ll love this drawing.”

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 crack up while watching The South Park movie. It is so inappropriate, but I love it.


To be cleaning like mad since my Mom is coming on Wednesday. It’s funny but when I was younger and my Mom would be cleaning for HER mom’s visit I’d be all, “Why bother cleaning? Just let her see how we really live.” I understand now.


To be glad that we aren’t getting slammed with a blizzard. Sorry to those who are but don’t worry, our time will probably come.


To pretend that calories don’t count in December.


To hate when a chocolate box isn’t labeled. If it’s not labeled, it means that I’ll bite into the coffee flavored one and I HATE coffee flavored anything.


To not really enjoy It’s A Wonderful Life. The plot sounds lovely, but I can never sit through it. And normally I don’t mind black and white films. I mean, I love Miracle on 34th Street but I could never get into It’s A Wonderful Life. I try every year.


To pig out on the rolls they give you at Texas Roadhouse. I’m sure the waitress gets irritated having to bring a new basket every few minutes.


To not be surprised that Miley Cyrus was caught smoking salvia considering she gave a grown man a lap dance when she was underage.


To have been a little disturbed when my grown neighbor said, “Zac Efron and Vanessa broke up. Now Zac is free.” And she licked her lips suggestively. *I backed away slowly…*

Tangled and Nachos

Maybe it wasn’t a great idea.

But I had a craving for nachos so dammit, I was going to try.

“Now, listen to me,” I said as I drove the car. I peeked in the rearview mirror at my kids. “You both have to behave. If you get out of your seats and run around, we’re going home. If you yell at any part of the movie, we’re going home. The only time it’s acceptable to shout during a movie is when Elijah Wood, John Krasinksi or Torrance Coombs appear for the first time but only briefly, for no more than three seconds, otherwise it’s rude. No throwing popcorn, no putting your feet up against the seat in front of you, because I hate when people do that to me. Okay?” I parked in front of the movie theater and faced the kids.

Tommy tapped his chin. “So we can only yell if Elijah Woods, John Kaka, or Torrance Comb comes on the screen?”

I sighed. “Tommy, it’s Elijah Wood, John Krasinski and Torrance Coombs. And yes, that’s correct.”

Tommy shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be good.”

He wasn’t who I was worried about. I was worried about the little terror who sat comfortably in her cow print Britax grinning at me as though she had an evil plan up her sleeve. It’s amusing how petrified of a three-year-old I can get. I mean, I’m taller than her, much older, therefore I should have the upper hand, right? But no. She has super lungs that make her yell extra loud, and she’s faster than any kid I’ve seen. She’ll be down the street before I can blink.

“Are you going to be good, Natalie?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to look like a scary mother.

“I’ll be good,” Natalie promised, but she’s promised me that before and then mayhem ensued.

“If you aren’t good, Rapunzel is going to be upset,” I said. I know it’s wrong to lie, but a mother has to do what a mother has to do.

And yes. We were seeing that Tangled movie.

“No, she won’t. Rapunzel likes me,” Natalie said matter-of-factly. She believes that everyone likes her, mainly because people usually comment on how pretty/well dressed/ well behaved (ha, snort!) she is when I take her out in public.

“Only if you listen while watching her movie,” I answered. “She’s not going to be pleased if you make noises while she’s trying to sing.”

“I’ll be good,” Natalie repeated.

So into the theater we went. I forked over an insane amount of money for the three of us, and then went to get my beloved nachos.

Plus a seven dollar bag of popcorn for the kids to share.

Plus drinks.

By the time we finished, I felt I paid one of our car payments.

“Up front!” Natalie said, as we went to find our seats. The strange kid actually wanted to sit in the very front, the seats where you have to crane your neck to see.

“I think not.” I nodded my head towards the middle. “We’re sitting here.”

“Oh, fine,” Natalie sighed.

We settled down, and I handed the kids their 3D glasses.

“I don’t like this. I want pink,” Natalie said primly, handing them back.

“They only have them in black.”

“I want pink,” Natalie said, neck high, as though she were a Princess herself.

“There is no pink,” I said, feeling my patience start to wear thin.

“No glasses then,” Natalie said, getting comfortable in her seat. “No glasses.”

“Fine. The movie will look funny, but fine. No glasses. I just want to enjoy my nachos and my overpriced diet coke.” I took a bite out of a chip and sighed with pleasure. Nachos are so good.

“Mommy,” Natalie said as I bit into a cheese covered chip. “I have to pee.”

“I knew it!” Tommy yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “We can’t go anywhere without her having to pee!”

So of course I had to take Tommy with us, because hello, a darkened theater is just asking for someone to swipe him. I left all our food there and hoped that no one would eat it. Into the bathroom we went, where Natalie hummed a song and took her time. She produced a squirt of pee, and took five minutes washing her hands, so by the time we made it back, the movie was about ready to start.

And yes, our food was still there.

Thank goodness.

The movie was entertaining, although someone brought a loud baby to see it. And this baby clearly wasn’t interested, because it kept yelping every few minutes. I get that children’s movies mean that there could be some noisy kids, but honestly, if the kid keeps it up, please remove it. I’m not about to fork over a bunch of money to hear Junior carry on.

Both of my kids behaved. Natalie refused to wear her non-pink glasses but still seemed to like the movie.

Only Tommy had an issue with the romantic scenes and he said if we bought the movie on DVD that he’s just fast forward to the good parts.

Typical male.

Want To Win?

I love trying to win things.

A lot of blogs have giveaways during the holidays and I get excited entering because who knows, maybe I’ll win. There’s more of a chance to win if I TRY even if the odds might not be the greatest.

So I wanted to pass on some fantastic giveaways over at Chick Lit Is Not Dead, run by Liz and Lisa. They are currently hosting “Liz and Lisa’s favorite things holiday giveaway” here. Yes, sort of like what Oprah does, only they are cooler and you don’t have to listen to an annoying audience scream every two seconds.

Want to enter? Like them on Facebook and let them know that Amber sent you! Then comment on the actual giveaway post and mention that I sent you as well and bam, you’ll be in the running to win some cool stuff. If you refer people, have them mention your name and you’ll get extra entries. But don’t delay. The contest ends on December 17th so hurry over!

What do you hope to win? I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the plaid video camera, the cupcakes (because hello, I love cupcakes), and the books, even though my bookcase is pretty stuffed with them.

The Blue Eyes

It was the blue eyes, I think.

I have a weakness for blue eyes.

Plus, he always laughed at my jokes. Not a forced chuckle, but an actual laugh.

So when I found out he liked me, I was pleased. We had been hanging out for a couple weeks, nothing romantic, just easy flowing conversations.

It was the blue eyes, I think.

They drew me in, especially when he wore blue shirts.

We started dating, and it was sweet, a typical high school romance. I didn’t think it would last forever, honestly. I mean, I was seventeen. Even when Tom would mention our future wedding, I’d chuckle, thinking it would be lovely, but that eventually he’d turn his teenaged eyes on another girl.

But he never did.

Even when we were apart for that year. He had to stay behind and finish his last year of high school (he’s actually older than me by a month, but he was held back in first grade) while I had to go with my family to the next military base that my mother was assigned to.

It was hard, I’m not going to lie. And when I flew back to see him graduate from high school, I wasn’t sure what it was going to be like. Would it still be the same? Would the feelings still be there?

It was.

It’s probably why I ended up getting pregnant on that trip. Only nineteen, an only child, a chick who had no idea what to do with babies. I wouldn’t have blamed Tom if he had left. After all, he was starting his Air Force career and here I am, announcing that hi, we’re going to have a baby.

He married me.

And today, we’ve been married for nine years.

“Can you believe it? Nine years,” Tom mused on Skype.

“Nine years? Has it been that long? Jesus, we’re getting old,” I answered. “If we were celebrities, nine years would be considered a long time. The media would have dubbed us TomBer, you know, the whole combining of the names thing that drives me insane?”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed.

“Hey Tom?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For...everything. For marrying a knocked up nineteen-year-old.”

“Thank you for marrying a nineteen-year-old poor soldier.”

“We were rich in love, at least,” I said, and then I cracked up, because it’s hard for me to stay serious for long. I love romance films when the couples say these eloquent things to each other and I’m always like, “That looks fun.” But usually if Tom and I start acting like that, I tend to get the giggles and then picture Tom farting on the couch.

After I logged off, I started flipping through our wedding album and Natalie wandered over.

“Daddy,” she said, pointing to a baby-faced Tom. We were so young. And Tom was right, pretty poor. We got married in a court house in Flagstaff, Arizona and I was seven months pregnant. I had on a black maternity dress, not because I was in mourning, but because it was the only fancy thing I had.

“That’s right. That is Daddy,” I said, lifting Natalie onto my lap. “Do you know we met in high school? When I met him, I was instantly attracted. It was the blue eyes, I think…”


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

I made this video a couple years ago. This basically sums up everything:

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A Small Announcement

Just so everyone knows....



....I had the sapphire and diamond ring before Kate Middleton made it famous.

I’ve always loved the style.

Plus, mine is better, it belonged to my Grandma.

(I also have a matching necklace, bought by Tom. I love sapphires and diamonds together and now I worry if I wear the stuff people will be all, “Ahh, the Kate Middleton look.” And I’ll be like, “Nope, it’s actually the Amber look, thanks.”)

The Naked Gardener by LB Gschwandtner Review

It started off interesting.

A woman, going into her garden....naked!

I could never go into my garden naked. Then again, I don’t even have a garden, seeing as I can’t grow plants to save my life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was given a wonderful book to review thanks to BookSparksPR. The book that I’m reviewing is called The Naked Gardener by LB Gschwandtner. I know. That’s a mouthful, isn’t it?

The Naked Gardner tells the story of Katelyn Cross, who ends up taking five women friends into the wilderness. The plan is to enjoy some girl time while talking about life, as each woman has her own issues going on. One of Katelyn’s issues is should she commit to her boyfriend Greg who lost his wife to cancer? (I say yes, he seems like a nice guy.)

I enjoyed the book, and would recommend it. If you’d like to buy a copy, you can go here.

Now, whenever I see a garden, I’ll probably think, “That chick from The Naked Gardner book would be in the buff here.

Would you strut your birthday suit in your garden?


**I received a copy of the book to review, but the opinions are my own**

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 not be a very good present wrapper. I try, I really do, but when I’m done it looks as though a child has wrapped the present.


To be aching to try the new hot chocolate blast from Sonic. I tried to order it, but the machine was broken.


To hate when Santa has an obvious fake beard.


To love the crust from Sbarro’s pizzas.


To not get the point of fruit cake. Yuck.


To think it’s ridiculous that all these reality stars get book deals and here I (and I’m sure many others) am busting my butt of trying to get a book published while all they have to do is curse, flash their crotch and start fights while screaming the f-word a lot.


To never be able to keep a gingerbread house standing upright. I’ve tried to make one every year and it always falls apart on me. I’m going to try to keep it together when I make one this weekend.


To love devilled eggs. I could eat the whole plate.


To think it’s cool that my Grandma has Skype.


To not be sure about the Kindle. A lot of people suggested it to me on this post…and I like the idea, because it means I wouldn’t have tons of books. But I sort of like flipping through an actual book. I like smelling the newness of books (is that weird?) Maybe when I’m older I’ll look into the Kindle....


To wonder if a contestant is going to have a heart attack on stage one day on The Price Is Right. Because holy crap, some people freak out when they are picked. I’d be happy too, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t flap my arms like I was about to take off for flight for over five minutes.

The Believers

Yes.

Tommy still believes in Santa.

He’s eight and I imagine the day will come when he announces that he knows that Santa doesn’t exist.

But for now, he believes. And yes, some of his friends have told him that Santa isn’t real and he comes to me saying, “If they keep saying that, they won’t get any presents.”

I decided to take the kids to Wal-Mart so they could see Santa. He’s there all throughout December on the weekend. Normally I take them to the mall, but it’s usually crowded and they don’t like you taking your own photo since they want you to fork out twenty bucks for a grainy shot that they take.

Last year we did the mall thing. As we waited in line, Natalie had skipped around me, promising that she’d sit on Santa’s lap. But when it was our turn and Santa beckoned us over, Natalie freaked out. She grasped onto my leg and started to cry.

“No Santa,” she sobbed. “NO SANTA!”

Tommy went over to Santa and went, “Sorry, my sister is loud.”

I picked Natalie up and she wailed into my shoulder. When Santa was done talking to Tommy, he asked Natalie if she wanted to see him.

“NO SANTA!”

“Are you sure you don’t want…” Santa trailed off.

“Um, no, I think she’s good,” I said. It was a nice offer but I didn’t think Natalie would even let me go. Her fingernails were digging into my skin and my ears were ringing from her shouting.

This year, however, she said she wasn’t going to be shy.

So into Wal-Mart we went. I wasn’t sure where Santa was set up so I asked a worker where Santa was.

“Who?” she said, blinking.

“Santa. You know, red suit, white beard,” I answered politely.

She scratched the side of her head. “Uh. Back by the shoes I think. Somewhere back there.” She gestured towards the back of the store and then went back to organizing the shopping carts.

Okay then.

Santa is easy to spot, so we just headed into the back.

“Do we get to see him?” Tommy asked.

“I’m not going to be shy,” Natalie said.

I thought there would be a crowd around Santa. But no, there was just a photographer, picking at her nails, and Santa sat in a large red chair.

Tommy went first. He settled down on the chair and smiled up at Santa.



Santa, it seems, wasn’t much of a talker. But that was okay. The picture was FREE.

I wasn’t sure if Natalie would freak out again. But she cautiously approached Santa and settled on the seat.

“He smells like mint, Mommy,” she called out. “Like a candy cane. And he has a beard and white hair like my Papa!”

I snapped a photo.



Natalie didn’t seem like she wanted to leave Santa.

“He smells like mint,” she kept saying.

“Tell Santa thank you and Merry Christmas,” I prompted.

“Like mint!” Natalie prattled on. I think she almost wanted to ask Santa if she could have him for Christmas. He could be a big toy that smelled like mint who sat in the corner of the room with her giant Rapunzel doll.

I eventually pulled her away from Santa and asked if she wanted to see a magical place. The Wal-Mart bakery. I love drooling all over the cakes.

“I have to pee,” Natalie said, not appreciating the rows of chocolate cakes in front of us.

Of course.

“This peeing thing is annoying,” Tommy grumbled.

“Try doing it everyday, wherever you go,” I said.

I took Natalie to the bathroom and we left soon after that.

Natalie spoke all day about how she met Santa and how he smelled like mint.

I hope all the future Santas we encounter smell like mint. Otherwise she’s going to be all, “You’re an imposter! You don’t smell like a candy cane. Who ARE you?”

And that’s not going to be a fun.

On Snowflakes and Tantrums

“Remember, this program is for Santa, so if you’re naughty, Santa will see and he won’t come on Christmas,” I said to Natalie as we settled down into some chairs. We were at Tommy’s school, all set to watch his Christmas program, and I was worried that Natalie wouldn’t behave.

It’s just....okay, she’s good a lot of the time. But she has her moments. And these moments seem to occur in public. I could picture her running up to the stage like that kid did in the movie Parenthood. I could see her pushing down the Christmas tree or maybe even grabbing it while shouting, “It’s mine!” Then she’d struggle to pull it off the stage and all the audience would see was the tree bobbing across while I was off to the side going, “Natalie! For the love of God! Drop the tree!”

So yeah, I lied and told her that Santa wouldn’t come if she didn’t listen. I know the experts frown on saying stuff like that, but those experts aren’t stuck raising two kids alone for a year.

“The elves will bring me presents then,” Natalie replied in a haughty tone as she smoothed down her ultra adorable gingerbread skirt. She may act like a total brat at times, but at least she’s well dressed.

“The elves work for Santa so no they will not,” I said simply, moving my legs inward so another family could slide past.

“They WILL!” Natalie snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, a move that she mastered when she was only one. Funny, I thought it was cute then (“look Tom, look at how she’s crossing her tiny arms over her tiny chest!”) but now I panic when I see her arms folded like that because shouting usually follows.

“Just behave. Okay? Just sit down, watch the singing, and everything will be great,” I said.

“I WILL!” Natalie barked. “I WILL, I WILL!”

The family in front of us turned and frowned. What? The program hadn’t even started yet. And ew, the father totally had a nose hair poking out from his left nostril.

“Thank you,” I said, my teeth clenched. It was times like those when I wished I could afford a nanny. Then I could have been like, “Inge, if Natalie acts up, please remove her from the room so I can stay and watch my son.”

“Mommy,” Natalie said sweetly, about five minutes before the show was supposed to start. “I have to pee.”

“It’s about to begin,” I answered.

“I have to PEE!”

Nose Hair Dad turned around again. I hope his wife got him a set of clippers for Christmas.

“Natalie, it’s just, I’m not sure when Tommy’s class is set to sing and I don’t want to miss it and—”

“I have to pee.” Natalie emphasized this by gripping her crotch.

I took Natalie’s hand and led her to the bathrooms. Naturally, she didn’t do a thing. We rushed back and settled back down.

“Why does she always have to see the bathrooms?” Tommy complained. He was sitting with us, because his school isn’t that big so there was no room for all the students to stay separate from everyone else.

“Good question, Tommy,” I said right as a kid plopped down beside us.

“Who are you?” the strange kid asked me. “Hi Tommy.”

It took all my willpower not to say, “Who are YOU?” Instead I said, “I’m Tommy’s Mom.”

He blinked at me. “Oh. I thought you were the babysitter. Hey, why doesn’t Tommy talk that much in school? I’m in his class and he barely says a thing.”

I saw Tommy’s face turn red and my heart squeezed a bit. How do you explain Aspergers to another child? How do you explain that Tommy doesn’t really understand the purpose of small talk and only speaks when he’s passionate about the subject?

“He talks when he has something to say,” I explained.

Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out a snowflake that he cut out from paper. Some of his designs are impressive and they seem to be his latest obsession. So it was no surprise when Tommy told the kid, “Look what I made for Anna.”

The kid snorted. “You like Anna?”

Tommy looked confused. “Yes.”

The kid laughed. “You LIKE Anna?” I could see exactly where this was going. Tommy didn’t understand that the kid was implying that Tommy like liked the girl. To Tommy, he liked Anna as a friend and didn’t understand what this kid meant. It’s just another thing he struggles with, understanding this social world that he’s a part of.

“Anna is his friend,” I cut in. “He wanted to make a snowflake for his friend.”

The kid opened his mouth to say something but then the program started so he shut it.

Natalie did not want to stay in her seat. She kept doing this:



“I’m swimming,” she said.

“Please get in your seat,” I hissed.

“I’m swimming,” she insisted. “I can’t sit down because I’m swimming.”

I took deep breaths and counted to ten. I’ve never had my patience tried so much by one kid. With Tommy, he was always hyper, but I worried more about him because he wasn’t talking, because he wasn’t interacting, because he was so behind than the other kids his age…

Tommy eventually went up:



Natalie thankfully sat down on my lap.

“That’s my brother,” she said proudly. “That’s my brother up there.”

Then when it was all over, she did not want to leave.

“Natalie,” I said. “Let’s put on your jacket so we can go.”

And she did this:



Yes. That’s her PLUGGING her ears, pretending that she couldn’t hear me.

“Santa isn’t coming then,” I said.

So she cried and said that yes, Santa was coming.

“Put on your jacket then. Mommy wants to go home and watch Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve had a very long day.”

“Come on Natalie, you’re so loud all the time,” Tommy chimed in.

This insulted her.



“Tommy. Please. You aren’t helping,” I said.

“Why are you yelling at me?” he griped.

“I’m not. I’m just—” I rubbed my temples. When Tom comes back, I’m taking a weekend for myself. “Natalie. Put your jacket on now. I am the parent, and you will listen to me.”

Natalie, whose moods can dissipate in a matter of seconds, sighed and went, “Okay then.”

“I want to go home and make more snowflakes,” Tommy said excitedly. “Do you want one?”

He’s already made me ten.

“Sure, Tommy,” I agreed.

After all, aren’t all snowflakes different?

The Love Affair

Books.

I love them.

I have many, many books.

But I had to get rid of some.

See, since we’re military, we only get a certain amount of weight to move with. If we go over that, we pay. Books tend to get heavy when they multiply. So I knew that some had to find a new home.

And this pained me.

“Just get rid of the ones you haven’t read in awhile,” Tom said over Skype. He doesn’t understand my love for books because the man doesn’t like to read. I know. I don’t understand how a person cannot love reading either.

“I can’t do that! Some of the books that I haven’t read in awhile, I love,” I exclaimed.

Tom rolled his eyes. “You can’t love them all.”

“I do!”

I made it my goal to get rid of at least ten books. Yes, it’s a small number. But still. It was a beginning. Plus, the base library was accepting donations since they were having a big book sale.

I stood in front of my bookshelf. It was like my books were all, “Don’t get rid of me!” I felt almost guilty as I started placing some in my box. I almost wanted to write to the author of the book and say, “You’re a fabulous writer; I’m just running out of weight.” And space. My bookshelf is bursting with books.

I managed to find TWELVE books to get rid of.

I proudly told Tom on Skype and showed him the bookshelf.

“Um,” he said. “It looks basically the same.”

“What do you mean? I got rid of TWELVE books!”

“You can hardly tell.”

“Sure you can! Remember how two books were on top of this row? Now there is only one book. Go me.”

“I’d be more impressed if you got rid of fifty books,” Tom said.

FIFTY!

“I got rid of TWELVE and I’m proud of myself,” I answered, lifting my chin high.

“Try fifty and get back to me.”

That never happened. I did find one more book I felt I could part with (THIRTEEN!) and then I headed for the library.

I gripped the box of books to my chest like they were my children and walked in. I found a worker and said that I had books for donation. Her face lit up. “Fabulous!” She started to paw through them. I guess I could have left, but I wanted to make sure she’d treat them well. It pains me when I see abused books. Like when people fold down the corner of a page to keep their spot? I actually wince and want to offer to buy them a bookmark.

“These are all wonderful,” she mumbled. “Some are even hardback. Actually,” she lifted one up. “I don’t think we have this book. We might put it in circulation for the library.”

That made my heart happy. Imagine, one of my books, from my bookshelf, making it into the library to make hundreds (maybe thousands) of people happy.

“So they’ll be…okay,” I said stupidly.

Since she was a librarian, I think she understood. “They will,” she assured me. “Don’t forget about our book sale coming up.”

And here’s the ironic thing: I may have gotten rid of thirteen books.

But watch me buy thirteen at the book sale.

Books.

They are my weakness. I can’t help it.

A Parenting Tip

Reason 4908234908 why children should NEVER been given pixie stix.










Don’t worry. She turned around and ran right back inside. But still. Hello?