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The boys and I put up the Christmas tree tonight.  They’re at a magical age where they still believe in Santa and yet, they’re old enough to understand the meaning of the season. 

For the first time, I simply took all of the ornaments out of their various containers and boxes and laid them on the coffee table.  The boys picked out which ornaments they wanted to hang and where.  They remarked about remembering certain ornaments and asked who gave them others.  After I broke my third ornament of the season, I decided this was a good year to keep the fragile ornaments in their boxes and in the closet. 

Logan was the last to break an ornament and even though he had heard me say several times that they were just things, material things, and nothing would really change in the long run if they were broken, he got really upset.  A tear rolled down his chubby cheek as he picked up the shards of glass.  I took the glass shards from him, gave him a hug, and told him the really important thing was the time we spent together, not the material things we owned.

I realized tonight that this would probably be the last year the boys believe in Santa.  There are two reasons for this.  First, both boys have requested a laptop for Christmas.  Ed and I are both adamant they are too young for such an extravagant gift.  They are still too young for used laptops too, though maybe next summer they’ll get hand-me-down laptops.  The second is that Trip has been asking for one of those Elf on the Shelf creatures and I steadfastly refuse to participate in such nonsense.  I am a mediocre housekeeper on my best cleaning days and I sure as hell have no intention of making a mess in my own house just so i can blame it on a stuffed toy and clean up my own mess later.

With those huge disappointments looming, I’m fairly certain each boy will figure out the truth about Santa.  Either way, we will all be okay because I think we’ve finally gotten this Christmas thing down.

Playing Hookie

One of my babies, who shall remain nameless lest he be shamed in the future with this little tale, is home sick from school today.  I do not have a problem with sick children staying home from school.  I think they should keep their germs away from other children.  My child is not sick.  Every once in a while, a parent is able to tell the difference between an actual infection and an upset tummy from a meal which was too rich.  Parents are funny that way.

Yesterday, this nameless child ate ribs for dinner.  Actually, both ate ribs, but only one was affected this way.  He was fine all evening long!  He played a shooter video game with his dad while his brother was sent to shower.  Immediately after finishing a round of this game, knowing it was his turn to shower, he claimed to have a headache and then a stomachache.  He carried on until I told him that if he was so sick, he should just go to bed.  He came back downstairs about thirty minutes later with a red face and a tear in one eye, saying his stomach hurt very badly.  I took him upstairs, suddenly worried I had missed something important.  The boys have never faked an illness for more than a few minutes.  For this bellyache to still be an issue, this boy must really be having issues!  So I took him upstairs, cuddled him, gave him a couple of tums, and cuddled him some more.  I may have poked and prodded his belly to see if he had a hot appendix.  He didn’t.  He asked for some water while his brother asked when it would be his turn to be cuddled.  He told me his tummy felt better, then he pointed at his throat.  “Are you going to puke?” I asked.  He nodded.  “Well, get up and puke in the toilet!”  Off we ran, his brother close at our heels.  He did get sick and I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but his brother was most impressed.  I put them both back in bed and the sickly boy, as I was tucking him in, smiled at me and said, “I don’t have to go to school tomorrow.”

Normally, I wouldn’t care, but today is my Wednesday off.  I like my Wednesdays by myself.  I jog at some time during the day with Ed the Awesome and then we have lunch.  They boys are supposed to be at school until 5:30 because they have a sports class after school, so I get the entire afternoon to myself.  I write my fiction and when a scene has left me, I clean the house a little.  (Not too much cleaning.  I don’t want that to be misunderstood.  I do as little of that as possible.)

Instead, this morning there is the trill of automatic guns on a video game and a child bouncing on my couch.  School policy states children must not return to school until they are free from fever and vomit for 24 hours.  My children know this.  The little devils read only the parts of the school policy they want to read.  You should feel sorry for him though.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going shopping with me later.  He hates shopping.  I bet the next time he eats something too rich for his belly, he goes to school no matter where that rich food ends up.

I may have said this before, but my mother is one twisted woman.  She used to make me and my brother stay up late on Friday and Saturday evenings to watch scary movies, ostensibly because she didn’t want to watch them alone.  That’s what she has claimed for years.  She still yells at the characters on any show, knowing full well they won’t change their course of action.  This behavior is absolutely genetic because my Logan does the same.  He can’t sit still while watching a scary movie.

I took the boys to see The Rise of The Guardians last Saturday and then Ed and I both took the boys to see the new Bond movie the following Monday.  You won’t get any spoilers here, but both were absolutely fabulous!  Anyway,  Logan and I spent the entire time during The Rise of The Guardians talking to each other about the show and being surprised by the show.  One of the fabulous things about children’s’ movies is that children are expected to talk during the movie.  As long as the parents occasionally shush their child, you can have a conversation at almost any decibel level.  When we went to see the Bond movie, it was Monday and the theater was almost empty.  Logan sat next to me and, as usual, we talked almost the whole time.  He told me about the different weapons being used and accessories for said weapons.  I would scream and thrust my arms out in a defensive maneuver whenever something startling happened.  Ed would shush us every few minutes.  I wonder how much of the movie Ed actually got to enjoy because that kid and I are very talkative and we both have issues with volume.  Ha!

Anyway,  it dawned on me that there was probably a method to my mother’s madness when she made me and Jacob watch all of those scary movies as children.  It’s funny to watch your children freak out at a scary movie!  It’s funny to watch me watch a scary movie because I freak out!  It’s really funny to watch Logan jump up and down while watching anything which might be classified as mildly startling.

I suggested this theory to my mother.  She told me I was wrong.  She said I couldn’t have been more wrong.  She said she had us watch those movies so we could be prepared for whatever might happen.  It’s a dangerous world out there and we needed to know what could happen.  I think she’s got an interesting cover story.  She said she’d never laugh at any of her children and really, she probably wouldn’t.  I, however, am not quite like my mother.  I find many things my children do hilarious.  And when they’re adults, I plan on telling them all about the funny things they did as children.

Well, it’s Friday night and I’m a bit bored because Ed and the boys are playing Call of Duty:  Modern Warfare III, which is their favorite pastime until Call of Duty:  Black-Ops II comes out next week, so I decided to check out my stats page because I haven’t done it in forever.  The list was significantly longer that I had expected, mostly because I think my mother is one of the few who read my blog and I’m pretty sure she poses questions to the Google browser just to tease me, and there were some search questions listed that I found amusing.  There were even a few that made me almost spew my delicious Pinot Noir onto my computer screen.  That would have been a travesty though, and a waste of good wine, so you can calm yourself because there was no wasting of good wine in the writing of this post.

Slightly off topic, but I’ve recently come across a quote I really like.

Write Drunk.  Edit Sober.  Earnest Hemingway.

That guy must have been brilliant.  (Yes, I know who Hemingway was.  I’m not that drunk yet.)  (Mom, relaxI’m kidding!)

Anyway,  on to the list!

1. Kid Who Looks Like A Monkey.  I mostly liked this one because we’ve been teasing Trip about his enormous ears lately and he is very proud of them.  He has even told his teachers that he has ears like a monkey and they should be jealous.  The little dude is a chick magnet though, so maybe he’s on to something.

2. What Happens to Boys Who Are Raised by Neurotic Mothers?  Dear God, I hope they turn out okay!  Otherwise, mine are screwed.  I think they’ll turn out just fine in spite of me.  Or to spite me.  They’ll probable live as far as humanly possible one day from their dear Momma, but it’ll just be so I can visit them in exotic locales.  Right?  You know what’s really troubling?  Someone found my blog with that query.  And they received absolutely no help at all!

3.  Jacob Hates You.  I don’t really get this one, but it makes me giggle anyway.  Maybe that’s the Pinot?  There are some mysteries the world will never solve.  In any case, I am Jacob’s favorite sister.  I might also be his only sister, but that is not the point.  I am his favorite sister because he thinks I am awesome and no one should ever disillusion him from that opinion!  That, and he’s right.

4.  Box Fight.  That was it:  “box fight.”  What in the hell is a box fight?  I wish I knew.  I’m a child of the 80′s and I absolutely love boxing.  I still watch it on whichever channel shows it late at night when I’m the only one awake because Ed hates it.  Or he just thinks I’m slightly weird for watching people fight in a ring.  I really do love it though.  I remember Mike Tyson fighting on HBO back when HBO was the only movie channel available.  Or were we just poor?  I’m not sure if there were other channels available back in the dark ages and I have no intention of finding out now, unless you, dear reader, just remember that kind of thing off the top of your head and would like to provide me with that little tidbit of knowledge.

As a little aside, I went out with my brother Jacob last weekend for a little drinking and debauchery.  Well, drinking at any rate.  So we went to a local establishment and had a couple of beers, but we were younger than most of the other patrons by a decade or two, which is no easy feat at my advanced age, so we walked across a busy highway (we’re in the country-it’s like crossing the street and risking your life at the same time) to another local establishment where the clientele was closer to our age and we saw a few people we had known from high school because they also hadn’t moved away and a Laurence Fishborne look-alike.  As we were chatting and discussing the merits of a life well lived, a “fight” broke out behind us.  I was as observant as ever and had to be pulled out of harm’s way by my dear brother.  Fortunately, he has become quite the quick thinker.  I turned around in time to see one guy slapping his own chest while hopping backwards.  These weren’t mere steps backwards or done in an attempt to find a space with more room for the actual fight.  These were HOPS!  He was hopping backwards like a rabbit!  And then, there were bouncers who appeared from out of nowhere and separated the two, although I don’t really know if you can separate two guys who are ten feet away from each other.  In any case, one was escorted out the front door and the police were called and they stayed for what seemed like an eternity!

In the end, I came to this conclusion:  If you’re going to get arrested anyway, you might as well throw a punch!  Otherwise, WHAT IS THE POINT??

5.  My brother’s full name.  You’ll have to forgive me for not listing his full name here, but with the last name, there are only twelve in the good ol’ USA, so it’s not like whoever typed that name into their browser could’ve been looking for someone else, but WHAT IN THE HELL, Google?  How is his full name, which I’ve never used on this here blog, associated with my fantastic blog.  (Yes, you should infer a little sarcasm there.  Self deprecation.  Whatever you want to call it.)

6.  My grandfather was in the CIA.  Dude, so was mine!  Maybe.  I’m not really sure.  The stories my mom tells about him killing people didn’t come out of her mouth until long after he was dead and she has a very, very vivid imagination.  (Mom, do not view that last statement as an invitation to describe said murders or self-defense maneuvers in the comment section.  That’s for private discussion at your dining room table where the possibility exists for us to enjoy making even more people uncomfortable.)

7.  Ed is awesome.  I think my husband may have searched this term in hopes of finding some dirt on me.  He has finally come to accept that he has received a life sentence with me for some unconscionable sin in a past lifetime.  Whatever it was, it was bad.  Poor guy.  He’s so nice now too.  You’d think a guy as nice as he is would get a wife who might cook and clean once in a while.  Lucky him, I work and drink red wine.  And beer.  And spirits.  Though not all at the same time because I learned my lesson when I was much, much younger.  Drink one at a time young lady, and you’ll be that much happier for it.  And he is awesome!  And cute!

8-88.  There were so many variations on stretch mark queries, I can’t even begin to list them all. Ladies, and Gentlemen if this happens to apply to you as well, stretch marks are permanent.  Once they rear their ugly heads, they never, ever leave.  Unless you have a tummy tuck and get those bad boys surgically removed.  That’s always an option.  But if you’re not willing to consider surgery, you’re stuck with the little reminders that your body has done something wonderful.  Mine housed three souls at once.  However, those bastards itched when they were forming (the stretch marks!) , so put your lotion on or you will be miserable. 

“It puts the lotion on it’s skin or else it gets the hose again.”  Can you name that one?  It’s one of my favorites.  I blame my seriously warped mother and the strange upbringing I endured.  I can’t believe my brothers don’t write.  Our mutual biographies read like a sociopath’s background….and her mother made her stay up late on weekend evenings to watch scary movies because she didn’t want to watch them alone. 

89-100. These were really just various queries about children and I’m hoping they were parents searching for inventive ways to photograph their cherubs.  And even though I’ve got some mad iPhone skills, they should probably look elsewhere.  I’m not very skilled with the camera.  I’m just persistent.

And well, now it’s time to  send the cherubs to bed and take the remotes away from them.  Momma wants to start watching Grimm and she needs that playstation to do it.

It’s fall here in north Texas and my garden has turned a drab shade of greenish-brown.  I know a little color is possible at this time of year, but I’m really not a gifted gardener.  I was flipping through some pictures I had on my camera from last spring and I found some pictures of gorgeous spring flowers and I thought I’d share.  Six more months and they’ll be blooming again in my garden!  (A previous owner planted the irises and I’m ever so grateful she did!  I can take credit for the tulips though.)

Botany is a fascinating subject for this boy.  Or maybe he has a future in melancholy.  Or maybe, just  maybe, he was tired of having his picture taken.  One can never tell.

Interesting.   Very, very interesting.

Still interesting.

Momma may have taken the wrong read on this boy.

Interesting leaf shape and structure.

Nope.  He’s just tired of having his picture taken.  Damn.

Delicate hands.  How wrong is it that I’ve taken note of the size of the veins in his hand?  I mean, they’d be really easy to stick.  Nurses take note of these things.  Usually it’s on complete strangers, but if your kid has great veins, you notice.  Right?  Right?

Buttercream and Lazy Baking

I enjoy cooking, but I really only love it when I have an afternoon off to plan the meal and spend quiet, me time in the kitchen.  However, there is a husband at my house along with two growing boys, all of whom frequently think they need dessert.  I am a cook and not a baker.  There are a few baked desserts I can manage to not mangle, but for the most part, desserts are a purchased delicacy.  I have learned a couple of nifty little tricks and I’m going to share them with you so you can be a lazy baker too.

First, I get a bag of sugar cookie mix.  No, this is not scratch baking.  This is easy baking with an economical and time saving twist.  So get that bag of sugar cookie mix and put it in a bowl with all of the other ingredients specified on the back of the package.  Mix them all up and eat a bite or two for good measure.  Tell your boys they can’t have a bite because there are raw eggs in the batter and they might get sick.  When they ask why you get to have a bite, use one of your good Mommy excuses like “because I said so” or “only mommies are allowed to do this.”  Line an 8″x12″ casserole dish with foil.  I don’t ever bother putting any butter or non-stick spray on the foil and my cookie bars turn out just fine.  Turn on the oven to whatever temperature the package says.  Pour however much cookie batter you didn’t eat into the casserole dish and spread it out just a bit.  It’ll have to bake for about half an hour.  Try not to let it burn because munchkins get a little upset when their “cookies” are crispy.

And every great once in a while, “cookies” need icing.  These cookies don’t need anywhere close to a full batch of icing though.  Start by melting a tablespoon of butter. 

Dip a straw into a bottle of vanilla to get a tiny drop of vanilla and flick that into the butter.  Start with a half cup of powdered sugar and about a tablespoon of milk. 

Mix well with a spoon and then taste the icing repeatedly to make sure the flavor is right.  You’ll need to add more powdered sugar to get it to the right consistency and I recommend lots and lots of testing. 

Just be sure to leave enough icing that the cookie monsters in your house get some icing on their cookies.

If you’re feeling really generous (read: If you haven’t already eaten all of the sprinkles in your cupboard straight out of the jar because you had a sugar craving), you can put some sprinkles on top of the iced cookies and all of the men in your life will think you are a fantastic baker and will sing your praises to anyone who will listen.  You should just smile and take all of that credit.

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