The Best April Fool’s Trick EVER.

My daughter has an evil streak. I admit I kind of like it. A couple of years ago, she perpetrated the greatest prank in the universe. I may have put her up to it, but I’m pleading the fifth.

Anyway, it all started when I got a “tween kit” from Kotex, a nifty little pamphlet that contained coupons and suggestions on how to talk to my tween about first periods. Which was weird because my only tween was the Padawan, and I always considered it his teacher’s job to teach him about punctuation, but whatever. We got the little packet, and an idea began to take shape.

Girl-child immediately found a piece of junk mail addressed to her dad. She carefully removed the address label and affixed it to the packet with a bit of glue. Then she mixed it in with the day’s mail and waited for her prey.

Yes.. I saved it. Evidence of her evil genius.

When my husband came home, he flipped casually through the mail. And then he stopped, casting furtive glances to left and right. His brow crinkled, and I heard him mutter “Why do they think I want to know this?” as he began to hyperventilate. He fell for it, believing for a moment that Kimberly-Clarke in all its wisdom had singled him out to have The Talk with his daughter, and wondering desperately how to get out of it. What a glorious day!

Was it cruel? Maybe a little. Unusual? Not for this family.

Well done, Girl-child.

 

That Sounds About Right

You may have already heard the news. My good buddy Phil failed to see his shadow. Or as I prefer to think of it, after allegedly living for over 100 years, he has finally learned to tell the difference between his shadow and a coyote. Anyway, this is what you get when you let a rodent predict your weather.

Good call, Phil.

On the other hand, his predictions aren’t any less accurate than my local meteorologists’.

 

Tiny Misunderstanding

It’s February! For such a short little month, it sure is packed with holidays, and Squish has been learning about them all in preschool. He’s super excited about tomorrow, and he’s been telling me all about the wonder that is February 2nd.

He’s going to be watching the news on the morrow with great interest. He tells me that if she sees her shadow, she’s going to pop back into her hole, and it’s six more weeks of winter for us. That’s right! It’s that time of year again. Squish wants me to remind everyone that tomorrow is Grandma’s Day!

He may have missed a little something in the translation.

Don’t be scared, Granny!

If Groundhog’s Day brings this kind of confusion, Ash Wednesday will be interesting.

 

If Wishes Were Horses, They’d Poop On Your Floor.

I wasn’t going to blog today. Or tomorrow. Or maybe even the next day. But here I am. I don’t usually follow the Daily Prompt, either, primarily due to the recessive you’re-not-the-boss-of-me gene. But here I am. Today’s prompt asked if there was a gift I wanted as a child but never received. You know this story doesn’t end well.

Don’t ask me where I saw it. I don’t know. I was seven. At that age, I perceived that everything in the world came from Woolworth’s, Saturday morning commercials or Tupperware parties (is my 70′s showing? Let me tuck it back in…). But saw it I did, and I wanted it; coveted it secretly. Well, maybe secretly is the wrong word considering I told Santa, my mom, and pulling out all the stops, my grandmother. And maybe Jesus. I forget. Anyway, I asked for it. And asked for it. And what did I get for my troubles? Matching “What the heck are you talking about?” expressions. Because, indeed, they had no idea.

It wasn’t a Barbie for whom I burned with longing. Puh-leeze. My one concession to that franchise was a Malibu Ken, who had a scandalous tan when I took off his swim trunks. And no Strawberry Shortcake for me. Well, not until the following year. Nor did the delicious saltiness of Play Doh hold appeal (have I said too much?). The only thing on my Christmas wish list that year was a sandwich.

It was a thing of beauty this sandwich, the very height of cleverness, for you see, it wasn’t a real sandwich! It was a set of bath sponges made to look like one! I’ll let that sink in for a moment. A sandwich whose bread was a sponge! And whose cheese was a sponge! And whose pastrami…wait for it…was a sponge! What magic was this? And I haven’t even mentioned the best part. This sandwich was merely a stack of adorable absorbency without its crowning glory; a pickle! Made out of soap! A sweet little soapy gherkin just ripe for the scrubbing. It was a thing of beauty, so realistic I could have eaten it. And I wanted it. Badly.

All through the long weeks leading up to Christmas, I begged asked for this bath set. From anyone who would listen. To my mom’s credit ,I’m sure she wanted to encourage my sudden and new found interest in bathing and probably did ask me for details.

“Did you see it at Woolworth’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it on TV?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it at a department store?”

“Maybe. Yes! I think so!”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.

I should have known it was a lost cause, but I didn’t. I hoped. And wished. Christmas morning came, and I did get a sponge. It was in the shape of a large key and came with bubble bath. I tried to find an image online to show you, but all I come up with is information regarding bubble bath and urinary tract infections. Once again, I am disappointed by bath sponges.

So there you have it. My heart was broken by a bath sponge and a soapy little pickle all those Christmases ago. I have never seen that set again, and my heart has never recovered.

Merry Christmas and stuff.

What did you wish for but never got? Just me, then?

 

Tracking Santa

Remember the radio stations that used to track Santa for us? How they would announce that jolly St. Nick had been spotted in Canada or what have you, and all the kids would dive into bed and fake sleep?  The Middlest Sister captures the very essence of a childhood Christmas eve. If you haven’t checked her out, what are you waiting for? Brilliant, beautiful comic strips created from scraps of cloth and paper.

Anyway, I’m doing my own version of a Santa track. I ordered something from overseas as a Christmas gift. I’ll explain exactly why in another post. The site usually announces the last day to order to get your stuff for Christmas, and this year they didn’t. I ordered fully expecting to receive my package around New Year’s. I was prepared to hand over an IOU on Christmas morning.

And then I got an email saying it has been shipped, and it’s supposed to be here by Christmas Eve. Yippee! And I started to hope. Big mistake.

Here’s how I imagine the postal service working. My package is shipped. Someone buys it an airline ticket, usually first class, and sends it on its way. It is met at the gate (yes, the gate. This is my fantasy, remember?) by a chauffeur who drives it to the next gate and buckles it into its seat belt. This is the long leg of the journey, so it is tucked in with a blanket and it settles in for a 14 hour flight. It has a few drinks, socializes with a couple of B-list celebrities, and it arrives, revived and refreshed, in the good old US of A. It is met by yet another chauffeur who ushers it to a limousine and delivers it to my door. Apparently this is not how it actually works. Who knew?

I got the tracking info on the 19th. My package had traveled all the way from Hong Kong to…Taiwan. I’m not totally up on geography, but it seems like with modern conveniences such as, oh, I don’t know… airplanes? it might have gone further in two days’ time. The next stop on its adventure was Japan, where it spent another couple of days.

I got notice today that my stuff is now in the USA. In Anchorage, Alaska. The tracking estimate still shows it arriving at my house on Monday. Because it never snows in Alaska.Will it get here on time? Doubtful. But I do look forward to seeing what other lovely locations my package gets to travel to.

Frankly, I am envious. That box is having a better vacation than I will this year.

My daily joy: I found my husband the best Christmas present ever. He is going to love it, and I can’t wait to see his face! I’m pretending that I got him boring stuff because he is psychic  when it comes to gifts.

I expect his face will look kind of like this.

 

 

 

Airing My Grievance

It’s that time, friends. Emily at The Waiting has reminded me that we are coming up on Festivus. As an observer of all Seinfeld holidays, I feel bound to honor tradition. Since I’m too lazy for any feats of strength, I’m here to air my grievances.

One of my biggest grievances was an inability to actually choose one. I debated. At first I thought my biggest grievance would be with Amazon for that email suggesting that a Kindle Fire, with all its free books, would be the perfect gift for the kiddies. Even though the vast majority of those free books are erotica, and there’s no way to actually filter that crap out in a search, I have bigger grievances to air.

Then I thought the biggest complaint might be Target and their crummy website with its limited products and lack of free shipping. I cannot order the sink strainer of my dreams, nor will they ship it to me gratis unless I agree to let them track my spending habits forever and ever amen. But I have bigger annoyances.

Was it the notice that the 50 Shades series was voted Romance of the Year on Goodreads? Though I am not sure how I can live in a world where such drivel becomes a best seller, surprisingly, I have bigger complaints.

Maybe my biggest grievance is that I am not the party animal that Squish is. He turned four yesterday, and though my special day is a mere four days away, I’ll never be able to celebrate with the same reckless abandon. He knows what he wants, and he just goes for it, let the chips (and the mustard) fall where they may. See what I mean?

His birthday wish. What can I say? The kid knows how to party.

On my birthday, it is doubtful that I will even find a box I can fit into, much less get someone to make me lunch. Squish lives the good life. No, I will admit, I am a wee jealous, but that’s still not my biggest grievance to air.

Today I am airing my underwear. I was perfectly content with my choice of undergarment until yesterday, when I visited a new store in my town. If we had gone right but an aisle sooner, I would still be happy with my bloomers, but alas, we went to the left, straight into the hunting department. I saw it, and I covet it more than free shipping and lunch in a box. I want Scent Away, the underwear that promises to make me smell invisible.

I don’t know why no one has thought of it before. It’s such an obvious pairing. Smell and invisibility go together  like peas and nuclear warheads, chocolate sauce and gym socks,  Play-doh and woodwind instruments. Someone put two and two together and came up with this fabulous product. And I don’t own any. It’s not fair.

How can anyone now be satisfied with mere Underoos? Sure, it’s underwear that’s fun to wear, but while we may be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or sling a web from skyscraper to high-rise, those villains have noses. All that leaping and slinging works up quite a sweat, you know. They’ll smell us coming from a mile away.

I could buy a pair of Scent Aways, I suppose. If they made them for women. THEY DON’T! . Stupid, sexist pigs odorless animals! Again, unfair.

Getting dressed is not any fun anymore. Who wants to be a superhero? Superheroes stink. Thanks, Scent Away, for making the unmentionables not worth mentioning. I don’t want to fight pretend crime. I want to smell invisible.

Are there any earmuffs out there that will make me sound weightless?

 

My Saddest News

My coffee pot is dying. Well, maybe it’s not technically dying, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill it, which will have the same end result. I have diagnosed the issue, but I don’t think it can be fixed. How do you treat a coffee maker for PMS? I’m fairly certain that’s what’s wrong with it because it seems to be retaining water, and it punched the toaster oven for saying the new filters make it look fat.

I’ve never had this happen before, and we’ve been through a lot of coffee pots. I put in 3 scoops of coffee and 5 cups of water, which should result in a nice, strong, wake-me-up pot of coffee. What I get is 6 cups of weak, watery mess that couldn’t jump start a Matchbox car. Where is the extra water coming from?

My theory is that it isn’t pushing all the water through every time, and sometimes it pees out the extra. The question is how to fix it. I doubt that we can.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s Christmas, right? We could go to the coffee maker store and buy ourselves a nice, beautiful, new coffee pot as a gift to one another. Sounds simple, no? No. It’s going to take awhile before my sweet husband will be able to let go. Right now, we’re navigating the five stages of grief.

Denial – There’s nothing wrong with the coffee pot. We’re simply putting in more water than we think we are. Never mind that I have used the same measuring device twice a day for two years.

Anger- I think the anger is directed more at me than the fates for even suggesting that the Krups may be on its last legs. And my anger is aimed at husband for being so attached to this particular stupid coffee maker. I don’t care about the Krups, just gimme the joe. Even if you have to filter it through a sock.

Bargaining- This is where we’re currently setting up camp. “If we just add a little more coffee to the brew, it will be okay!” Let’s just forget for a moment that I am already adding 20% more coffee than is recommended. And that it costs $15 a pound.

Depression- I think we can rename this one “sleepiness,” and it’s coming soon. When we’re used to about a billion micro-grams of caffeine a day and we’ve been reduced to drinking dishwater, the nap-attacks are just around the corner.

Acceptance- I wish I could say that with this stage would come a visit to a department store to purchase a new pot. Instead, we’ll start the thrift store prowl in the hopes of finding a better coffee pot than we could ever afford to purchase new.

Edward is sad!

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Wake me in about a month.

 

Christmas Spirit; It’s Free

Christmas can be a tough time of year. I know this from experience. It’s easy to become overwhelmed with the demands on our time, bank accounts, sanity. For many years, I have struggled to hold onto any kind of genuine Christmas spirit, and then I beat myself up for not feeling the way I should feel. So helpful. I am learning that it doesn’t have to be this way. The joy of Christmas is free.

Here’s what’s working for me:

1) Let someone in line in front of you. Be it at the grocery store, or merging in traffic. Wave someone in and let them take your spot. Do it graciously. With a smile. It’s a little thing, but it’ll make you feel great, and it’s free.

2) Withhold judgment. That toddler who is face down on the ground screaming his head off? Instead of thinking “Ack! What a brat!” think instead that maybe the poor kid has just been dragged to 15 stores and is over this whole Christmas shopping deal. Or perhaps they are developing an ear infection and Mom is killing time in the toy aisle while their prescription is filled. Grace is free.

3) Take a little kid to a Christmas parade. If you don’t have one, borrow one. There’s magic in seeing the season through the eyes of a child.

I see Santa! And I just ate a doughnut.

 

4) Do some cleaning. It doesn’t have to be a big project. Tackle a drawer, a cabinet, even a closet if you’re brave. Find five things to donate to a charity (did you know animal shelters would LOVE your old towels?). Not only does it feel great to straighten things up a bit, it’s sometimes helpful to realize how much we already have. Straightening my family room and seeing the embarrassment of riches reaffirmed our decision to limit what the kids are getting this year.

5) Simplify. The calendar, the gift list. Trim what isn’t necessary. I bow out of any evening meetings that pop up   toward the end of the month, and we only agree to the activities that will add to the feeling of joy. The gift list is at a minimum, partly because we’re on a budget, but mostly because running around like chickens with our heads cut off to complete a gift list detracts from the meaning of the season.

5) Pour a cup of hot chocolate and watch a Christmas movie. And any good movie will do, as long as it says Christmas to you. I recommend The Nativity Story, which is a beautiful interpretation of the Christmas story. Amadeus is on my Christmas movie list, too, because it always played on television at Christmas time. Whether it’s a Griswald Christmas something Dickens-ish, many libraries offer movies as free loans. Check out their selection.

6) Share your memories. I love to talk about favorite Christmas memories. Bringing back the magic of my childhood warms my heart. Find someone to share your stories with, and listen to theirs. In fact, what I want most for Christmas is for my friends and loved ones to write out their favorite memories for me.

7) Listen to Christmas music. NOT these songs, unless that’s what does it for you. I say go for the good stuff. A little Tchaikovsky, some Handel, stuff without lyrics that get stuck in your head. Again, these are often a free loan from the library.

8) Put some money in the bucket. Okay, this one isn’t free, but it doesn’t have to cost a lot. I keep a pocket full of change to drop in the Salvation Army buckets. Our tradition is to drop change into every bucket we pass. We don’t have a ton of money to spare, but it’s a constant reminder that we are already so blessed; having a little something to give is just a bonus. And it’s a good opportunity to teach the kids about giving.

9) If you don’t feel it today, try again tomorrow. That’s the thing about depression. It is a sneaky-snake of a voice that tells us we’re never going to get it right. And it’s a lie. If today was not a great day, get up tomorrow and try it again. My commitment to myself this season is to not let yesterday’s mistakes spill over into today. It’s a new day, friends. And it can be glorious!

 

How do you add joy to a holiday season?

 

Oh, No! I’m a Week LATE!

On my giving thanks post. What did you think I meant? The turkey has digested, but the thankfulness is still around. Here’s my list.

1) Ding dong, the Twinkie’s dead. The first step in my diabolical plan to have MoonPies named King of the Snack Cakes.

2) Squish wants a homemade gift for Christmas. Sure, his wish is a baby sister, and he’ll be disappointed on Christmas morning, but I’m so proud that he isn’t feeding into this frenzy of rampant consumerism.  Actually, maybe he is. He keeps asking me to call the baby store to see if his baby sister is in. I tried to explain about Black Friday, but I’m not sure he understands.

3)  Our weekend after Thanksgiving was spent hiking. We went from an environment where we were grateful that there were fewer than 20 people in line ahead of us at the register to feeling a little crowded when we saw six people on the trail.

He could have used that stick at the mall. Why didn’t I think of that?

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4) We will not have to visit the mall and wait in endless lines to meet Santa. Because Squish is still afraid the fat guy in the red suit is going to eat him.

5) My NaNo project has turned into TWO projects. And I’ll dig in right after the holidays. I’m still writing, but I have some time-sensitive projects that need to get done soon. And they’re projects that I enjoy, so there’s that to be thankful for, too.

6) The kids aren’t too big yet.

There might be room in here for a baby sister, no? The correct answer is NO!

 

What’s on your gratitude list?

 

Nearly Wordless Wednesday: How I Make My Christmas List

Do you have any idea how much stuff there is in the world? It can be confusing to make a holiday wish list. I keep things simple. My list usually includes:

A favorite book:

I’ve had this copy for longer than I’ve had my husband.

Aww! Don’t judge a book’s condition by its cover. Well, maybe this cover…

Sad spine. Pages barely hanging on. I do hate that Johnny chose to get drunk on this page. There are children following my blog. Or maybe I dreamed that last part.

Something sad:

This towel was a wedding gift. 17 years ago. That’s not a stain, I swear. It’s a diamond. Not only is it faded and ragged, it has *ahem* apparently shrunk in the wash.

Something I have set on fire:

Not only did I set it on fire, it got washed in hot water and is now an oven mitten.

Something I miss:

Sad story here. Not only do I not have this on DVD like I thought I did, I no longer have the video, either. Apparently, I gave it away because, hey, I had the DVD. Did that make you sad? It makes me sad.

What’s on your list this year?