Fashion For Tots

My daughter is currently rocking these pink Bearpaws. I must say, that she's the cutest thing ever! The boots just enhance her uber-cuteness.

Warm Fuzzies and Steaming Piles of Poo

Making lists on blogs seems to be the thing to do lately. And not to be one to miss jumping on a bandwagon; I mean, I sooo want to fit in! Like me dammit! I thought I'd list my favorite and least favorite things about the holidays. I'll start on a positive note!

Top 10 Things I LOVE About the Holidays:
1. Christmas music in every store. It even makes grocery shopping a pleasant experience.
2. Choosing and decorating the Christmas tree.
3. Shopping. And lots of it!
4. Mall Santas.
5. Holiday parties. Any excuse for a new dress!
6. All night gift wrapping extravaganzas!
7. Taking walks at night to enjoy the lights on everyone's house.
8. A Charlie Brown Christmas
9. Quality family time
10. Baking for Santa on Christmas Eve and the Christmas morning frenzy!

Top 10 Things That Make Me Want to Poop In My Pants:
1. Charity phone solicitors ~ I'll never give to someone who invades my phone line so stop calling me and take me off your list. And if you're going to ask me to open my wallet at least practice saying my name correctly before you call me. duh.
2. Gigantic inflatable lawn ornaments =obnoxious
3. The Salvation Army bell ringer ~ you're annoying. Stop it already.
4. Family drama ~ I won't name names
5. Weight gain and bloating from over indulgence ~ my bad.
6. People who apply for instant credit with a line a mile long behind them at the check out counter. Please take your additional 10% off and shove it up your ass.
7. Christmas decorations and/or music in stores prior to Halloween ~ too eager.
8. My credit card statement ~ ouch.
9. Fruit cake ~ no one likes these
10. January ~ most boring month ever especially now that the Super Bowl is in February. I mean, we don't even have THAT to look forward too anymore. Just a dreary, boring ass month is all.

So, what about you? Likes? Dislikes? Discuss. Or list.

My Youth Mocking Me From a Picture Frame

I had to take my mother on an errand today. She no longer drives and I'm an awesome daughter and chauffeur. While I waited for her to put the finishing touches on her makeup, I wandered around her bedroom admiring the many framed pictures she has set about. The one on her nightstand caught my breath in my throat. It was me looking back at me. A youthful me. A junior year of high school me. Surprisingly, I don't look all that much different features-wise. And sadly, my hair hasn't changed all that much. It was just a little on the bigger side then (hey, it was the eighties) and slightly, um, darker. The eye makeup was heavier too, then. But the skin was smoother. Fuller. Tighter. No laugh lines. No creases. No crows feet. And there wasn't anything going on with my neck. I've been highly aware of my neck lately. It seems to suddenly have lines and creases that weren't there just days ago. I swear this aging thing happens over night sometimes. I have the beginnings of a disaster that I WILL pay to have corrected sometime in the future (or at some point start wearing turtle necks year round). That disaster is a turkey waddle. I come from a long line of waddlers. My mom. My grandmother. My great aunt. All waddlers. And since I'm a carbon copy of my mother; same bone structure, same frame, same jawline, same. Same. Same. Except her eyes are blue and I'm a couple inches taller. Agh! Looks like I'm getting the same wiggly piece of flesh that connects my chin to my neck. Does history HAVE to keep repeating itself? Can't it skip a generation? Haven't I been good to my skin? What's with the betrayal? Et tu Brute?

Behold the Christmas Card Pic

*photo by Dorothy Z.*

With Thanksgiving behind us it's time to prepare for Christmas! Instead of trotting my tots down to Sears for their annual family picture, and pay a sitting fee per child, and the package price only to end up with a washed out photo (two weeks later) taken by a photographer whose experience is questionable; I decided to let my lil sis do it. Cuz she's got talent. And there it is! My rock star, my super model, and my heart breaker. And for those of you who are familiar with the show "Weeds" on Showtime, yes, that is the Agrestic fountain in the background.

Post Thanksgiving Workout

This is how my family burns post holiday calories...


Twister! Yeah, baby yeah!

And here, I sat on my husband's head to nail that "left foot red"...


It was the only way.

The Food is Finally Gone

*photo by Dorothy Z. Turkey by Tootsie**
Our Thanksgiving dinner was divine despite inadvertently turning the oven off for an hour with the turkey needing hours to go before completion. See, my sis brought these marvelous stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer and I decided to let them share oven space with the turkey to heat them up. As it turns out, when I removed the mushrooms from the oven, I, um, turned it off. Habit. You know. About an hour or so later when my timer let me know that it was time to check the bird to see how he was coming along, I approached the stove. Something was just "not right". I could sense that things weren't as they should be. It should be very warm, or hot, in the vicinity of the stove and I should be getting a contact high off the smell of roasting turkey stuffed with dressing. These things were not happening. I looked at the dials on the stove and all of them are in the "off" position. WTF? I opened the oven and it was tepid in there. Crap! Enjoy your mushrooms folks. Dinner will be delayed by an hour. I don't know if it was the foul up (bad pun), but it was probably the juiciest turkey that's ever come out of my kitchen.

It is now Saturday night and I'm officially over all things Thanksgiving. Food-wise, that is. I spent the pre-dawn hours hitting the Black Friday sales with my two bestest buds; my sisters. I'm proud of 'em! They did it. They're teenagers and a part of me totally thought they'd wake up at 3am and say "screw this, that hag is on her own". Then sleep till noon. We all put a good dent in our Christmas shopping lists and were eating breakfast by 9:30am. Not bad considering we spent two hours standing in line at Kohl's just to pay for our stuff. Seriously, we aren't going back there next year. It was one of those situations where we wanted to just throw our shit in a pile and leave, but we'd already been standing in line too long to abandon ship. I hate those dilemmas. We made our move to Target afterwards and were in and out of there with considerably more purchases, in 45 minutes. We're totally going to Target next year.

Let Them Eat Pie!

The holiday season is my favorite time of year. I love spending time with family. I love shopping for gifts. I love gift-giving, more so than the receiving. And I LOVE throwing my diet out the window for a couple of days here and there and be able to justify it. (Leftover pumpkin pie for breakfast! Pumpkin is a fruit, yeah?) One thing I do dread, though, and I dread it because it happens almost every year, is when certain adult family members take this together time opportunity to school my children on what and how much they should eat (we aren't spending Thanksgiving with these particular family members so my dread is premature at this point, but it will happen by Christmas you betcha!). I KNOW what my kids like to eat and what they'll tolerate. Mealtime can be a struggle in our house but I feel that if I can get a stalk of broccoli, a cauliflower florette, a chicken breast, and a wheat roll into them for dinner, then I'm Mom of the Year in my book! Breakfast is big with my kids. They love scrambled eggs and wheat toast. They're hip to breakfast meats. My Girl-Child is having a love affair with peaches currently. They drink plenty of water and milk, and only one out of the three of them even likes soda which is a special treat for him because I rarely let him drink it. My point is that they eat a pretty healthy diet even if it is very limited and lacking in any variety. So what? They're healthy and not obese. Again. Mom of the Year.

One thing that irks the ever lovin' hell out of me is when another adult will a) question the limited variety and portions on my children's holiday dinner plates, and b) insist that they try a vegetable casserole or three and slop some on their plate, and c) tell them that they won't get dessert if they don't, and d) criticize ME through THEM. (i.e. "Your Mommy isn't going to let you have dessert if you don't eat some more, IS SHE???" ...when they can clearly see that it is I who fixed their plates initially, so yeah, obviously it's okay with me) These people do not live in my house nor are they even aware of what my children's daily diet consists of. If my children want to pick at their turkey and scarf down some rolls and still eat their holiday desserts, then that is my call. I've been a mom for 11 years. I'm a veteran. I'm not new to this whole parenting thang. I've got some Mom-cred. So please. It's a holiday. It's special. And it's rare. Any person (of the non-meddlesome kind) would rationalize that my children do not live on a strict diet of pie and candy.

So this year, when it happens (because it WILL), and I hear the phrase "Your Mommy isn't going to let you have dessert if you don't eat some more, IS SHE???" (while they look at me for my reaction in their favor), I'm determined to come back with a witty (read: sarcastic) remark like, "Oh sweetie! Did I give you turkey? I must be out of my head. I meant to give you an entire pie with a mountain of whipped cream...just like EVERY NIGHT AT HOME ON A CONSISTENT BASIS. Whatever was I thinking. Turkey. Feh! Get these children a pie, toot-sweet!"

Yeesh. Now I've gotta get my tukus downstairs. There's cooking to be done and a turkey to tend too. I've got to stuff and butter up that bastard so he'll be in the oven on time! I'm also going to sautee my veggies in MORE butter before adding them to the stuffing this year. If I don't clog at least one artery before I go to bed tonight, it just ain't Thanksgiving! Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Six Days

Six days is officially the maximum amount of time my children can spend together under one roof while school is out and their usual activities curtailed to accommodate the holiday week, before they start trying to kill each other. Here in our little neck of the woods we get the entire week off for Thanksgiving, or "Fall Break", if you will. Now before you go gettin' all jealous and whatnot, don't. Just try to picture dear sweet Tootsie hollering "STOP IT!!" in her hoarse voice, every 15 minutes before she burst into flames. *Poof*

Shave and a Haircut Two Bits

Boy-Child#2 was in desperate need of a haircut. He was becoming quite unkempt. After my last of many visits as a customer in a particular local hair salon that, according to the name of their establishment, specialize in Kidz (yes, the "z" is intentional) hair; I vowed never to return as I chocked back tears whilst I gazed upon my son's butchered do. Seriously, I could have done a better job myself in my own kitchen. With dull scissors. With my right hand tied behind my back. And blindfolded. It's been that bad. I'm embarrassed to admit that I've returned there as many times as I have; only to mutter to myself each time "I don't know why I keep coming back here". Maybe it's that I'm hopeful that they'll live up to their title of "we do Kidz hair". They used to be super. Great big thumbs up! But apparently it was just the particular woman that was super and she no longer is employed there. And also apparently they've replaced her with someone whose job interview I imagine went something like this:

Place That Does Kidz Hair: What is your experience?
Hairdresser That Sucks: None.
Place That Does Kidz Hair: What talent do you possess to cut a child's hair?
Hairdresser That Sucks: None.
Place That Does Kidz Hair: Are you any good?
Hairdresser That Sucks: No.
Place That Does Kidz Hair: You're hired! You start today. Here are some scissors and a child. Godspeed.

So, with my child looking frumpy, and my unwillingness to let him be their guinea pig even one more time; I remembered that my own mother used to trot my bro down to the good ol' fashioned barber shop. And as luck would have it, in an "in your face" kinda way, there is one located just next door to place that I'll never set foot in again. I admit, there wasn't the little old man that I expected who may have offered to also give my seven year old son a close shave with a straight edge and shine his shoes when all was said and done. Instead, the gentleman resembled a gangsta and was covered in tattoos, but damn skippy if he didn't do a great job! Boyz got skilllzzz.

The Way to a Woman's Heart is Through Furniture

When Mr. Farklepants suggested last evening that we should forgo gift giving to each other this year, I was all like "Totally. Way to go. Mui Bueno. I concur". Because we are so the type of people who just buy what we want when we need (want) it. And this makes gift giving quite difficult and kind of a needless expense; considering we've usually already got whatever it is that we want. I was premature in my kudos because he wasn't done yet. The words that fell out of his mouth after the first part of his statement made me want to strip off my clothes and roll around on him; that is, after I picked my jaw up off the floor. It went something like this:

Mr. Farklepants: I think we should forgo gift giving to each other this year.
Tootsie: (gives thumbs up gesture) I totally agree. I'm all over that.
Mr. Farklepants: And we should just buy a new couch instead.
Tootsie: THUD.----->onomatopoeia
Mr. Farklepants: It doesn't really make for a great gift though.
Tootsie: Are you new?

Because that is the best gift ever! And lets pretend that I haven't been dropping exactly that hint for the last, oh, four years now. The last time we purchased a new piece of furniture was when we bought the couch we will be replacing...eight years and three shades of taupe lighter ago.

We are now reacquainted with our honeymoon phase. He just racked up 50 points on the sexy meter with one sentence. The stud.

All The Crap They Can't Part With

There should be a rehab center for men who have an addiction to keeping all and any old electronic equipment. It can be obsolete. Keep it, might make a comeback. We may no longer subscribe to the service that keeps it in working order. Keep it, we may change our minds. It doesn't even have to work. Keep it, I may need one of its parts for something else. Beta machines make great paper weights, so I've heard. Outdated computer monitors are the bomb for collecting dust; because that MUST be what we're keeping them (yes, them, as in plural) for since that is all they are doing. I don't know what part of the male human brain this phenomenon resides in but I can tell you this: Women do not posses it. Women come equipped with a particular cerebral lobe that causes our head to explode every time an old piece of equipment doesn't make it into the garbage. My lobe is on it's last leg. And Christmas is coming. Someone please save me.

If I Can't Taste the Turkey Someone is Gonna Get Hurt!

I think I'm getting a cold. I'm eating Sudafed like Tic-Tacs trying to mask my symptoms. Actually, to alleviate my face. My colds always start in my cheekbones and eyeballs. I'm highly aware of my upper face at the moment. If I don't nip it in its stupid bud right now, I will be eating Thanksgiving dinner with my taste buds impaired. And that has got to be the cruelest joke, ever.