Lifestyles of the Not Rich and Somewhat Famous!

Okay, I'm admittedly old. Because of that, I remember as a kid watching episodes of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, hosted by Robin Leach.

Real life and that life are two very, very separate entities. But, probably due to Romancing the Stone (Joan Wilder, I love you), being a romance author always sounded like a really glamorous life to me. Something that Robin Leach could totally report about.

In reality, last night I came home from school pink and itchy. I'm not sure WHAT I was reacting to, but something had my allergies in a tizzy. My eyes were even poofy.

So, I popped Benadryl, fell into a coma and woke before the alarm today. (I missed entirely everything that happened last night...)

My son then cheerfully handed me a ream of paper, all of which required my autograph (glam!) and money.

Eighty-six dollars, to be exact. While rummaging through the ream and trying to make my coffee-less brain focus on what he'd shoved at me, I noticed one of the papers meant pictures were today.

"Today?! The pictures are today? Quick, find a button down shirt or something not icky!"

After the ensuing argument, I realized I needed to give the school $21 for school pictures if I wanted to see how handsome my son was at the ripe old age of thirteen.

Besides that, they wanted $15 for a Chromebook. Apparently the school has decided to go paperless within the next two years and my son's class is the trial run for this project. So, they're assigning each student a ChromeBook.

Glancing up, I looked at the two computers provided by the online school that my older kids attend. I didn't have to give their school $15--they simply used the federal monies provided to the school to purchase computers for them to use. Also, a paperless school?

Basically, the district wants me to give them $15 so that my brick and mortar kid can go to an online school in a building?

Mmhhmkah, whatever, I gave them $15 for that.

Then there was another paper with the $50 pay-to-play so my kid could participate in a school sport. Gritting my teeth, I remembered again that the federal government has given our district monies for things like sports...and band, which they fail to fund properly...and art...and, Oh, don't get me started on the mismanaged budget in school systems or the state of the art sports complex which means I get to hand over $50 for my kid to be in the sport, not to mention the other money they're going to ask for because he is in a sport and...

Eh, whatever. Okay, $86 dollars so my kid can go to school today. That's cool.

I then headed downstairs to see no one did their chores, but man did they have a good night while Mommy was in an allergy coma. "You're cleaning that up, preferably before I get back home, right?" I asked my older two. Like zombies recently awakened from the grave, the teenagers dragged themselves out of bed and began to fix the mess.

Buzzing along on my way to school, the gas light came on in the car (ca-ching!) and I reminded myself that my birthday is only a few days away...

Which means I get to renew my license, buy that expensive sticker for my plates (which, to be honest, for $50 bucks should be a cooler sticker. I mean, it doesn't blink, light up, sparkle...nothing. A $50 sticker should be way cooler. Someone fix this.) and snag the van from where it is parked before those plates expire...

Oh, and crickets, I thought. I really need to buy more crickets to feed the frogs...
Without the slightest hesitation, I pulled into the school and parked right next to the sign that reads:

 

With a smirk, I said, "Hop off, kiddo. This is your stop."

Because for $86 dollars and online school in a building, I can drop him off wherever I please.

I'm such a rebel.

Was your morning as glamorous as mine? What made you twitch?
Tell me in the comment section below and I'll give one lucky blog reader a $5 Amazon gift card.
Smoochiewoochies, dah-links.

Lessons I teach my kids

Not so long ago, but long ago

When I became a mother, I planned. I read.

Nothing prepared me for the reality of it, not babysitting or reading or thinking about being a parent. I was granted three wonderful children who are terrifically different in their temperaments, preferences and every other thing that could possibly be different.

That said, it occasionally falls upon me to impart wisdom, advice--life lessons, if you will--to my darling children.

Here's a list (in no particular order) of lessons I never dreamed of teaching my children, yet have found the need to discuss--sometimes at length--with my offspring.

• Never open the car door or window to the crazy drug addict.

If someone runs up to your car, yelling that they are dying of the AIDS virus and need money for the bus, there is something wrong, indeed. Not something you can fix by handing them money. Something you should lock your doors and keep your windows closed against. This is especially true since a lot of people in Cleveland have guns (sometimes even with concealed carry permits) and the person running up to the car CLEARLY forgot this, meaning something is VERY wrong with them, so just drive away. Quickly.

The gang, now

• But do pull over and help sometimes.

There is a really fine line and trust your gut on that one. My kids know I’ll pull over (have done so and even driven 5mi for gas for someone, gave it to them way out of my way and making myself late, before returning to whatever I was doing when I saw the person alongside the road), but I don’t pull over for the bus money people. There’s a time, your gut knows the time, trust your gut and you probably (not guaranteed) won’t get killed. But you can’t not help…being a helper is one of the greatest things you can do with your life, in my opinion.

• Sometimes it is okay to be angry.

It is also okay to be sad. It is okay to be hurt. You don’t have to pretend not to be any of those things. Chances are good, though, if you let those emotions rule you—which they will try to do—you won’t remember to choose to be happy. Because it is a choice. Life will drag you down, worse than any riptide out there, but you can’t let it. Although you gotta try to find the happy, to find the way to get past the sad/hurt/angry/whatever, you are ALLOWED to feel those emotions. You don’t have to bury them under fake smiles or otherwise hide what you’re feeling…you’re allowed to feel bad things. I’ve found people are happy to tell folks to be happy, but they forget to let them cry. I try to let them feel all of it because, well, life is full of both good and bad. Ignoring any part of it, or pretending it away, is not living life fully. Embrace your tears and your laughter. The best days are the ones when the laughs outnumber the tears.

• Other people are going to be angry, too.

And sometimes you can’t do a thing about it. We met an angry security guard at the cemetery the other day. He was just…ticked. I don’t know what his personal issues were and he certainly was in no mood to chat about it. Sometimes you can help—be the shoulder to cry on, be the person they vent to. Others? Sometimes you just have to let others feel what they’re feeling and walk away. You can’t fix everything and if more people admitted to that, they’d spend less time worrying over things they couldn’t change.

• Sometimes it is your fault they are hurt/angry/sad.

If you can, make it right. Own up to what you did and try to make amends for your transgression. Other times…
They’re going to feel how they feel and there’s not a thing you can do about it. Learn to accept that you can’t control how others feel or think and worry about what you can control—yourself.

• Language is powerful.

You can use it to hurt. You can use it to heal. Sometimes, you don’t intend to and you do one or both things…
Remember your words have power. Remember your words can change the world, or even change a person.

Choose them accordingly.

What are some lessons you never planned to teach your kids, but did anyway?

Random stuff I write for school #1

Am I Okay?

“Where am I?”

I didn’t even want to answer. In less than a minute, she’d forget she asked. What would it hurt if I simply waited her out? As some unseen force took control of my vocal cords, shoving out words, I hear myself say, “The hospital.”

“Oh, am I okay?”

There was the million dollar question. Every parent worries about days like this one. What started out as a simple stomach flu, or so we thought, resulted in our family doctor ordering us to the hospital for tests. Even the nurses and doctors in the ER thought it was silly—this kid obviously suffered from intestinal flu, nothing more or less, and should simply be watched for dehydration, but if the doc orders tests, tests they will run.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital.” I leaned back in the hard plastic chair. It squeaked in protest and I folded my hands over my face. First they’d run a white blood cell test. Obviously, if something was wrong, the white blood cell count would be through the roof. In the meantime, they’d put her on IV fluids and got some fenegren going to stop the nausea. She became drowsy and the white blood cell count results came back low, if anything.

“Am I okay?”

But they didn’t want to miss something so they ran a c-cell test. That test came back inconclusive. I remember worrying because I was late for work and losing money. The fluids and medicine obviously helped…why were they wasting more time? But they wanted to do an ultrasound—even though everything suggested she didn’t have anything major wrong—so she drank some nasty stuff before dozing back off. They ran their test and I paced the floor in my fast food uniform, the smell of old pizza and grease competing with the acrid bite of disinfectant.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital,” I answered again, almost out of habit by this point.

A man came in, his face permanently embedded on my memory. He looked like Colonel Sanders from the chicken place. He held a clipboard and seemed to be impatient and in a hurry. “Do you want Rainbow Babies or Cleveland Clinic?”

I blinked at him.

“Am I okay?” Her voice seemed to be getting stronger, but it was still the same two questions so I just reached out for her hand. I remembered staring at the king of chicken in complete confusion. “For what?”

“For the emergency surgery.”

“What? Do you have the right room?”

Colonel Sanders explained that my daughter had appendicitis, worse that it’d gone gangrene and her immune system had probably shut down days ago. Now her other systems were following suit in a massive collapse and she’d need surgery to survive.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital.” They’d rushed her away and I’d followed along. She kept sleeping, drowsy from both her illness and the meds, while my heart beat as hard as a cop at the door of a crack house. I gave up trying to guess what would come next, begging whatever gods might be listening not to take my baby girl away.

“Am I okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered, trying to find my voice past my fear. She’d be okay. She had to be.

Feeling Old

By 19, I was married and pregnant. By 20, she was born.

My darling daughter turns sweet sixteen this year...

It feels like just yesterday I turned sixteen. I remember that birthday. I lost my best friend in February of that year. I had the party at my mom's house...and got to go to Space Academy that year. By seventeen, I'd met her father.

By 22, I was divorced and on my own with two wonderful children and not sure how I was going to do it. By 24, I had all of the kids and we were on our own.

The years, they sped by.

Age 1

Age 3

Age 4

Age 16

It went so fast...

So today, this close to her birthday, I'm feeling a little emotional. My baby is growing up so fast. My beautiful little baby, my only daughter, and she's becoming a woman so fast.

Justy, I love you. And to my middle son...who turns 14 this week, happy birthday, my little man of the house. All three of you kids have made this house a home, wherever we were. You've made us a family and I don't know what I would do without any of you. Thanks for making my life so very special and full of laughter and love for these years that slipped by so quickly.

Momma loves you guys.

Okay, off to cry. Happy writing.

Mothers Always Know

I was watching Kathy Lee and Hoda this morning (something I do although I'm still not sure why every morning...maybe some remnant of my own childhood that says grown-ups watch Today? I dunno.) and they had a woman on who wrote a book called Motherhood Comes Naturally.

Kathy Lee made fun of her--maybe it was supposed to be funny, but Kathy Lee came off just a smidgen...*clears throat* judgy.

"I don't know why you kept having children."
"You couldn't tell a broken arm from gas?"

*clears throat*

Well, I think my previous blogs have shown I'm not a perfect mom. I don't cook, for one, something I've been advised will cause massive obesity in my children (none are yet, at 15, 13, 11, but I've been told it will happen.) and I also don't have the magical mommy senses.

My mom claimed she had magical mommy senses, you know, the ability to tell when something was wrong? I had two strokes and she told me to go to work because I couldn't miss for a little headache. Mommy senses fail.

My own magical mommy senses are a complete wash. I figured that out YEARS ago. My daughter

had appendicitis when she was nine...and that's supposed to hurt, right? Yeah, she showed all the signs of intestinal flu. Nausea, diarrhea...and she said her belly hurt. Well, if you're spouting fluids from both ends, your tummy does hurt. I gave her ibuprofen and a teddy bear and she felt better. OBVIOUSLY not something serious, right?

Took her to the docs and they said to go up to the hospital and get checked--to verify it wasn't appendix. The hospital basically laughed it off. "If it was her appendix, she'd be in major pain."

Yeah, I thought, standing in my uniform for work, that's what I thought. But, hey, they could give her meds for the nausea, throw her on a banana bag, and she'd feel better.

They tested white blood cells, which should be through the roof for appendix. It came back low, if anything, but we'll do another test. By then, she's dozing and I figure that's the meds working/fluids...sleep is good.

They tested c-cells. Inconclusive.

They decided to do another test and actually look inside her. I roused her, made her drink the stuff they needed for the test, let her go back to drowsing and waited. We did the test, she went back to sleep. I stared at my watch, imagining the bills that wouldn't get paid this week because of this little visit...

A man walked in, carrying a clipboard. He looked a lot like Colonel Sanders. The chicken guy? I will always remember Colonel Sanders' words. "Do you want Rainbow Babies or Cleveland Clinic?"

Me, "For what?"
The King of Chicken, "To transfer to on the life flight?"
Me, "For the flu?"
Colonel Sanders shifts and looks uncomfortable. "For the emergency surgery?"
Me, "Do you have the right room?"
Colonel Sanders, "Didn't they tell you? Your daughter's appendix is gangrene. They have to do emergency surgery. Her immune system has shut down, her digestive system shut down, and her nervous system is in distress. She needs surgery--tonight!"

Me, "Uh..."

My mommy senses didn't know ANY of that. Now, every time she gets the flu, she asks me if her appendix ruptured again. And the boys get rushed to the hospital EVERY time they get the flu. Just in case. Because I'm not psychic, apparently.

(As to the emergency surgery? Yeah, Colonel Sanders was wrong. Rainbows didn't hack open my child in frantic panic. Weeks, for the whole process, but she's fine.)

So, well, the point of this rant is, Kathy Lee...don't be judgy. I'm a good mama and that woman with the funny book looked like she might be, too. It doesn't mean we're all psychic. Sometimes Mommy-dar goes off and it's just a fever. Sometimes it doesn't go off and it's a broken arm or an exploded appendix.

This doesn't mean you're a bad mom. It means you're human, you try your hardest, but sometimes you make mistakes.

Mother's don't always know. But the good ones? They try. Which is even better than knowing, in my opinion.

A Day In The Life

So, I've been doing a lot of promo lately and figured it was about time to do a real life blog.

It's named a day in the life in honor of Eleanor Roosevelt--who I now know a whole lot about due to studying her and her husband for finals--since she wrote a series of articles about a day in the life of a first lady.

I'm not a first lady.  I'm a glamorous romance writer.  My life is the stuff of Romancing the Stone.

Or not.

After cramming for finals and getting hardly any sleep this week, I crashed early last night.  I then got up at the buttcrack of dawn.  Checking emails, I saw first round edits for Proper Care and Feeding of a Sex God, now renamed Taming a Sex God.  Coffee in hand, I whipped through them and fired them back to my editor.  I realized I was late.

I jumped in and out of the shower in record time and stuffed my kiddo in the car.  Realizing I forgot to get cash out of the bank for the Santa Shoppe he was headed to (and I was volunteering at) we popped in and out of an atm and went to school.

Signing him in late, because I'm a rockstar of a mama, I headed off with a friend to do some quality volunteer time.  It was actually pretty cool since I got to play store (aka work the register) and chit chat with my buddy.  Then I had lunch with my kiddo and helped tiny humans. 

Although fun, this was tiring, and more socializing than I usually do in a month, so I headed home, checked on my oldest and then passed out for an hour (Note: I mentioned this is finals week for college, right?)

I woke to an offer of cookies in exchange for my mad artistic skills so I got cookies.  I then checked my cell phone because the boys were riding bikes on the dirt road behind our house, mucking around in the woods and around the creek.  They texted me pictures of a frozen deer corpse they found in the creek.

KID YOU NOT...they texted me pictures of a body in frozen water.  Apparently this was a fascinating find for the boys.  Gruesome but fascinating.

Gaaaak.  They had hot cocoa and cookies and I packed up my stuff to go to the high school for a meeting with the music boosters.

I got all fired up because they don't have a music program in our elementary school right now (budget cuts) so I threw out ideas, thoughts, and am planning on now playing advocate for replacing our depleted performing arts program.  Yes, I'm now the secretary of the music program.  *bows*

Now I'm back home, with another round of edits in my inbox, plans to research music grants and the positive and negative impacts of no music program, cramming for an art final tomorrow and...oh yeah, I have work to do.

So, yes, this is a day in the life of a glamorous writer.  You're all jealous right now, aren't you?

Happy Writing!

Rise of Zombie Boy

Through a series of unfortunate events involving an old glass door, a stubborn eleven year old, and an annoyed teenager...my son had a battle with glass this past weekend.

Glass won.

The door broke, raining glass down on him and slicing his arms resulting in fifty one agonizing stitches and a vision I can't seem to UNsee. Luckily, the glass falling didn't cut any muscle tissue, nerves or anything else important but instead skinned him...making me see the fat and muscle below.  According to the ER nurse, it looked far worse than it really was because of how the glass fell.

It looked like something worse than my worst nightmare.

The amazing thing was his level of trust.  I guess I never realized how very much my children trust me to make bad things better.  Once he saw me, once he heard my voice, he didn't cry.  (This was partially due to shock since it didn't hurt until they began numbing him up but it was still horrific.)  He calmly talked to me and the doctors, assuming that because I was there, I'd fix it.

I did.  I doubted my ability to fix this one but I did fix it.

Now he's wandering the house like a restless ghost, unable to play because of the bandages but back to his normal cheerful self.  And I keep staring at him, amazed that he knew I'd be able to fix this one.

He's okay.  I keep hugging him as if to reassure myself of this. 

During the chaos, my children both acted much like me, which was amusing.  My son, with huge gashes in his arm, was very concerned with the towel he ruined with his blood.  My daughter, although she handled the whole thing well, at one point yelled at my son and didn't let him sit on a couch because he'd get blood on it.  Both of them inherited my ability to appologize for things they had no control over...

All in all, the whole experience taught me my kids have a bit more of me than I realized and both of them trust me, even when I'm not sure I deserve that awe-inspiring level of trust.

But zombie boy is doing well.  And I'm a very happy mommy to have everyone home and though stitched up, in one piece.

He likes this song...and it seemed apt.  Some nights are fun and some nights...yeah.

Tanks...

So, Damon Salvatore and I had been fighting bad guys. Through amazing skillfulness and luck, we managed to beat the bad guys. Then, he showed me to a shower like none I had ever seen before. It had jets of water coming from every direction and I was washed in steam the moment I stepped in.

Great shower.

So, I came out, still damp from the shower and Damon was sprawled, naked of course, across the most gorgeous bed that I had ever seen. With a cockeyed grin, he gestured for me to join him. Before I could, a wet, cold nose jabbed me in the chin followed by a canine whine.

Tank.

Tank isn't really the dogs name. But we met in a very unusual way. When I moved to my current home, I was still working in an office about an hour away and I had to get up crazy early (4am) to get to work.

One morning, my kids headed out the door ahead of me and immediately started squealing. "Oh, look at the cute little puppy!"

Me-huh?

And then a St. Bernard plowed out of the darkness and into my living room.

SIT! I remember howling. And, obediently, the enormous animal plopped on his haunches.

Since that long ago morning, I learned that Tank (as we called her...not her real name) lived on the next farm over. Tank had an invisible fence.

Sometimes Tank decides she is going to come see us...check how we are doing... collect some love from my kids and she doesn't give a rats ass about the invisible fence when she decides any of this.

Now Tank occasionally comes down. We call her owner to let them know she has come down. She visits for a bit and he comes to collect her.

So, probably I should have expected that she was about due for a visit.

Still...uh, DAMON, people.

*sigh*

And ohmahlord that shower...

Happy Writing!!

Happy Christmas

My kids have had a wonderful Christmas morning and I am pretty sure we are in for a fantastic Christmas day. Uncle Chad is joining us this year so not only will we be having dinner with our 'adopted' family but we will have him there to share it. On top of that, visits are planned to grandparents and aunts...

All in all a wonderful day. But the things that I am grateful for aren't under that tree... Although I am crazy grateful for everyone that helped make this morning so wonderful for my babies...

I am grateful for the people who helped make today special. I am happy that my three kids are healthy and warm this morning. I am grateful that I am alive to see it.

None of this should be taken for granted.

Our life isn't perfect. I would love to have a man to curl into while I watch the kids shredding paper from glittering presents under the glow of the tree. I would love to go get in my car and not worry that the damn thing is gonna blow up. I would love to say that I am not ever worried over money, or family issues or dramatic battles of epic proportions.

But, y'see, it doesn't matter. Because there are so many other things that are so close to perfect that this morning... I have got to sit back and say...

Thank you. Thank you to a universe that made my life so happy and full. Thank you to friends and family that make me feel loved and secure. Thank you for my children's health and that I am here on this Christmas morning to hear the little comments they are making and the rattle of Lego's newly opened.

Thank you.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it. And to those who don't, I wish you peace.

Final

Since I am going to college...

I am taking my last final tomorrow.

Finals. It sounds so... final.

Which of course, got me to thinking. I am in the final days of the year when my baby, my first baby, is fourteen. It seems like hardly a heartbeat ago, they handed me this perfect little bundle, all sweet and pink with the most beautiful cupids bow lips...

And she is going to be fifteen.

Final.

And about a minute later, I was gifted with my first son. I can't say sweet things about how he looked when he was born... He was blue from being stuck for an hour and covered in ick. I am still not sure how Princess came out looking so perfect and my boys... Gorefests.

Speaking of boys... The baby, my sweet tiny youngest... We are in the final days of him being a decade old. In about a minute, he will be eleven and-tear-not much of a baby anymore.

Final.

I am kind of glad that school is letting out for a break. I think I may take some quality NONTECH related time and just enjoy these final moments of 2011. Right now they are all in their beds, fast asleep, having no clue that I am creeping in their rooms to watch them and know they are safe.

And all the while knowing that soon, I won't have that solace. Soon they will be off having lives and I won't know where they lay down to rest or if they are safe and warm...

Final.

Sometimes I think the scariest thing about being a mom is knowing that you try so hard to protect them from the world but it is right there...

Waiting.

And one day, you can't protect them anymore.

And you have to hope that what you did was the right thing and that they will be okay.

Sorry, it is late. I am having one of those soggy moments when you look at something so precious to you and know that you only have this moment to cherish...

And it doesn't feel like enough.

I am pretty sure everyone has those nights.

Overprotective, much?

As a mom, I wear quite a few hats. I am doctor when they are sick. I am maid. I am tutor. I am playmate.

I could write a really long list of all the things that I am.

But the one that is hardest and sometimes most important is advocate.

No one LIKES controversy. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks to themselves, "Today, I shall take on a school board! And it is gonna be super fun!"

But sometimes... It is one of the jobs that come with the gig.

My daughter, as some of you regular blog followers know, has autism. Along with being diagnosed Aspergers, she has some cognitive issues. So battling schools to make sure that her needs are met has been practically a full time job in and of itself.

Then you add the baby. He is a brilliant but stubborn little goob. But he is ADHD. He is VERY ADHD. He is a walking, talking pingpong ball. It is awesome because his processing speeds are amazing but keeping him on task is... interesting.

The middle kid... well, he rides the middle of the road. He does well in school and he does so pretty easily. He has ADD but he handles it without meds or any huge interventions. He is soft spoken. He is quiet.

So when something happens to mess with his groove, I think I get even more riled up because he needs so little from me in comparison.

His teacher has a sense of humor. I get a sense of humor and I love sarcasm. But when my middle kid came home from school sick, after throwing up, and mentioned that the teacher, when told, responded, "Okay, goodbye, get out..."

I was so tempted to call up and flake out on someone.

I understand, as I said, a sense of humor. But if a kid is sick... this just seems mean. Middle kid claims it is a joke.

So here I am, biting down on all of my overprotective instincts and wanting to call up and play the hero for him...

And he says, "It is okay."

Sometimes, maybe, it is okay.

Doesn't make it easy to put away the sword when you had your full avenging angel suit on and were ready to do battle.

I guess my point is that there are times when you have to strap on your helmet and do battle, whether you want to or not. Other times, you bite your tongue. Not because you couldn't raise hell and slay the dragon...

But because the kiddo has it covered.

Hard for the overprotective, well practiced at playing the advocate mommy to do.

Best of luck to any of you out there who are slaying dragons or putting away your suits of armor this week. :)

Funny Things Kids Say- Christmas Edition

Snow is falling with a gentle pitter patter outside that sounds like the whole world is saying, "Hush!" Even me, who has a very strong love-hate relationship with the white stuff, can't help but see it and think of Christmas.

Not that I have gotten any of my decorations up yet. This is the oddball year all around. Where usually my decorations go up the day after Halloween, this year I told the kids we were cleaning the attic first...

So it is the day before December hits and still no tree.

But this hasn't stopped the kids from getting in the spirit of things. They made letters to Santa last night.

Previous years have gotten me some memorable letters to the fat red home invader. For instance, David one year asked Santa to help his grandpa walk again (the year my dad had his stroke) and last year David asked for cornbread. After opening an amazing amount of presents (including things like a telescope...) David still looked sort of sad and lost. I asked him what was wrong.

"Santa forgot the cornbread."

So I know when the letters come out that I am in for a giggle.

This year, JFAB asked Santa to send one of his evil elves (Who knew he had evil elves?) to come down and take care of the dog that keeps crapping on her bike. Y'see, as she explained to the man in red, she knows it isn't her dog doing it. The crap is the wrong size.

(She also asked for a new house for her mom because her mom needed a study and an ipad. Smart kiddo, that one.)

Justice asked for a spiked leather collar, a flaming skull hoodie and a skirt with skulls on it. The scary child doesn't fall far from the scary tree?

Ash wrote this:

Dear Santa,
Can you please get me some stuff please? You do not have to but it would be really nice if you did. Here is a list if you would like to/
1. Lego's (any kind but I suggest the big stuff)
2. Amazon Kindle (Note from mom: Yes, he wrote Amazon. Smart shoppers, my kids)
3. PSP
4. PSP games
5. Sonic Screwdriver
6. Webkinz
7. Diary of a Wimpy Kid books (Look at my shelves and not those ones.)
8. Lego Dr. Who Tardis
9. Phineas and Ferb Soundtrack and Movie
10. Acen Figures (Mom translation: Action figures)
Thank you, your friend and believer
Ashton
(And then he drew a cartoon at the bottom with Santa, a tree and Santa is telling the kids to have a good day. Less disturbing than JFAB's sunbathing hairy Santa on vacation after Christmas...)

David cracked me up, as usual.
David's Christmas List (This was the header on the page)
1. Amazon Kindle
2. Slappy (mom note: this is a ventriloquist dummy from Goosebumps books)
3. Sonic screwdriver (11th Doctor)
4. Legos (any)
5. Comic books (any Marvel)
6. Walking Dead comics
7. Diary of a Wimpy Kid (last straw)
8. Freddy Kruger Figure
9. Origami book
10. Scary books on Kindle (Stephen King)
11. Bakugon
Merry Christmas Santa. Tell the elves hi and say hi to the halflings if they exist. Have a nice day and don't hurt yourself on the way down.
Sincerely,
David
P.S. Please send a letter back explaining how you go down the chimney please!!!
(Below all this there is a cartoon with an elf yelling ABORT ABORT!! We got A WAKER!! and a child with eyes literally popping from his head screaming AHHHH THERE IS A MAN IN MY CHIMNEY!! while Santa's butt is sticking out of a chimney with the words HO HO HO floating down in a cartoon bubble. The whole scene is made merry with a tree topped with a star.)

All in all... I love kids and Christmas.
Happy Holidays all. And may your kids amuse you as much as mine do me.

Little kids

I generally say that I don't like little kids.

Okay, I confess, this isn't altogether true. I actually *hops into confessional chair* really like little kids.

I like to convince myself that I don't like little kids because mostly... I am not patient enough for little kids in large doses. The siren noises, the dripping noses, the ping-pong-like motion of a four year old hopped up on candy... Yeah, it frays my nerves and I find it easier to say that I don't like them.

(And yes, I am usually the one who gives them the candy. I come from Italian-American stock. My genetic makeup says "Feed Children" and since I don't cook- CANDY)

I do like children.

Today was a fun reminder of how much I like them. I sat in a car full (Five under five, if I was to make a guess) of squeaking, squawking toddlers and I had a blast.

I started by telling them I was really mean.

This had five sets of eyes trained on me, the adult, in nervousness. Adults don't tell kids they are mean. I modified this by adding, "Well, maybe not mean, but for sure, I am scary."

The bravest of the five, a little boy with huge azure eyes and a mop of dark hair piped up, "Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You wanna see my scariest face?"
The kids were curious. I wasn't behaving like a grown up was supposed to.
"You guys have to promise not to get too scared, okay?"
Five nods. Five wide eyes.

I crossed my eyes, made fish lips and wiggled my eyebrows up and down.
When I had finished I looked at five kids struggling not to giggle. "Pretty scary, right?"
From there, I had them.
I was the Jeff Dunham of the car. I was amazing. I was hilarious.

This is the true magic of children. With a little imagination, a few funny voices and faces, you can have them laughing and talking to you. Grown ups aren't like that. We try so damn hard to control that inner silliness, that willingness to be happy, that we forget to have FUN.

So this blog basically is me saying... Find your inner kid.

Let them out to play.

Make someone smile today.
And I dare you not to smile back when they do.

Oh, and for those curious, the handsome gent in the picture is my youngest when he was a baby. Pretty darn cute, if I do say so myself... which I just did... *shrug*