Decking the halls without decking each other

Each year, on Thanksgiving weekend, we set about decorating the house for Christmas.


Before we had kids, I had in my head images of this idyllic day of spiced apple cider and Anne Murray Christmas carols.  Of casual, slow afternoons full of reminiscing.  Or peace and harmony.

A day of classic, non-commercial ornaments.

And a fireplace where all of the kids had homemade stockings.  (So, I am close, Eli, I'll get it done before you go to school, I promise.)

I never imagined there would be bickering over who got to carry which branch.  Let alone having to remind people not to hit them with each other.

I never imagined me stressing me out over the kids dropping ornaments from my childhood.

I never really thought that we'd be doing this at 3:00 in the afternoon, some of us still wearing our pajamas.

I never pictured how much the random ornaments that no longer have stories would excite my kids.

I never realized how fast little boys could move.

I also never knew how gentle they could be.

While in the next minute sneaking a Rose Bowl football off the tree and tossing it around the room.

I never knew glass geese ornaments that had no stories were so cool.

And how much my kids would love finding pictures of me as a child.

And that they could be fighting one minute, and sharing the next.

I sometimes don't stop and see the characters that they are.

And while there was nary a drop of hot apple cider to be found...  And Anne Murray was replaced by Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis..."  And while, in the moment, it felt stressful and not really like what I thought it "should" feel like...

I look back and think, "Yes, that is perfect.  It may not be what I ever imagined.  But that?  That is our life."

Bad Holiday Ideas

As many of you who have read here for awhile know, I work at a hospital.  In marketing, but still, at a hospital.  And in health care, there is the concept of a "Hard Stop."

A hard stop happens right before a surgery is about to begin.  Simply put, everyone stops what they are doing.  They review who the patient is, what the procedure is, where on the body they will be working, what they need to have on hand, etc.  (And my apologies for those of you who work in direct patient care for this gross over-simplification.)  A key part of the hard stop is that it's also a safe moment.  A time where anyone can say that something isn't right.  All of the people are on a level field and everyone's input matters.  The concept is aimed at preventing medical errors and improving patient safety.  Getting things right.

Clearly, a good thing in health care.  But I am starting to think that maybe a hard stop has implications beyond health care.

Looking through the Black Friday circulars and watching holiday television advertising, I decided this was definitely the case.  Perhaps, marketers need a hard stop, too. 

Take for instance these:

I have been seeing these Buzz Lightyear wings all over the place this year.  And they are not cheap, but as far as I can tell, they won't really allow your child to achieve flight.  Perhaps slightly less well than Buzz Lightyear does himself.  But clearly they are outstanding for encouraging them to jump off the bed.  Yup, we can definitely leave those off my list.

Now I took heat the last time I voiced my opinions about what men should or shouldn't wear.  I get it.  You all (or some of you) like your novelty items.  So sorry if I offend, but seriously?  A smurf night shift?  For a grown man?  There are so many jokes that need not be made.  Pants maybe, I could go there, but a short night shirt is way, way too bad.  I know, I know.  Some of you will tell me that you totally would love to get this for your husband or significant other, and others of you, some of the men, you'll say you want it.  And I say rock on.  I, however, will not be doing the same.  I'd like to stay married.  And laughing at him as he gets into bed is not a good start.

This was one of the worst I came across while looking at the Black Friday ads.  A McDonald's Drive Thru with Play Food set.  Because we all don't already have enough guilt for the times we call Micky Dees dinner in the car.  Now our kids can microwave burgers with the best of them in the comfort of our own homes.

But the worst?  The greatest offender?

A huge, longstanding, established retailer.  Macy's.  A retail giant licensing the use of a song that is all about counter-cultural youth finding their way and celebrating what really matters.  Roofs over their heads.  Friends.  Enough food to eat.  Health.  Okay, I get that it was from a musical.  But a really, really good one.  The song "Seasons of Love" from "Rent" never, ever should have been used in a commercial.  Unless it was a commercial to buy tickets for "Rent."

But it really, really never should have been used for a commercial for the ultimate in consumerism.  Other than getting a car with a giant bow on the top, that is.  (Another topic for another time, by the way.)

I give you the horrible use of the amazing "Rent" song used to sell jewelry.

So attention marketing seniors and minions alike.  You have it from me.  Go forth and begin to implement the "Hard Stop" in marketing.  We may all just be a little better for it.

Decking the halls - How to recycle dead strings of Christmas lights

If you're anything like me, today is a day for shopping and doing some more eating and then lugging out tubs of holiday decorations to begin to deck the halls.

Which means that, again, if you are anything like me, soon you will watch your holiday spirit fade as you curse at the strings of Christmas lights that worked perfectly fine when you took them off the tree in January and are now shorted out.

No, I cannot solve the great mystery of why you can put away a perfectly good string of holiday lights in January and pull them out eleven months later and find they are dead.  I think it's a conspiracy.

But every year it kind of kills me to toss them in the trash.  So I was excited to learn that there is an initiative here in Minnesota to recycle them.  Last year, they recycled 100,000 pounds of holiday lights.  And this year their goal is to recycle 200,000 pounds.  If you are in Minnesota, you can get the details on this program here.

And if you're not, do some searching locally and see if there is a program in your area.


Now back to decking the halls.  And cursing at lights.


P.S. I'm hosting a Twitter party Monday night, November 29, for ATTPowerMoms.com.  We'll be giving away more than $1,600 worth of prizes and phones.  You can get all the details and register to join us over here.  Hope to see you there.

Thankful

I'm sitting here, watching the snow fall.  My house is clean and quiet, two things I can rarely say.  And, as I write this, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.


Seemed like the perfect minute to reflect a bit on what the last year has brought and all we have to be thankful for.


Today, I am, as always, thankful for my husband.  He is patient and steady, a good complement to things I am not.  He makes me laugh.  And that, for me, is huge.


I am thankful for my boys.  I probably don't get to tell them that enough.  It has been too easy to get caught up in the noise and mess and drama of living with little boys.  But they are amazing.  And every moment I am with them, and even those I am not, they help keep it all in perspective.


I am thankful for my extended family.  For amazing parents with whom I have landed in that perfect sweet spot when you are an adult -- part parent, part friend.  I am thankful for my siblings and siblings-in-laws and value how they encourage, nudge or sometimes shove (when I need it) me to look at things differently.


I am thankful for my job.  I work for an incredible organization that provides care for the children who need it most.  And it's an honor to be one teeny, tiny part of that.


I am thankful for being able to say we made it through our first year of being business owners.  I take tremendous pride in all Brian has done to grow his clinic and also take pride in knowing that I have been able to keep it all going at home.  Work, house, kids, clinic, life.  It's been busy, but we're making a go of it.


I am thankful for home and food and travel and all of the things we are so very fortunate to be able to do.  I am thankful for the opportunities that have come my way because of this blog.  Opportunities that have opened my eyes to the issue of hunger and poverty in America.  And I am thankful that I have been able to, and will continue to do, again, my small part in doing something about it.


I am thankful for friends old and new.  People who, as our lives get busy, we don't see often enough.  But who are always there.  Whether I talk to them once a year on the phone or ten times a day on Twitter, all of these people are precious pieces of my life.


I am thankful for having this place.  This blog.  For being able to write here.  For having both a family and a job that supports me being open and public online.  For laughing and thinking and sharing and being here.

I am thankful that I have, through this blog, made myself slow down once a day and think and reflect and remember.


And I am thankful for you.  I realize I don't know who the great majority of you are.  Sure, some of you I certainly either know or feel like I do.  But most of you I don't.  And that is fine.  But I appreciate that you have cared.  For whatever reason brought you here, I appreciate your support, your interest and you letting me just be me.


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

A little unorthodox...

Driving down the street with Eli during the Christmas season is about as good as it gets.


It doesn't matter how great or how horrible the decor, he loves it all.

Oooh, Mommy!  Kiss-mas yights!  Kiss-mas yights!

He identifies things as he sees them.  Trees.  Fences ("Why they have yights on their fences?").  Reindeer.


As we neared the end of our block he got very excited pointing and exclaiming,

Look Mommy!  A Kiss-mas Bagel!

I am pretty sure we'll never call it a wreath again.


If you have a Wordless Wednesday post, please link up.

Jalapeno milk anyone?

I know I don't have all of the answers.  I am not a parenting guru.  No advanced degrees in anything home related.

I'm definitely more a by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of a girl.  And often that shows.

But occasionally I pick up a really good parenting tip along the way.  Last night was one of those times.  

There I was feeling all good about myself for making dinner.  Actually making it.  As in chopping vegetables and cutting up meat and following a recipe.  I was making smoked ham and corn chowder.  I was halfway into the recipe and busy chopping jalapenos.  Eli was requesting a sippy cup of milk.  Despite asking his brothers to help me grab one for him, I found myself standing there with a screeching toddler, no brothers to be found, and no cup of milk.


I set the knife down (a good first step when working with kids, by the way) and quickly reached into the cupboard to grab a sippy cup base and lid.


I filled it with milk, grabbed the top, screwed it on and gave it to Eli.


You are seeing where this is going, aren't you?  Well that makes one of us, cause I certainly wasn't.

All of the sudden, Eli is waving his hands, swatting at his mouth and has turned bright red.

"SPIC-EE!  SPIC-EEEE!  MOM, IT'S SPIC-EEE!"

Yes, I effectively wiped capsaicin from the jalapenos all over the top of his sippy cup.  He drank from said sippy cup and had a mouth of fire.

So here's the tip.  Don't do that.

You're welcome.


And no, I didn't stop him in the midst of him being miserable to take photos.  He as still beet red two hours later and was reenacting what he did when it happened.  I may be inept, but I'm not mean :)

How bad are the Vikings?

I am sure you're wondering how Minnesotans are feeling about the whole Brett Favre texting-but-should-have-retired/Brad Childress-gets-fired/Vikings deal.  Okay, maybe you're not, and if you were, I am sure I'd be the last person you'd come talk to.

However, walking past the formerly 100% Vikings aisle at the store yesterday, this caught my eye.

You know it's bad when your own hometown store has moved on.

Dancing with the insanity

I really don't watch a lot of reality TV.  Well I suppose next to some people I do.  But on the list of things I don't watch is "Dancing with the Stars."


I watched one season and it just didn't keep me coming back.  And so I, well, I didn't come back.


But I have picked up on that there is some controversy this year.

Photo: ABC.com

About this young lady.  And yes, I am now old enough that I can call her "this young lady" and feel like maybe it seems tongue-in-cheek enough to make me a little bit cooler.  Probably not, but worth a shot.

Ah yes, Bristol Palin.

Who evidently, if you ask most people, cannot dance her way out of a shoe box.  Again, I don't know.  And, no, I have never seen anyone try to dance their way out of a shoe box. 
 

Yet somehow she has not-danced herself all the way to the finals of the show.  And the world is all a buzz with what will or will not happen.  Okay, so not really the world, cause clearly there are far more important things to talk about.  But as I write this, it's late at night and this is the one that popped into my head.

And now there are claims that there are entire Tea Party web sites full of people who like tea, or parties, or politics or poor ballroom dancing and are spending their time rallying votes for young Bristol.

[Cue the screeching noise of a needle on a record.  See I am old, I really remember trying to do that with our record player growing up.]

Now if you're not a fan of the Tea Party, you might be thinking, "Perfect!  Let's hope they keep focusing their energy on issues just like this."

But really, are you kidding me?  There are people out there who are so passionate about their political views that they are extending their beliefs to the daughter of their might-be-presidential candidate two years from now?  The daughter who cannot dance?  On a reality TV show.  That featured ballroom dancing.

The prize on this silly show is a giant cheesy glitter disco ball.  

These people use spray tan. Lots and lots of spray tan.

And, again, by all accounts, she cannot dance.

Social graces

Have you entered to win a $100 Visa gift card? Ends 11/25!

This morning we had a repair man from Sears here to fix our oven (and yes, in case you are wondering that does mean our horrible appliance karma has continued.)


He arrived and was a classic character.  One of those guys that it seemed had been sent straight from central casting.  Funny, slightly sacrastic, straightshooter, long floppy hair and a hat that he wore slightly askew.  Oh yeah, and he happened to be missing a tooth.


We were eating breakfast as he worked on the oven across the room.  I looked at Noah and could see his wheels spinning.  A spark in his eye.  He leaned over to me and whispered,

Can I ask him a question?

I whispered back,

What?

Can I ask him if his tooth just fell out or if his mom had to pull it?

I quietly let Noah know that wasn't probably the most approrpiate question to ask of a total stranger, who happened to be an adult, who happened to be missing a tooth.


But you can't blame him for wondering.

Building glass houses on our kids backs?

There is a fine line between creative marketing and selling out.  Between creating buzz and creating a mess.  Between having a great idea and having a horrible one and becoming famous for it for all the wrong reasons.

I first really got thinking about this a few weeks ago when one of my readers, Ada, emailed me a link about a family who was renting themselves out as walking billboards.  Long and the short of it is that this couple is selling themselves out as human billboards to companies, literal walking endorsemens. 

Sure, all kinds of places we could go with that topic.  But what really struck me was this statement in the article:

Originally, the plan was just to have Martin and wife Amy wear the shirts. But if you've ever had kids, or been on a planet that has kids, you know that kids want to do everything their parents do.

Really?  Does someone want to tell my kids that?

The caption under the family's photo read:

Their secret weapon: cuteness!

Save that thought for a minute.


Then this week, this story started circulating on the internet.  A couple who claim to be undecided about whether or not they really want children, but who are also nearly 20 weeks pregnant have put up an online survey to let web site visitors decide whether or not they have the baby.  As in, whether or not they have an abortion.  They say they will let the survey decide (but are retaining the right to veto) once she hits 20 weeks.

To me, this looks like a publicity stunt duck, and smells like a horrible attempt for 15 minutes of fame duck and probably is a I'm not even going there duck.  But even if that is the case, if indeed they really are pregnant, there is a whole separate issue here.

Clearly these two examples are miles apart from one another in terms of severity.  The first family is selling themselves as a unit to marketers.  But what happens when their kids say, "No"? 

The other, they are, possibly, gambling with life.  Or even if it's the publicity stunt I think it is, and there really is a child born out of this, that will always be the kids whose parents played a sick online live-or-die game with him.

There is a common thread.  Kids are involved.  And their parents are banking on them, straight up using them, taking advantage of them, or even gambling with their life for attention or monetary gain.

Thinking about both of these stories as well as others I have seen online.  It made me ask the question:

Are people building glass houses on the foundation of their kids?  Is there so much desperation for money or attention or fame that people will sell their kids out (or even worse, bank their actual life) on the fickle whims of corporate sponsors and online communities?

One of my friends made a comment to me the other day that I really appreciated.  She said,

I like that you write a personal blog without actually making it too personal.

Yes, I talk about my life.  I talk about my kids.  But there is a whole lot I don't talk about.  These are our lives.  And while have control over what I put out there, I never lose sight of the fact that there are four other people who have their own lives, opinions, friends and futures ahead of them.   I am not their spokesperson.  I am not their puppetmaster.  And no click, no traffic, no attention, no money is important enough to mess around with that.

It's a fine line to walk.  And one that I certainly won't say I have always walked or will walk perfectly.

But the other night when Caleb asked me a funny question that let to a hilarious conversation.  At the end of it, he then looked at me and said, "Don't share that, okay?"  And I didn't.  And I won't.

His trust in me and how he feels about himself are far more important than anything that could have come from me sharing it here.

But I am worried by what I see going on around me.  Kids.  Cute kids.  Sick kids.  Unborn kids.  And people using them to build their businesses or "brands."  Banking their family's financial success on them.

I just hope that people can stop and step back for a moment and realize this is not a game.

I repeat.  This is not a game people.  It's not cute.  It's not funny.  It's not brilliant.

Kids are not marketing vehicles.  They are people.


I'd love it if you'd come share your thoughts on this in my community.

The night I went all SVU on my kid

It started out innocently enough.  A night home with the boys.  Brian working late.  The usual chaos.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  And then we headed up for bath time.


I could tell something was up with Mr. C.  He was all ramped up.  On.  Wired.  Goofy.  I should have known.  This wasn't going to go well.


He showered and came back around the corner dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt.  All well and good.


The other two boys had their showers and suddenly, as I was getting Eli dressed, Caleb came around the corner.


He had a wild look in his eye.  Wild and mischievous.  Not good.


Oh, that and he was no longer wearing any pants.  At all.  Not good at all.

Where are your pants? 

Oh, um, oh, I realized I was wearing Noah's underwear so I put them in the hamper.  But look Mom!  Someone ripped my underwear!

Ripped would be an understatement.  These underwear had been cut. Like from the waistband all the way down one of the legs.  And not even like.  They really were.

Crime scene cut.

But with safety scissors.

Channeling my inner Mariska Hargitay, I pointed out to him that those were not rips.  Those were the jagged cutting lines of someone using safety scissors.


Immediate sobbing.  Hysterics.  Tears squirting off the sides of his face.  Blame.  Claims of innocence.


I asked Noah about it.  And he gave me a look that told me that he thought all of this was nuts.  Why in the world would he cut his brother's underwear up?  And Noah does some crazy stuff, but I was pretty sure he was being honest on this one.


And Eli?  Yeah, that suspect was eliminated due to the inability to use scissors.


I pointed out to Caleb that this was the time to be honest.  That one brother lacked manual dexterity and that the other thought I was talking crazy.

That I had no idea what would possess him to cut up his underwear.  But that whatever it was, I would not be angry.


No go.


Wailing.  Crying.  Pillow over the head.

Alright, Mariska, let's go.  (And yes, when I pointed out to Brian that I had channeled my inner Mariska he did ask if I realized that I was comparing the snipping of the underwear by a 9-year-old to a plot on "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit."  I responded that made total sense as there was almost always underwear involved there, too.)


Time for bad cop.  
Never mind all of that.  Now I am angry.  Just tell me the truth.  I am going to talk and talk and talk until you break down and tell me the truth.  Talk, question, talk, consequences, talk.

No go.

Tricky cop.
Whoever cut that underwear is a hero in my books.  They were looking grubby and worn out and this will make it easier for me to turn them in to rags. 

Fail.


Good cop.
Caleb, I love you.  And I don't care if you did it or not.  I just want you to be honest.  In life, I want you to be honest.  It's almost always better to tell the truth even if the truth isn't great (but don't tell a woman she looks fat and this is not the time to bring up Santa Claus).  Talk and talk and talk.

And I am going to sit here with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever until you wear down and confess.

After 15 minutes I gave up.  And he never confessed.


None of it worked.  I evidently totally blow at interrogations.  Mariska, your job is safe and you look way better in a bullet proof vest.

However, we're down a pair of underwear. 


How do you deal with it when you know your kids are not telling the truth?  I'd love to hear your opinions over here.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

We're one of those families that, for the most part, loves snow.  So getting a good 8 inches on Saturday made everyone happy.

Well, all but Brian who had to snowblow it.

Happy Wordless Wednesday.  If you have a WW post to link up, please do so here.

Yoga pants scare me

I have a confession.  Each day, as I drive away from Eli's daycare I have to call up my best anger management skills.  Well really, it's less anger management than green-eyed monster suppression skills.


There I am, in my messy van, wearing my "I wish I wasn't wearing these" clothes, headed in to work. 

And then I see them. 

Those adorably cute girls.


They are walking together.  Chatting.  Laughing.  Carrying their lattes.  They have those cute little mats tucked under their arms.  Those mats that I don't even know what they are for.  But they are cute and compact and pink or purple or pale blue.  They have perfect ponytails that swish back and forth when they walk.  They are going to yoga.


The worst part?  They are wearing yoga pants.  And not only are they wearing them to yoga, but they look good in them.  Like they are supposed to be wearing them. 

[Here's where I make a confession.  I have tried to get a surveillance type photo of these women.  But all it really ever looked like was that I was a stalker, so I will resist sharing.]

I don't look good in yoga pants.  When I put on yoga pants it is to do laundry and I have to pair them with my oldest sorority t-shirt that covers everything and accessorize with my random Easter egg slipper socks I got 90% off.  And I don't, but if I actually went out in public, let alone went to yoga, I would totally be in the "What Not to Wear" section with a black rectangle over my eyes page.  Well, I mean, if I was famous.



One of my dearest friends was over this weekend.  And she was all excited to tell me that it was Family and Friends day at their club this past weekend.  Meaning we could go, for free.  With free childcare.  She wanted me to do yoga with her.



I couldn't bring myself to go.  My own issues with what I look like (or would look like actually wearing yoga pants for yoga) got in the way.  That 12-year-old girl in me came out and I worried that I'd look like an idiot trying.  Or horrify the person who got stuck behind me.


So yes.  I'll own it.  My issue with yoga is my own. 

I asked the following question over on Facebook:

What do you think when you hear someone say, "I'm going to yoga"?

I loved reading all of the responses.  They ranged from:

"Take me with you!" 

to

"I think of the weird dude on my Wii Fit Plus who keeps telling me 'You're a bit shaky.'"

to  

"I think about how before kids I did yoga a few times a week and how I miss it now and am so completely inflexible. It's on my to-do list."

But this one really grabbed me:

"I feel guilty- like I should take time for myself to do that, but I don't."

Exactly.  She hit it.  My issue isn't that yoga pants look horrible on me.  My issue isn't that I don't know what I am doing and, yes, would look more than a little bit shaky.

My issue is that I am jealous.  Of these women.  Of their cute hair and flattering pants.  Of what appears to be a carefree life, even though I know it really isn't one.  Of what appears to be a budget that allows for yoga classes.  Of silky hair and time with girlfriends.  Of a lifestyle that allows them to head to yoga at 9:00 a.m.

But above all I am jealous that they are doing something for themselves. 

A guide to the best holiday decor (sort of)

Around this time of year, I get that pre-holiday deflated feeling.  No, I am not a person who gets to feeling down during the holidays.  Quite the opposite really.  I love them.  I fall back into feeling like a kid again.  I love the lights and the sounds and the tastes and the smiles and the songs and all of it (well almost all of it, but that's another topic for another time).


What makes me feel deflated are all of the amazing, beautiful things I see people doing to their homes.  The homemade ribbon runners on tables.  The amazing window displays.  The incredible spruce tips adorning pots perfectly covered in lights and bows.  The charming table cards and centerpieces for Thanksgiving.  I am the first to admit that I am not crafty.  And when I try to be?  Yeah, it usually doesn't turn out so well.

I have a ton of respect and admiration for people who have the talent, time and creativity to pull these projects off, but I am not one of them.

I can't even get square corners on presents when I try to wrap them.  And forget about ribbon.

I open the mailbox each day and get yet another catalog full of rooms that I couldn't replicate if I tried.

Sigh.

But I have to believe that I am not alone.  That there are others out there who are just like me.  Or at least a little bit like me.

So I thought I would let you in on some of the best secret holiday decor tips we use here:

You ready?  I am pretty sure you're going to want to bookmark this and come back again and again.

1. Keep your Halloween pumpkins outside and let them rot.  Nothing says "Happy holidays!  Welcome to our home!" like rotting produce.  Afterall, composting is very hip right now.

2. Same goes for the mums.  You spent a good $30 on them, I say keep them out until Valentine's Day.  And I see all kinds of dried floral displays in the decor magazines.  Consider this one yours.

3. If you have broken, damaged or uprooted things, just prop them back up.  It's the holidays!  It gets dark at 5:00.  Give people a glass of eggnog and no one will ever notice.

4. You will want guests to feel comfortable in your home.  Invited.  Welcome.  Like they could stay for days.  We accomplish this with some additional decor on the landing inside the front door.


There is a utility sized box of wet wipes, you know, just in case.  There is a change of clothes, complete with underwear.  Also, just in case.  And a tote bag in case the just in case happens.

There are even Cub Scout merit badges, you never know when someone might need a little extra recognition.

The over-sized rat stuffed animal is really optional.

5. I encourage you to add a few elements of surprise in your decor.  A little hidden whimsy.  When guests notice it, they will be delighted and impressed with your attention to detail.

For instance, take one of your nicer tables and use the shelf to expertly hide diaper cream and wipes.

6. We must talk about table decor.  As the focal point of your entertaining, it's critical that you get this right.  Personally, I recommend buying candles from Target when they are 75% off after the holidays.  Then stash them awkwardly on a shelf for a year or two so they get good and dinged up.  Then pull them down, brush off all of the broken wax and place them on whatever glass candle plate you can find  Viola!  A lovely centerpiece.

And yes, I do recommend leaving a few intentionally placed crumbs on the table.  It might help your guests feel like you are normal.  You know, help put them at ease.

7. Finally, it's really important to get your kids involved in your holiday decor projects.  Consider, perhaps, giving them an area that is theirs to decorate.  Encourage a theme and let them really go and create.

You will be amazed and inspired by their talents and what they produce.

This year, I let the kids have the buffet.  I knew they'd come up with something charming for this great antique piece of furniture.

They chose to stick with the Halloween theme.  Thinking outside the box.  Nice, kids!

And their approach was a dramatic toss and dump.

I love it.  I think they showed great creativity and a true eye for design in the artful tossing of the candy and the inclusion of Elmo falling out of the crystal bowl.  What a statement.

So there you have it, my holiday gift to you.  I hope you'll share the beautiful things you create using my amazing tips and eye for design.

Happy decorating.

The saddest snowman ever

Melting snowman courtesy of Mother Nature.  AKA: All good things must come to an end.

Happy first snow!

Snowman courtesy Brian, Noah and Elijah.

Alright Friday, you got me. I surrender.

Wouldn't you know it?  I go and post about how poorly my Friday is going and then it explodes.  I mean a big messy explosion.  And I didn't even know it.

Tonight, I am very excited to host the No Kid Hungry Twitter party on behalf of the ConAgra Foods Foundation.  If you haven't read about it yet, I have all of the details here.

It's going to be a great party with a lot of great information, a fabulous cause, a chance to make a difference, and prizes, too.

But there is a lot of information that I will be sharing during that time and I like to be able to talk to people when I am doing a Twitter party, so I had prescheduled the tweets.  I was using the FutureTweets app that schedules on military time.  Now I have never been in the military, but I am pretty good with basic addition.  So I had scheduled everything for 1900. 

And then I went to lunch.  The nerve, I know.

And being socially gracious, I put my phone away for one hour.  One hour when half of my Twitter party tweets inexplicably flew online.  Kicking off a twitter party that I wasn't even attending.

Evidently, I was so excited about this party that I started having it without even knowing it.

What happened?  I am not sure.  When I scheduled them last night, even though I set it to Central Standard Time, this morning is inexplicably changed time zones. And all of my tweets were headed out in Amsterdam time.


So my apologies. 
 
But the good news is that yes, the Twitter party is still on for tonight.  At 7:00 p.m. CENTRAL time (that will be 2 a.m. tomorrow for those of you in Amsterdam).  And of course, those of you who hung out with the phantom of me over lunch, you are definitely in the mix for the drawings.
 
And I would love to see you there. 

A case of the Fridays

We don't really get that whole "case of the Mondays" around our house.  For us, it tends to be that we have a case of the Fridays.


Somehow everyone just seems to be done.  Tired.  Over it.  And today was a classic case of the Fridays.


Kicked it off with crying and drama over showering.  That was the boys.  Not us.  Followed by one of the boys, and I won't name names, declaring he was, from now on, only going to shower once a week.  Good news is we probably won't have to worry about girls for awhile.


Said boy then put on pants that are not only not school appropriate but also four inches too short.  He was informed that we at least like to "look" like we have our act together (cue the foreshadowing).  And perhaps the best way we can do that is having him sport some pants that fit.  More drama ensued.  I won.  He is wearing cords.


Raced out the door in separate cars to drop the boys off at their day camp (no school today, conferences) and Eli off at daycare.

I hit every single light on the way to daycare.


Eli, our normally happy-go-lucky, I am thrilled to be at school kid, marched into the room and threw himself prone on the floor sobbing. 

Turned out he wanted the moldy glove he found in the garden and insisted on wearing to school.


Have I mentioned I am now late for conferences?  And that I HATE being late.


Tantrum followed.  Gripping, cyring, grabbing my tights kind of a meltdown.


Cue the huge run in the new tights.  A good look. 


I disentangle myself, retrieve said moldy glove for him (can you tell that he is the third kid?) and race out the door.  Get to Caleb's 8:15 conference two minutes late. 

Break for the high point.  He's a great kid.  Phew.


Followed that by the news that Noah's conference was at 8:00.  Yeah, we totally didn't show for that one.  So much for looking like we have it together.


Followed that by the tidbit that the boys were supposed to have a lunch at their day camp.


We raced to Target where I did something I always tell the kids I won't do.  I bought them Lunchables.  And an apple.  Do I get some credit for that?

Well I am sure they will think I am a rock star.  And Brian did point out that the crackers were whole wheat.  So we've got something.  Even if my kids are eating lunch meat and crackers for lunch.  Oh yeah, I bought apples, too. Bonus points.


Raced back to the day camp clutching to super classy Target lunch bags (read: plastic bags) that I ran in and thrust at that teacher and ran back down the hill.


Brian then asked me if I was wearing black thigh high socks. 

Nope, tights, with a run in them.

Ah, you must have screwed up and worn your beige Spanx then?

Indeed.  A good look.  Awesome.  So not only do I have a run in my tights, but I also can't walk up the stairs in front of anyone today.


Made it back to Noah's conference on time.  Okay, so not on time, an hour and fifteen minutes late.  But kind of on time.  Two minutes early, actually.  Giving us time to look at the projects hanging outside the room.  Including this one.

Turns out I haven't been getting any of the teacher's emails since, oh, September.  So while all of the other kids had great 3D pictures, Noah brought nothing in and had this:

Good news there, he's a great kid too.


And now it's 9:45 and I am pretty sure we need a do-over. 


How about you?  Do you have a case of the Fridays?