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A Very Happy Little Meal

December 20, 2009 by serialswooper

Alright, I admit it. I take my kids go to McDonald’s. They worship at the gates of the Golden Arches, imbibe in a Happy Meal or two and play with the insanely cheap, plastic, light up toys. The nuggets that claim to be chicken and the fries that soak in grease do, in fact, enter the small and sacred temples of my offsprings’ bodies. A trip to Mickey Dees is an event they look forward to and I dare confess to you here that I indulge them in the pleasure roughly once a week. Usually after swim classes at the Y on Fridays.

But, last week, I called an audible on the whole swim class idea for the foreseeable future and we became “Y-Pool Drop-Outs” (a story for another day). And while they didn’t much miss the swim classes, they were pretty bummed that there would be no processed lunch served on plastic trays.
So, on Saturday, as lunchtime rolled around, Big Brother decided we owed him one. And, before we could really think about it, Husband said ok.
Woooooohoooooooo! Lunch out! With Dad! McDonald’s!
Clearly delighted, Big Brother bolted for his coat. Then, our reality set in. We’d just had a half cord of wood delivered and dropped in our driveway leaving just one car accessible until we stacked it all behind the house. And, Bernie had a vet appointment at noon. And the vet is no where near a McDonald’s. And, it just wasn’t going to work.
“Sorry, bud. Lunch at home, I guess.”
So, as I clipped the leash on Bernie and said I’d be back soon, I could see the disappointment in Big Brother’s eyes. Poor kid. It may be mystery meat and HandiWipes to us but to him it was a special opportunity to feel like a big kid with his own special meal, a new toy for dessert and (even better) a seat next to Dad.
I thought about Big Brother when I was at the vet and knew, of course, that he’d be fine. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe an episode of the Berenstain Bears on Dad’s lap. I knew Husband would turn it around with his usual grace and the special attention that only Dad can give. I knew Husband was good.
But, when I came home and saw the remnants of Big Brother’s lunch, I realized that Husband is more than good. Sometimes, in fact, he’s great.

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Ho, Ho, Who?

December 15, 2009 by serialswooper

I suppose it was bound to happen someday.

Our Christmas card list continues to grow year over year, in part because we’ve moved so much but also because now we have kids and I feel the need to show the little cuckoos off. Either way, we are grateful to also receive a number of cards in return. From old friends, new friends, home friends, college friends, kids’ school friends, work friends, old bosses, current bosses, etc.

But today, for the first time, it happened. We received a lovely card in the mail. Glossy photos, smiling faces, adorable little boy in front of his Christmas tree. And, I have absolutely no idea who these people are. No clue whatsoever.

And, maybe the the worst part of it all is that I feel terribly because I will not be able to send them a card in return. Whoever they are cared enough to write all of our names on the front, track down our brand new address and buy a stamp.
Who are you, sweet Warner family? Accept my apologies.

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Wish I’d Thought Of That…

December 11, 2009 by serialswooper

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Miss Otis Regrets…

December 10, 2009 by serialswooper

‘Twas Christmas Walk weekend and in old Marblehead

There was Santa by boat, there was Gingerbread
The town was a twinkle with white lights galore
Trees on the roof racks and wreaths on each door
But that Saturday night there was more don’t you know
We looked forward to a party Chez Matt and Chez Mo
7:30 the start time but we called the sitter that night
“Can you come a little early, so we can grab a bite?”
At just about 7 we sat down at the bar
The Barnacle, our choice — from the party, not far.
He ordered a vodka with olives, you see
So I stepped up to the plate with an appletini
Then a second, which was clearly my downfall, I fear
I should have known better. Husband ordered a beer.
An old sot named Victor had us chatting, its true
But I wish Vic had told me “Dear, the drunk here is you.”
So then off we went, down the street just a spill
Where I presented my cheese platter, then it all went downhill
“Chardonnay? Oh, yes, please. Oh yes, sure, another?
I know you from t-ball? Isn’t that guy your brother?”
“Have you met my husband? He’s a big Yankees fan.
Do you think that Tiger is a really good man?
What’s your opinion on health care? Oh, what did you say?
I’ll just stir up the pot and then saunter away.”
“Have you seen my husband? He was just here, I think.
Oh well, I can’t find him, wanna go get a drink?”
Well, he found me, thank goodness, not a moment too soon
And brought me directly to the food table room
Where I made an attempt at some crudite
Or some crackers, whatever, I just couldn’t say
But then talking and walking it seemed was a struggle
So I leaned in and listened when Husband said with a snuggle.
“Party’s over, I think. Honey, don’t you agree?
It’s time to head home to two seventy-three.”
I briefly protested but then acquiesced.
“Let’s go,” he said firmly, “You’re a bit of a mess.”
So, please let me say sorry to my host and hostess
For ducking out quickly, no doubt for the best
The party was fabulous, from what I recall
Good food and good friends, the event had it all.
And I am so sorry that I couldn’t attend.
And hope you’ll invite me, when you do it again.

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True Dat

December 10, 2009 by serialswooper

1. There is great need for Sarcasm font.

2. I can’t remember the last time that I wasn’t at least kind of tired.

3. Bad decisions often make really good stories.

4. Seriously, how the hell am I supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

5. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than have to take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

8. Whenever someone says “I’m not book smart, but I’m street smart”, all I hear is “I’m not real smart, but I’m imaginary smart”.

9. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent some jerk from cutting in up at the front. Stay strong, my friends!

10. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you’ve made up your mind that you just aren’t doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

11. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever technology comes after DVDs? I don’t want to have to restart my collection.

12. There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond when you’re sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

13. I’m always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my document that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. “Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this ever.

15. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers. But, no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

16. Sometimes I’ll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

17. I think it should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

18. I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

Disclosure: this list was actually not compiled by me. It was sent to me by someone who received it directly from another someone. I think the writer must be my long lost twin so I feel entitled to share it and (sort of) pass it off as my own to those of you who don’t read long or carefully enough to see the end of this message. And, if she decides to come sue me for using her 18 points in my blog then so be it. I think we’ll enjoy each other in the long run.

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My, What Big Bulbs You Have

December 9, 2009 by serialswooper

There are a few things I believe one should discuss with their betrothed before walking down the aisle. These include the more obvious concepts such as:

1) Do you want children?
2) Where do you prefer to live?
3) How is your relationship with your parents?
4) What’s your sexual history?
I’d like to add one to the list.
5) What color are your Christmas lights?
You see, I grew up in a beautiful little town in Norman Rockwell-ian Vermont. If colored lights existed at all they hung in unseen locations but not, under any circumstances, on the fronts of the white clapboard houses with black shutters that circled the charming town green. The owner of our local general store took photos of the townspeople and hung our pictures on the trees he lovingly placed on the porch of his store.  Tress that twinkled with…of course…little, white lights.
When Husband and I first moved to Marblehead together in 2001, into a very small apartment in Old Town, we had no kids and no plans to spend Christmas in our tiny new home. But, I wanted a tree and, cute boyfriend that he was, Husband went out to the local Boy Scouts stand while I was at a work event and he picked out an adorable little Charlie Brown tree, bought some lights and ornaments and decorated it on his own.
It was a wonderful gesture and I will never forget how loved and happy it made me feel to walk in and see what he had done for me. I loved it. And, I may have cried. I may have even known then and there, for the first time, that he was my future husband.
But, the lights weren’t white. They were colored. And (*gasp*) BIG.
Of course, I’d seen his family’s trees before and he mine. But, in the light of your own living room, it’s just…different.
I wanted my little white lights. He wanted his big colored bulbs.
So, in the interest of marital accord, we compromised the next and all Christmas seasons since. Our tree is annually decorated with small colored lights.  And, it’s lovely.
But as far as outdoor decoration, I insist on white lights out front, showing my deep-seeded snobbery. (What would the neighbors think?)  And in the back, Husband strings giant colored bulbs along the back deck, which the kids love.
And you know what makes me laugh about it all?  It came to me the other night. Our house, in the magical Christmas time of year, transforms into the home decor equivalent of a mullet.
Nice.

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Big Brother Tackles "The Birds & The Bees"

December 2, 2009 by serialswooper

A couple days ago, Big Brother and I are in the car on a special “Mom & me” outing. I love these time and so does he. Just time spent away from the rugrat brother, with my undivided attention.

From the backseat of the car, he surprised me with this one:
“Hey, Mom?” As I’ve said before, he always waits for me to reply no matter what our proximity to each other.
“Yes?”
“How come you don’t love Daddy as much as you used to?”
What? Did he really just say that? I must have it wrong.

“What was that you just asked, sweetie?”
“You and Daddy? Why don’t you love each other like you did when you had me and Little Brother?”
What in the world?
“But, we do, honey. We love each other as much as we always have. Why would you think that?”
“Well, you told me that babies come from when two people love each other very much…”
“Yes.”
“And, then, you also told me that you and Daddy are done having babies.”
“Uh…huh.”
“So, you must not love each other very much anymore. Right?”
Logical little sucker, isn’t he?

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Superman’s in Pajamas on the Couch

December 1, 2009 by serialswooper

I know there are a lot of opinions on the Dixie Chicks and their personal, political views. Regardless, this song just floors me. And, it makes me cry and smile and it’s all I can do not to wrap my little guys up in my arms and just hang on forever.

“Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)”

Dragon tales and the “water is wide”
Pirate’s sail and lost boys fly
Fish bite moonbeams every night
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

The rocket racer’s all tuckered out
Superman’s in pajamas on the couch
Goodnight moon, will find the mouse
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

God bless mommy and match box cars
God bless dad and thanks for the stars
God hears “Amen,” wherever we are
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Godspeed
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

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Why I Love Snow

December 1, 2009 by serialswooper


And, not the fluffy, cold, wet stuff. In fact, I more or less hate that kind of snow, despite being raised a Vermonter. Or maybe, I guess, because I was raised a Vermonter. But, I digress.

“Snow” in our household is an 8-inch tall, red elf with bendable legs and hat (he was named by Big Brother last year). He arrives the morning after Thanksgiving and he sticks around until Christmas Eve. His sole job, as Santa’s helper, is to WATCH each day and make sure the Schieffer boys are behaving themselves. Each night, after they go to bed, he flies to the North Pole and gives Santa his report of the day. And, each morning, they wake to find that he has relocated himself to a new perch in our house to commence the watch again.
Orwellian? Perhaps.
Ominous? Perhaps.
Threatening scare tactics? Perhaps.
Does it work? Damn straight.
My boys are perfect angels, most of the time, in Snow’s company. And, if they forget he’s there for a moment and lapse into pushing, shoving, shouting, whining, shrieking, complaining, pouting and other such regular behaviors, its pretty nice to simply get their attention, put a finger to my lips and say “Shhhhh….” and point to the little Man on the mantle.
This morning (a morning after what is becoming a nightly “eat your dinner” stand-off with Big Brother) I came into the kitchen to discover him having a little conversation mano-a-mano with the elf.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Just talking to Snow.”
“What about?”
“Well….ravioli.”
Ahhhh. Let it Snow, let it Snow, let it Snow.

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Domestic Goddess = Me

December 1, 2009 by serialswooper


Big Brother’s recent class assignment: bring in a copy of a favorite recipe from home. Big Brother reported to me today that he told them he planned to bring in “my Mom’s delicious cookie recipe.”

Hmmm…
My cookie recipe? K.
Open package
Break apart
Throw onto cookie sheet
Bake
PTA, here I come.

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