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Posts Tagged ‘holidays’

Nothing of much importance to say today.  Just a little of this and a little of that.

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I married a man who believes a week-long family vacation in an RV is a great idea.  I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail since the day we married.   Remember in my last post I referred to Husband as Clark, as in Clark Kent?  Well, apparently there’s a little Clark, as in Griswald, too.   It all sounds god-awful to me, frankly, what with the bugs, the cold nights, cramped spaces and all.  If I’m in a car for a long time, it’s so that I can get somewhere I really want to be.   Like, a suite with a Heavenly Bed and room service.  Lord knows, I don’t really want to be at a campsite surrounded by a bunch of other RV’ers.

Unfortunately, wise Husband has Big Brother all fired up about the idea and whatever Big Brother wants, Little Brother wants so…sigh…I’m out numbered by three boys I love.  It appears to be happening sometime in July.  I’m trying to look at the bright sides.

  • It’s bound to produce decent blog content.
  • He’ll owe me.  Big.
  • There are a good two months between the trip and the start of school.  Which means the entire trip will be long forgotten and is, therefore, unlikely to make it into the kids’ “What I Did On My Summer Vacation” stories.

Stay tuned, folks.

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Cutie pie Lee DeWyze won American Idol.  Which I love.  Because I was all about Lee DeWyze.  I was all about him despite the fact that he got completely screwed in the season finale with stupid, lame-o songs.  Telling someone they need to raise the energy level and then asking them to sing “Everybody Hurts” is like telling a birthing mother to relax during a contraction.  Shut up.  Not cool.

You go, Lee.   Atta boy.

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Howard Stern should be the next American Idol judge.

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No one loves Paula Abdul more than Paul Abdul loves Paula Abdul.

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Big Brother starts kindergarten next year.  I’m sure I’ll get all sentimental about this for you in upcoming blogs…probably sometime after I get over the fact that I just sent in my check for public school kindergarten tuition.   Did you catch that?  Public school.  Tuition.  Makes me a little crazy.

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I’m getting old.  Today I discovered that Samantha from “Sex & the City” and I finally have something in common.  If you’re a fan, you’ll know what I mean.  If you aren’t, I’m not spelling it out for you.

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This dopey dog on my floor made me laugh today.

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This poor bird in the Gulf made me want to cry.

What the hell is going on?  How can this still be getting worse?   It’s unfathomable.

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I wish I was friends with Brody Jenner.  Husband laughs at me about this but he totally wants to be friends with Pat Sajak which I think makes him even geekier that I am.

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I think NBC is afraid to tell Jerry Seinfeld that The Marriage Ref sucks.

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Why is it that my 5-year old, while peeing, will look all around in every other direction but is apparently incapable of actually looking down at where the hell he’s pointing that thing?  Good Lord, child.  Pay attention.

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Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone.  Try to take just a little break from all the awesomeness that is the official start of summer and remember our fallen soldiers.

Enjoy it.

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Happy Easter!

And, in keeping with the celebration of our lord Jesus Christ’s resurrection, I present to you what is perhaps my very favorite part of this important spiritual holiday.

This comic.

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“Mommy!”

“Shhhh, J.  No yelling.”

“Mommy, look!”

“Shhhh!  What?!”

“Over dare!”    (Pointing and practically leaping from his highchair)

“What?  Where?”

“Over dare!  Over dare!  Mommy, is that Santa!?”




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Sweets with My Sweets

Channeled my inner Martha Stewart on Valentine’s Day and made hand-rolled lollipops and little chocolate stars with Ross and the boys.  Everything came out surprisingly well and we got to spend a little extra time creating a Valentine’s Day memory or two.
 
Oh.  And now I get to hear “Can I have a lollipop?” every 4 1/2 seconds.  So, that’s a real bonus.

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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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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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Much to my dismay, Big Brother is determined to wear a nylon/poly-blend Spiderman costume for Halloween this year. Which bums me out because I’ve managed to get him into some pretty adorable Winnie the Pooh and Clifford full-fluffy, high-quality costumes in the past.

= cute

= not cute

My snob-meter is just off the charts on this one.
So, now I felt extra pressure for Little Brother’s costume and refused to spend any additional money on cheap-o ugly polyester Target costumes. I’ve been asking around for ideas and can’t believe it took me as long as it did to find someone to suggest that Little Brother be a spider to Big Brother’s Spiderman. Of course!
Found this.

Thank you, D.C., for saving my Halloween.

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