Valentine's Day Survival Guide

I'm sort of a stupid-internet-article junkie. As such, I'm sure you can imagine the amount of advice I've read regarding the perfect Valentine's gift for the woman in your life. My unequivocal response to these is...NO.  

But fear not. On behalf of wives everywhere, I'm here to help. 

The most recent advice I've come across was in the form of a "10 best" sort of list from Yahoo. The very first suggestion is an (ugly) floral display and a teddy bear that hugs. Unless your wife is a seven-year-old, I would strongly caution all men to disregard this.  Do not get a fully grown, adult woman a teddy bear, unless she just had a baby or is expecting on Valentine's Day. Those are the ONLY exceptions. If your wife is anything like me, she has spent the last several years purging your home of unwanted stuffed animals. Just don't do it. 

Next we move on to the ever popular perfume. If your wife has a favorite bottle, and you notice she is running low, by all means get her a new bottle. And wrap it nicely. It will show her that you notice her, and that is wonderful. If, however, your wife has never worn perfume in her life, and you see a bottle that looks pretty when you're walking through the last minute, I forgot Valentine's Day aisle at CVS...keep on walking. Do. Not. Guess. Scents are very personal. A smell that you love may smell like week old trash water to her. 

And then we have the weird glass jewelry box complete with totally impersonal engraving. Think this one through. Does she have toddlers at home who will likely smash this gift into a million pieces? Does she even wear jewelry? Proceed with caution here. My husband would probably not be advised to purchase this. As much as I would love the thought, it would sit unopened in the top of my closet. Don't make your wife hurt your feelings. 

I could go on systematically dismantling the dumb gift ideas that seem to be conventional internet wisdom, but I realize that's probably not very helpful. For those of you who need a little assistance showing your lady how much you adore her, I'm going to try to give you some better ideas for a successful Valentine's Day*:

1. Strap on an apron and make her favorite dinner. DO NOT ask for her help with the dishes. 

2. If you have small children, handle the bedtime routine while she relaxes in a bath...with noise canceling headphones and her favorite bottle of wine. She'll be in a much more romantic mood if she doesn't have to read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom 300 times. I promise. 

3. (Warning: this one is very sappy...but girls love the sappy junk. You can thank Nicholas Sparks. He's ruined all of us.) Make a list of all the reasons you fell in love with her. Real reasons. Not "Your cooking tastes just like what mom used to make." In fact, avoid mom comparisons at all costs. This should be about her, and all the reasons she's special. Because she is. And you know it, even if you forget to tell her the other 364 days of the year. Throw in a box of chocolates for good measure. (Not the cheap waxy chocolate though. Go for the good stuff.)

4. Take the day off together. Couples massage at her favorite spa, wine tasting, walking through a book store. Whatever you like to do together, take the time to do it. Don't rush. 

5. Jewelry. But nothing featured in a Kays commercial please. Nothing says you're one of a kind like buying her something that is mass produced and marketed during breaks from Nick Jr. shows and NFL games. Don't go for the children's birthstones either. Save that for Mother's Day. She was your Valentine before she was your baby mama. (In most cases.)

Lastly, the most important piece of knowledge I can impart: Do not ever, ever regardless of circumstance or necessity, DO NOT buy her a vacuum.  I cannot be more clear about this. Nothing good will come of it. 

Keep in mind, Valentine's Day is about love. It's not about the price tag. If your girlfriend is annoyed that you didn't spend a lot on her, but you took the time and found her something special that reflects how you feel about her, well...your girlfriend kinda sucks. (I'm not including wives in that statement, because in general wives just want to know they're still your girlfriend too. Wives are easy.)

*You know your wife or girlfriend better than anyone on the internet. Take these and all suggestions with a grain of salt. Just be sure any gift you get comes from your heart. Woman are very powerful bullshit detectors...especially on Valentine's Day. 

If I was the president...

With the State of the Union and the upcoming President's Day vacation, I have overheard my beloved after-school study buddies discussing the presidency on several occasions over the past few weeks.  They agree that it would be "super awesome amazing!" to be president.  You would never have to make your bed or do homework.  But sadly, you would still probably have to do "real boring stuff" sometimes.

Keeping their chats in mind, I readied today's group project.  I asked the kids if they knew who the current president is.  After I pinky-promised them it was not Washington...or Lincoln (Eventually one of my girls proudly stated, "I know!  It's ARACK ARANA!"  Close enough.), I sat down with each child, and posed a question:  If you could tell the president one thing, what would it be?  It could be anything; a piece of advice, suggestion, criticism, something you want to change, anything at all. 

Some had an idea immediately.  Some sat deep in thought for a few moments.  Regardless of the length of time it took them, the little bits of wisdom they doled out are pure magic.

Originally, the idea was to write their thoughts on their own illustrations, and send them off to the White House.  And, I will still do that.  We're hoping for a response from President Arack Arana himself, fingers crossed.  But I just can't keep this level of genius between myself, and the White House staffers tasked with reading adorable kid mail.

"If I was the president, I would say, 'Girls are allowed to wear ties!'" --age 7

"Make peace with everybody in the world.  Right now." --age 8

"If I was the president, I would make sure everybody is safe.  Even the boys." --age 7

"Be more like Abe Lincoln." --age 7

"Thank you for making this a better place." --age 6

"BRING US DOUGHNUTS!" --age 7

"You are the nicest president.  But I don't know the other presidents." --age 6

"Be in charge of our whole school." --age 6

"You should take care of your family and your country!" --age 8

"If I was the President of the United States, I would rule the school.  I think you could probably rule the school too." --age 6

"I think you should give us cupcakes every day." --age 7

"I like how you gave your speech on TV.  You had a serious face.  If I did that, I would barf." --age 7

"If I was the president, I would make everyone wear purple.  It's my favorite color." --age 6

"Go to the North Pole." --age 6

"If I was the president, I would do things you don't get to do that often...like see a circus." --age 7

"Ban homework from the USA, and give everyone a dog to cuddle." --age 7

"If I was the president, I would run every restaurant in the world, and I would make everyone eat my food.  They would love it." --age 8

"I want to be president when I grow up too.  Maybe you could teach me?" --age 7

"I like George Washington more than you, because he makes quarters and fights in the army.  You don't do that stuff." --age 6

"You should change all the cafeteria food to macaroni and cheese." --age 8

Don't think of the preceding just as 20 cute statements from six to eight year old children.  Consider them as indisputable evidence that kids are better than us.  Children are a lot more worldly and wise than they are given credit for.  Clearly, they have their itty bitty fingers on the pulse of the nation.  They know the issues that matter.  They understand the problems of the masses, and they know exactly how to solve them:  With cupcakes, doughnuts, and macaroni and cheese.

There I am happy.

My house seems to have fallen victim to some new and creative biological weapon (and with the use of that phrase, I welcome all my new readers from the NSA), or a biblical plague, or maybe just bad luck.  Whatever the case, the stars have aligned, and they're not in my favor.

Over the course of the last seven days, the children have taken turns with sore throats, fevers, medications, hallucinations, allergic reactions, side effects, and projectile vomit.  Even the dog got sick.  Which means the parents haven't slept in a week.  We are dangerously close to reaching the exhaustion equivalent of a nuclear meltdown. 

My clothes smell like bleach.  I have barf on my favorite boots.  I'm spitefully jealous of my husband, because even though he only closed his eyes for 20 minutes last night, he gets to go to work today.  At this point, I am using almost all my energy not to turn into 120 pounds of pure hate. 

This is the side of motherhood that they don't put in the brochures.  This is the sweatpants, unbrushed hair, bad lighting, no Photoshop side of motherhood.  We all experience it at some point.  It sucks, but there's not much to be done about it.  We just keep our heads down, buy Gatorade and Clorox in bulk, and stumble our way through. 

Whenever I have a week like this...or whenever someone barfs on my favorite boots, I remember Friar Laurence from Romeo and Juliet.  (The secret is out.  I really am that much of a nerd.)  When Romeo thinks his life is over because he's been banished, Friar Laurence reminds him of all the ways he is lucky.  Basically, he tells Romeo to suck it up, quit whining, and stop acting like an idiot. 

I am big on silver linings, and sometimes I too need to be reminded to suck it up, quit whining, and stop acting like an idiot.

There are some silver linings to my forced, week-long confinement:  My kitchen is cleaner than it has ever been;  I have successfully managed to watch everything on my Netflix instant streaming list;  I finally finished crocheting the matching scarves for my little lady and her American Girl doll that I have been working on (blissfully ignoring) for months;  I've changed the color of my nail polish every day.  Fresh nail polish really compliments the sweatpants and unbrushed hair look.

But the ultimate silver lining is the quality time I've gotten to spend with each of my monsters.  I am all too aware that very soon they won't want me hanging around.  So if I have to exploit their sickness to snuggle up and watch hours of Doctor Who with my son, or to read every chapter of Prisoner of Azkaban out loud "in the funny voices" with my daughter, exploit I will.  I'm not above it.

I love my kids.  Love them.  Completely.  Their sticky, little, germy fingers have a vice-like grip on my heart.  I cherish every second I get to spend with them.  Even when they barf on my favorite boots.

Dads: It's All Part of the Job

I'm tired all the time.  I am constantly multitasking.  Cooking, cleaning, brushing hair, fighting the "Eat Your Vegetables" wars, volunteering in classrooms, and making time to be the wife my husband married.  They're all important tasks, but they're really no big deal.  I'm not special.  I'm just doing my job.  And nobody is surprised by this, because I'm a mom.

However, my husband is no different.  He's tired too.  He works all day, helps around the house, kills spiders, gives each child his undivided attention, shows them both a level of patience that I am personally not capable of, and spends time with me every evening.  It can't be easy for him.  But he does it.  And I don't think that's any big surprise either, because it's his job.

Recently a picture of a dad with his two daughters (one in a carrier, one getting her hair styled by dear ol' dad) has made it's way around the internet.  It has gone viral, been passed around everywhere, has a crazy amount of shares, likes, and favorites on social media sites.  What I truly do not understand about it is this:  There is not one remarkable thing about this picture.  (Or at least there shouldn't be.)  This guy is just doing his job.

The man who took the photo agrees with me completely.  This is the title of his blog post, "I have a Dream:  That People Will View a Picture Like This and Not Think It's a Big Deal."  He gets it.

I cannot believe the amount of support...and hate...this guy has received. 

At any given moment during my childhood, my dad could've taken this picture.  Only he had twice as many daughters.  He taught us how to braid hair.  He painted fingernails.  He dressed us for school and dance class.  He cooked us (sometimes rather unorthodox) meals.  He pretended to be Daddy Warbucks and danced with me down the steps of City Hall.  Though he may not remember this, he bought me a tube of crazy bright purplish lipstick, so I could look "just like The Pointer Sisters."  He did things like that all the time.  Because he was our dad.  And that was his job.

He also loved our mom.  Still does.  Unconditionally.  And he let us know it.  We knew exactly where we ranked, and it was not first.  Mom had an ally.  There was no divide and conquer.  They were a united front.  (I'll admit, that bit was sometimes completely infuriating.  Especially when we wanted to stay up to watch the end of The Cosby Show.)  Showing us that our mom was something to be cherished was his job too. 

Those things weren't special to me as a kid.  And I'm incredibly thankful for that.

I am glad I thought that a father actually parenting his kids was commonplace.  I'm glad I thought having an active dad was a normal thing.  I recognize now that not everyone had that experience.  

My dad's relationship with his daughters helped me in ways I cannot describe.  Even though at times I'm certain he thought he was raising a giant group of idiots, he never detached.  He was there.  All the time.  Even when he had the misfortune of being the dad of four PMSing teenagers...at once.

Of course he watched football in the recliner.  But, we were right next to him on the couch.  Of course he spent time with the guys he worked with.  But they became our family too.  Of course he enjoys a good beer.  And, now he and mom meet my sisters for a drink on Friday nights.  He did all the manly dad stuff.  But we were the priority.  And we knew it.  Because that was his job.

So I speak from experience to the dad behind the photo:  Keep doing your job.  Even if I don't think it's that special or remarkable.  Keep doing it even when it involves an infant puking down your back, or explaining something to a curious daughter for the 9283793485956th time, or doing that chore your wife hates just to make her happy.  Do it even if your girls don't want you to.

They may not think it's anything out of the ordinary now, but some day they'll thank you for it.  Because of the example you set, your daughters are likely to marry men just like you.  So your grandchildren will thank you too.

The Holiday Humble-Brag

We're wrapping up 2013.  It's a time for reflection before starting fresh with a whole new year.  In that spirit are the holiday letters our friends and families send in their Christmas cards.  I love these things.  Whether they're funny, serious, sarcastic or conceited, they are my favorite of all weird holiday traditions.  Though, I've never actually written my own for our family. 

The reason for this is twofold.  The first, I struggle enough with the idea of sending Christmas cards.  All I have to do there is sign my name, and I can't pull it together to do even that.  Number 2, my family is awesome.  Every year my holiday letter would be the size of the Encyclopedia Britannica.  No joke.  I'm not good at editing.  Those reasons (excuses) aside, I want to give the holiday letter a try this year.  But bearing in mind my editorial shortcomings, I thought it best to write our letter in Top 10 form.

Without further ado, I give you...

My Holiday Humble-Brag Countdown!

10. Medical Emergencies  Our children have required an inordinate amount of medical attention this year.  My husband and I could probably have retired in Tahiti with the amount of money we've spent on copays.  (Not really.  But we could probably have vacationed in San Diego for a long weekend or something.)  We've had a brain scan, 3 MRIs, countless X-rays, 5 months worth of doctors visits for the spider bite from hell, a surgery, and 2 broken arms.  2013 has been a somewhat painful experience, both physical and financial.

The latest visit to our orthopedist.  If I was the type to send Christmas cards, I would send one to her.

9.  Fairy Godmother  Over the summer, I became godmother to my beautiful niece, Evelyn.  Only I've insisted that I be referred to strictly as Fairy Godmother.  Because I feel the title suits me.

8.  The Bookworm  Our daughter has taken it upon herself to read every book ever published before she exits the third grade.  She knocked out the Wimpy Kid and Dork Diary books over the summer.  Captain Underpants is so last year.  So she's moved on to stories more suitable to her discerning tastes.  She's read Little Women, White Fang, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Tom Sawyer, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Frankenstein, (the dreaded) Moby Dick, and she just finished Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone last night.  All this since school began in August.  We've got the makings of a certified nerd on our hands over here.  It's fantastic. 

7.  Outdoor Science School  5th grade provided my son and me with some seriously amazing opportunities.  We survived the wilderness, daily hikes, snow, questionable culinary offerings, and 3 minute showers at Outdoor Science School.  The boy survived life without constant parent intervention, and I survived life in a cabin with ten 11-year-old girls.  We survived.  And it was a wonderful experience. 

Final Day in Big Bear.  Happy to show off our certificates and to head home to take out and hot showers!

6.  Movie Trailers  My husband has had a busy year at work.  I don't think he loves it too much when I brag about how amazing he is.  (And frankly, I don't want it going to his head.)  But, this is a holiday letter, so brag I must.  The guy is responsible for all of your children forcing you to see Monsters University three times in the theater.  He's the reason your daughter wants that Elsa dress.  He's also why you walk around singing the Demi Levato cover of Let It Go even when your kids aren't home.  (That's not just me, right?)  You're welcome. 

5.  New Car  I got a shiny new Volkswagen Beetle in September.  All I had to do to get it was slam my old car into a minivan.  The daughter and I were ok after the crash, but my beloved Cabrio lost her life while valiantly protecting us.

Cabrio 2002-2013.  RIP

4.  New Cat  Princess Cuddlecakes was adopted in July.  We adopted her as a pet for our daughter, however my husband has claimed her for his own.  (Kittens are man's best friend.)  Not surprisingly though, I am the primary cat feeder, brusher, and litter box cleaner.  So it goes... At least she's cute.

3.  5th Grade Promotion/First Day of 6th Grade  The boy passed 5th grade with flying colors.  Perfect marks, perfect test scores, and the Presidential Academic Excellence Award.  He started 6th grade in honors classes, and is breezing through them.  He finished his first semester of middle school on the honor roll.  (I'll admit, this brag wasn't very humble.)

2.  Mommy's Big Mouth  2013 saw the birth of this blog.  Neglected though it might be, I love it.  And, it's far cheaper than therapy.

1.  The Addition  In May, construction was completed on the addition to our home.  We moved in on Mother's Day and are now happily living in 3 bedrooms.  I have my very own office space adorned with vintage toys, coaching plaques, and pictures of my kids being weirdos.  Most importantly, WE HAVE 2 BATHROOMS!  I cannot possibly overstate the importance of a second bathroom.  We lived with one bathroom for 9 years.  And though no murders actually occurred, they were trying times.  Two bathrooms might actually be the key to a happy family life.  Two bathrooms...and kids who clean up after themselves.

I think I did an excellent job summing up the year we had.  It definitely had moments that left me pulling my hair out, but overall it was a great one.  And as 2013 comes to a close, I'm secure in the belief that the best is yet to come.  Bring it on 2014.  Bring it on.

My return to the blog, and an elf named Cupcake

I made some promises to people that I would start blogging again over winter break. So here I am. It's not that I ever intended to stop writing, it's mostly that I've been busy. I haven't had the time. Not a spare second. 

No, I'm not one of those moms who busies herself with over-scheduled kid activities. When I say I haven't had the time, I mean I'm either working, spending time with my family, or watching Sons of Anarchy. I've been busy.

'Busy' is a relative term.

But now, the glorious days of winter break are upon us. No work, and Sons of Anarchy season 6 just wrapped up, so I've got some free time. 

Coincidentally, I'm making my great blog return on my absolute favorite day of the year. Today is even better than my birthday. December 23. The last day I have to worry about our elf on the shelf till December 2014. 

If you don't currently have an elf residing in your home, you don't know my struggle.

Our elf, Cupcake has caused me many sleepless nights this month. Mostly because I don't plan ahead. It's my own fault. I have no idea what to do with the guy, then I wake up at 4am in a panic. 

I've pulled it off successfully every time. Even if it's just under the wire. But, the stress it causes me is ridiculous. It's actual anxiety. Over a silly stuffed elf doll. There have to be more important things I should be worrying about. 

I've gift wrapped dressers, TPed bedrooms, covered myself in face paint, and decorated the tree with underwear. I've baked muffins, made messes, recreated movie scenes, and I've painted toenails while people were sleeping. 

I'm tired. And I'm almost out of ideas. 

However, as much as I hate the Cupcake stress, I'll keep doing it every year I'm able until my kids tell me to stop. And this is why: they love the silly stuffed elf doll. (At least my daughter does. My son just likes seeing his sister so excited. He's happy to help me on elf duty when I let him.) All the sleepless nights in December are worth it for just one of my daughter's giggles. It's a fair trade. 

I've made it through this elf season with little sleep and lots of coffee; a little Christmas spirit and lots of google searches for "fun elf on the shelf ideas"(non of which were particularly helpful). But, I made it. 

If this was your first season with the elf, you survived. I'm proud of you. And also, I'm sorry. You likely didn't know what you were getting yourself in to. If you're a seasoned elf veteran, you know what to do now:

Plan your last move, and pour some champagne. That sucker's going back in his box tomorrow!

Merry Christmas!

The Middle School Blues

The kid spent 5 hours on homework last night.  I'm willing to bet that most CPA's don't take that much work home with them during tax season.  5 hours.  We could've watched 20 episodes of Adventure Time!  We could've driven to Vegas.  We could've flown to Indiana.  We could've sat through a directors cut of Gone With the Wind...with a one hour intermission.  5 hours is a long time. 

Never ending homework.  That's part of our new normal, along with locker combinations, changing clothes in gym class, passing periods, detentions, and those amazingly awkward school dances. 

Middle School.  It's just as bad as I remembered it. 

I'll grant you, I have a slightly different perspective on the thing this time around.  Yet still, I think middle school is akin to one of those exotic rites of passage where 11-year-olds are forced to walk on hot coals, mutilate themselves, battle a wild boar, whatever, to prove they are grown.  The catch is that 11-year-olds aren't grown.  They aren't even a little bit adult.  At all. 

My kid mastered his locker on the first day.  He isn't humiliated in PE.  He has yet to have a swirly.  I guess I should be happy about that.  And I am, but I'm still not a big middle school fan.  

I'm a huge believer in the old African/Hillary Clinton proverb "It takes a village to raise a child."  The village we have built for our children is like a beautifully manicured, gated community somewhere in the hills, with security guards, supportive neighbors, and friendly old ladies who hand out king sized candy bars on Halloween.  Our village kicks ass.  The middle school fits in there too.  It's like the 'new money' neighbor down the road who throws loud parties, and doesn't follow the HOA guidelines.  Though it's lawn sculptures are uglying up the place a bit, I'm sure it serves a purpose in our village.  For the life of me, I don't know what that purpose is. But, I'm sure it serves a purpose. 

I know what you're thinking.  Middle school is necessary to prepare a child for the rigors of high school.  I know you'll tell me they are teaching time management, organization, and self-reliance.  (It's just like you to take their side.)  You'll tell me that they are fostering my son's independence.  I understand those things.  They're all important.  But he's 11.  And, it seems a little much.  

I think what bothers me most about middle school isn't the wasting of precious family time for mind-numbing assignments, or the lack of the one-on-one attention I'm used to from teachers.  It isn't that I'm worried about rabid 8th graders roaming the halls, or the giant decrease in parental involvement.  (Though in my head, those are all pretty sound reasons to hate middle school.)  It's that middle school is turning my little baby boy into an adult.  It's forcing him to brave the hot coals.  He's battling wild boars or whatever every day, and I can't help him.  I just get to hear about it later.  And for that, I hate middle school.  Just like I did when I was 11.