Merry Christmas!

I promised a couple of people that I would post our holiday letter and I'm finally getting around to it. Yes, I'm totally back-dating it because there's just something that feels really wrong about posting a Christmas letter in February. Please note that the actual letter did go out in December.

The T*** 2008 Holiday Toy Catalog

Thank you for requesting this year’s T*** Holiday Toy Catalog. As you are well aware, times are tight. In order to cut our production costs, we have reduced our product line to only our five best-selling items. Remember: Order by December 24 to ensure arrival in time for Christmas!

Little Alyssa Doll - Not a Baby Anymore Version - She laughs! She cries! She scales tall furniture and swings from curtains! Push the button to hear one of 30 phrases, including: “No!” “That’s mine!” “You’re never gonna believe this!” and “I hate time-outs!” She comes with 12 baby dolls and a permanent marker to draw on your furniture. Also included are six purses, five outfits including: polka dot footy pajamas, a Dorothy costume, a ballet tutu, and a princess dress with tiara, plus seventeen pairs of shoes (though she will insist on wearing the sparkly red ones at all times). NOTE: Clothing must be changed hourly. Because of customer complaints, this version does not include the “wet diaper” feature. Instead, she comes complete with big girl panties and 47 rolls of toilet paper which she will unroll on your floor in eight seconds flat! No batteries required, simply wind her up once and she will run FOREVER. Sorry, no “off” switch or volume control.

Big Girl Amanda Doll – Your little one won’t be able to put this one down. She can read! She can write! She loves to sing and dance! She comes complete with glitter, sequins, glue and six zillion other craft supplies that she will use to decorate anything that will stand still. We’ve cut eleven inches of hair off of this year’s version! Push a button and she will say, “Can I have candy?” “Eww, I’m not eating this!” or one of 638 stories she has made up to entertain you. A fun bonus feature is that she will occasionally repeat: “I’m bored!” and “I’m hungry!” on an endless loop no matter how well fed or entertained she is. Place her near Little Alyssa Doll and she will whine, “Mommy, she’s bugging me AGAIN.” She comes with a complete wardrobe but she will refuse to wear most of it because it’s boring. No batteries required! Just feed her a steady diet of hamburgers and candy and she will run and run.

Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll – She comes with a camera stuck to her face to capture priceless memories and a laptop so she can keep in touch with friends and family. She’s room mom for Big Girl Amanda Doll’s first grade class, which means she can work magic with popsicle sticks and glue. She whips out Shutterfly photo books at an alarming rate, which may explain why she is so bad at keeping her blog: http://dionesdays.blogspot.com/ up to date. Push a button and she says one of 15 phrases including: “Can we please lower the volume?” “Put your clothes back on Alyssa!” and “I’m gonna count to three and if you don’t climb down from there, you’re getting a time-out!” She runs in circles looking for her keys while chanting like a crazy lady and you’ll be happy to learn that this year’s version has her head permanently attached so she can’t lose it. You’ll want to buy lots of extra batteries for this one because spending all day with Little Alyssa Doll wears her out quickly!

The Daddy Scott Action Figure – This version comes with a broken hand and a cranky attitude. Push the button and he will say: “I hate my job!” “I hate Christmas!” “Where’s the remote?” and “If you put your keys away you’ll always know where they are.” He enjoys tormenting Little Alyssa Doll, Big Girl Amanda Doll and especially Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll. It is nearly impossible to separate him from his TV, his blackberry or his cell phone. He knows EVERYTHING! He spouts financial advice whether you want it or not. He comes with a motorcycle he rarely rides, a set of golf clubs he whips out occasionally and an X-box which can turn him into a guitar hero-playing superstar in his own living room. For only an extra $5 you can get The Bad-Ass Daddy Scott Action Figure which also includes a B-B gun just in case Whiskers the Cat (currently unavailable) drags a rat into your kitchen. Guaranteed to shoot the rat dead in four shots or less!

The T*** “So they call this a dream house?” House – Due to a major decluttering-mission, this version comes with 60% less stuff than last year’s so we can’t understand why it’s still a mess much of the time! There’s finally room in the garage to park the Deluxe Eurovan (currently unavailable in the U.S.) so the whole family can go camping! Due to endless complaints about the hideous carpet and unsightly master bedroom furniture that came with all earlier versions, you’ll be thrilled to learn that the 2008 version comes with all new carpet and brand new bedroom furniture. The crib and changing table from last year’s version have been replaced by a tall loft bed that nobody will sleep in but the height allows Little Alyssa Doll to reach the ceiling fan with ease. (Wheeeeeee!)

Ordering information: Orders may be sent via snail mail to (our address), via email to d_***@sbcglobal.net or by phone at (our phone number). If you’re in the area please visit our outlet store! (Please call first so Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll has time to clean up The T*** “So they call this a dream house?” House and change out of her sweat pants.)

Happy birthday to me

Scott managed to surprise me for my birthday Saturday night. For the record, being surprised by my husband on my birthday is not necessarily a good thing. But this year he arranged for his mom to come down to babysit the girls so we could go out. That alone was surprise enough. Making plans. In advance. Arranging for a babysitter? Really? Yep, I'm still talking about Scott.

So he asked me what I wanted to do and I was vague. I wanted him to make the plans, that's what I wanted. He said he was thinking maybe we would go to the city. Wow. Okay. He hates going to San Francisco. Hates fighting the crowds and the traffic. So I thought he's really going out of his way for me.

So he told me we would leave at five and that I should dress sexy-casual but warmly because it might be cold.

Huh? My husband is giving me fashion instructions? He never does that. And where did he come up with the term SEXY-CASUAL? Do I even own sexy-casual but warm? What is that anyway? Like low-rise sweatpants so my butt-crack shows if I bend over?

I threw on some jeans and a shirt that showed a bit of cleavage and figured that would have to do. He actually made me spin around and said he approved. That alone made me nervous. But I figured we would end up having a nice kid-free dinner and movie and I was ready early. Because I was just itching to get out of there. I was looking forward to an actual date with my husband.

Around five-ish his friend, Brian, shows up. He walks in like he was expected. I flash Scott a weird look and he says, "Yeah, we were gonna head out in a few minutes." Brian says, "Oh no worries I'll get out of your hair in a few minutes. I was in the neighborhood so I decided to swing by. He's a world champion mudslide maker so he made one for each of us and then Scott said, "Hey, I really don't want to drive... Brian, would you drop us off at BART?" Err... okay...

So we jump in the car with Brian and since I'm totally directionally challenged I rarely question anybody else's directions but I knew we weren't going to the closest BART station. I figured maybe he was heading somewhere and wanted us to keep him company and he'd drop us at another station. I really wasn't thinking much about it. But finally Scott asks, "Have you figured out that we're not going to the BART station?" and then, "Hey, did you get a buzz from that mudslide? Do you want to know where we're going?"

Then he says, "We're going to a swinger's club!"

Go ahead. Read it again if you must. I said a SWINGER'S CLUB. And not like swinging a baseball bat or swinging on a big old tire swing hanging from a tree. Because I asked. I'm talking about the kind of swinger's club that people admit to frequenting on the Oprah show only while wearing disguises and having their voices electronically altered. That kind of swinger's club.

And then I was like, "Ha! Very funny. Yeah. That's a good one. But where are we REALLY going?"

But Scott said, "No, really... It'll be fun."

And Brian throws in, "You don't have to participate. You can just watch."

And it goes on like this for quite some time while my head is spinning in pretty much every direction you can imagine and some that you really shouldn't. Both of them continue talking as if going to a swinger's club is just the most ordinary thing in the world.

Brian says he hopes traffic lightens up because you can only get the white wristbands, which indicate you're ONLY WATCHING if you get there before 7:00. "If you get there after 7:00 you'll have to have a red wristband, which means you're PARTICIPATING. But they'll be nice since it's your first time." He goes on to say we should have brought some of those cheapie rain slicker things because, "If you're in one of the front rows you might get wet."

Scott, trying to keep me calm, said it was really no big deal... that he'd been to one of these places before, a long time ago when he was married to Ioana, but she didn't go with him. He said he couldn't remember why she hadn't gone with him and I said, "Well it probably wasn't her birthday."

I kept saying, "I know you guys HAVE TO BE KIDDING." I was doing my best to be a good sport. Then one of them says we should stop for something to eat because they don't have food in the club, only alcohol. Brian says, "Stop me when you see something good... There's a Red Lobster. And there's a Quiznos..."

I think it may have been when we stopped at Safeway for sandwiches that I officially started to freak out. I mean I figured that wherever we were going, at the very least we'd be having a nice dinner. Nothing against Safeway sandwiches... but no seriously...SAFEWAY SANDWICHES?!?

Oh but I always think it's important to be a good sport in these situations... because you never know how these things will turn out. And you don't want to turn into an insane raging bitch right before you discover this was just an elaborate set-up and your husband is actually surprising you with, oh, say a diamond necklace or a trip to Cabo. Then you have to do all that back-tracking and apologizing.

This is why I was such a good sport that time we went to visit Scott's ex-wife on my birthday. And this is why I was such a good sport when I was pregnant with Alyssa and Scott had me down on my hands and knees picking rocks out of the dirt on Mother's Day. Because I just kept believing there had to be a pony hiding under all the crap. Except that we all know by now that when it comes to MY HUSBAND there is occasionally a pony but often there is just a bunch of crap. That birthday was really just a visit with his ex-wife and that Mother's Day was just a day spent yanking rocks out of the dirt.

So it was while we were there at Safeway that I realized I had to face the possibility that my husband might actually have thought taking me to some skanky sex club so that I could watch a bunch of naked middle-aged people get it on while I attempted to choke down a Safeway sandwich was a perfectly wonderful way for me to celebrate my birthday.

I.Was.Nervous. I went to the bathroom and briefly considered making a run for it. Then it popped into my mind that Amanda had almost slipped and told me something. She didn't tell me anything but started to and then said, "Oops... Daddy told me not to tell you 'cause it's a surprise."

Hard as I tried I just couldn't imagine Scott whispering to Amanda, "Daddy's going to take Mommy to a special place where we can watch other mommies and daddies get their freak on! But don't tell Mommy because it's an extra special surprise for her birthday."

So it was at that point that I decided to calm down and just go with it. Because this just HAD TO BE A JOKE. And it was. We ended up at the Colbie Caillat/John Mayer concert at the Shoreline Amphitheatre! I had mentioned to Scott months ago that I would LOVE TO GO. And then I forgot about it and moved on.

It was an awesome concert and we had a great time. Trust me it was even more enjoyable considering where I could have ended up instead. He got me good! So my husband scored lots of points in the thoughtfulness department this year.

Apparently I was too much of a good sport about the swinger's club thing though... so much so that both of the guys decided I was nowhere near as freaked out as they expected me to be... so secretly I must actually want to go. I'm afraid I may be in for a REALLY BIG big surprise next year!

Dear Summer Vacation...

Dear Summer Vacation,
Have I done something to piss you off? We've always gotten along in the past. I mean okay, in recent years we haven't been the best of friends, what with you constantly pestering me to put a bathing suit on. (Come on, is that really necessary?) But when I was younger I adored you.

Your arrival meant I would spend long, carefree days with you running through the sprinklers, hanging out at the pool and waiting for the ice cream truck to drive down our street. Wearing flip-flops and halter tops and inhaling the glorious smells of chlorine and coconut-scented sunscreen. I always hated to see you go and I would spend the whole school year missing you and waiting for you to come back.

I was looking forward to you showing up this year. I really was. I was so excited about Amanda's very first school vacation. But now that you're here I feel like you're hellbent on killing me... one brain cell at a time. I should have figured something was up when the night before Kindergarten graduation included a heated email battle of the Kindergarten mommies. It got ugly. Really ugly. It was the kind of drama I didn't expect to see until junior high. So you didn't exactly make a smooth entrance.

But graduation went fine. It was a very hot day but that was okay because after the ceremony, the kids got to change into bathing suits and break out the water toys, kiddie pools, bubbles... Then after school we drove to Grandma's house so Scott could have a relaxing Father's Day weekend. Well what we hoped would be a relaxing weekend anyway. But oh no. You were already screwing with us, Summer. He played golf Saturday but then serious work-related drama broke out. Almost as soon as he got back from the course he ended up in serious stress-mode, on nearly hourly conference calls until the problem was finally resolved in the wee morning hours.

Was it your bright idea to send Amanda's best friend, Rilie, away for a month? I mean come on. A MONTH? All Amanda talked about for weeks was how when school got out she would get to play with Rilie all day every day and then this? Thanks a lot, Summer.

I was okay with the major heat wave you sent our way. I blew up our teeny pool and after much begging, dragged it to the bottom of the slide and the girls had a blast on our somewhat lame version of a water-slide. When my friend, Wendy, sent me some great pictures of her kids playing in their blow-up pool, complete with a blow-up slide it made ours look just that much more pitiful and I just HAD to have one like she had, especially when she offered to have her husband pick one up for us and deliver it to us at Luciana's birthday party that weekend.

We continued to use our teeny pool while we waited and I felt a teeny bit guilty about my impulsive purchase. What with being married to Mr. Frugal, do I really need to buy new water toys every year? He was not going to be thrilled about this. I felt that way until on day two of operation-teeny-pool-at-bottom-of-slide, Amanda showed up in her old polkadot bikini and I asked her why she didn't have her new suit on. She thought it WAS her new suit... Really? Doesn't that thing look familiar to you? I admit I was less worried about her circulation being cut off than I was about what kind of mother people would think I am when they see photos of the kid wearing the same suit year after year. Later I dragged out an old scrapbook and showed her some pictures from summer 2005 when she was wearing the same suit! Then she pointed out that she was standing in front of the same teeny pool.

Oh, well maybe these pictures would do us some good after all! If Scott had any complaints about the new pool I'd just drag out the photos from four summers ago and talk about how deprived Amanda has been. In that same pitiful little pool and the same pitiful suit year after year after year...

S.V., I was so excited to bring home the 14-foot Banzai Cannon Ball Splash pool after Luciana's birthday party. I was ready to set it up immediately but Scott said no. He was being all practical, talking about water rationing and such... Plus he'd spent the day cleaning and refilling our hot tub (yeah, uh huh, water rationing). So we all jumped in the hot tub and I told the girls to wait til Daddy went back to work and we'd blow up the pool.

Except that when Monday rolled around, so did the cool weather. Too cool for the pool. Thanks again, S.V.. But there are some things I just HAVE to let my kids try specifically because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mom would have said NO, NO, NO... so with that in mind, I blew up the slide and set it up in the living room. My mom would have said no way, perhaps with good reason. But channeling my inner 5-year-old... what could be better than a big inflatable slide in the living room?

S.V., I didn't like it all that much when Amanda was on the phone with my mother-in-law and reported that "Mommy just tried to go down the slide in the living room except she couldn't 'cause she's huge." Uh... did you have to tell Grandma I was playing on the slide in the LIVING ROOM and worse, did you just call me HUGE?!?"

Thanks for the colds, S.V.. First Alyssa got one... then she started to get better but not before passing it to Amanda... who then passed it right back to Alyssa who ended up in full blown misery the second time around. So I haven't slept in days because either Amanda is up having coughing fits or Alyssa is waking me up at all hours of the night to say, "Mommy, my nose is blowing." All this time I'd been blaming Kindergarten for getting us sick but this time it was YOU!

And did you think I would let you off the hook for the fires? Seriously? 400 wildfires throughout Northern California? Really? The dry lightening. The crazy winds. Now that it's finally cool enough to open the windows we can't because it's so smoky outside. And everybody is nervous because nobody is really safe. Way to go, Summer.

Could you possibly make my children bicker any more, S.V.? I swear there are days when I think if I have to hear even one more minute of arguing and complaining my head might explode into a zillion tiny little pieces. It's mine, no it's mine...no it's MINE. I wanted the red one! I hate the blue one! She got more than me! And the worst: I'm bored. There's nothing to do, Mom... This day is so boring!

School hasn't even been out for two weeks and I feel like we've run through all of our options. We've played games, we've played Barbies, we've played school, we've given each other manicures... I've even already dragged out the big guns: the paint, the 6 billion piece craft kits, the moon sand... Was the moon sand your idea, Summer? Because it really wasn't a GOOD one. Just sayin'. Let's give the kids sand to play with. Let's bring the beach INSIDE! Yeah really bright. We've made trips to the park and the dollar store and Target and still, they're bored.

I thought my mom had the ultimate cure for boredom but it's not working for me, Summer. When I went running to my mom whining about being bored I always got the same answer: "If you're bored, go clean your room." Umm. Did I say I was bored? I didn't mean bored. I meant... I'm gonna go play... Or read a book... Or... yeah... anything but clean my room. Brilliant, Mom. It was brilliant.

And I might as well mention that unfortunately my dad used the same tactics to permanently cure me from punctuality. If I was ready for school early or ready to go anywhere early he'd say, "You have extra time? Why don't you go clean your room?" So I get ready early and I get punished for it? I think not. I haven't been ready on time for anything since. Not my dad's smartest move.

But back to you, Summer Vacation. We'll be together for a couple more months. Cut me some slack will you? Send Rilie back to us. Heat up the weather enough for the pool. Put out the fires. And if there's anything you can do to cut down on the whining at my house that would be fabulous. Oh and stop bugging me about the swimsuits. Either that or make my thighs smaller. And if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know. Thanks!

Love,
Dione

(Photos to be added later... maybe.)

The Kiss Me Ring

It’s time for another random memory from my past. When I was little my dad would occasionally take my brother and I on long walks on Sunday mornings. I would hold my dad’s hand or ride on his shoulders if I got tired. Whenever I see one of the girls riding on Scott’s shoulders I can feel myself go back to that place where I was safe, secure and on top of the world.

My brother, Danny, would usually walk a few steps ahead of us and scan the streets for money or random other treasures. He would flip open the change door on every pay phone and newspaper stand we passed in hopes of scoring a dime or a quarter left behind. We often would go to this restaurant called Sambos where I always ordered the same thing: pancakes and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly because it came piled high with a tower of whipped cream and sometimes the waitress would come around and give you even more whipped cream if you ran out.

On one of our walks we stopped at a store to pick up milk or bread or who knows what and after sufficient begging, my dad gave us money for the candy/toy machines. This was a rare treat, if I’m remembering correctly, so when after agonizing over which machine to choose and then twisting the dial, and holding my breath while I waited to see which treasure dropped, I was CRUSHED when out popped this ugly brown plastic football shaped ring.

To make matters worse it said “NFL”. I was five and learning how to read so I KNEW that wasn’t a real word. It couldn’t be since it didn’t have any vowels. Where was the A-E-I-O-U or sometimes Y? I tried sounding it out but what was it? Niffle? Nuffle? It was the DUMBEST RING EVER, that’s what it was.

My brother put his money in a second later and out popped a hard plastic neon-pink puffy heart-shaped ring with gold embossed lettering that read “KISS ME”. In other words it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For a brief moment I thought everything had actually worked out fine. I got the boy ring, Danny got the girl ring; we would trade and everything would be right with the world again.

But seeing how desperately I wanted that ring made my brother just as desperately want me not to have it. The tears flowed freely as I imagined how he would torment me with it. Knowing him, he would flaunt it endlessly and when that got boring he would make me watch as he ran it over with his bicycle, crushed it with a rock or lit it on fire. It was a horribly traumatic bad awful tragedy, the kind that only a five-year-old understands. I was devastated and probably proclaiming it loudly enough for all to hear.

Finally my dad stepped in very calmly, as usual, and said, “Son, give your sister the ring.” As I wrote in #13 on my 50 Reasons I Love You list, that’s when my dad achieved hero status in my eyes. He swept in like a superhero and saved the day. I doubt he would have been thrilled to know that the ring would play a big part in my first kiss only a few days later.

I proudly wore my ring to Kindergarten, showing off like I was a movie star or something. And just like a moment right out of the movies, at morning recess Tim Snead walked up to me and asked, “What does your ring say?”

I responded, “Kiss me.”

And he did!

The Christmas Report

Though our house is even more of a disaster than usual, we're still totally in the Christmas spirit around here. Well at least the girls and I are. Can't speak for Scott who has sometimes been confused with the Grinch in years past. He's at least going along with it as much as he can stand. A couple of nights ago, after the girls had their baths and were in their jammies, I filled their sippy cups with hot chocolate, dragged out the Nat King Cole Christmas CD and we were going to drive around to look at the lights. Scott decided to go with us! I was thrilled but said, "You're not going to rush us are you?" and he said "No! How 'bout we go out for 15 minutes and then come back?" Ummm... are you kidding? He wasn't. He was a great sport and lasted quite a while. Just as he was about to overdose we dropped him off back at the house and drove around a bit longer.

Some of you know that last year I was all excited about starting a new Gingerbread House tradition. That was before I'd actually made a Gingerbread House. It seemed like the kind of thing I would like until I actually tried it with two small children as helpers. It was one of those kits too, so it should have been easy but it wasn't. I've blocked out most of the ugly details but I do remember mumbling, NEVER AGAIN to myself pretty much the whole time.

Last weekend Scott and Alyssa went to a party while Amanda and I stayed home (Amanda had been sick and we didn't want to expose the whole party to cooties). Amanda was horribly disappointed about missing the party so when I spotted the gingerbread house kit at the grocery store I grabbed it and we had our own little party which included making a gingerbread house. In the spirit of embracing imperfection I told her she was in charge and could do absolutely anything she wanted. At the grocery store this sweet old lady saw the kit in my cart and started talking about how neat it was. She said a relative had made several of them as gifts and that most of them have lasted five years. She said the secret was keeping them in a cool dry place. I told her I have two small children and I’d be happy if ours lasted five minutes.

So Amanda and I actually had fun making our house. I let her do her own thing. Didn't say a word when she decided to use every single piece of yellow candy all in one spot. Right now I'm still feeling really positive about the whole Gingerbread House thing, but Monday I'm going to school and helping Amanda's class bake gingerbread and Tuesday they're building houses. So we'll see if I return to my NEVER AGAIN thinking after that.

We went to visit Santa last week too. Some of you may know that I have a weird fear of the whole "Mall Santa experience" but last week we braved it...and in the short version, let's just say that Santa obviously got the job because of his realistic white hair and beard and not for his charming personality. He called Alyssa "Booger Baby" after she put her finger in her nose. Alyssa then refused to sit on his lap to which Santa said, "What? Are you mad at me ‘cause I called you "Booger Baby?" That's when Alyssa scowled at him and said, "I HATE Santa," and there was no way she was going to sit on his lap. So now we've done it. We’ve pissed off Santa and I have no idea if Amanda will be getting her guitar (the only thing she asked for) or if Alyssa will be getting her baby doll. If it's up to me Santa's not getting any cookies and milk at our house and I may write an angry letter to Mrs. Claus. Call my kid, "Booger Baby"... Bah Humbug...

You have a what stuck where?

The big news at our house is that Scott got a new job. He started Monday. Yay!!! But I’ll write more about that in another post. I’m here now to tell you about what happened at home while Scott was busy at his first day of work.

I was folding laundry or eating bon-bons or whatever it is we stay-at-home moms do all day when Amanda came running to me crying, saying that Alyssa had crammed a rock up her nose. Way up her nose. Amanda's nose, that is. She was crying hysterically and I was thinking great, Scott's gone one day and I'm gonna have to go to the emergency room.

Well not that we'd actually have to go to the emergency room, being a weekday and all, I guess our pediatrician could have gotten us in but I wasn't thinking logically... because I was in high-drama mode and trying to determine if a rock crammed up your nose constitutes an emergency. I mean the daughter of a friend had a bean stuck up her nose for ages. And aside from bad breath and some nasty drainage she was just fine. But back to Amanda, this was no bean, it was a rock and if she sucked in too hard it might go flying and smack the side of her brain or something. There was some speculation about how big the rock was and did she really just stand there helplessly while Alyssa slowly took aim and jammed the thing as far as she could up her nose?

So anyway, mostly I was just trying to remain calm and keep her calm because that's what good parents are supposed to do right? Besides, when she cried, she did that snot-sucking thing that was just a brain-injury waiting to happen. So of course I tried to get her to blow it out. She tried and tried but it just would not come out. Oh and it turns out this wasn't just any rock; it was Rilie's rock. Rilie is her new best friend next door. And every single time Rilie leaves one of her toys here something bad happens to it, so this just added to Amanda's trauma.

Eventually we located a flashlight and I'm happy to report that I could see the rock... and like an idiot I said, “No biggie, I'll just pull it out with tweezers.” From her reaction I could tell I might as well have said, "I'll just go get a really big knife and... " At our house, Splinter + Scott + Tweezers = Scary. She started doing that really hysterical cry again and as I'm trying to soothe her, Alyssa walks up and just smacks Amanda in the head. You've seen those movies where some lady is hysterical and then someone slaps them across the face and suddenly they're fine? Well I now know that it works. Amanda stopped crying for long enough to get really ticked off and yell. "Alyssa hit me!!! She HIT ME... "

So anyway, before trying the tweezers, I googled the problem... can't remember exactly what words I used but it took a few tries: “object stuck in nose,” “item jammed in nostril,” “how to remove rock from nasal cavity,” before I came up with something called the KISS technique... in which I would hold closed the nostril that did not hold the foreign object and blow into Amanda’s mouth and hopefully that would create enough pressure to push the rock out.

This made me laugh because I once dated a guy who actually used this as a kissing technique. Clearly he'd gotten some misinformation. Probably read some medical journal on the KISS technique and got badly confused.

Just picturing the whole scenario got me laughing and as I tried to explain it to Amanda she started laughing and would go back and forth between laughing and crying. She's at the age where she understands the power of an injury and knows enough to milk it until she gets cookies or ice cream or something. So she knew she must continue to cry but I couldn't stop laughing and that made her laugh and eventually Amanda laughed so hard the rock shot right out of her nose.

Of course that was a huge relief. But then I had this rock. This smooth tan rock... bigger than a pea, smaller than El Capitan... and after washing it I set it aside and tried to determine what I was supposed to do with it, you know, after showing it to Scott. It seemed like one of those weird things I was supposed to keep. And for a moment I imagined us in one of those sappy Hallmark commercial kind of moments with Amanda at around age 13 rummaging through my jewelry box and saying, "Mom what's all this stuff?" And me saying with a dreamy faraway look on my face, “Oh, Sweetie, those are your baby teeth and a lock of your hair and that's your appendix, and ewww I have no idea what that thing is, but that's the rock your sister crammed up your nose when you were four. Gosh it seems like it was just yesterday..." Then music would come out of nowhere and we'd hug.

So I'm sure you can imagine how upset I was when Rilie came over and announced she wanted her rock back. “Really? Do you know where that thing has been? It was UP HER NOSE. Ick... Eww. You don't really want it, do you?” She said, "I can wash it." Fine then. Take your icky rock.

Oh and later I said to Amanda, "So tell me the truth, did Alyssa put that rock in your nose or did you?" She started laughing and said, "I did. I was just being silly." I said, "Yeah, I figured." She asked, “How did you know?” and I said, "Well umm... when I was around your age I stuck a nickel up my nose. And I'm pretty sure I blamed it on my brother."

I figured that would be our little secret but of course now she's telling everyone that "Me and Mommy put stuff up our noses." So two can play at that game and that’s why I’m telling you this little story. It’s true: me and Amanda put stuff up our noses. It’s one of those you have to try, but only once. At least that's what I thought until I asked Amanda to pose for the picture above and she asked, "Do you want me to put it back in my nose?"

The Great Debate

When you start thinking about having kids there are all kinds of things you’re supposed to discuss and come to agreement on. How will you pay for them? How will you discipline them? What about religion? Education? Childcare?

What’s the one topic nobody ever warns you about?

Play-Doh.

At our house we’ve been arguing about Play-Doh. Here’s the thing… I LOVE Play-Doh. I love how it smells. I love how it feels. I love that it comes in so many fun colors. For me Play-Doh represents fun, creativity and endless possibilities. In my mind Play-Doh is critical to the childhood experience.

Scott, on the other hand, HATES Play-Doh. Play-Doh is messy. Play-Doh is stinky. Play-Doh is a choking hazard to the baby. Play-Doh is evil.

Huh? What? How can we possibly be talking about the same thing?

Did you know that it is difficult to argue about Play-Doh in an adult manner? They say one whiff of Play-Doh can make you feel like you’re right back in Kindergarten. In our case this seems to be true. When Scott said he didn’t want Play-Doh in the house I kept wanting to say: “Oh yeah? Well you’re not the boss of me!” And when I asked why he didn’t like Play-Doh he said, “Because, just because,” to which I wanted to respond: “Oh yeah? Well I’m gonna tell my mommy on you!”

Of course I can’t actually tell my mom. Because I know if I called her right now she would say, “I HATE Play-Doh.” It’s true that I might be in need of intense therapy regarding my Play-Doh issues. And of course I blame that on my mom and try to make her feel guilty about it whenever the opportunity arises. This seems like a good one so bear with me.

Play-Doh wasn’t allowed in our house when I was a kid. I longed for it; begged for it; put it on every Dear Santa list I ever wrote. But Play-Doh was off-limits until the day my friend, Stephanie Lysett, showed up to my sixth birthday party with the gift to top all other gifts, the Play-Doh Fuzzy Pumper Play Set. Yes!!! Mine, it was all mine, the best toy in the world! Or it would have been the best toy, if my mom had ever allowed me to play with it, that is. But I had these shelves in my room that went right up to the ceiling. And the very top shelf is where my Play-Doh lived, taunting me, torturing me from its cellophane wrapped box.

I’m sure I asked the question “Can I play with the Play-Doh today, Mom?” at least a billion times and I’m sure I risked breaking an arm or leg more than once to climb up and fetch the box so I could drool over it up close. But I was a goody-two-shoes and never dared to actually tear off the cellophane and play with it because I knew I’d be in big trouble. I don’t remember playing with that Play-Doh even once. Clearly I’ve been permanently scarred too. Hear that, Mom? Scarred. Permanently.

So fast-forward 30 years or so to when I hear my darling husband say things like, “NO Play-Doh. I don’t want to see it in the house ever again.” And my inner 6-year-old starts twitching. “Umm. ‘Scuse me? You’re kidding me right? Am I on Candid Camera? You can’t be serious. Did my mother put you up to this?”

But he was indeed serious and when I realized how much it bothered him I tried hard to be reasonable. I thought I would compromise and not let Amanda play with it in the house (well umm, at least not when he was around) but I brought it with us on our last camping trip and again, he flipped out. I responded with, “Yeah… you said no more Play-Doh in the house. We are not in the house.” But then I figured he was worried about the precious Eurovan. He can be kind of weird about The Van and I try to be sensitive. Because I suppose I’d get a little tense if he tried to use one of my scrapbooks as a coaster. So I put the Play-Doh away.

But the other day when I was desperately searching for something, I made the mistake of opening The Cabinet. The Cabinet is where all of the off-limit (and therefore most strongly-desired) toys are kept: the slippery high-heel princess shoes I’m afraid they’ll break their necks wearing, the washable paints that aren’t as washable as I would like, the annoying whistle, the toys that come with a hundred teeny-tiny choking hazard pieces, the toy hammer used mostly to bang on the furniture or each others' heads… and, of course, the Play-Doh.

I’m starting to think that when I open The Cabinet it emits some kind of low-decibel sound that only my children can hear. I honestly think that even if they were in a deep sleep the sound of The Cabinet would awaken them and bring them scampering as fast as they can to throw their little bodies in between the open door and The Cabinet making it impossible for me to close The Cabinet until they’ve made several emphatic requests. Alyssa starts pointing at the ball and chanting, “Bah, bah, BAH!” and Amanda screeches, “PLAY-DOH!!! Mommy, can I play with the Play-Doh, pleeeeeeeease Mommy?”

Since I can totally relate to the intense longing to play with Play-Doh and since I don't want Amanda to be Permanently Scarred like I am and since Scott was gone for a while I let Amanda play with some Play-Doh outside on the patio. I honestly didn’t think he would care since it was outside. But I was wrong.

She was still playing when he got home and… did I already mention that we seem to have a difficult time acting like grown-ups when it comes to this subject? Well I’m not even going to tell you about how he marched out to the table and picked up the tray of Play-Doh and unceremoniously dumped the entire thing into the trash while Amanda and I looked on in horror. I also won’t tell you about the tantrums that followed, except to say that Amanda was not the only one who had one.

We talked about it later and finally agreed that we would put the Play Doh on hold for a while since I can’t really argue the fact that it could be a choking hazard for Alyssa. Even though I didn’t let her near it… wait, I said I wouldn’t argue… So anyway, have to tell you my favorite part of the story…

While Amanda was playing with her Play-Doh I said, "Hey, what are you making?" and she said,

"I'm building a toilet for the birds because I'm so sick of them pooping on my slide!"

If you ask me, this is exactly the kind of creative thinking that our world needs more of...The kind of thinking that is encouraged and nurtured by a lump of fragrant, neon-colored, moldable dough. Just think, maybe 30 years down the line Amanda will be telling her children, "You'll never believe this but when I was young, birds pooped anywhere they wanted! Thank goodness for Play-Doh."

If anyone is actually reading this blog I would love to hear your comments. Especially if you have any persuasive arguments for why the Play-Doh ban should be lifted. Come on people, help save the Play-Doh!

*Photo of Amanda taken in November, before the start of the Great Play-Doh Ban

Trauma, drama and cute baby pictures

Yesterday Alyssa said, "Ma-Ma" for the first time (FINALLY), prompting me to take these extremely adorable shots of her following her bath.







Then we ran a bunch of errands. One of the places we went was Home Depot to buy flowers for the backyard and also to look at doors. My favorite moment was when Scott knocked on a door, tryng to figure out if it was solid or hollow, and Amanda said, "Daddy, don't be silly. Nobody's ever gonna answer that door!"

The trauma started when we got home. Amanda fell down and skinned both of her knees. And the drama immediately followed. She has quite a gift for the dramatic but she's always been pretty tough when it comes to injuries. She'll cry for a minute and then go right back to playing. But not yesterday. Yesterday she screamed like it was the end of the world and I felt horrible for her. I brought her jellybeans to distract her while I took care of the knee but she continued to scream as if her head had been torn off, well not that you could continue screaming in that particular instance, but you get the idea.

What I wanted to say was, "Sweetie, when I was a little girl, they didn't have Disney princess band-aids and Neosporin with Pain Relief. We had plain beige band-aids and smelly orange methiolade, which I presume my father learned about back in the days he served as a medic in the National Guard, probably during the very same class they trained him in torturing the enemy. Yes, when I was a little girl, if you came inside crying because half the skin was missing from your knee, first you'd get in trouble for ruining your new school clothes and then, as your siblings looked on in sympathy mixed with horror, you'd have to take the long walk down the hallway to your parents' bathroom where your dad would promise you, "this will only sting for a second," before he applied liberal amounts of the alcohol-based disinfectant methiolade, which believe me, burned like a… uhh it BURNED A LOT when it came in contact with your bleeding knee. The methiolade always hurt far more than the actual injury but if I cried my Dad would say, 'Sweetie, when I was a little boy they didn't have band-aids and methiolade, if you skinned your knee they'd just cut your leg off above the injury and you'd keep right on playing...'"

Anyway, Amanda made a rather quick recovery when I pulled out the, "Looks like you won't be able to play outside any more today," card. She was totally fine for the rest of the day, planting flowers and playing endlessly. But then this morning, shortly after waking, she announced, "I can't walk!" and then sadly added. "I guess you'll have to carry me everywhere. And I think I need more jellybeans."

When I informed her that we were having waffles for breakfast and that I would be unable to carry her to the table because I had Alyssa in my arms, she said, "FINE! I guess I'll have to crawl then." (Who knew being a parent was going to be this much fun!?!) After a couple minutes of watching her crawl down the hallway I decided to suggest that perhaps crawling might be a tad harder on the knees than walking. She, quite huffily, said, "I CAN'T WALK because I can't bend my knee!" (Right, not much knee bending required for crawling.) Then she started in with this half-walk/half-crawl thing that was actually quite amusing to watch and, as expected, she only did it when she knew we were watching. (I KNOW, I'm cruel but did you see the Ray Charles movie? He was BLIND and his mom didn't help him at all!)

So when Amanda rather quickly figured out she wasn't getting much mileage from the knee injury, we had one of those "It's a Miracle!" scenes in our very own living room. It was like that scene from Heidi where Shirley Temple taught the pretty girl in the wheelchair how to walk. Amanda announced, "Mommy, Mommy, look! I can walk again!" I promise you it was a beautiful moment. Tears all around.

I know, I know… where have I been?

I just disappeared for a while, didn't I? Sorry about that. I've been busy and trying to stay off the computer so I could get some work done around here.

After packing up all the Christmas stuff I had my annual new-year-new-start desire to get the house totally clean and organized. So I did what I do every year when this desire comes over me: I told myself to sit tight and the urge would pass.

No, I'm kidding. I started cleaning. I started organizing. I started tossing out a humongous amount of crap. I still have a ways to go but things are looking up.

Scott actually tried to get Amanda and I to start the decluttering process before Christmas, but it didn't go well. Actually it went a little something like this:

Scott explains to Amanda that in order to make space for all of the new toys she'll be getting for Christmas, she will have to get rid of some of the toys she has now, the things that she doesn't play with anymore. He tells her that we will give them away to other little boys and girls who don't have as many toys as she does.

I start twitching uncomfortably. I know Amanda won't want to part with any of her toys. This isn't gonna be pretty.

Amanda, completely unfazed, scans her bedroom: Hmm, okay… I can get rid of that teddy bear.

Me: Which teddy bear? That one? What? Grandma gave you that teddy bear when you were born. You LOVE that teddy bear. Scott, she loves that teddy bear. She was just carrying it around yesterday. See how beat-up that bear is? That's called LOVE. We're keeping the bear. Amanda you love that bear.

Amanda, looking confused: Okay, I wanna keep the bear.

Scott, shaking his head and shooting me dirty looks: Okay what else could you get rid of?

Amanda looking at me, hesitantly: Okay, the frog…we can get rid of the frog.

Me: Which frog? Not the pink one…Fok? How can you get rid of Fok? You can't get rid of Fok!

(Many of you have heard the Fok story. Remember Fok? Can you believe she wanted to get rid of FOK??? For those of you who haven't heard the story, I'll try to dig it up and post it here so you'll understand why I couldn't bear to part with Fok. It's one of my favorite stories from a couple of years ago, though please be warned there is rough language involved.)

Amanda: Umm, I think I wanna keep the frog.

I realized at that moment that as much as I wanted to believe I was teaching Amanda to value her belongings, it was highly possible that I was actually destining her to a lifetime of psychotic hoarding so she'd end up one of those lonely old ladies with 14 cats living in a house piled high with endless boxes full of crap because she'd never been able to part with any object she'd ever come in contact with.

So I decided Mommy needed a time-out and we should attack the clutter issue a little later. Like after Christmas when I was feeling a lot less sentimental because it had become nearly impossible to walk through the house without stepping on some kind of toy. That was all the inspiration I needed to help me get ruthless.

Actually I think I might have made a complete turnaround when it comes to all of these stupid toys. I think I'm now turning into the wicked evil mother I never wanted to be. I spent my whole childhood feeling utterly deprived because none of my Barbies ever had shoes. They'd have them for all of two minutes and then somehow they would mysteriously disappear never to be seen again. All of my friends' Barbies had shoes, but not mine, ever. I was determined that one day I would buy my daughters those little multi-packs of tiny shoes. That's the kind of mom I was going to be.

And yet here I was not even two weeks after Christmas just wanting to accidentally suck those pointy little shoes up into the vacuum right along with the Christmas tree needles. You'd think I'd at least feel some guilt over it but really, not so much. I keep telling myself it's because those tiny shoes present a choking hazard to Alyssa and that you can't feel guilt over trying to save your kid's life (plus they hurt like a @#%$ when you step on them) but I still can't help feeling like I'm turning cold and heartless.

Oh well.

So I spent a day going through all of Amanda's toys, tossed a bunch, bagged up a bunch for charity, put some stuff in the attic and stored the rest in neatly labeled rubbermaid containers. The room is pristine and I expect it to remain this way for at least another 10 minutes in case anyone wants to stop by and see it.

No, I could not bear to part with the teddy bear or Fok. I'm not that cold and heartless. And I'll have you know that yesterday when Amanda was inconsolable over some great tragedy (she probably dropped an M&M behind the couch or something) she laid there on the floor moaning, "I want my teddy bear, I want my teddy bear." She would probably still be lying on the floor if I'd trashed the bear. Occasionally Mommy does know best, okay?

And now the story of Fok, the hot pink Frog… These are old pictures… both of them have aged a bit and Fok is looking a lot more loved these days.



August 8, 2004

After a recent horrifying shopping experience, I was NOT anxious to go shopping with Amanda again, but I was desperate. Mommy needed a new pair of shoes. So we had a little chat in the car about what a good girl she was going to be. She said, "yes yes, good gullllll" and I made sure she understood what she had to do to qualify as a good girl. (I know, I know... I hate the good girl/bad girl labels, but desperate times call for desperate measures) I explained how she would hold my hand until we got inside and then sit in the stroller the whole time we were inside without screaming or begging to get up, "yeah, good gull... hode han...sih stroh..." She said it so convincingly too, over and over again as if it was silly of me to even question it.

Well I have to say she did a lot better than I expected. She held my hand until we got right in front of the oncoming car and then she went limp like spaghetti and dropped to the asphalt so I would pick her up. Fine, fine... She happily got into the stroller, no biggie. The entrance we walked through took us directly into the kid section - toys right there in her face. I hoped that it would at least temporarily trick her into believing we'd come to a fun place with really great stuff instead of where we really were: a big, stupid, boring department store.

So we happily strolled along for a good twenty to thirty seconds before she started yelling, "GEH UP! GEH UP!!!!" and we had to go over the good-girl talk again. The talk was rather rudely interrupted by her yelling loudly, "Fok!!! Fok! FOKKKKK!!!"

I was horrified, of course, but it turned out she wasn't actually swearing like a sailor, but instead she was trying to say "frog," which I finally figured out because she was desperately motioning toward a hot pink stuffed frog while yelling these profanities. I fetched it for her immediately hoping it would quiet her down. And it did for a bit. But as it is when she learns any new words, she likes to try them out repeatedly. So we strolled through the store with her chanting, "fok, fok, fok!" and me loudly saying, "Oh you love that FROG, don't you, Sweetie! It's such a nice FROG."

That was one quick shopping trip, let me tell you. Though I managed to find some really cute sandals to throw in my cart. When we reached the cash register I was afraid to take the frog away from her, but it was that or shoplifting, because you better believe that thing was going home with us. I pried it out of her little hands and threw it on the counter explaining to Amanda that she could have it back in a second, at which time she screamed in horror, "FOKKKKK! Fok! Fokkkkk..." I turned to the woman in line behind me and with my cheeks, bright red, I exclaimed loudly enough for the whole line to hear, "She sure does love this FROG!"

And that's why Amanda and I are never going shopping together again.

Christmas Magic

It was two days before Christmas when I decided I couldn't put it off any longer…it was time to head to the mall to see Santa. Amanda has seen Santa every year but never at the mall. We saw him at PeopleSoft parties her first two years and then at Disneyland last year. It's not Santa Claus that scares me, because I love Santa. It's the thought of standing in a really long line with an impatient three year-old and all those other impatient children that completely terrifies me.

Scott tried to talk me out of it. He figures Amanda is so young that she wouldn't care or notice that she hadn't seen Santa. But I can't help thinking that they're little for such a very short time and it's our job as their parents to cram as much magic and wonder into these years as we possibly can.

So we were at the end of a very long Santa line when Scott went off to do some research. After talking to several other frazzled parents, he determined that the wait from where we were standing would be at least two hours plus Santa would be taking a lunch break. How long does it take Santa to eat anyway? So we were probably facing about a three-hour wait. That's like six years in Amanda time. If it had just been Amanda and I, I probably would have braved it, but Scott was with me and I had a two-month-old strapped to my chest. I was afraid things could get ugly.

We'd been chatting with the family ahead of us in line and they were debating the idea of leaving too. They mentioned that they'd heard Santa was going to be out in front of a house in our area later that night. As the woman tried to explain to us where the house was, we realized it was probably the same house Amanda and I had visited last weekend, the one I talked about in my Holiday Lights story below. That sort of clinched it for me because I already knew there was something magical about that house.

Amanda was not happy that we weren't staying to see Santa. Let's just say that there were tears involved and that I was glad we were near an exit. She did calm down once we promised her that we would be going to see Santa later that night. But even as I promised her, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, what if he's not there?

The later it got, the more nervous I got. The weather was pretty crummy and I was afraid Santa might not show up if it rained. I told Amanda several times that there was a possibility that Santa wouldn't be there. You know, if there was some kind of emergency at the North Pole for instance. But I was really hoping.

Unfortunately when we drove up to the house about ten minutes after we'd heard he was supposed to arrive, Santa was nowhere in sight. We drove around the neighborhood for a while thinking maybe Santa was at some other house, but we didn't see him anywhere. We drove back to that same house, still hoping, but no Santa.

Finally I had to tell Amanda that we weren't going to see Santa Claus. She started to cry and I couldn't blame her because I wanted to cry too. I felt like I'd totally blown it as a parent. So much for magic and wonder. I reminded her that she had written a letter to Santa so he knew what she wanted for Christmas and that she'd been a good girl so everything was under control. But that didn't help much.

I was quickly trying to come up with a consolation prize and in the meantime I said, "Hey, let's get out and go look at the lights. We can take some pictures!" I was secretly hoping that maybe Santa was hiding inside and might come out if he saw us out there.

As luck would have it, a man came out of the house but he wasn't wearing a red suit. He appeared to be in a hurry, running back and forth to his truck but I quickly told him that his decorations were beautiful and asked him if it was okay if we took some pictures. He was incredibly nice and said absolutely… that's what they were there for, for people to enjoy. He said it was too bad we hadn't come the night before because Santa had been there.

Acch! It was official. We missed him!!! I said, "Oh! Too bad. We heard he was supposed to be here tonight."

When he was sure that Amanda wouldn't be able to hear, he said that unfortunately he had to be somewhere in 15 minutes, he had a party to go to, or otherwise maybe he would be able to help. It seemed that a visit with Santa was just not in our future. I pretended to be cheerful and said, "Oh, no problem!" Thanked him again and told him that would enjoy the lights and he went back into his house.

A few minutes later, the man came out of his house again and asked me how much time we had. All the time in the world, of course. He said, "Well if you can wait about 15 minutes, Santa will be here."

That was the second time in less than a week that I found myself trying not to cry in front of this house. I was incredibly moved that he would take the time to do this for a total stranger when he clearly had other places to go. What a great guy! I can only assume that while he should have been getting ready to leave for his party, he instead went inside and gave Santa Claus a call and convinced him to make a special appearance just for Amanda! Wasn't that sweet? Have no fear, there are still good people in this world!

Before we knew it, Santa arrived. The details of the visit are a little blurry because I turned into a total goofball as soon as he showed up. I swear I felt like I was five again. I was giddy… Santa! I had to keep reminding myself that I was the parent so I didn't fall all over myself. I do know that Santa asked Amanda what she wanted for Christmas and she said a baby doll that cries real tears. (Yep, I know… we have a real live baby that cries real live tears, but she wants one with an on/off switch.) I tried to take a few pictures of her and Santa. Most of them are blurry, but I love them anyway. Thank you Santa for making a little girl's (and her Mommy's) Christmas very, very special. This will always be one of my very favorite Christmas memories.

Happy Holidays to everyone!