What REALLY goes on behind the scenes of those cute holiday photo cards? Well let me tell ya...

It's time for another installment of Chicky Family Christmas Pictures!

*Thundering cheers*

*Smattering of polite applause?*

*Fine, one lady in the back who wandered in thinking this was a sewing circle and is too embarrassed to leave. Hey lady, there's coffee in the back. Help yourself.*

If you're new to this blog you should know I have a history with photo Christmas cards. I tend to set the bar a little too high for myself, not considering the two sentient beings who are the focus of each card. They have opinions too. And their opinions suck.

But photo cards must be done and they must be perfect! For they are the only proof my children occasionally smile and love each other! Black eyes and scrapes that I Photoshop out notwithstanding.

This year's Christmas card photo session was held over two days. The first, Caroline was having nothing to do with it and screamed the entire time. The second, Caroline was having nothing to do with it and screamed the entire time. The distinction, the first day Caroline was overtired and had a head cold. The second she was being Caroline. Big difference.

On the first day we tried to take pictures of them together:

I will not smile but I will insist on holding this 8 year old dog toy that has been sitting outside for the past year. Later I will lick it when I think you're not looking.

Grimacing is almost like smiling, right?

I believe this move is called the "Step Off, Beeyotch. I'm swinging here."

On day two is was very cold but we decided to push on anyway. You know where this is going right?

I... don't know what to say.

Except, thanks dog! The random tail in the picture gives it visual interest, dontcha think?

I could go on. Forever. But I won't because I'm tired of uploading pictures to gawd damn Blogger.

We tried to take individual pictures, too. We got dozens of pictures like this from Miss I LOVE the camera! Take more pictures of ME:


And we got hundreds of pictures like this of Miss I AM A FIRESTARTER AND ANYONE WHO ANGERS ME SHALL DIE:

Actually, that was a good one. The other ones would eat your computer from the inside.

But in the end, we got our shot and the cards were created and ordered. And there they sit, on my counter, until Santa sends me some of his elves to help address them. Should be any day now.

See? Perfect children being perfectly perfect. No one will ever know! Bwahahahaha! Except all of my friends who read this blog. Shit.

I may have included a little surprise on the back. I just couldn't resist this picture.

But honestly, who could?

What's next, life? Kicking kittens?

Hi, internet people. I've missed you.

I wrote a post - really, I did! And then Blogger ate it. Gluttonous bastard.

Two weeks with no posting - TWO WEEKS - and when I finally sit down to write something... Poof! It's gone. Off to the great internet junkyard in the sky. Or something like that. I can't even think of a decent metaphor, that's how ticked off I am.

It was brilliant! And pithy! With lovely descriptive images that would have made Hemingway weep! As far as you know, the damn thing is lost now so I can talk it up if I want to.

I give up. I think I'm going to go eat another leftover birthday cupcake and wallow. Peanut butter frosting is equally good for celebrating 37th birthdays and for wallowing.

It's a really good thing my oven is electric...

... Because my head would be stuck in it right now.

It's been raining for weeks. WEEKS. The kids are going crazy, I'm going crazy. Everything is wet and don't even get me started on my frizzy hair. It's a really good thing I look decent in baseball caps, that's all I'm saying.

I wouldn't actually hurt someone, but if the sun doesn't come out soon I may know of someone, a certain stir crazy housewife for instance, who would willingly make a hit on someone if you need it. I wouldn't even need to get paid.

I mean, this person wouldn't need to get paid. Ahem.

Who are you calling Motherly?

Through the grace of God yesterday was a pretty good day - especially when you consider how amazingly crummy Friday was - and today is shaping up to be acceptable too. For the most part.

(She pooped, people. She pooped! And I have you to thank. That Babylax stuff works like a charm. The only problem? Chicky was actually kind of excited to have "medicine in her bum". Who is this child and how is it possible she sprung forth from my woman parts?)

Yesterday morning I shipped Chicky off with her grandfather for her weekly sleepover. I had to stop myself from shoving them out the door, I must admit, but she just had to go. Apparently, three is coming earlier than we had expected. I can't take three. Three is a bitch wrapped up in a dictator surrounded by a pain in the ass. I may not survive three.

After they left I finished a book I had been putting off finishing.

I took a nap.

And... that was pretty much it. I might have eaten a Twinkie or five. Yes indeed, a pretty good day.

That evening I had to go to work but it was just for a couple of hours. Although, how I can hurt myself in such a short period of time is beyond me. I really need to stop pretending I'm not pregnant, I don't have a history of back problems and because of the baby my pelvis is not being stretched to the point of breaking.

This morning I slept until 10am. I would have slept longer but my grandmother called for her weekly guilt trip and woke me up. It's hard to fall back into peaceful slumber when you feel like an ungrateful little shit.

But I really needed that beauty sleep. Not necessarily because of the pregnancy or because my dear husband leaves me regularly to play rising superstar for his company, traveling all around the country pushing their product and leaving me to parent my precious little beast all by myself. No, I have a much better reason for staying in bed so long.

Oh yes, a very good reason.

Remember how I said yesterday was a good day? Yeah, well, not entirely.

Last night after work I stopped for pizza*. After I ordered my small pepperoni - a pie I was going to regret later when I tried to sleep and the heartburn got to me - I sat down with one of those free real estate brochures that are always hanging around places like that. As I was flipping through the book the woman behind the counter tried to strike up a conversation with me - something I usually frown upon since I hate making idle chit chat with people. Especially after 8pm. Or any time of the day for that matter.

After a few pleasantries - all from her because I'm not pleasant, especially after 8pm. Not even to people feeding my cravings - she looked at me for a bit longer than was comfortable.

"Aren't you that woman who comes in here with all her kids?" she inquired.

I shook my head, "No, that's not me. You must have me confused with some other woman."

This happens to me a lot. I've been mistaken for someone's best friend's sister's cousin's friend, told I look just like someone's favorite niece or a long lost best friend from college since I was a teen. So it didn't strike me as odd that this woman thought I was someone else. And I was wearing my standard dog training uniform: Sweatshirt, jeans, and a baseball hat and I had on an older, nondescript parka. I was the proverbial blank slate.

I gave her my most winning smile, "I hear that a lot, that I look like someone else. I guess I just have that kind of face..." You know, familiar.

"Yeah," she interrupted. "Motherly."

Huh?

Motherly?

Did she just say...

Oh, no she DIDN'T.

I buried my face in that real estate magazine so as to stop myself from jumping across that counter and strangling her. All idle chit chat ended quicker than you can say "It's time for Botox". After a few homicidal minutes I paid for my pizza and drove home, checking my face in the rearview mirror the whole way. Motherly? Really?

When I got home I did what any reasonable woman would do - I abandoned my precious pizza and ran to the bathroom mirror. I pulled and I stretched and I poked at my poor, apparently motherly looking face. Motherly? Me? I've always been told I look young for my age, dammit. Especially with a ball cap on! Who did that woman think she was?? Motherly.

Pssh.

They say daughters steal your beauty, but I guess they steal your youth too. And it all happens between the ages of 2 and 3. By the time your kid is a teenager you're wearing knitted sweaters with pictures of kittens on them and calling all your kids' friends "dear". I'm guessing anyway, because I am not going down that easily. I am not giving in to this motherly crap without a fight.

So what's it going to be? Thigh-high boots and a tube top? Purple streaks in my hair and facial piercings? (Hi, T!) Or maybe next time I'll throw my pizza back in that woman's face.

How's that for motherly, bitch?

However, if I did that I'd probably feel bad and rush behind the counter to help her clean up. There, there dear. Mommy's just having a bad day. Please don't cry.

I'm doomed, aren't I?

---------------------------------

*I apologize for not posting any recipes that I've prepared yet. With the hubs traveling I haven't been cooking much. As soon as I can pin him down for more than 10 hours I'll make some real food from your recommendations. Pinky swear. Would this Mommy lie to you?

Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail us now.

Hi.

Uh...

So, the rest of my trip. Yeah. Things to say about it. Hmm...

I do have stories, none of which would really interest you - or me for that matter, since it is my blog and all and this writing is supposed to be for me and... aw, hell. Bottom line, thinking of it bores me to tears so why subject you all to that.

Because, do you know what you see on the trip between Saint Paul and Wisconsin?

Malachai! He wants you too, Malachai!

Lots of corn and lots of cows and that's pretty much it. For six hours.

Oh wait. There was that stop and the A&W. That was fun.

I do thank the inventors of the portable DVD player, however, for the help in anesthetizing Chicky for at least part of our trip. That little contraption helped. A lot.

And to the makers of Sun Chips. I thank you too.

It's 280 miles to Wisconsin, I've got my blankie, a bag of chips, and Blues Clues on the DVD. Hit it.

We did enjoy ourselves in Wisconsin. The beauty of that state - yes, even the miles upon miles of corn - is breathtaking. The town where we visited, though not a place where we would go if not for the familial connection, was worth the trip. But, whooo. It was HOT. And with hot you get cranky, and cranky toddlers are never fun when you're meeting your husband's mother's first cousin's middle child's new husband for the first time.

I'm not kidding about that. Not even a little bit.

Good times. Good times.

It's worth mentioning one small, itty bitty, relatively insignificant part of that leg of our trip. In my two+ years of being a mom I have never felt more like a second class citizen than I did when meeting all of Mr. C's extended family.

All you mamas, you might want to settle in for this one.

In the couple of days that we were there, among family, not once did anyone inquire as to what I did for a living, what my interests were, or anything about me - other than my name, and even then I think I was just that guy's wife - other than the care and feeding of Chicky.

Hi. Yeah, don't mind me. I'm just the uterus.

I mean, hey, I know she's cute, and there was never a doubt that once she sprung forth from my girlie parts that life as I knew it was over. But it was kind of hard to be a part of a group where everyone was asking each other about their lives outside of the family, who they were and what made them that, and be skipped over. And all because I was a mother.


I knew it would happen one day, I guess I just wasn't 100% ready for that slight. So, instead of sticking my nose into conversations about jobs and careers I embraced my role as mother and aunt and spent time with Chicky and Mr. C's nephews. I'm good in that role. I'm good in other situations too but it was just too hot to fight it.

Thankfully, there were only two days of that before we were back on the road. Plenty of time to lick my wounds and console myself with large quantities of salty, bloat-inducing snacks. Plenty of time to get punchy and silly (Look! Cows!). Plenty of time to pick at my pedicure. And more than enough time to wonder how in the world I got Demi Moore's pre-surgery knees.

How much does a knee lift cost, anyway?

Thankfully, I was spending so much time on it that I had little opportunity to contemplate the state of my ass. My aging knees were enough, thankyouverymuch.

Have I mentioned yet that I've never spent that much time in a car in one shot? I live in Massachusetts, for chrissake. You want to hit six or seven states it only takes about an hour and a half. I never want to be in a car for that long EVER AGAIN.

I crush your car. Squish, squish.

So, that was part two of our family trip (Not a vacation! It was not a vacation. It's never a vacation when you're traveling with a toddler) in a nut shell. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for "Scott Baio is 45 and single". Oh my sweet Jesus. Is anyone else as excited about this show as I am?

Anyone?

I'll leave you with one little thing. This is what happens when you spend six hours on the road in a ten year old Geo Prism with the man you love, a really cranky, overtired toddler and a camera:

'Nuff said.

Blog Sweet Blog

We're home.

It's good to be home. Very good.

Imagine my surprise to get back from our trip and find that the ol' blog is still in pretty good shape, especially considering that I left it in the hands of some suspicious characters. Just some empty Doritos bags, a couple of beer bottles on the floor, and a g-string hanging from the ceiling fan.

I'm betting that last one was Redneck Mommy's.

And I know I told these women to use a damn coaster but there's a few rings on the piano. Eh, it's the in-laws piano. No biggie.

In all seriousness I owe a huge debt to the best bloggers in all the land for babysitting my site. You ladies rock my world. Those of you who will be joining me at Blogher, drinks are on me. As for the rest of you blog-sitters, um... Virtual margaritas?

Oh, how was the trip?

The trip. Yeah.

Well... It's over.

Hoorah!

It's always nice to see family, especially family we don't see as often as we'd like, but at a certain point (at around day 5) I hit my wall and I really wanted to sleep in my own bed. And use my own shower. And go into the refrigerator or the pantry when I wanted a snack without feeling like a freeloader. And watch TV when I felt like it, dammit.

I have stories to tell (and pictures! Lots of pictures!) but today I'm resting. Sort of resting, anyway. As much rest as I can get while having carpenters in my house putting in new windows (scheduling them for today seemed like a good idea at the time), going grocery shopping, paying bills, and working tonight. Oh, and having to keep an over-tired toddler occupied so she doesn't have a conniption fit in the middle of Stop & Shop.

And! I have to check my email! Which I opened once while on our trip, said "Eek!" and promptly closed it. And Bloglines? Oy, the number of blogs in my bloglines. I can't even count that high.

So when my 70 gazillion pictures finish uploading to my computer I'll tell you all about MinneSOdah and our six hour car ride to Wisconsin (that's six hours ONE FREAKING WAY) with a cranky toddler. You can barely contain your excitement, I can tell.