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?

Important accomplishments and contributions - Check. Team player - Check. Doesn't smell like a fish market - Check.

Hey ladies. Feeling under appreciated at work? Want a big, fat raise but just don't know how to go about asking for one? Then I've got one word for you -

Douche.

That's right, douche. Clean the private area. Take a special shower. Steam clean the meat curtains.

Summer's Eve ran this rather unfortunate ad in a recent issue of Women's Day magazine:


According to the ad a crucial step, nay, the FIRST step in approaching your boss for a raise is making sure your special place is nice and squeaky clean before leaving for work with the help of Summer's Eve Feminine Wash. Then eating a good breakfast. It's all about priorities, people.

And then if that wasn't bad enough, ladies, if you're worried you might stink up your boss's office with your womanly smell, maybe you should bring a packet of feminine cleansing clothes with you to the office to freshen up with before sitting down for the big talk. You never know what may waft up when you cross and uncross your legs.

Summer's Eve's brand manager has since apologized for the ad stating that "... Fleet Laboratories and Summer's Eve brand have the utmost respect for women." They respect you, but they still think you're kind of stinky.

Kind of makes you long for days like this, doesn't it?




Source - AdFreak.com

WWJD? Probably roll his eyes, turn some water into wine and eat some lobster stew.

An elementary school in Massachusetts is making national news this week because school officials sent home an 8 year old boy after he (allegedly *wink wink*) drew a picture of Jesus on the cross for a (alleged *nudge*) holiday assignment. Being a former Catholic and survivor of seven years of parochial school, of course I had to weigh in. What do you think about all the fuss?

(Oh, and there's an awesome recipe for lobster stew. How bad can that be?)

Sometimes a cough is just a cough and not the end of days

Flu hysteria is solidly upon us, and by "us" I mean the country. I'm still only mildly concerned, but as the season progresses and more kids get sick (Hello, my town's high school was closed for five days due to an outbreak of what might have been H1N1. Freaking out? Me? Nooo.... Um.), mildly is slowly making its way toward moderately. If I watch another 60 Minutes expose on this flu I may be purchasing child-sized hamster balls dipped in Purell, but for now I'm still walking on the mild side.

In my house, we can't even get the flu shots, whether seasonal or H1N1. I did manage to get the seasonal flu shot for CC last week but as of today there are no boosters. Who knows when they'll get more. We're on the list. I'm starting to resent "the list". I have no faith in it. "Lists" can not be trusted.

As for Chicky, I have had no luck in getting her any flu vaccine. The kids' pediatrician simply does not have any for the 3 year and older group. According to the medical group's website, as of last week they had ordered 40,000 doses of the seasonal flu vaccine but so far have only received 1,400. I check their website regularly hoping for an update and we're on another notify list when the shots become available [*grumble*], but it all comes down to who gets an appointment the quickest. And don't get me started on flu clinics in the area dolling out the H1N1 vaccine. I can't, and won't, stand in line for 4 hours for the slight possibility of getting my kids vaccinated only to be turned away because they ran out.

Normally I don't fall for sickness hype. I'm not the type to watch the news and get freaked out because of the latest flu scare because I am simply too laid back about things like that, and if you got a good look at my carpets you would agree. Germs don't scare me, (some) germs are good. They build up immunity. That's why I let my kids lick the dogs, they're working on their antibodies. Also, I know that despite my best efforts to keep everyone's hands cleaned (which I do now, obsessively) and surfaces properly Lysol'd, we'll probably end up with at least one if not all of us sick this year. I have one child in school and the other who has a strong need to taste the world, no matter how gross and germ infested. I also have a husband who travels extensively, and as everyone knows an airplane is just a flying petri dish rapidly growing new and interesting viruses. Will we get sick this year? Oh, you betcha. At this point I'm hoping we won't get as sick as we possibly could.

But what about other sicknesses not related to any sort of flu virus? Like, say, the common cold?

Mr. C told me about a satirical cartoon he saw in a magazine, where a sign was posted outside of an eating establishment that read, "No shoes, no shirts, no service, no children under 16 with a cough." Or something to that effect. Satire, yes, but this seems to be the prevalent mood in most public spaces since news of the H1N1 virus caught fire. Every major news outlet is running stories on the so called Swine Flu and the devastating effect it can have on a person's body. Vaccinate your kids! Vaccinate yourself! Stay away from sick people! Every time I turn on the TV I see the same thing - Chicken Little in a conservative suit and heavily sprayed hair clucking about the flu.

Maybe I'm exaggerating a little but honestly, I'm surprised there hasn't been a color coded alert created for flu outbreaks posted on the front doors of public spaces.

As parents, where do we draw the line between keeping our kids safe and healthy and making little Timmy cry because he has a runny nose and can't go to playgroup?

Back in late September Chicky had a low grade fever, a cough and was sneezing so I kept her home from school for a couple of days, as I was supposed to do. You just don't mess around with a fever, especially when combined with other symptoms. She was fever free for a couple of days but still had the cough so I continued to keep her home.

After five days of being quarantined I thought it would be safe to send her to her weekly gymnastics class. I waffled since she still had the cough but I had something to do that morning and after discussing it with my mother in law, who was taking Chicky that day, we decided she was definitely well enough to go. When she was brought home later that evening she was very quiet and not herself and it seemed like it had nothing to do with her getting over a cold. It took me awhile but I finally found out that the source of her sour mood was the lecture the entire gymnastics class got about not coming to the gym while sick.

I asked her if any of the other girls were coughing and she said, No. I asked her if her coaches talked to grandma and grandpa and she said, No (My in-laws later confirmed that). I asked her how she felt about what her coaches said to her class and she shrugged without looking at me and said she wanted to go to bed. She clearly knew they were referring to her.

I was livid.

Not then and not since has any of the gymnastics coaches, and there's three of them, talked to the parents directly about when to send the kids to class and when to keep them home due to sickness (or anything else for that matter, but I won't get into that right now). There are printed guidelines that were given out at the beginning of class and I followed them to the letter, and yet my child was made to feel like she was doing something wrong because she had a cough. A cough, I might add, that she still has more than a month later. A cough, I will also add, that her doctor doesn't seem to be all that concerned with because it's just a damn cough. She didn't have any sort of flu, she wasn't even going to pass a banal head cold off to anyone else. And if she did, so what? It's a cold. The sky is not falling. A little bit of clear mucous, yes, but the sky? No.

I don't think we'll be returning to that gymnastics center when this session is over.

So where does the hysteria end? Are we going to start ostracizing kids with a history of sniffles? Hand out masks at play centers and schools and any other place kids might gather? Maybe a velvet rope and a check at the door, a la Studio 54, and turn away those who seem sick and allow only the seemingly well in? Internment camps maybe?


Obviously, I'm a little sore about the whole subject. In my mind, it's a case of common sense versus hysteria. But how do you feel about it? Would you take your kid out of a public space because another child he or she was interacting with was coughing or sneezing? Would you feel resentful of the parent for bringing their child out in public, even if you didn't know for sure how sick the kid was? Or would you just take out the sani-wipes and start spot cleaning everything around you in a twenty foot radius?

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.

Grandma's little helper

While preparing to grind my coffee at Trader Joe's this afternoon a nice older woman approached the adjacent bread section.

"I'm sorry," I said, smiling, moving my cart out of the way. "Let me move this so you can get to those muffins."

"Don't worry about me, honey, nothing's going to stop me from getting to my sweets," she replied with the biggest smile. "What you're doing there is important work. And, ooh! I love that coffee! Good choice."

"Yes, I love this coffee too. I'm kind of addicted to it."

She laughed heartily. "Addicted, yes, I can be that way too. Although, these days I drink more tea. Do you enjoy tea, dear?"

"I do but I have two little ones, so I need my caffeine," I explained with another smile. "These days I seem to drink a ton of it."

"I've been known to overdo it a time or two myself," she confided, chuckling.

She was so likable, so easy to talk to! Such a sweet, grandmotherly type. Wow, I thought, apparently I need to come to Trader Joe's more often. It's the happiest place on earth!

The grinder hummed along.

"How old are your children?"

"Four and fourteen months."

"Ooh, you've got your hands full." Her face was full of understanding. She had been there. Long ago, but she knew where I was coming from. She seemed to be remembering her time as a mother, as she stared off into space for a moment. Okay, a long moment.

"I hope you take care of yourself in other ways," she nicely admonished, snapping back to today. "To keep yourself going? Supplements and, you know, things like that?" She had a curious look on her face.

"I do," I assured her. "I try to take care of myself. Can't keep up with two active kids with just coffee in my system, know what I mean?

"So, where do you get your, um, product?"

"Excuse me?" The grinder was still humming along, and it was fairly loud. Maybe I didn't hear her correctly?"

"You know, your product."

She can't be asking me what I think she's asking me. Can she?

"Uh, that little health food store near the independent book seller?"

"Oh yes, I know the place. There, huh?"

Oh God, what the hell is she getting at? "Yes, they're very nice there. Very helpful. You know, with supplements?" If she is asking me what I think she's asking me, maybe she'll get the hint now. Yeah.

"I'll have to try there, then. Yes, I'll go there now. Right... now. Yes." She turned her head slowly toward the exit.

The coffee machine had run its course and I was standing there, slightly gap jawed.

"Ooo-kay then. Well, nice talking with you."

"Yes," she said, slightly absentmindedly. "Very nice."

And with that she wandered away.

I'm not sure but I think I just send a nice, little old lady to my favorite health food store to ask for drugs. But worse, I'm just sorry I'm not a fly on the wall to see that conversation go down.

Don't "Hon" me, Hon.

If you're significantly younger than me you have no business calling me "Hon".

Yeah sure, you're saying it over an intercom in the drive-thru of a Dunkin' Donuts and I am quite youthful (sounding. Some might describe me as "Juvenile", but not to my face), but after I've visited your establishment for my morning joe for the gazillionth time and we've exchanged pleasantries face to face, you can probably deduce by now that I was in high school when your mom and dad were doing the forbidden dance between the sheets (or in the back of a Ford Escort. Hey I don't judge).

Come talk to me when the hair on your head is a little more gray and the hair on your chin is a little more black. Bonus points if your girlie bits are stretched from the beauty and wonder of childbirth. Then I might even let you call me "Darling".

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.

What's next? Brimstone?

Hi there.

*waving*

So, how was your Memorial Day weekend?

Oh, mine? Thanks for asking (my readers are so considerate). It wasn't bad. A cookout with friends, planted some herbs, shoveled some ice. You know, typical end-of-May activities.

What? Yeah, I said "shoveled some ice". Did you catch that? Let me repeat it then.

We SHOVELED SOME #$%&*@ ICE.

Let me back up.

On Sunday there were weather reports of a storm coming. Nothing major, just some thunder and lightning, a few late day showers. No biggie. Mr. C and I had cleaned up the yard that morning and planted all those herbs that were sitting in little pots in the driveway forever and we had no plans for that evening other than soaking our sore muscles, so I decided to run out to the market before the threatening dark clouds opened and soaked my Twinkies healthy organic fruits and vegetables before I could stuff them down my throat serve them to my family.

On the ride home I could see impressive bolts of lightning rip through the sky. Cool, I thought, I love summer storms. I would have driven around a little to get the best view of the light show but I had all that ice cream healthy organic food in the back of my car.

Ten seconds after pulling into the garage, this happened:

(click the pictures for full effect.)

That's where we were planning on soaking aforementioned sore muscles. Yeah, that didn't happen.

And this is where we were thinking of eating our hot dogs healthy organic fruits and vegetables. *sigh*

Not the biggest of the hail balls, but impressive anyway.
Heh, "hail balls". Balls. Heh.

Watch your step, it's a squidge slippery there.

Can you see the herbs I planted? Me neither.

Oh dear. Basil? Can you hear me? Are you under there somewhere?

Ah! I can't feel my toes!

Aaand that's why we let our kid walk out there with no shoes on. Who's Mom of the Year? Right here, baby.
Eh, it helped her to forget the thunder and lightning, the house being pelted with ice balls (heh) and the screaming. I couldn't help myself.

It also helped her forget that I had left this outside. It's my Mother's Day present. She planted the flower and painted the flower pot just for me. Mother. Of. The. YEAR.

I thought the ice storm of '08 was bad but there's nothing like a good old fashioned hail storm to make you feel this big [middle and index finger centimeter apart, maybe less]. But I can happily say that most of the herbs made it through, there were no bad dreams that night and, best of all, no major damage to our home. I wish I could say the same for my back but I can't because we spent the next day cleaning everything up again.

F*ck you, Mother Nature. Grab a rake, will ya?

Caption this - Here Kitty

Have you ever gone through your photo files looking for a specific picture only to find one that makes you go, Huh?



I have no idea what is going on here. All I know is that when I took this picture (and for the record, I don't even know why I took it) we had just gotten back from taking Jabba the Cat to the vet because she had an infection over her eye. Hence the cone. But if you have any idea feel free to share it with the rest of us.

Please, caption this picture!

(Also, the writer's block? It has eaten MAH BRAIN. Halp. Need new brain - STAT.)

This has got to be a record

93 degrees. In APRIL. I'm too hot to come up with something witty to say about that. But I do know this, Al Gore is pissed right now. Vindicated, but pissed.

Now, I like warm weather as much as the next person but this is a little ridiculous. The only thing that makes it tolerable is that ice cream is mandatory for keeping cool on days like these. It's true, look it up.

The ice storm cometh and there my brain goeth

Do you know what you DON'T want to happen less than two weeks before Christmas? A huge ass ice storm that knocks out power to the entire region. And what you really don't want to happen after that? Being one house out of thousands that still doesn't have power 3 days later.

Just a quick aside: Why don't we ever lose power like this here in the North Country in the middle of July when the sun stays out until 9pm? Why is it always in the dead of winter when it's cold and dark? What department do I have to take this complaint to? The department of "We're Totally Screwing with Your Head"?

Anyway. It could be worse. At least Mr. C's parents live close by. In our old house. The one we sold to them three months ago so we could move to our dream house.

I'm just going to let that last sentence hang out there for awhile and let it sink in. I'm still trying to decide if it's ironic or just a mind fuck. I'm going for the later.

So we're staying with them until we get our power back. In their house. The one that used to be our house. In the room that was C.C.'s room, if she had, in fact, spent even a night in that room. Which she didn't because she slept with us. In our old room. The one that is now my inlaw's bedroom. Only now, due to the storm, she is sleeping in her old room. With us. Together. And I have to stop myself from traipsing into my inlaw's bedroom, the one that used to be my bedroom, and do you hear that sound? That's the sound of my brain trying to escape my skull by force.

But like I said, it could be worse. All of my relatives who live further north are completely without power and have no where to go since all the surrounding towns are also without power. Some people I know of could only recently leave their own driveways as they were blocked in by huge felled tree branches. My dad, his fiance and my Nana, who could leave at any time because luckily all the large branches missed their house, driveway and cars, are living in their tiny house with no hot water and only a fireplace to keep them warm.

How are they doing? Oh, fine. They're fine. Just fine. Just ask them. But will they go someplace else to stay for awhile until the power comes back on? Nooo. They're fine.

Pardon me while I bang my head against this wall.

I'm too tired to whine (any more than I already have) about how I want to go home to my bed, my TV, and my dogs and cat (who are, actually, just fine and enjoying seeing us many times a day while we run back and forth to check that the wood stove is still burning and keeping the house relatively warm to keep the damn water pipes from freezing) I'll leave you with this little nugget:

When the power goes out at 4am with a large crash and something that looks like a huge bolt of lightning, one can get pretty creeped out. Especially when one's husband is 3000 miles away and one is solely responsible for the well being of the wee, helpless beings in the house. Not that having one's husband there would have stopped a giant, icy tree branch from falling on one's house but he might have been able to convince me, I mean ONE, that no, there wasn't in fact a boogey man waiting outside the house to eat us. I mean one. I mean... Oh, forget it.

Because when the power goes out at 4am during a storm, it's really dark and scary. And curling into a fetal position while sucking one's thumb doesn't help convince one that said boogey man isn't waiting to rip one's head from one's body as much as one might think. Yes, one is a bit of a pansy ass, isn't one?

Oh, also when driving down my street yesterday I told off the tree that is resting on the power line thus cutting off electricity to everyone from that point onward. I may have told it to go fuck itself. The tree in turn may have flipped me off.

But I can't be sure because I was too busy looking for signs of the boogey man.

If you are pushing your child around in a forward facing stroller not only are you stunting their emotional development but you're also a sucky parent

Oh for chrissake.

Hey parents! Are you using a forward facing, or "away*" facing stroller to push your young'uns around town? Then you're probably hurting them emotionally! According to the above-linked study, they will grow up to be stressed and anxious and possible end up being social misfits, introverts, possible serial killers or habitual bloggers! Turn them around so they can look at you and talk to you EVERY POSSIBLE WAKING MINUTE of EVERY SINGLE DAY. If you don't do this then you obviously hate your kids.

Okay, not really. I'm sure there was more to the study. But I want to be selfish and somewhat realistic for a moment and say that sometimes? I don't want to talk to my kids. Sometimes I want a couple of minutes of peace. And if I can get that peace by putting my children in a stroller and pushing them around the neighborhood so that they can get some fresh air and take in the world around them and I can get a few precious moments to not talk about Elmo or take a break from cooing and nibbling baby cheeks, then so be it.

Also, I sometimes wear ear buds and listen to my iPod while pushing a stroller. I wonder how much emotional and mental damage I'm doing to my kids by selfishly listening to "Wait, wait! Don't Tell Me."



* And don't you love the use of the word "away"? Away! I'm pushing my children away from me! It really drives home the whole I want to push my children aside point home, doesn't it? No, not forward. Away.

Forward = Progressive, Leading, Propulsive. Away = Absent, Apart, Distant.

I love the spin. Love. It.

And this is why I don't do crafts

Because Chicky and I set out to create something from a toilet paper roll and construction paper that was supposed to be a girl in a pink dress but ended up looking like a giant transvestite squid with technicolor boobs and a bad perm who was attacked by a rainbow pigeon.


But Chicky liked it. She took one look and sighed, "Mama, she looks so beautiful. Like an angel."

And that's what she referred to that abomination as - Mama's angel. Yep. The angel of cross-dressing cephalopods.

Crazy going slowly am I

Have you ever had one of those days when life is just too overwhelming and every day obligations have pushed you to the edge of insanity and then your children, whom you love and hold more dear than any other being on the face of the earth, so much so that you would willingly step in front of a bus to save their precious little lives, collectively pick you up and toss you over that cliff into a deep, dark pit of despair so that you're left sitting on the floor in the corner of your bedroom hugging your knees, rocking back and forth, singing "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow", and plotting your escape from this life you've created for yourself by running away with the guy who runs the Tilt a Whirl in one of those traveling carnivals that set up for the weekend in the local bank parking lot - you know the one, the guy with the missing front tooth and acid washed jean jacket - because residing in a beat up pop up trailer with some guy named "Hacksaw" and cooking Chef Boyardee on a camp stove in a housecoat while chain smoking Pall Malls sounds far more pleasurable than having to deal with one more whiny preschooler meltdown or wiping one more shitty ass?

Just me?

Yeah, thought so.

Lame-O

Moving in four days. Packing constantly. Trying not to staple a certain whiny little Chicky to the wall while soothing babe in arms (no really, she's in my arms as I type this. Left arm almost completely asleep. Send help.) and simultaneously nursing said babe in arms while she goes through growth spurt from hell. Will update soon with pictures - because you really must see the mountain o' boxes taking up residence in my bedroom to believe if - when babe in arms going through growth spurt from hell starts sleeping again. In her own bed for more than 45 minutes at a time. For realz.

Until then, answer me this - How can one small family obtain so much crap in six short years of living? Guess I'll add figuring out that great mystery to my list of things to do. If I could find my list of things to do.

*sigh*

I wanted to nibble on her tummy but didn't want to risk waking her because she was FINALLY SLEEPING.

Not very appetizing

This is what I found on my kitchen table after putting Chicky down for a nap just now:


Hmmm.

Well, I guess it gives new meaning to the phrase "She's really got a stick up her ass".

You don't suppose she's trying to tell me something, do you?