Garbage Eve

Today is a holiday in my house, not just Christmas, but a special holiday that comes once a week that I like to call "Garbage Eve".
I can't say I coined the phrase myself, but have embraced it and am not afraid to claim it as my own.
Usually this holiday falls on a Sunday with Monday being our pick up day and we are off to a fresh start of the week. As it does with most things, Christmas totally screwed us.
There are not words for the number of boxes, gift bags and bags full of wrapping paper that were sitting outside my back door tonight. That is what I get for being the only one in Tim's immediate family with an indoor Christmas tree, and insisting on allowing my children to stay home on Christmas day.
I am a pretty hard core recycler, but I failed to flinch at each can, bottle, or other recyclable that ended up in the trash. Alas, as with credit cards the trash cans do have limits and when I had burned through all the space in the gargantuan garbage can as well as the equally as large recycling trolley I started to panic. I hate not recycling perfectly good recyclables. And even if I set it all with the recyclables there is some pissing contest between the garbage men and the recycling guys that whoever gets there first doesn't have to get all the stuff that they can't reach with the mechanical arm that comes out of the truck and picks the can up to dump it in. God forbid they have to get out of the truck and help do their part to save the environment. All I can do is hope that the garbage man comes first and the recycling guy is forced to take all the stuff. At least it is all out of the shoe for the rest of the week and we don't have to shove all the new crap in around the boxes. And oh boy is there a lot of crap.
It has been quite a day for all of us. Nora's first Christmas, Abby's first that she really got "it", and not to mention all the family. Our holiday ends tomorrow when we finish the tissue toss with a family bash at Judy's.
Then can we be done?

A Memo to My Father in Law

Hi Jerry,
Remember me? I married your son? You know the kid who idolizes you and you shit on him constantly? Not familiar? Let me make this easy, the guy who transports you to and from the airport all the time? Got it? Good.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that calling me literally 24 hours before you are supposed to be at my house and asking me what to get your granddaughters for Christmas is uncool. First of all, a lack of planning on your part is not an emergency on my part so back off on calling my cell phone because Tim didn't answer his cell, or the house phone. Second, your estranged wife has already bought them every single toy, outfit, book, anything you can imagine to the point that even Santa was having a hard time finding something in his workshop for these kids. Third, I don't really care that you have a cold. If you are so sick that you had to go to a doctor who didn't tell you what you want to hear (an is thus a "quack" according to you) then please don't bring it into my house tomorrow. Keep your disease to yourself.
Happy shopping!
Your Daughter in Law

The One Woman Show Gets Panned

So I have told you (yes, you) about how Christmas this year has been a one woman show (starring me) because Tim is beyond a basket case, right. So along with all the regular stuff I do (raising a husband and 2 kids) I get to shop for gifts, wrap said gifts, do Christmas (now they are New Year's) cards, bake, make the holiday magical for my children, etc. Now I have been doing this without complaint until yesterday.
So Wednesday night I told my tech support staff (Tim) that my email was not receiving anything. He took a look at it and installed some new Internet Explorer thing with all these weird tabs and declared there to be nothing wrong with it. Hey, fucker, a mother knows when there is something wrong. Don't you find it odd that the number of spam messages I get goes from approximately 100 per day to 0? You don't? How about that Charles never got the pictures I sent and I never got his email? Still working fine? Well you're wrong, pal.
He has all our stuff so strangely engineered that I just don't bother to figure out what is what. So when this problem persisted into yesterday I sent him a cute little email asking who I could contact at freeservers to get my business fixed. This prompted a nasty phone call from him telling me that I am crazy and that I am just not getting any email from anybody anywhere. Really? The guy who wants to sell me Viagria and Ciallis at dirt cheap prices begs to differ.
So he tells me I never listen and that he has explained that there is nothing that can be done and the way in which he does it (Tony, you know what I am talking about here) totally hits this nerve in me that unleashed all the crap I have been bottling up for the past month and I start to cry.
Not just Finding Nemo crying but full on Titanic (if you are a 13 year old girl), Hotel Rwanda crying. He gets all pissed that I am crying and we end our conversation. So I go about my day and see that he has fixed my email by a series of irritating test emails that he sent to everyone who has a mailbox in our domain (?).
He then had "plans" last night so he didn't get home until late.
Obviously we had a miscommunication, and when he asked me what I was pissed about that was what I told him, and he again lost his shit because I had been "stewing" on this all day rather than dealing with it as it happened (You know that had I said anythign to him while he was at work I would have gotten my head bitten off because he was at work, but he didn't like me pointing that out, so I won't). When he took a tone with me I had a fit, and immediately started the Yuletide fight we have every year at this time. I hate that all he can do is complain about Christmas when I am the one doing everything. He hates that we have to spend money on people like my friend Karen who babysits for us and gives me some much needed time during the day to do stuff that my kids don't want to do. I hate that he can't seem to figure out where exactly the dishwasher is, and that he is completely incapable of taking care of his children and makes no attempt to learn their schedules (that is an ongoing one but it seems exacerbated by the holiday nonsense that I also have to put up with so I just tucked that into his stocking). But this year he can't even deny that I have done everything. He doesn't even know what we got his mother for Christmas. He still tried (poorly) to defend himself, and when he knows he is wrong he just gets angrier, which is so irritating. He also smirks which I just can't look at anymore. I told him that he best buck up and start at least pretending to give a crap about all this, and say "Hey, thanks for doing that" at least once a day to me from now until the end of time.
He smirked, then scanned a picture that I have been asking him to do for about 2 weeks now. When we were in bed watching The Girls Next Door and I gave him some of my water after he ate half a jar of peanut butter he said "Hey, thanks for sharing".
Its a start.

A Memo to My Mother in Law

Hi Kathy,
Could you do me a favor and not buy me anything from Walgreen's this year? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but really, keep you $1.99 and pass on the crap that you think is "so cute". Pleas include my husband and my kids in this also. We do not need anymore generic toys, or any toys for that matter, or any light up spinning musical anythings. I really feel bad when I have to throw it all out because it is full of chocking hazards and broken pieces. And all that "adorable" plush you found there- leave it there. The charities that I donate most of the crap you give us have told me that they won't take anymore stuffed animals form me because even the poor kids don't want them. And on the subject of the "Chocolate Fountain" you want to buy Tim, please don't. We don't use the Chilli set, Smores maker, Foot Bath or any of the other shit you have bought in the past 6 years.
Thank you,
Your Daughter in Law

Do you hear what I hear?

The Christmas spirit has been sucked out of me and it didn't even feel good.
On December 2nd I was aglow with holiday spirit. We were putting up the tree, I was was listening to the radio station that plays non stop Christmas music from November 1st to December 26th (which, hello, why cut it off so abruptly? why do we have to start Christmas so early and then kick it out the day after without even leaving any money on the nightstand?), and I was getting ready for Nora's first Christmas, and what Abby assured me was going to be "the best Christmas ever!".
Then my mom came over and went crazy about something she did last year (ahem, giving her sister ornaments off of my tree in a lame attempt to repair so many years of damage that the little fucking mitten ornaments just fell into the abyss between them. I digress), then Tim had this minor meltdown and refused to put his Star Wars battle scene on the tree. Which to some may seem like the best Christmas gift of all, but to me it made me sad. I like the Star Wars ornaments, not because we are those people who dress up as Luke and Leia before we do it, but because it is something that he enjoys and that he can add to our tree.
It was that night that I knew we were in for a bumpy night. And our journey through this festive season has been filled with the land mines of Tim's parent's divorce and the mental illness that it brings, a broken furnace that wiped out the holiday budget, a wonderful photographer who's trip to Florida fucked all of my Christmas gifts, and so on. I have managed to power through because I have two kids who do have a ton of the holiday spirit and who deserve at least one parent who can put on a happy face.
But you know what, I have had it. I can't do it all anymore. Tim has helped me shop for the girls, and that is the extent of his contribution to Christmas. Last night while I toiled on a scrapbook to give to HIS mom did he sit by me and wrap the million gifts that need to be dealt with? Did he address or print our "holiday cards" (now wishing Happy New Year because there is no way they are getting done before this weekend? Did he bake cookies? Clean the house? Go to the grocery store? Plan the menu for Christmas day (or now Christmas Eve too since "it is more fun" at our house for his parents to impart their insanity)? Figure out what to get Tony (the most difficult person in the universe to shop for)? Do anything other than take a nap and play computer poker? No.
We have a one woman Christmas show going on here and what sucks is that it is going on while I have to play house too. I know plenty of people have it much worse, and it is all a matter of perspective, but alas this is my fucking perspective, and it blows.
The only thing that is keeping me a little joyful is that it is Nora's first Christmas and we have this fiber optic snowman that brings her such joy I don't know if I have the heart to put it away when all this stuff comes down. Abby's preschool "holiday show" is also tomorrow and if a bunch of 4 year olds in Santa hats with bells singing songs doesn't pump a little of the holiday spirit back into me then nothing will.
I wish I celebrated Hanukkah like Charles.

Follow The Leader

So last week my friend shows up on my doorstep with formula, and I feed it to Nora thinking it was just going to supplement the 2 times a day I nurse her, and alas she no longer has any interest in me.
I should be dancing in the streets. I should be thrilled that I can now say yes to that second, third, fourth and fifth cocktail and not feel guilty about it. I can finally put away all things related to being pregnant. I can stack outgrown baby stuff on top of that and clean the house for the party I kept saying I wanted to throw when I got my body back. Well, now my body is being given back to me by the one who took it in the first place and I am not sure I'm ready for it.
I am not going to force her to nurse if she doesn't want to, but I had planned on going the full year like I did with Abby. While I know that each child is different, blah, blah, blah, I guess I just wasn't ready for her to wean herself so abruptly. We are down to one feeding a day and bottles the rest of the time. Not only is it a pain in the ass to cart formula and bottles and what not everywhere, I guess I have to take (yet another) one for the team.
Rather than be weird about this I guess I will go and shoot tequila, and celebrate that I can wear non El Camino bras.
I wonder what Charles would do?

The Hills Are Alive

Tim and I are doing some mindless computer stuff and he has his iTunes playing which doesn't bother me. What bothers me is his heartfelt rendition of every song in the fucking playlist. So far he has emoted with Johnny Cash, rapped with Kanye, jammed with Bono, and he is currently getting jiggy with Will Smith and Snoop Dogg (two of his favorites in one song-oh the joy). I am about to lose my mind! I have him scanning pictures for me and he is taking it very seriously, worrying about shading and lightening and the such, which is so nice that he takes the most menial tasks and does them with such flair, but really the singing, is it necessary?
Why is my tolerance for other people's back up singing so low?

The Roof is on Fire

At 6:30 this morning we woke up to Abby doing her Ozzy Osborn impression of laying in bed and hollering for one of us. To my surprise (and delight) it was for Tim so I was able to squeeze those last few minutes out of my night's sleep. I could hear the baby stirring, but I usually wait until she is fussing to go in. I heard Tima dn Abby talking, and I thought he was just trying to reason with her that 6:30 is too early and that we need sleep, but then I noticed that Tim was getting a wee bit agitated and that he started running around the house. I humored him by opening one eye to see what was up, and that was when I noticed it, the distinct smell of burning plastic.
Oh.My.God. What is on fire?
I help Tim scramble around the house unplugging every fire hazard we can think of (the Christmas tree, the space heaters, the computer crap) to no avail. The smell was worse and there was a haze of smoke filling the house.
With no obvious source of fire anywhere and every foul word used, I suggested we call the fire department, but Tim refused. He finally decided it was the furnace and called the Mafia at 7:15 am. (you know I am a Mafia princess, right? We can only use certain people for things. We have to use the Mafia landscaper, electrician, contractor, car guy etc. And they all get paid in cash and we never get a receipt of any kind) At about 9 the Mafia furnace guy finally calls and is on his way over. (Yes, when Tim hadn't heard from him when his dad called at 8 another phone call was made on our behalf and then next thing we knew he was 10 minutes away. Gotta love the Mafia) I had gone out to do some "doorbusting" (my new catchphrase for Christmas shopping at places that run ridiculous sales- I got Nora the Leap Frog table for $15.99- can you believe it!) and when I called to check in Tim informed me that we had blown the motor on the furnace. I don't really care about what the problem was, I just wanted to know how much it cost and when it would be fixed.
When I got home the smoke was gone, but the nasty plastic smell was still there (and still is). The upside is that we didn't need a new furnace, but the downside is that we had to shell out $400 that wasn't really in the budget.
I guess heat is more important than Christmas. Right?

The Secret Formula

Sorry, Charles, another day is going to pass with me not blogging about you. But wait, I just did, now you don't have to ask.

Anyway...I feel like an alcoholic staring at a bottle of vodka, afraid to drink, but yet so tempted. A week or so ago the pediatrician recommended that I supplement Nora with formula. My nursing has been waning, and I was starting to supplement with whole milk. Since she still needs more nutrients formula would be best, but something in me could not bring myself to buy it at Target last week. I wish I could explain why I am like this. Plenty of kids get their fair share of vitamins and what not from formula. Hell I was raised on formula! But for some reason I just don't want it in my kids. And to be honest it probably would be better for her than the breast milk I create made out of the more than occasional glass of wine and an unbalanced diet, but I can't do it. I am just as content to let her iron levels continue to drop while I give her whole milk.
My friend Marnie has been listening to this saga, and can't believe that I just won't suck it up and give her s damn bottle of formula. So today she turns up on my doorstep with a can of formula and a jug of nursery water. I think she was trying to be nice, but I couldn't help but feel like she was telling me what to do, but my sister made me get over it. As I was unloading the dishwasher I made Nora a bottle. It was like a scene from a movie as the alcoholic pours the drink and stares at it. I am still not sure if she will even get the bottle.
The only thing that I am sure of is that I am more comfortable leaving her sleeping in her crib while I run down the street to pick up Abby than I am giving her formula.

What the fuck is my problem?

Blogging maintenance

I should be putting the finishing touch on an embroidery project for Tony right now, but I am procrastinating (its just Danny's star, Tony, the rest are done, don't worry).

Anyway...we have been busy little elves around here, and I will blog about the Christmas tree meltdown, Abby's holiday wishes, our evening out (including you Charles)and our long lost family later, I have to tend to a few business matters first...

#1-Can anyone tell be about Beta Blogger? Is this something I want? My sister was supposed to check it out and give me a detailed report, but she is just as behind on her Christmas Crafting as I am therefore I have heard nothing. Since I am accosted with it everytime I open blogger I am tempted to make the Folgers switch, but that leads me to an issue of security, and .....

#2-If I come across a blog that I want to read and that I am blocked out of because it is password protected, how to I get ahold of the blogger and gain access? And, if you are a blogger reading my blog who has a blog that is protected can we be friends or something? I keep coming across blogs that I would like to read but I can't even get a hold of the blogger to let them know that they want me to be reading their blog. Am I a moron because I don't know how to do this? I like to scroll through blogs, and the ones with the interesting names intrigue me, but I am finding myself locked out, and wasn't junior high enough of excluding me? Any help with this would be good.

O.k., I guess that is it. Back to work.

Wait, one more thing....Does anyone else find it odd that the word 'blog' is not in the blogger spellcheck? Have I asked you this already?

Panic! At the grocery store

We were almost out of baby wipes, and definitely out of milk yesterday so I packed up the ladies and off we went to the grocery store.
Now our local Jewel is usually pretty crowded, but the parking lot was ridiculous. I circled a few times before settling in the furthest corner from the door Abby will go in. (Have I told you about her OCD that won't let her go through the Osco entrance because it is "the wrong way") So we walk in and there is not a cart to be had. There were people everywhere. It was weird. So there were no regular carts, just the (fucking) butterfly carts with the big car attachment on the front. You know the ones that take up over half the aisle and weigh 2 tons? So we set off in one of those and fight our way through the oxygen tanks and "little rascals" that are clogging the aisles. I finally asked someone what they were giving away, and the guy reminded me that our local weather hero, Tom Skilling, had forecasted snow. Tom Skilling is never right, so who cares. But of course as I was making my way to the milk I grabbed a few things "just in case".
I got yelled at twice because my cart was too big, and reprimanded for leaving my cart with my kids in it at one of the intersections of the aisles while I ran down the crowded aisle to get eggs. What the hell people? Do you really want the big cart coming at you to complicate things? Didn't think so.
I opted for self check out since the overwhelming number of old people guaranteed me a no waiting spot in line. Self check out is great when you are just buying 1 or 2 things, but for nore than that it is a pain in the ass. Whatever, we got out of there unharmed and went on with our day to wait for the snow that never came.
Until this morning when we woke up to blankets of dense snow on everything. Tim swore a lot as he snow blowed, but I was so excited to get Abby out building snow men and frolicking the way I love to. School was cancelled today because the Honda Odesseys can't make it through 6 inches of snow, so we had a nice day inside. As the witching hour hit, I was glad I got swept up in the frenzy of storm preparation at the Jewel. Had I not the girls would have not had ravioli for dinner and we would have turned into the Donner party.