How Barbie Stole Christmas

Is anyone else nursing wounds from Christmas?

No, I’m not talking about emotional wounds from passive-aggressive relatives. I’m talking about actual physical wounds from opening your kids’ toys on Christmas morning.

I look like I tried to give myself a manicure with the hand mixer. I have three broken nails and four cardboard cuts (way worse than paper cuts) from trying to pry Barbie from her box. Those of you with girls know exactly what I’m talking about.

                                                          

Doesn't Barbie look pretty all dressed in her little clothes with her tiny dog, microscopic shoes, and impossibly small hair brush? Let’s open it up and start the fun! I find the scissors and get down to business while Anna looks on in wide-eyed anticipation bouncing on the sofa next to me. Did you ever try to use a pair of scissors while a child (all hopped up on Christmas) is using the couch as a trampoline? I don’t recommend it.

So I make the first cut to open the top of the box. I’m in! I pull the front and back of the package apart. Success! Now I realize that Barbie is attached to the back of the package. Fair enough. You don’t want anyone to be able to break into a package that easily in a store. I get it. On closer inspection, I find that she’s not attached to the back of the box. The box is attached to the back of the box! Okay. So I pull. Then I pull harder. What the $%^??? I look between the layers and see that they’re attached with those little plastic things (for lack of a better term) that secure price tags to clothes…only these are insanely tiny and freakishly strong! I give a good yank popping the outer back off of the inner back and giving myself my first cardboard cut of the day.

I’m exhausted, injured, pissed, and not even halfway through the task.

Anna’s still bouncing.

I look over and poor Matt is having the same experience only he’s trying to extricate a delicate-looking helicopter from its maximum security prison of a box.

Barbie is still securely fastened to the inner part of the back of her box so I give a slight pull to see just what booby traps have been set for me in this phase of “Are You Smarter than a Barbie Package.” Rope? Do I see tiny rope??? Rope that is somehow woven through the cardboard and not only twisty tied through an intricate web of plastic but also secured with packaging tape over the twisty tie to the underside of the box? I sigh and roll my eyes. I didn't pay $10.99 to endure this kind of frustration on Christmas morning. This is a doll, right? Do the people that work at the Barbie factory have some kind of contest to see how many aneurysms they can trigger?

Well, this mom isn't going to play their little game! I decide to bypass this ridiculousness and go right for the throat. Literally. This tiny rope is wound around Barbie’s neck and through the box so I (very carefully) try to wiggle the tips of my scissors into the small space in between. I. Am. Victorious! She’s free! I've won! I've…wait. What?!?

She’s not free. Her hands and feet (and brush and dog and shoes) are bound with what looks like a teeny tiny hair elastic…and it’s clear!!! OH FOR THE LOVE!!!!!!!

I grab Barbie by the waist and yank and I hear a sickening pop as elastic bands are violently broken and fly, with abandon, all over the living room carpet.

I have managed to rip everything free from Barbie bondage except her head? How, in the name of everything that is good and holy, is her freakin’ head still attached to this hateful demon of a box? And I also notice that I’m bleeding again.

Upon further inspection, I see what the problem is. Two plastic things (remember those from earlier?) are slipped through her head and attached to the other side of the #$%^…I mean box. Now, we wouldn't want to muss Barbie’s coif. So, again with the scissors (Anna’s still bouncing) I make teensie weensie snips to release her from this nightmare. HOW IS SHE STILL SMILING????? Because I’m certainly not!

Barbie has officially been freed but now is sporting two plastic protrusions from the back of her head. Cutting them is out of the question. I could cut hair. I’d never hear the end of it. So I pull. They don’t budge. Then I push. Hey! It worked!! They’re pushed safely into Barbie’s skull without anyone being the wiser. Barbie is still smiling so I’m assuming it doesn't bother her, either.

I smile a self-satisfied smile. I have won. Then I realize that Anna isn't bouncing anymore. She’s not even on the sofa anymore. She’s on the floor playing with her crayons and coloring books. You know, the toys that took absolutely no effort to open. Bless her.

But not to worry! Barbie has had her fair share of playtime so my severed finger and bandage wrapped thumb can happily look the other way.

In the grand scheme of things, we had a wonderful month celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, we ate a ridiculous amount of fabulous food, we spent time with family and friends, and we can head into the new year with full hearts and gratitude for all the blessings that 2012 brought us. And after all, isn't that what it’s all about?

Welcome 2013

I stared at this blank screen for what felt like days. The cursor blinking at me almost daring me to type something, anything. I felt mocked. I felt like I’d failed.

I felt like quitting.

As a writer, there is nothing more terrifying than a clean slate. There are endless possibilities but you’re looking for that one idea. The one idea that’s going to make it or break it. It’s scary and exhilarating all at the same time. It’s why I love it.

As I sat here, afraid to begin, I started to think, “Wow. Isn't life so much like this very situation?”

With a brand new year looming, a clean slate if you will, are you feeling like you’re afraid to start? Are you apprehensive about 2012 ending because you don’t want to screw up 2013? Are you afraid you’re going to mess up your brand new clean sheet of paper with nothing but bad ideas that will just bore people or worse disappoint them?

I don’t know about you but I don’t want to fall into that trap. I don’t want to let a little writer’s block (which incidentally has been plaguing me for about a month) scare me into thinking that I can’t come up with something great (or at least something not deplorable.) I can do this.

So can you.

I challenge you to step out into 2013 with confidence! And if confidence isn't something you think you can handle at the moment (because let’s face it, we don’t always feel it even when we know we should) then I ask you to simply start.

Just start and adjust as life comes your way. Rely on the Lord to guide you through it. I’m not sure I've ever met a person who’s gotten it right, right out of the box all by themselves. We’re human. We’re imperfect. We’re impatient. We’re messy.

And we’re in this together.

I wish you all a blessed 2013.

                                                    

What I can offer tonight

There is no laughter today.

Instead, I have spent most of today in tears as I watched the images on the news from Connecticut. 

18 (possibly 20) children were brutally taken away from their families today. Countless others will have nightmares for who knows how long and will have to receive years of therapy to heal wounds so deep they’ll probably never reach the surface.

And we ask why.

It doesn’t matter why. There is no answer that can be given to justify something so vile. We wonder how someone could be so cruel, so heartless. We don’t understand.

I, for one, thank the good Lord that I don’t understand.

I don’t want to understand that kind of hatred.

I didn’t tell my kids what happened today. Not yet. I’m sure at some point this weekend we’ll end up talking about it but I want to take some time to gather my thoughts as to what to say. I don’t think we’ll say anything to Anna. She’s too young and it will only confuse her. Nathan’s 8.

He’ll have a lot of questions and I want to make sure that he isn’t frightened. And I want to answer his questions in such a way that he feels safe when I drop him off at school. Today is not the day to have that conversation. I don’t have the words to accomplish that. 

Today I will hug them tighter. Tell them, repeatedly, that I love them. Tuck them in and pray with them. We’ll ask God to care for those that are hurting tonight. We’ll thank Him for our safety and for our family.

This is what I can offer tonight.

No offense. But you're kinda messing up my office.

I love being a stay-at-home mom.

I've held a variety of jobs since high school from manicurist to bookstore manager but this, by far, has been my favorite. This is where I belong.

I know how fortunate I am and I don’t take it for granted. My husband, Matt, works very hard to provide this lifestyle and I often tell him how much I love and appreciate him for all he does.

That being said…

I have a system. It works. Don’t mess with it.

Our daily routine is something of a well-choreographed ballet that has taken years to perfect. So when a dancer comes flying out onto the stage with very little warning, hasn't been to rehearsals, arms flailing, improvising, and running into other dancers, well, the director can get a little testy.

Matt’s on vacation this week.

I stepped on and/or ran into him in the kitchen on Friday morning no less than 417 times in five minutes.

“Sorry!”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Am I in the way?”

“No.” (Yes.)

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You’re just not used to what we've got going on here.”

“Can I help?”

“Nope! I’m all set.”

“Can I get the kids in the car?”

“Sure. Kids? Daddy’s going to get you in the car!”

The kiddos climb in while I gather my purse and keys. Matt’s lingering around the driver’s side. I look at him and laugh because he shrugs, jokingly defeated, and heads for the passenger side. 

We've been married a long time.

So I don’t even get out of the driveway and he’s already in the “brace for a crash” position.

“Really? What are you doing?”

“You make me nervous.”

“You make me nervous!”

We get Nathan safely to school (imagine that!) and head over to the preschool to drop off Anna. She also arrives safely (2 for 2!) and we start to head out of the parking lot when I see a friend and roll down my window to say hi. She asks if Matt is on vacation and we both say “yes” in two completely different tones. She gives me a smile that says “solidarity sistah!” and off we go to run some errands, all the while with poor Matt still a prisoner in the passenger seat as we, apparently, careen out of control down the road at 45 mph in our silver Town & Country.

We get home and I start my daily routine of cleaning up the kitchen, starting laundry, straightening the bathrooms and making the beds. Matt then utters the words that every wife longs to hear when her husband is on vacation…

“I’m bored.”

I now have beautiful, freshly painted bathroom cabinets.

That afternoon, I was talking to another girlfriend on the phone and I mentioned that Matt was on vacation. She said, “Oh, really? Mine’s home today, too. I left.”

There should be a dad’s vacation support group.

In all seriousness, he actually picked a wonderful week to be on vacation. It’s Thanksgiving break so the kids are home all week which means mommy’s routine can relax a bit and daddy is an extra set of hands. There’s nothing the kids love more than playing with their dad and vice versa.

Matt, honey? I really do hope you enjoy your vacation. You deserve it.

And you’re welcome to crash our ballet anytime…

Thrifty is Nifty! or "How to draw attention to yourself at Goodwill."

 Some of my girlfriends and I have decided that we’d like to be Amish, kind of. We like our iPhones and cute shoes and I’m all about electricity but, dang it, we’re going to Goodwill! We’re going to be thrifty!

Kellie called me up tonight and was all, “Hey! I’m gettin’ my Amish on! Can you meet me?” I was just cleaning up after dinner and was getting ready to put my daughter in the bathtub so I said, “I can’t tonight I have to *fill in 5 excuses.*” My husband looked at me and said, “What do you want to do? Go! I got it covered.” 

Ooo! I love it when he does that!

So, I grab my purse and head to Goodwill to meet my Amish friend.

When I arrive, I see her standing there with her horse and buggy (read: blue shopping cart) and she immediately holds up a light pink Banana Republic shirt and says, “This is perfect for you! And if you don’t like it then it’s perfect for me. It’s $3.”

I fasten my bonnet and we get to work.

I have to tell you, if you’re not a thrift store shopper, just do it for the ab workout. I wasn’t in there 10 minutes and we were laughing so hard I was pretty sure I was either going to (a) be kicked out of the store or (b) pee my pants. Or (a) because of (b.)

We saw everything from shoulder pads to mom jeans and the coveted Ugly Christmas Sweater. Oh yes. I found the Grand Poobah of ridiculous Christmas garment catastrophe. And I bought it. Behold…

                                             

We’re throwing an UCS party for our MOMS group. This is my $4 treasure. My husband would also like to wear it on Christmas Eve. 

See how thrifty?

But I did actually find a super cutie cute knit dress that will look fantastic with leggings and boots for $6. It was right next to a garbage bag with rhinestones and velour trim.

As I was pawing through another rack, I heard a voice behind me say, “Finding anything good in there?” Yay! It was Renee! Bargain and thrift store shopper extraordinaire. Renee makes the rounds every week. 

She admits addiction. 

We forgive her.

In the end, I spent $10 for a great little dress, a heinous Christmas sweater and sore abdominal muscles.

Kellie spent $24 on a buggy full of fun stuff including the perfect-for-me pink Banana Republic shirt.

I urge you, ladies, to grab your girls, head to the nearest thrift store and laugh until you cry. I came home in the best mood, which put my husband in a good mood, which made the whole house happy. 

See how that works?

I love the Amish.

Home Alone

So. I have absolutely no idea what to do.

I am alone in the house. The dog isn’t even here. The only other thing in the house with a heartbeat is the fish.

Here lies before me a million possibilities…

·        I can clean the house and have it stay that way for a few hours.

·        I can read!!!! (Can you imagine??? In silence!)

·        I can bake those Nutella brownies that I just saw on Pinterest.

·        I can eat them.

·        I can eat them ALL and when everybody gets home I can pretend I never made them!

·        I can go for a walk.

·        I can go for a run!

·        I can just work out at home.

·        I can fold this basket of laundry from yesterday that’s sitting next to me.

·        I can watch a movie. The whole thing!

·        I can polish my toenails.

·        I could clean out the storage area in the basement.

·        I could rake leaves.

·        I could sit down and study the message that was just presented to us at church this morning.

·        I could put on a HAZMAT suit and clean my son’s room.

·        I could go to Target all by myself.

·        I could even go and finish that sewing project that’s impatiently waiting for me that needs to be completed in the next two days.

Seriously! Look at all of this! These are the things we moms dream about when we’re knee-deep in mothering. “If I had a day all to myself I’d ___________.” But when it’s laid out before me it’s almost like I get stage fright. “Well, if I do (a) then I wouldn’t have time for (b.)” And I’d really like to do everything on this list but I’d like to get it all done in an hour so that I can have time to do what I really want to do and that’s just sit on the sofa and stare at the wall because it’s so quiet and I forgot what that sounds like.

Also, when you’re home alone and not at all used to it, why does your house make so many creepy noises?

                                                

 It’s not even noon yet and all of a sudden I’m pretty sure there’s a homicidal clown in my basement.

I hope he likes Nutella brownies.

So, I guess I haven’t resolved a single thing here today. But I have concluded that I have no idea how to entertain myself. I miss my chaos makers. Apparently, I like a   loud, busy house. I think that’s okay. Later today, when everyone returns home and it’s all back to normal and it’s loud and everyone needs me at the same time, I’m going to remind myself how much I missed the noise. And I’m going to say a prayer of gratitude that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Now, to plan my escape in case that clown comes upstairs…

If you're average and you know it...clap your hands!

You know those food posts you read all the time on facebook? The ones that say: “On tonight’s menu…Beef Wellington with baby spinach and slivered almonds, and sweet potato soufflé. Oh! And organic chocolate cake made with avocado and broccoli!”? Yeah. You know the ones.

I think it’s great if you can make that! Seriously. And if your kids will eat that? Even better! I don’t care how much chocolate cake I’d put around it, my kids wouldn’t touch an avocado.

But I’ll make spaghetti! My kids will eat that! (Without the sauce) but my kids will eat it. I think that’s okay, right? I mean, I use whole grain noodles. And they’ll drink a glass of milk.

Should I be doing more? Should I make my own pasta sauce? Should I make my own pasta??? What makes a piece of beef “wellington?” How do you soufflé a sweet potato? Why would you put broccoli in chocolate cake?

Why am I even giving any thought to this? Our dinner’s fine... Right? Isn’t it?

                                                                                                                                             

Yes. It’s fine. What I make for dinner is fine.

My point is this: Someone else’s post about how their toddler is being looked at to join the 2016 Olympic team, or how their 6 year old can recite the Declaration of Independence backwards and in Spanish, or how their kids can fly does not make you less of a wonderful mom.

Your kids think you’re great even though they aren’t fluent in Mandarin and eat fish sticks for dinner.

Facebook and Pinterest, in my opinion, have made parenting just that much harder. Don’t get me wrong, I love both forms of social media and use each of them daily, but as I sat down to write this I thought, “Why do we feel the need to impress each other?” “Why do we feel the need to tell people how busy we are?” “Why does that matter?” “Does it matter?”

Maybe it’s fear, or jealousy, or pride. Maybe it’s all three! We want people to like us, right? We all want to be great at something. We see other people enjoying their “perfect” lives. We want that too! How do we get there? We read posts everyday about how perfect her life is. That must be exactly how things are at her house. I mean, it’s right there on facebook! It has to be true!!!

That’s dangerous, folks. Comparing ourselves to others will only lead to disappointment because there will always be someone with more. More skills, more talent, more money. Even those people want more. It doesn’t end.

Here’s a great quote from a family friend: “It doesn’t matter how much money you make, you’re always at a different level of poor.” Ironic coming from a vice president of a company.

So, I say, let’s celebrate the ordinary!! Let’s be content with our macaroni and cheese! Let’s wave our chocolate cake made with chocolate cake in the air and say, “Hey! My children can’t fly nor do they speak Latin! But they do say please and thank you and my son knows how to hold a door for people! We’re average and it’s cool!”