2011 - A Year in Review

 

Okay, here is is....  The 2011 Recap of this crazy family - as told by our (mine and Kurt's) Facebook status updates.  
 
(Please don't judge....)



JANUARY
I’m watching a fight take place between Kurt and the Blue-Ray player.  The issue is over the volume.  The bass just got so loud that the windows are about to shatter.  Kurt just threw down and said he would have to ((gulp)) read.the.manual.  Blue-Ray player: 1; Kurt: 0.
 
Today’s word of encouragement:  No matter how much you love and care for an animal, given the opportunity, it would eat you.
 
Want to give a shout out to the uber-creepy guy in the parking garage (the DARK and ABANDONED parking garage) who thought it would be helpful to RUN DIRECTLY AT ME to let me know that the dome light in my car was still on (you know, the kind that shuts off automatically).  Thank you also for not taking it personally when my “gratitude” included the phrase “stinkin’ idiot.”
 
FEBRUARY
Hope’s friend Mia is spending the night.  Jack just proposed to her.
 
Hope and I were driving home from church.  Kurt and Jack pull up beside us at a stop light.  Kurt gives me the “I’m so awesome” look.  The light turns green and we drive away.  Hope asks what the look was about and I told her that Daddy was trying to be cool.  Hope said, “Oh yeah.  Nothing is cooler than a man driving a mini-van with a little boy in the backseat watching a princess movie.  That’s realllly cool.”
 
Jack has named his brain Kevin.  Kevin comes and goes as he pleases.
 
MARCH
"Daddy, are pigs made out of bacon?”
 
Kurt and Hope are playing chess.  Jack and I wanted to participate so I told Hope to move one of her little prawns and Jack keeps shouting “King me!”  We’ve now been vanquished to Jack’s room to play bingo.  Apparently the chess-playing smarty-pants need it quiet.  Sigh…. Intellectuals.
 
The kids are getting older.  Hope takes 25 minute long showers and Jack has announced that he’s changing his name to Sonic.
 
APRIL
Signing off as an RGI/TDC employee for the last time… It’s been quite a ride.  12 years… As of Monday, it’s all Digital Felt Productions – woot-woot!
 
Hope got the part she wanted in her little school play.  Very excited for her!
 
Good Friday… a time to be thankful.  ♥
 
MAY
My little man Jack is 5 years old today!  ♥
 
Jack and I had a really long talk tonight.  Seriously, I think we talked for over an hour (which is an ETERNITY for a 5 year old).  I feel like we really made some progress – really broke through some barriers – really go the heart of some issues – and made a connection.  Of course the conversation would have been much more meaningful to me if I gave a rip about Super Mario Brothers…
 
So thankful for great times with great friends…

JUNE
The junk drawers in my kitchen won’t close anymore.  I think it’s time to escalate to a junk cupboard.
 
So Hope (who is 9) and I are having a talk. ME: Hope, you can’t date till you’re… HOPE: I know, till I’m 45.  ME: You know I’m just kidding when I say that, right?  HOPE: Yea.  ME: We’ll probably let you double date when you’re 15. You know what that is?  HOPE: Is that with two guys?!
 
It’s really hard to ignore the kids when they keep repeating themselves.

JULY
I ♥ UGSFAW
 
So I’m playing the board game LIFE with Jack and he starts warning me about the importance of buying car insurance because (and I quote) “you never know when some bozo is going to get in front of the wheel.”  In other news, I find myself getting a little bit weepy at the birth of all three of his LIFE babies.
 
Just for today, I choose to believe that there is some (however miniscule) nutritional value in Cocoa Puffs.
 
AUGUST
“Daddy, I don’t think Mom would appreciate you showing us how to do that.”
 
Just saw a lawyer commercial in which they were interviewing a client about his “fatal accident.”  I guess zombies need lawyers too.
 
Jack just saw a police car, but the words “police car” seemed to evade him, so he says, “Dad! Look at the… the… um…. th.. .th… the… jail taxi!”
 
SEPTEMBER
Hope told me this morning that since I refer to coffee as Joe, she is going to refer to milk as Kevin. (what is it with my kids and the name Kevin?)
 
Nutella:  Because “fudge sandwich” just sounds wrong.
 
Hope and Jack are barricaded in her secret lab (her room) putting the finishing touches on their dream teleportation device (a box covered with felt and scotch tape).  They are currently in a heated debate about laser beams and launch pads (apparently love for sci-fi is genetic).
 
OCTOBER
Happy 10^th birthday to my beautiful Hopey-Hope! ♥
 
It used to be that when Hope had a friend over they would play with dolls and kitchen sets.  Now they play with CD and players flip
Cameras so they can make their own music videos.  #timestheyareachangin’
 
If you say the word “gullible” slowly, it sounds like “oranges.”
 
NOVEMBER
Hope came home from school and told me she was DISAPPOINTED that PE was canceled. Who the heck does this kid belong to?!
 
Most of these protestors sound like they need to occupy a library.
 
ME: Kurt, Jack got in trouble at school – he got a color change. KURT: Man, that kid, what are gonna do wit-Well, wait – what did he do? ME: He was talking to a girl. KURT: ((silence))  ME: I SAID, he was talking to a girl. KURT: Was she cute?
 
DECEMBER
Fa la la la laaaa, la La.La.Laaaaaa!
 
ME:  Jack!  Time for bed!  JACK:  Pass….
 
Those little mirrors that they make so you can see what your baby is doing in the back seat of the car – never felt the need.  Now they are 10 and 5 and I’m getting one of those mirrors so that I can tell which kid I need to yell at.

Happy New Year to you!!

Horror Hotel; Part II

RATED: PG-13
(don't say I didn't warn you...)



It's the morning after the Phinneas and Ferb 911 fiasco (see prior entry for details on that).

As I mentioned in my previous post, our kids were in one hotel room - and we were in the adjoining room. The door that connected our two rooms was always open so that we could keep an eye on the kids and so that they could run around.

Our rooms were set up so that the televsision sets from each room backed up to each other.

Our beds were on the far sides of each room; so the beds in the kids' room backed up against the wall of someone else's room.

We got up early that morning because we had a long drive ahead of us and we wanted to get an early start.

We were on our way to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I looked down at Hope and asked her how she slept.

She said, "Oh, I slept okay - but it took me a while to get to sleep."

"Oh? Well, it's hard to get used to sleeping in a different bed, in a different place."

"I guess" she said. "But that's not why it took me a long time to get to sleep."

Intrigued, I ask "Why did it take you a long time to get to sleep honey? Were you scared? Mom and Dad were right there with you and the door was open the whole time - you could have just come in and gotten me."

"I wasn't scared" she said flatly.

(Now, at this point, I should have changed the subject. I should have left well enough alone. I should have shut my mouth. But do I do that? Nooooo. )

I press on with my inquiry into why she had such trouble falling asleep.

"Well honey, I know you were tired. So if you weren't scared, then why was it so hard for you to fall asleep?"

She came back with, "The people in the next room were kinda loud."

CRAP.

"Oh?" I asked, hoping she didn't notice the dread that has filled my voice.

"Yeah. They kept kicking the wall."

(I was at a loss. I honestly didn't know what to say).

"They were mad at each other too" she said, matter of factly.

Foolishly, I asked, "Why do you think they were mad at each other?"

"Because they kept yelling."

(Of course they did).

"It was weird because they would be kicking the wall and yelling and then they'd start laughing. Then I'd hear them kicking the wall again. It was really irritating."

(Oh dear... What do I say)?

"Hmmm..... Well, maybe they were just moving the furniture in the room or something." I offer up as my lame (and desperate) attempt to end the conversation.

Hope had her own theory. "I think they were playing Wall Ball."

(I grabbed onto that life line and held on for dear life).

"I bet you're right Hope! That's probably exACTly what they were doing!"

We finished breakfast and headed back to our room to check it one more time before we leaving to head home. It was still really early.

I stood in the kids' room, glaring at the wall behind their beds, mentally chewing out the people on the other side of it.

Kurt walked into the room and said, "Okay kids - take your shoes off and jump on the beds for 2 minutes!"

I started to protest, thinking that it was really early and they might wake the neighbors with all their jumping and yelling.

They might wake the neighbors.

Those stinkin' wall ball playin', furniture movin' neighbors.

Turnabout is fair play, right?

With an evil grin, I said, "Make it 5 minutes, kids. And yell as loud as you want."

MAXImum Misunderstanding

So I'm standing at Costco next to my overflowing cart of freshly purchased groceries. Kurt had to run to the restroom, so I'm leaning against the wall next to the ATM waiting for him.

A nice looking guy walks up to the ATM to make a transaction.

I feel him looking in my direction (he's on the left of me, and we're only about 2 feet away from each other so my personal space alerm was beginning to buzz).

I look up and see him looking at me - smiling.

Hmmmm.... he's smiling.

At me?

I look to my right, there is no one there. I look back at him.

He's still smiling at me.

I smile back and then look away.

I can't help it...

I start sportin' a satisfied grin.

Yep.

I've still got it!

Satisfied sigh....

A few seconds pass - I can feel him still staring at me.

Hmmm....

The moment of flattery has passed - now it's a little awwwwwkward.

I look him in the face - our eyes lock - and he's still smiling.

But his smile has gone from a "Hey-you're-sorta-cute-in-a-mid-thirties-frumpy-wife-and-mom-kind-of-way" smile to a "Smirky-you're-an-idiot-if-you-think-I-was-smiling-at-you-cuz-you're-cute" kind of smile.

I'm confused.

He completes his transaction and continues to smirk at me as he walks past me and my overflowing grocery cart.

And then I see it.

You know how they don't put anything in bags at Costco? They just pile it in sideless, topless boxes?

Well, in my cart, on the top of Mount GroshMore, sticking straight up for all of the world to see, basking in all of it's teal green glory....

A jumbo sized box of Maxi pads.

Oh yeah.

I've definitely still got it.

Sigh...

You can Stop Auditioning Now. No One is Hiring Village Idiots Anymore.

What other people think of you is none of your business.

______________________________

I struggle so much with this statement - but it's totally true.

And seriously - isn't it just better to not know? I mean, what if the person thinks you're an idiot?
Why would you want to know that? Isn't life hard enough WITHOUT knowing that someone thinks you're an idiot?

And see the real problem is that knowing someone thinks you're an idiot is never enough.
Noooo.
We have to know WHY they think it. We have to know what we did that was so aggregious to make this person think we're an idiot.
And of course we're not going to ask them becuase it might make us feel even worse! So WE come up with the reason they think we're an idiot (without actually involving them in the conversation).

And THEN, as if that wasn't enough, we try to alter our personality/behavior to please this person who thinks we're an idiot (even though we're not really sure WHY they think we're an idiot) so that they won't think we're an idiot anymore.

And of course the real problem with THAT logic is, what if THEY'RE the idiot?
What if we're totally fine - and we change ourselves so that the idiot will like us when in reality THEY'RE the one who is totally jacked up?

We start acting just like the idiot so that the idiot won't think we're an idiot anymore, and then all our normal, non-idiot friends will dump us like radioative waste.

And WHY? Because we're being an idiot!

Sigh...

Seriously....

So do we really need to know what someone else thinks of us?

(whispered pathetically, with head lowered) YES.... Yes, unfortunately, I feel compelled to know - especially when I think the person doesn't like me.

But I'm working on it.

I realize that I'm probably the only person in the world who gets all worked up worrying about what people may or may not think of them.... do you think I'm crazy? You do, don't you?

Great! YOU think I'm crazy!

See how these things get started?

Sigh.....

Christmas Confession: Part IV

This one may cost me some of my friends....

I am surrounded by stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, non-fat friends, family and co-workers.

Seriously.

I feel chronically full-fat and unattractive around all these beautiful people.

Obviously the solution is quite simple: diet and exercise.

But, seeing as how I pride myself on my creativity and innovative thinking, I decided to take a new approach at dealing with my feelings regarding my appearance.

Instead of focusing on myself, I've begun focusing on everyone else (after all, it's not good to be so self-absorbed).

So how is focusing on everyone else going to improve my appearance?

It's simple.

Here's the gift I gave all my beautiful, gorgeous non-fat friends and co-workers.

I plan to continue with this type of gift-giving for the next several years.



P.S. If you're a friend of mine and you DIDN'T receive this gift from me, it's not because I think you're full-fat - it's because I ate yours.

Christmas Confession: Part III

I'd just woken up. It was early, cold and dark.

I staggered to the bathroom and stared blankly into the mirror.

Despite my crusty, sleep filled eyes, I saw it immediately.

Sticking straight up from the top of my head - all thick, curly and wiry.

My first gray hair.

Oh.The.Freakin'. Horror.

Sadly I didn't have time to have a proper meltdown - I had to get to church. (Although I will admit that I didn't feel like being social and praisin' Jesus at that particular time. Hey, I'm just being honest. I think God can handle it).

So I yank the offensive hair out of my head, say a few choice words and throw the dreadful thing in the trash.

Flash forward to Sunday night.

The kids were in bed.

Kurt was asleep on the couch.

I was finally alone.

The time for my meltdown had come.

There was only one drug that could soothe the depth of my despair:

Chocolate.

I needed it and I needed it right then and there.

Preferably in large quantities.

I scoured the house and couldn't find any.

I looked high and low. There was simply none to be found.

My mind was reeling - my desperation increasing with every passing second.

And then I saw it - sitting there on the piano, beckoning me. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I could hear the angels singing. It even had a special glow around it emanating from the Heavens as if the Lord was saying, "This is for you, my precious child."

It was...

The kids' Advent Calendar.

An Advent Calendar that was fully stocked with chocolates specifically selected to celebrate the birth of our Lord - which means they HAD to be stinkin' tasty. To taste bad would be a sin!

Yes - these chocolates had a Divine Purpose.

But tonight, they were going to serve a different divine purpose.

Evil Heidi and Heaven Bound Heidi immediately started duking it out.

Evil Heidi hissed in my ear "Heck yesssss those chocolatessssss are for you! You can give your kids Ssssssssmarties or something. These chocolates shouldn't be wasssssssted on children who can't possssssssssibly appreciate their beauty like you can."

Heaven Bound Heidi told me (in a voice that sounded like Mickey Mouse) "Think of the children!!! You can't eat Baby Jesus Chocolate that was created to teach children about God! He will smote you from above, for sure!"

But alas.... desperate times call for desperate measures.

The Evil of my first gray hair had to be rectified. And what better way to right the wrong than to treat it with the most holy of foods: Baby Jesus Chocolate!

I decided to take my chances - hoping that God would choose to spare me.

I ate every single piece of that Baby Jesus Chocolate.

And can I just say, that nothing soothes the soul of a troubled, gray haired old woman like Baby Jesus Chocolate stolen from a child's Advent Calendar.

Heck Yesssss.

Oh sure, there was guilt.

But there was also peace (after all, it was Baby Jesus Chocolate).

I've never felt so bad - and so holy at the same time.

Vacation Revelation, Part II

I am more relaxed when my hair is stringy, my face is freckled beyond all reason and I'm not wearing any make-up.

__________________________________

When I'm at home, I never go anywhere without putting on make-up and doing my hair. It's just one of the many things that I'm uptight about.

But on vacation? I couldn't care less.

Behold, my vacation face...

Nordrstrom's Reject

So I'm at Costco. I see that they have swimming suits.

SIDE NOTE: I don't know that I can adequately convey my loathing of swim-suit shopping.

Seriously.

So if I need a suit and I see one - I just grab one in my size. I don't try it on (life is hard enough).

They had black swimming suits at Costco.

I walk up to the rack and reach for the suits to start browsing for my size.

About 20 feet away is the saleslady - lamenting to her co-worker about the fact that she didn't get hired as a salesperson at Nordstrom.

She sees me looking through the suits and says (from 20 feet away so it's REALLY loud) "Oh I'm sorry honey - we don't have anymore larges!"

Nice.

But wait. There's more.

I look up at her, my face quickly beginning to change color.

She continues with this.... (note that she was still 20 feet away and is still talking at full voice)

"You really look like you should get an extra large anyway. I think we have some in the back - let me page somebody for an extra large suit for you."

OH.DEAR.LORD....

I simply look at her and eek out the words "No need."

She resumed her conversation about her complete surprise at the fact that she couldn't get a a job at Nordstroms....

Yeah.

If only there had been some clue...

Wide My Body, Narrow My Bathroom Stall...

Spanx are the greatest invention EVER.

They are like girdles. On steroids. They can re-shape any shaped body to make it look a little better.

Body shaping garments are a life saver. They save you all that time that you would otherwise have to spend on exercising. I mean really... Why exercise when you can conceal?

But I digress.

The thing about Spanx is that they're pretty tight. So much so, that you need to allow yourself extra time when going to the restroom lest you run the risk of having an accident...

It is ill-advised to wait until the last minute to go to the bathroom when wearing a Spanx.

I really wish someone had told me this.

Let me set the stage for you.

I'm on an airplane. I'm returning from an advertising summit in New York City.

I'm dressed in a suit.

And I'm wearing a Spanx.

One other thing: I'm terrified of going to the bathroom in airplanes. Seriously.

It.Horrifies.Me.

I will do whatever I can to avoid going to the bathroom on an airplane.

The flight is non-stop.

It's 7 hours long.

I put off the inevitable trip to the bathroom for as long as I can.

But at last the moment arrives... I can deny it no longer.

I need.... to use.... the bathroom.

Right now.

I climb over the people sitting in the center and the aisle seats and make my to the bathroom.

The flight is full - every seat is occupied - including those that are up against the outside wall of the lavatory.

I slide the door open and am greeted by the teeniest, tiniest bathroom I have ever seen in my entire life. I had to walk in sideways because my shoulders were too broad to fit through the doorway.

I slide the door shut. Panic sets in (I'm unbelievably claustrophobic). Of course I'm also panicked because I have to go so bad that I think an accident is imminent.

I begin preparing myself to use the facilities - and am suddenly reminded that I have to somehow get the skin tight Spanx off - which will be quite challenging since there is not an inch of spare space around me.

I start to pull them down - but am unable to because my right elbow keeps hitting the wall of the teeny-tiny bathroom. I'm able to get the left side down - there's more room on that side because the sink is there.

But I'm stuck on the right side.

I begin perspiring.

I'm growing increasingly desperate to relieve myself and to get the heck out of the teeny-tiny bathroom.

The fact that I'm sweating is not helping my attempt at getting the Spanx off. It seems to be acting as some sort of adhesive. I manage to turn around so that I'm now facing the toilet. My right elbow now has more room (it's on the sink side now).

I wedge my thumb down between my squishy, sweaty muffin top and the top of the Spanx and pull down as hard as I can.

I hear it first - and then I feel it.

A popping sound.

My thumb.

There's something wrong with my thumb.

Sharp pain shoots up my hand causing me to lose my balance in the teeny-tiny bathroom. I begin to fall toward the toilet. I quickly jerk myself back into a standing position and spin around trying to regain my composure.

I am now facing the door - my back to the toilet. I wobble back and forth for a minute, and gingerly try to remove my thumb from its elastic prison - but am unsuccessful.

It's stuck. And I'm pretty sure it's swelling which makes the prospect of freeing my thumb less and less likely with each passing second.

I realize that I have no choice.

I grit my teeth, inhale deeply, hold my breath and yank my hand out of the waistband of my Spanx as hard as I possibly can. This causes me to slam my elbow against the wall, at which point I lose my balance again and fall face first into the door.

I see white light.

Pretty, pretty white light.

And then I hear a voice.

A far-off voice.

"Everything okay in there?"

Oh dear Lord...

"Yes - I'm just fine - thanks...." I manage to respond.

Fortunately, that last yank was enough to loosen the Spanx from its deathgrip on my sweaty, squishy muffin top.

I'm able to relieve myself.

I wash my hands - careful not to touch my steadily swelling thumb. I try to straighten my hair in a futile attempt at covering the welt that has now taken over half of my forehead.

I slide open the bathroom door - carefully avoiding the open-mouthed, gaping stares of all the people sitting there who had heard me slamming into the walls of the teeny-tiny bathroom.

I hang my head and shuffle back to my seat - and vow never to wear Spanx again.

But I got over it. Hey, anything is better than exercising, right?

Yeah.... I still wear them.

Just not on airplanes...

Shut up, Jack.

I'm in my room, changing from work clothes to comfortable clothes. Jack is with me (for those of you who don't know, Jack is my 3 year old son).

I'm standing there, facing my closet, reaching for my sweats (at this point I have just thrown my work slacks in the hamper).

I feel something repeatedly poking me in the back of my upper left thigh.

It's Jack. He looks very concerned.

He continues his prodding and says, "Your bum-bum is all bumpy Momma. Whatcha got in there?"

Shut up Jack.