The Things We Do For Love

I have a confession. I had this entire post planned out. Really, REALLY planned out! In the planned post, I had several witty quips about how we parents will do just about anything for our beloved children. Among other things, I’ve memorized every train in the Thomas series, searched high and low for a ratty old panda bear, and endured hour after hour of Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song, all for the sakes of my 3 cherished children.

It was therefore expected (by yours truly) that I had just cracked open the shell of a new stage of endurance for my eldest child. His newest passion, Dungeons and Dragons, is one that I whole-heartedly support. When my child who proclaims to have no imagination (not true) or creative ability developed a love for this time-honored tradition of middle-school boys since 1974, I saw the opportunity for him to enjoy an activity that isn’t attached to a screen or electronic device of any sort… and I JUMPED ON IT.

Finish reading at The Chicago Moms Blog...

A Dog

So. We're considering one. A dog, that is. CONSIDERING. As in, eventually the troops will peck and peck and peck at my resolve and we'll get a canine for our family so that I will have someone to clean up after to curb my baby-itis.

Anyway. In all of this consideration, we've been looking at the different breeds and discussing what types or mixes of types we'd be willing to adopt. Beagles are close to our top for their cuteness factor and terrier mixes are a definite Maybe because of their non-shedding qualities due to Justin's allergies.

Because I am married to a Manly Man, he would like something a little sturdier than a floppy-eared beagle or long-haired, be-ribboned terrier. His idea of a "DOG" is an animal whose feet can adequately cause all feeling to leave your OWN feet when it's stepping on you. I discovered (via a 5-year-old tattle tale) that he and Corinne visited a pet shop the other day, "just to look around." I also discovered that he has VASTLY different ideas of appropriate family dogs than I do when Corinne sadly declared that she really didn't want a "punching dog".

"A what?"

"A Punching Dog. You know, the ones that stand up and punch." she demonstrates with little curved fists. Pow! Pow! at the air in front of her.

"I have no idea what a Punching Dog is, Corinne. What do they look like?"

"They're just dogs with faces that go like this (scrunches up) and they punch people! You KNOW, Mommy!! PUNCH-ING DOGS." She clearly thinks I am addled.

I pause and pause and think and consider and watch her demonstrate an invisible battle until finally...

"A BOXER?!? A Boxer Dog? Is that what you mean?!?"

"Yes! The ones that punch people! I don't want one that punches people."

Me neither.

Things I don't want to forget.... And excessive Christmas photos.

The pair of "underwear"* with a pink fuzzy tail from my stocking that I unwrapped while our children looked on. I never want to forget the looks on their faces or the sharp gasp of my voice when I realized exactly what I had just unveiled before their innocent eyes.

Unwrapping box after box of wine and booze for the new wine rack that Patrick bought me. I was thoroughly thrilled until Corinne exclaimed, "Mommy really likes alcohol, doesn't she Daddy?!?" FABulous. Awesome.(Holding the undies and booze... I wonder what he had in mind for Christmas night? That is, before we had to deal with puking children and our own aching, sickness-filled bodies...)

The screams of fear and joy as the new Air Hog helicopters buzzed around our living room, narrowly missing eyes and picture frames. No blades are broken. Yet.

(He looks healthy, right? This was mere moments before the next picture was taken. I SWEAR.)

The fact that I ignored Evan's declaration of nausea and need to throw up at my parents' house. In fact, I repeatedly told him to "suck it up" and "stop whining for attention." After he puked that very night on OUR couch, I have read "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" several times since. Trust me, I feel very little guilt for not responding to his legitimate stomach issues. That boy can whine better than an alcoholic at AA.(A better mom might have believed that he really felt nauseous, right? Yeah. Not so much with me...)

Watching Justin and his Daddy spend an hour creating their characters for the new Dungeons and Dragons game we got him. Oh, the things we do for our kids... (FYI, Pat is a Warlock. Justin is a Wizard Tiefling** and I am an Elf. We plan on taking over the land and kicking some serious mythological ass.)
Lying in misery in my bed in the days following Christmas and marveling over the fact that my children are old enough to exist without my immediate aid. It is AWESOME. They were slightly dirty and unkempt and I can't guarantee that they ate any actual vegetables or fruit for 48 hours, but they ATE and SLEPT and didn't get kidnapped. They grow up so fast!

Justin proclaiming (over and over) that this was the BEST Christmas EVER.***(1 out of 5 boxes of Megabloks Halo stuff that Justin was lusting after this Christmas. That boy has been building for about 72 hours straight...)This is the very last picture taken with my old camera!! See Patrick holding my new Nikon Coolpix L110?!? Santa totally listened to my cries of frustration over my old camera. Though my former camera was a great starter for digital pictures, it had taken quite a beating over the years. It barely survived the 5 year old who was also a 4, 3, and 2 year old photographer that tended to drop it on the floor. It also survived a husband who had it in his pocket when he jumped into the Canadian lake to save Evan and countless other unnameable misfortunes which led to the need to smack it on the table to turn it on, or shake it repeatedly to get the batteries to kick in properly. My new camera just TURNS ON when I push the button! No shaking required!! I am truly spoiled.
Corinne finally got her own big girl scooter! She is currently riding it around the house with jingly bells attached. It is quite loud and very... jingly.
Don't they look all innocent and sweet on Christmas morning? I love the magic of photography...
Take notice that my eldest is almost as tall as I am. Sigh... It won't be long, folks...


*I use that term loosely. Oooohhh, so loosely.

** Yeah, I don't know what it is, either.

***I have to agree...

Coming out of the Fog...

Today is, what? Monday? Tuesday? It's running together. My brain is throbbing. Thankfully, everyone was healthy from Friday through Saturday night. Many gifts were opened. Much food was enjoyed. Hugs and kisses were doled out continuously while games were played and children ran amok. Quite a lovely Christmas.

And then it all went South.

Sometime on Saturday night at my parents' house, Evan began to whine. And Whine. And, since this is a common occurrence, I ignored him. Boy who cries wolf and all that. We finally left because I just couldn't stand to expose the rest of the family to his complaints. Sure as shit, that kid puked on my couch when we got home.

Gah! Gross. It was SO gross. He only had one episode and then felt better but everyone slept in our room that night which made for a restful evening of slumber. When I was startled awake at 6 am on Sunday morning, it was to the lovely sounds of Justin throwing up on my staircase. He did manage to grab a bowl to catch most of it. UNfortunately, there was quite a LOT of puke as he had been googling "what to do for an upset stomach" and Dr. Google told him to drink apple juice. Nice.

So. I cleaned the stairs, helped Justin settle down (he felt better IMMEDIATELY) and then realized that I didn't feel too great myself. I headed back to bed and spent the rest of the day

~~ Oops. Little break in the blogging there. My headache and body aches took over and I crawled back to bed. NOW it is DEFINITELY Tuesday. Of this, I am sure. I am freshly washed and medicated so that my headache is only at 70% of what it was the past few days. The nausea is gone and Pat and Evan no longer feel yucky at all. Hopefully I can work through the medicine's reign and clean this disgusting mess of a house. Just picture your house after Christmas morning. Now add 2 days of kids having free run of the joint, including meals. Got the vision? You are probably cringing right about now, right? Yeah. So am I.

Wish me luck.

Fa la la la barf

Apparently, it wouldn't be Christmas without at least 1 vomiting child.
Corinne spent the entire night running to and from her bed to the bathroom and then to and from the floor of my bed to my bathroom (once the pathway in her room was sufficiently gross and gooey). Poor child. She apologized left and right and tried to catch the vomit in her hands so she wouldn't make a mess. She's hot and sad and sleeping on a mat of old blankets and towels on my bedroom floor, a bowl beside her sweaty head...

If I can't get out from under the piles of disgusting laundry before the holidays, I wanted to wish you all a happy and safe holiday weekend. May you spend it with someone who loves you enough to scrub your puke from your sheets while cooing "It's ok. I don't mind! I love you!"

Merry Christmas!

You know it's almost Christmas when....

When your 5 year old walks downstairs, all dressed for the day.

"You look lovely!" you say, and she replies,

"You want to know what took me so long? I was cleaning my bedroom."

And before you can say how awesome that is, she interjects with;

"After all, Santa IS watching me!"



I am looking forward to 5 more days of absolutely lovely behavior from that kid...
Patrick says she looks like Jay from Clerks in her hand-me-downs from her brothers. I have to agree...

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

I love to fill the bathtub up with steaming hot water and just lie back until only my nose is above the water. First, I listen to the pounding water. Its volume fills my ears and is so impressively LOUD. But a fabulous noise. Such a lovely, repetitive, non-demanding sound. When the level threatens to overflow, I deftly turn the knob with my foot because I am full of mad acrobatic skills like that. Remaining completely still, the water begins to still and the silence takes over...

Ah! The silence!

The absolute absence of auditory assault is amazing.

No stomping feet.
No requests for equal shares.

No pestering of siblings.
No requests from telemarketers.

No sound except...

Dang. There's that thumping again. That repetitive, annoying bumping! Insistently growing in volume, the bass drum positively RESOUNDS in my underwater sanctuary! It reminds me of the alien transmission from Contact...

For just a moment, I try to will the annoyance away. Can't I have one single, solitary moment of Honest Silence?

Like an idiot, I gradually comprehend that willing away the beating of one's own heart might not be the most brilliant of ideas. Since I can't (and don't want to) escape it, I instead embrace its steady cadence. I marvel at the miracle of this small mass of muscles that is responsible for every aspect of my life. Its rhythm brings peace to my soul and tears of gratitude to my eyes...

Beat on, little heart. I love to listen to your song.

Bashing head against the screen as I type.

Oh. My. God.

Bloglines (the old-fashioned rss feed reader that I use) just got "updated" and by "updated" I mean SCREWED THE HELL UP!!

I am in the process of trying to transfer about, oh, 75 blogs or so from my old site to my new one but, in case we all forgot, I am in possession of the world's most ELDERLY COMPUTER EVER and this is not an easy task. (Yes, I would be happy to review a new computer. Call me. We'll chat.)

I beg of you; if I have EVER commented on your blog or if you comment here or if this is your first time (Hi! I'm not always this disjointed. Well, except for when I am...), please leave me a comment so that I can re-link you easily. Seriously, this SUCKS. Especially since the list ISN'T ALPHABETICAL! Of course not. It was probably designed by a MAN.

Rawr.

Also: New post at The Chicago Moms by yours truly...

Doesn't Make Much Sense to Me, Either...

I swear, I had an entire book written in my head last night. It was a pretty good beginning, too... I HAVE to learn to write this stuff down when I think of it, instead of assuming that such fabulous ideas couldn't possibly fade with the passing of just one sleepless night. You'd think I'd have figured this out by now, wouldn't you?

Instead, I'll go with the easy post:

Can you believe it's only 9 days till Christmas?!? I know, right? Obviously, the season goes by faster as I age. Which means that by the time I'm 65, Christmas season will only take 43 hours from start to finish. And that'll be starting with shopping in AUGUST.
~~~~~~~
Hmmmm. That wasn't so easy. I only got 5 sentences from that topic, one of which was a rhetorical question, but it had punctuation, so it COUNTS. Nonetheless, it's not any wonder why my stats and comments are so pathetic these days. I wish I could blame it solely on my computer with all of its viruses and coughs and backaches. It's practically a senior citizen by today's technological standards and the poor dear is showing its age. When I go online to do a simple tweet and sign up for an event, I should be able to get on and off within 10 minutes, don't you think? That's a pretty long estimate, in all honesty. But when my computer freezes and then flashes and then laughs at me and The Crimson Bitch is seizing control of my emotions, you might be surprised at just how long those simple tasks end up taking. You might also be surprised at the language that this mother of 3 was slinging at said computer.

It was ugly. It was graphic. But my computer IS a rat-sucking-idiot with shit-for-gears. I was just calling it as I saw it. And no: I don't know what a rat-sucking-idiot is. But it fit when I was screaming and crying over the injustices I had to suffer through that night...

My kids' ears may never be the same, though.

It really WAS as much fun as it looks like!

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Reposting one more time because, HELLO?!? The holidays, they are upon us!

What Not to Wear - Reality Check, anyone?

I will admit that I am not a fashion-conscious person. As a child, I learned pretty quickly that you could get 1 pair of name brand jeans for the entire year or 4 pairs of off-brands that looked just as good. The idea of having to wash a fancy pair of jeans several times a week was more than laughable. My parents had both been raised in situations where money definitely didn't grow on trees. Seeing as how most of my neighbors and friends were in similar situations and clothes, those name brands and fly-by-night fashions were never held to the same lofty heights that someone raised in a city might have experienced.

I live in the Midwest, for crying out loud! The SUBURBS of the Midwest, to be even more blunt.

In the suburbs, jeans and tops are meant for wearing to the grocery store, school, washing the floor, planting flowers.

In the suburbs, our clothing must be able to withstand a jam-packed washing machine after getting finger paints and mac-n-cheese smeared on them.

In the suburbs, our clothing must be found at stores we can actually DRIVE to and afford to not only purchase but also replace in case of red wine and kool-aid stains. (though I don't recommend mixing the wine and kool-aid...)

In the suburbs, "dress clothes" is something you wear OUT, not to do your errands in. And yet, those dressy clothes need to be able to make it through goodbye hugs, frigid weather, and long car rides.

Basically: the typical* Midwest suburban woman needs a wardrobe that is sturdy, affordable and long-lasting.

It is for these reasons that shows such as What Not to Wear really burn my hair.

Let's ignore the fact that most of the time, the crew sneaks into a person's home and TAKES THEIR BELONGINGS. In my book, this is nothing more than breaking and entering with a second charge of burglary. I don't care if my mother let you in! It's not her home!! (I know that sometimes the husband or roommate or someone else who lives in the home lets them in. That's just a case of No Respect for my Privacy and boy are you going to pay the price when the cameras are gone, bucko).

Let's also ignore the fact that the cast is incredibly demeaning and cruel to a person who may have poor fashion sense because, oh, I don't know, they also have a poor self-esteem? Or they don't have $5000 sitting in an account waiting to be spent on only themselves? Perhaps they have things like bills and food and children to pay for? Perhaps they need to buy items on SALE and only 1 at a time, like the rest of the world?? Yeah, let's make fun of someone who isn't as hip and cool as we are, Stacey and Clinton! That doesn't bring me back to my junior high school memories of being teased for not needing a bra or having a weird hairdo! Not at ALL!!

(Like how I "ignored" those facts?)

Instead, let's focus on the actual shopping trip, ok?

Oh joy! The victims are always so willing and gung ho to go on a shopping spree. They're always thrilled at the prospect of finding tons and tons of clothing they love. But what kills the show for me Every. Single. Time. is this:

If I don't LIVE in New York City**, and I don't normally SPEND exorbitant amounts of money on clothing for myself, the sticker shock alone would destroy any and ALL fun that a shopping spree would bring.

I don't WANT $100 jeans! I don't WANT fancy pointy-toed shoes that I can't wear to soccer practice without getting my heels stuck in the dirt! I NEED those t-shirts and jeans that I can replace if my children want me to crawl around on the floor in a tent made of sheets. I cannot sit around, refusing to play with my children because I'm worried that my outfit costs more than a week's worth of food does.

You know what I want to see, Stacey and Clinton? I want to see a show where the average person is REALLY helped. Don't bring me to a city to buy clothing that won't fit with my lifestyle. Don't have me purchase things that I have to get dry-cleaned or altered. That doesn't fit in my budget! The reason women have jeans that don't look perfect on them isn't because they can't see the difference. It's because we can't AFFORD to change the inseam/waist/hips/etc. Most of us aren't so vain or wealthy that we spend thousands of dollars on ourselves in 2 YEARS, let alone 2 days.

I would really like to see a REAL What Not To Wear challenge. I'd like to see them outfit a woman such as myself, within means that are truly fathomable. I'm talking $100 for a new wardrobe, not $100 for a new outfit. I need help finding clothing that will flatter me on a daily basis that is PRACTICAL, not ridiculous.

Just to prove that I believe it's possible to outfit a woman with very little money, I present you with my purchases from Saturday. (I had a gift card from Christmas, which is the only reason I went shopping. Hello Budget and 3 Growing Kids!)


Updated with prices even though NO ONE guessed!!

How much did these articles of clothing cost? (the pants are quite nice, actually. My butt rocks in them...)

L - R: $9, $4, $8, $19

And here the dress, shoes and necklace I got for the wedding last October..Any guesses?

Dress: $45 Necklace and matching earrings: $20, Shoes: $15 (but this was a splurge on my part. I spent WAY more than I usually do. So, a dressy outfit that looks FABULOUS
on for $80..)

A spring dress I picked up that same day for no reason other than I didn't have any dresses for casual wear... (You can't see it, but it's a really lovely material...)

Dress: $9.00

Gratuitous cute kid shots. Notice the hat that said kid is wearing. His daddy just bought it (for himself) for a steal...Hat: $5.00 Kid: Priceless

I'm not saying my clothes are quite as fashionable as the ones on the show. But? The idea is that they will last me for quite some time, didn't break the bank (at ALL) and are pieces that make sense for my lifestyle.


*Typical as in, Just Like ME.

** No offense to my NYC friends. I am sure I would stick out like a sore thumb in your neck of the woods just as much as you would in mine...

Originally Posted in January 2009 and reposted today because I have NOTHING to wear and am DESPERATE for new clothes, can't afford even $3 for new socks and still DESPISE the cruelty I see on that show... Rawr. Maybe I'm pre-menstrual? Grrrrr....

Nothing Changes...

When Mama's Away...

When you are gone for an entire Saturday, strange things will happen. The house will mysteriously be trashed beyond recognition. There will be unrecognizable food stuck to the floor that wasn't there before you left (swear!). And your digital camera will yield pictures that were not of your own taking....

"Tinker Toys. A toddler's perspective."

"Feline Close-up."

"Our Family's Heroin."

"High Score!"

"Attentive Caregiver."

It took me an hour to find my camera and when I did, I found not only these pictures (plus about 20 more) but also that my lens will no longer fully close...

Nice.

~~~

Originally posted on December 9, 2008. Two years later and the house looks about the same...

I'm Not As Crazy as I Feared...

Sitting alone... it requires courage. I have no book, no pad, no phone. Just luke warm coffee, a piece of unlined paper and an hour to kill. How to fill it? I'm trying to resist the urge to think that the room is staring at me. Nobody cares! No one truly gives a crap if I flick my hair or stare at the wall for 57, 56 minutes. No more than I care that they came equipped with comrades to chat with or gadgets to beep upon. I have only this pen and this paper, at this table by myself...

A goal to fill every inch of this white space has taken hold: I have a purpose! My script is MINUSCULE, resembling the psychotic journals of social deviants on so many horror films. Would a detective look upon this rambling as proof of some crime I never committed? Shit, I swear, I'm NOT a nutcase; I'm just bored.

All of these conversations in my head are phrased as blog posts... Before blogging, I could have an argument or "deep thought" without feeling the pressing need to record it online. Now, I get panicky at all of the well-versed conversations that would make "great blog posts" that I lose to the recesses of my mind, simply because I have no method of retaining them. Oh my lord, if only I had a "smarty-pants-phone!" How lovely the world might be! To grace you all with the internal discussions I host while in my bath tub... Topics such as the meaning of life and the futility of the modern man (original, I know). Why DO we strive to build with plastic and wires? Words in a non-space such as the Internet: Do they really exist? Without a hard copy for posterity, what happens to the ground-breaking and highly-original arrangements of words I construct?

Halfway through this page and my hand is cramping! My knuckles ache to be cracked. How did I ever survive the essays and perpetual note-taking of my school years? It's amazing to me that I never wrote a paper on the computer. All of my work was first written in long-hand! Even my journals to my babies are in script. Until I began blogging, they were quite regularly updated. How long since my last entries? Fabulous; another item for my "to do" list. Not that I can complain; most of my "to do's" are voluntary. I mean, no one's holding me accountable for the order of my home or the constancy of letters to my kids. I recognize just how lucky I am at this point in my life. To have the flexibility to take a long bath in the afternoon while my children read books and play Starfall.com is a luxury most Americans (shoot, most HUMANS) will never have. I embrace this stage and promise to treasure it for as long as it lasts. I'm not naive enough to believe that this WILL last; Nothing lasts. Only change is constant. One must climb the ladder to play on the jungle gym, right? And we all have to eventually slide down... But it sure is nice, climbing this ladder, pausing on this rung, enjoying the view and feeling the joy of the wind on my face...

Who will be the First Gentleman?

"Mommy, why do the numbers on the girl presidents go 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,71?"

"What are you talking about, Corinne?"

She showed me the reverse side of the presidential chart we have which lists all of the First Ladies and their order of appearance. Did you know that a First Lady isn't always the wife of the president? Sometimes other women fill in when a president isn't married or if his wife isn't able to fulfill the duties. In the case of First Ladies 7 and 7.1 (hee hee), Andrew Jackson had his niece and then his daughter-in-law stand in for the title.

"Honey, those First Ladies were both for the same president. That's why they have #7 and #7.1. See? Look on the list. It happens again for president #10 and #22."

"Ohhhh... There were more girl presidents than boy presidents!"

I saw her getting ready to sing 'Girls Rule and Boys Drool'...

"Um, actually babe, there haven't been ANY girl presidents. Not yet."

Her little 21st century brain exploded at this bit of unjust information, and she indignantly pursed her lips.

"Why NOT?!?"

"It just hasn't happened yet. But it will one day. I promise."


(Let's just hope it's not Sarah Palin!)

My heart is moved...

Something to think about this Christmas and every day of the year... My heart goes to all of the families who aren't physically together. I hope that we can all try to help places like St. Jude's continue to do such amazing work...

FYI, this video is extremely touching and heart-wrenching. I am weeping from the words and by the actions that of this town that gathered together for one little boy.



You can donate here in honor of little Dax Locke. Thank you to Matthew West for writing such an inspiring tribute.

Decking the Halls and all that jazz...

I originally posted this in 2007. We're getting our tree this weekend and I wanted to remind myself of what's important before I stress everyone out. It's just a tree... It's just a tree... It's just a tree...

Enjoy.

Tracey's Ten Tips To Trim The Tree

Don't you just love alliteration?

1. Lights should be done with no children present, a glass of wine, and long sleeves that tuck into your gloves (so that you don't get a rash from the prickles and sap. Because you ARE using a real tree, right?) Also, lights should be approached with a sense of humor. They will never be perfect, a strand will go out, and it'll be ok if things don't go smashingly. You aren't trying for a prize winning tree, just a good memory maker for your family. Let's get some perspective....

2. Garland/beads/stringing decorations: we are a bead family, mainly because my cats eat anything and everything plastic-like. And then puke it up. So, the garland is out, but I actually like the beads better now. However, these DO make me a bit tense as they truly NEVER WILL be perfect or even close to it, so I have to just drape and drape them all over each other and hope that I can blame the kids for the unevenness...

3. Ornaments: OK. The good stuff. Let the kids have at it, but I suggest that you presort your fancier ones and put them in a different box entirely each year so that their grabby hands don't break Grandma's glass balls. We only have a select few breakable ornaments, but all of them are precious to me. Hence, the reason that they're all WAY up high...

4. Candy canes should go on AFTER the ornaments or else you'll end up with bald spots as the season goes on and the canes are eaten...

5. Please water your tree right now. I'll wait...
(2010 - Awww!! Look at her widdle bitty profile!! She's just a peanut!!)

Ok, I always add a bit of sugar to our tree's water. Can't remember where I read that, but it made sense and I figured that the tree deserves a treat before it finally gives out. Of course, the tree's already dead, though... Well, whatever. You know what I mean.

6. Ok. Now have the other adult in your household (or some random stranger, should you be single) check that your tree is really, realllly secured. Not that my tree is currently listing into the middle of the living room, or anything. Or that ours has fallen in the middle of the night, causing much panic and leading to the string that tied it to the wall...

7. Hmm. I just realized that this next suggestion should be numero uno, but I'm not changing all of the numbers. Anyway, Put PLASTIC UNDER YOUR TREE'S BASE. I cannot stress how important this is. Again, not that our carpet's ever been ruined or anything...

8. Damn. I need 3 more tips? I had this neato idea for the whole "T" title thing for this post and I am totally ruining it!!

9. Let your kids touch the tree. Really. They're gonna do it anyway, so if you give them permission, it makes it less fun. Well, at least less of a thrill of the fear of getting caught.

10. Enjoy yourself. Turn the lights off. Turn the tree on. Hug your family. Tell them you love them. Listen to some music while sipping your cocoa and treasure this moment before it passes you by...
2010 - I can't believe how little they all were. Only Evan looks remotely the same. Justin's hair is past his shoulders and Corinne is a tall and lanky GIRL instead of a baby... Le sigh...

Ear Wax

This just in:

According to Evan, I no longer play with them anymore.

"What?!? What are you talking about? I'm with you 24/7, Evan! I see you ALL THE TIME!"

"Yeah, but you're always on the computer and you don't play games with us anymore. Don't you want to play with us?"

Good Lord, that boy knows how to work a room! Thankfully, I personally know that I DO play games with them and AM spending 'enough' time with them. However, after the knock-down, drag-out, argument regarding his ear wax and my intolerance for it which resulted in me swearing loudly when his hand flew up in protection of said ear and connected with my EYE, I feel I need to appease his little ego.

And that is the reason why I am not writing anything of substance today.

It's all Evan's fault. Evan and his waxy ears.

I now have TWO giveaways on my review blog!! Things for Christmas for kids!! Check them out...