Take cover!!

Sheets.

We all have them, but never talk about them. At least I don't. But maybe we should. Here. Now. Go!

I don't pay attention to the "thread count" of my sheets. I don't really know what thread counts means exactly. Maybe it means how many threads there are in the fabric itself? Or maybe it means how many threads were used to sew around the edges? And who exactly is counting them? What if they are lying.
I'm sure I could google it, but honestly, I don't really think about it. And really, don't care. The horror. Yes, I know. I know.

Guess what else.

I heard someone talking the other day. She mentioned that she irons her sheets. What the....? Seriously? I rarely iron my husband's shirts, much less our sheets. That just seems like a waste of time if you ask me. You are just going to sleep in them.

Plus my bottom sheet is always super wrinkly because I never know how to fold it the right way. There has got to be a trick to do it. Maybe once every 3 months I can get it to look right. But most of the time it just looks like I simply rolled it up and called it quits. That is exactly what I did. I would never do that.

No, wait. Yes I would. I wouldn't iron it. Heck no!

My sheets don't always match. Kids don't care. I don't care. Hubs doesn't care.

They are sheets, people.

I will say this, though. I must have a bottom and a top sheet. Something about crawling into a bed that has a cool sheet on both the bottom and the top. And nothing more annoying than a Hubs who likes to sleep on top of the top sheet. Ugh!

Oh, and I hate it when the bottom sheet comes loose in the middle of the night and I wake up to an uncovered corner. When that happens, I can't go back to sleep because I can't stop thinking about the uncovered corner. And I can't really fix it without waking Hubs. That is less of a problem when you have deep cornered sheets, but still pops up once and a while.

Sheets make good tents. Large, but not heavy. They allow the perfect amount of light to come through and yet provide a great shelter. They also make good pretend carpet when playing house...or so I've been told.

Sheets...

...tell me about yours.

Let's re-think reading, shall we?

I've always encouraged my kids to read.

Apparently my 2 year old just can't get enough.

Reading...check.

Clean-up...Fail!

So I Married A Deaf Man: He's a worm

Don't you love visiting family?

The chatting, the catching up, the food, the not seeing my kids for hours at a time and knowing that they are safe because chances are they are with 5 other cousins, more chatting, more food...it's all great. I love it.

It is always loud. It is always crazy. It is always fun!!

This weekend, we were going to be heading north to visit family. We were waiting until the end of the week because I have to work Thursday night. Well, Hubs doesn't have to work and so the kids begged him to take them early. He agreed. They are so excited.

I am so excited. This means a whole day...by myself. Just me and my walls. The ones that my son has deemed his canvas. Unless some of my nearby friends wanna go out for dinnah? Anyone? But I digress....

As I was talking to Hubs about this trip he showed me the books that he was going to bring with him.

"Books?" you ask. "On a family trip?"

You see, Hubs' experience is a little different than mine.

When he was growing up, he would go visit others and his mom would have to interpret for him. Well, I can tell you from my own experience that this can get tiresome. So many times he was left to his own accord. It was then that he started to bring books to these family visits.

A little less appealing. A little less exciting. A little less fun.

My family has learned some ASL, but it is choppy at best. He is super patient and super smiley. And they try really hard, but there is a limit to what they can say and how long conversations can last. Once it is over, he heads to the books.

Doesn't it make you love him that much more? Wait a second. Why are you loving my Hubs?!? It's okay, you can love him.

And now....

...for those walls.

Yes. No...I mean yes...no, no.

Tweens....you gotta love them.

Mine is wonderful at times and ummm....less wonderful at others.

It is hard being stuck in between wanting to do the older stuff but still enjoying the little-er stuff. What to choose? What to do?

I was sitting with my tween yesterday talking to him about his Christmas.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" I asked.
"Ummm. Not really. I didn't get any toys." was his reply.
"Huh? You didn't? What toy did you ask for?" I asked.
"Well, I didn't ask for a toy. But still. I don't have anything to play with." he muttered back.

Forget about the Wii game, and the football, and the other Wii game and, and, and...

The real issue was that his two little brothers got these football uniforms, complete with helmet and shoulder pads. We didn't get it for him because we weren't sure he was really going to want it. Turns out he did.

As our conversation moved on, I mentioned that next year I thought it would be fun and interesting to do homemade gifts. My sister and her family did that one year as have many in the blogging world. I like the idea.

He did not.

How do I know this? He told me as much.

"If you do that, Mom, everyone will hate you."

Homemade gifts it is!!

Christmas on Saturday

Merry Christmas to you all!!

Was it a great day in your house?

We slept in this morning. Until 5:30am, which is a little later than last year. We were done unwrapping by about 6:15am. What a whirlwind. But, besides the Tasmanian devil stopping by my living room this morning, all are happy as can be.

My only complaint? I need another Saturday.

I think that when Christmas falls on a Saturday, then that year should have an extra Saturday. Surely we could work something out, right? They have Leap year. That is an extra day every 4 years. Who came up with that? Probably some guy's wife.

Why do I need another Saturday?

Because Saturday is a special day, the day we get ready for Sunday. And I am promising you  because this Saturday was such an extra special day, I am so not ready for Sunday.

I would make a list of things that I needed to do, but the list would be too long.

So, for the understatement of the year, I need another Saturday. Like, tomorrow.

Yes??

That's what I thought.

See ya at church!!

Need an Elf fix?

It must be said.

Regardless of whether you agree with me or not, Elf is one of the all time funniest Christmas movies ever made. It is.

I haven't watched it yet this year because I have been saving it. Saving it for the best day of the year. Christmas Eve!! Whoot!!! And now it is here.

We have lots planned here today. Games, cooking, playing, maybe a nap, more playing, eating, singing, dancing, etc. But you can bet somewhere in there Elf will appear.

So I thought that instead of trying to make you all laugh, I would let Buddy do it for me.My favorite part is: "I'm singing! I'm singing!! I'm in a store and I'm SINGING!!!"



Have a very Merry Christmas, my friends. Really. Do!!

Wrappin' up the Holiday!

I have a weird obsession.

It is Christmas wrapping paper. I love it! All of it. Doesn't matter if it is red or green, patterned or plain, religious or secular, traditional or modern. I love them all.

I have a ton of paper, too. I am not kidding.

Hubs and I wrapped presents the other night alone, thanks to my brother and sister-in-law giving me the best present ever...a night without children. (That sounds awful. What kind of mother says that? A tired one. That would be Me!) I slept 10 hours. 10 hours people!! Thanks guys! But I digress.

 I wrapped most the gifts and not once did I use the same wrapping paper. Not once. That is 3 gifts per child and that is 5 children. Plus I had several left to choose from.

This year I only allowed myself to buy one roll. One. It was hard. Excruciating. I had to walk away as soon as I grabbed the roll. I haven't been into the Christmas section since. I avoid it altogether. Hobby Lobby is a big no-no because they have the best, sturdiest and largest selection of paper you can imagine.

Birthday wrapping paper...couldn't care less. In fact, I prefer bags. Fast, easy and no tape involved. The same is true for baby showers, Valentines day and any other occasion that would require wrapping paper. The obsession is just the Christmas type.

My preference is the kind that has the lines on the back. That way I feel like a professional gift wrapper. Nah, professional gift wrappers have to ration their tape. Yeah, I don't do that. At all!

If I was smart, I would wait until the end of the season and get them on sale...then I could get more. So much more.

But I am not smart. You see, once all the packages have been opened and all my beloved wrappings ripped into a million pieces and scattered all over the floor, the excitement is gone. I don't even think about it again until the next September, when they break out the Christmas stuff!

Then it begins all over again.

My point?

I'm a helpless addict.

P.S. If you should need some wrapping for Santa gifts, I am so your gal. Merry Christmas!

Hooking up with Jenny Matlock today. Got a holiday post? Link up baby!

So I Married a Deaf Man: Speak up, Sony!

Resist the urge.

When you meet someone who is Deaf, do not talk louder. Resist, I say.

Resist unless that person is over the age of 75 and has a lot of white hair and at least one person calls them Grandma/Grandpa. If this is the case, then by all means, shout away.

But if the person is like Hubs, Deaf from birth or an early age, no amount of voice raising is going to change that the fact that they just can't hear a word you are saying.

I think it is just natural that when we are told someone is Deaf, we assume that means that they simply can't hear us. It is true. They can't. So we take our voices up a notch.

Not only does this draw attention to you, the person who is yelling, but also the innocent Deaf person who may or may not be wondering why everyone around them is staring at them like they must be dense to need this person to yell their conversation. All for naught.

It is really funny, however, when that person knows Hubs, knows that he can't hear diddly squat and still...

My mom,  for example. She knows Hubs. She knows Hubs can't hear. At all. So why, for the love of Pete, will she call out, loudly, for him to turn around. Or why, when she is trying to communicate with him, does she speak in an abnormally loud voice.

Did she forget?

It doesn't bother either of us, really. We are used to it. We simply laugh it off. And my mom isn't the only one. Many friends and acquaintances, family and professionals do the same thing.

Resist.  Believe me, if they need you to speak up, they will tell you.

So let me save you the trouble. Hubs is opting out of the shout.

Because if you talk louder...

...he still can't hear you.

A few nights before Christmas...

Twas a few days before Christmas
And all through the house
Everything was stirring,
even that darn mouse (I'm not kidding!)

The stocking were hung
on the wall, not a chimney
wondering what Santa
soon would be givin' me.

The kids were each sprawled out
All over the floor
ABC's 25 Days of Christmas
Need I say more.

Hubs' done with his finals
The kids' school is all done
Haul out the holly
It's time for some fun!

Counting the presents
one, two, three, four,
Wait! I have five kids...
Ugh, I need one more.

So out of the house
I flew in a flash
Grabbed me my coat,
and a big hunk of cash (Hahaha good one!)

The road, it was slippery
from the new fallen snow,
So what should I do?
You guessed it, drive slow.

More rapid than eagles
I was in and then out,
"I'm finally done!"
I said with a shout.

"For Kobe and Kyla
"And Brody and Brig
"Yes, Camden and Daddy,"
I could've danced a jig.
(If only I knew how.)

This poem is too long
So let's cut to the chase.
The presents are all wrapped
And put in their place

And so it's now time
to stop all the bustle,
To take a step back
from all of the hustle.

For music, and goodies,
and gingerbread houses.
For ham and for football
and cuddling spouses.

For stories that remind us
of what we've been given
The greatest of all was
the baby from Heaven

So let it be said
for the next couple nights
"Remember the Babe
and follow His light!!"


Are you ready yet?

Move it, Grandma!!!!

I'm one of those people.

I try not to be, really. Okay, not really. I can't help it. I have too much of my dad in me.

When it snows, I am one of those people.

I try to act normal; to not annoy people. But I am annoying.

Yes, I am one of those people.

You know, the person who drives 15 mph in a 55 mph zone.

Not all the time.

Just when snow is blowing really hard. And when the road is covered with so much snow that all you can do is follow the tracks that the car ahead of you made and hope they didn't go over the side of the road.

I try to remember what Dad taught me: pump your breaks, turn into the skid, and most of all don't freak out.

I am a nice annoying person. I don't flip you off when you pass me. Even though you were riding my tail and making me more freaked out because I was sure you were going to skid into my rear end.

I keep to the right, when possible, even if it means I have to ride the slush for a few minutes, so you can pass. There are no dirty looks from me. Not a one. Not because I don't want to, mind you. But because doing so would require me to take my eyes off the road, and you so know I am not going to do that.

I just don't want to crash, skid,  go off the side of the road or pee my pants. None of those sound fun, appealing or the slightest bit attractive. 

And so I go slow.  Slow and steady.

I love snow in every other way. The night glow, the sledding, the instant smiles it puts on my kids' faces, the hot chocolate and warm blankets after. You name it, I like it.

Just not driving.

Honk if you must. Swear all you want. 

But I'm not going any faster. So phwwwwth!

Living the Season

Looking outside one's self. Isn't that what this season is really about? Isn't this what we try and teach our kids?

Well, I have a great story about giving selflessly.

My parents are good people. Really good people.

My dad was a teacher growing up and my mom would substitute teach a few days a week. With 8 children you can imagine how little money we had. They gave up a lot so that we wouldn't have to go without.

We grew up in a place where we got snow every year. Quite a bit. This particular year was extra cold. My poor parents. Mom had a really old, falling apart coat and Dad only had a light windbreaker. I am sure that they had given up their own stuff so that we kids would be warm.

Our family, along with another, was called to serve in a small branch of our church about an hour away from our home. This meant that every week we would bundle up in our van...the one where the heater worked sometimes and sometimes not... and drive an hour to the church. We were usually the first ones there and so it was up to us to get the church heater started. Shortly after, the members would start wandering in.

Early one Sunday morning we woke up to a ton of snow. A ton! So we load up and carefully make our way to the church. We get there and there was more snow there than at our house. As we were getting out of the car, a mother with her two kids walk up.

The young daughter had on a warm coat, but the mother and the son had nothing but their shirts to keep them warm. Instantly, my dad took off his coat and gave it to the young boy. My mom immediately did the same thing. Without thinking. And without any regret.

Luckily my mom was already getting a new coat for Christmas. But Dad was going to be left with nothing. Well, that's not true. He did have a light-er wind breaker that he could use.

They gave all they had. For people they hardly knew.

"When saw we thee a stranger..."

We spent that Christmas Eve at our friends' house. When we finally got home, we walked up to the door and there is a huge wrapped box on our porch.

The card said, "One good deed deserves another." or something to that effect. It was for my dad.

He opened the gift and inside was a beautiful coat. Thick and warm and probably way more than the. And yet, there it was. On our doorstep.

I am not sure that the coat physically still warms my father. I think it is probably worn out. But it does warm me every time I think about it.

True charity is giving when it isn't expected, but still needed.

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

Let's live the season.

Hooking up with Jen Matlock.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Louder please!

We all have dreams. For some of us, it's a foot rub. For others getting our backs tickled. Still others dream of gourmet meals served on a silver platter.

Hubs' dream is to have someone with a fog horn blow it in his ear.

Tempting...but No.

I think that I am pretty tolerant with noise. I do have 5 kids, you know. Plus a dog. So I am no stranger to noise.

But a fog horn?

You've all heard of sound waves, right? The louder the sound, the more energy there is in those waves. And the more energy there is in those waves, the more those waves tickle Hubs ears.

He loves it.

When we were first married, he used to beg me to scream in his ears. And I would appease him because, heck, it was just us and he was my new Hubs and why not?

Then we had kids.

He would convince them to yell, full throttle, into his ears. It was funny at first. That was until they mistook me for Hubs, because we totally look like twins, and blew out my eardrums with their voices. That was the end of funny.

But the vibration of the sound waves at "inside voice" levels don't cut it for him. Nope, he would rather have "low flying fighter jet" levels vibrating through his ears and into his whole body.

You know when those cars pull up next to you and the bass is so loud and so low it almost makes you vomit from motion sickness? Hubs loves that. The louder the better.  If our bed could be set on a piano that is constantly playing the "Bumble Bee" song an octave lower, he would be in hog heaven.

So instead of whispering sweet nothings into his ears, I growl as low and as loud as I can...

...in his ear.

Romantic, no?

What the Hack!!!

Someone was very naughty.

I tried to get on this here blog on Saturday evening, and what I got was "This blog cannot be found." Or some message similar to that.

Did you see that message too? Just nod and pretend that you did....for my ego's sake. Thanks!

I bet you didn't cry like I did. I was so sad. All those posts. All that history. All of it. Gone. And I didn't know why.

Apparently, someone hacked into my email account and what's worse, they got my blog deleted. Or at least MIA.

I gasped. I cried. I searched. I worried. I cried again.

But before going into a long term depression...a friend of mine told me that all my posts were on her Google Reader because she followed me.

Hey, I follow me! All wasn't lost. All my going-ons for the last year: still present. Whew!!

Then I came into work tonight and like magic, there I was. My good old self. Back like I was never gone. And yet I was. For about 48 hours. Gone like the wind.

Lucky for me, the blogging wind is like the wind here where I live...it always comes back. My children are certain that the jerk of all jerks hacker is on the naughty list. Ya think? If only that threat of the naughty list would deter all naughties to be nice, think how happy the blogging world would be.


Glad to be back...even if you didn't notice I was missing.

Let there be lights!

One of the reason I love this time of year is because it is packed full of fun family traditions.

One of the things that we love to do is look at Christmas lights. Not the ones on our house...oh, wait. We don't have any on our house. My bad. (Hubs is actually putting up the lights as we speak.) Pretty much if it has lights on it, we want to see it.

Did you see the White House Christmas Tree? Now those are some lights! Wowza! It's beautiful. I would hate to have been there when the Obamas were fighting about whether to have colored or white lights on the tree. And can you imagine if one of those bulbs went out? I'm just saying.

In our quest for all things light, every year we head to the River of Lights. The River of Lights is where millions of people (slight exaggeration) bundle up and drag bring their children outside in the middle of winter to see how high the city energy bill can actually go a pretty cool display of Christmas lights.

We pulled into the parking lot, walked up to the gates and saw all the lights around us. I expected to hear sounds like, "Ohhhhh!!" and "Ahhhhh!" and "Wow!"

But all I heard from my 6 year old was, "I want to go some place warm!!" repeated 15 times.

6 minutes people.

"'Tis the season to be jolly. Fa la la la la la la la la!"

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I'm tired.

I'm at work and I'm tired.

Maybe it's because I went to bed at 1am.

Perhaps it's because I ran farther and faster today than usual.

Could be because I only ate dinner. Busy day. I forgot.

Maybe all of these. Maybe none of these.

But whatever the reason, I 'm tired and falling asleep at work.

I usually just get myself a $.99 Diet Coke from McD's and I am good.

But I'm trying to kick the Coke and see if there is something else that can keep me awake at night until 12:30am.

Any suggestions?

Keep in mind I am a good Mormon girl so alcohol, coffee, tea, pot...not options for me?

I'm seriously looking for some help here.

Because falling asleep while interpreting for someone isn't good.

I''m tired.

Really tired.

Help me!

Kicked me some tire butt!

Do you have moments when you are so proud of yourself you could burst?

This is me bursting! Not literally. That would just be...well...besides disturbing it would be the end of me.

Why am I considering ending myself? Is it because I found my way to the bottom of the laundry pile? Nope. Am I done Christmas shopping? Not quite. Lose 10 pounds? I wish.

Nope. None of those.

The other night I had to take the mom-mobile into work. I normally take the smaller, cooler car but because I had to go in early to work and Hubs still had the car the family wagon is what I commuted in that day. When I pulled into the parking lot and got out I hear this...

"Hsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss..."

"Oh boy. That doesn't sound good, but I don't have time right now to figure out what is going on. Could be the tire, could be the engine. But nothing was on fire or smoking, so it can wait." I went into work and proceeded to do just that..work... for 3 hours. 

Luckily I got off early, about 8pm, and came out to see a flat tire. Seriously? Why does this always happen to me. I could do a week long marathon on all the bad car situations I have been through. I am not even kidding.

Hubs, on the other hand,  hasn't had a flat tire, broken down car, or any issue with the cars in the past 12 years. Okay, I lied. The car wouldn't start for him last year. Poor little dear. Humph!

Me? I can't even count how many times I am the one stranded, trying to figure out what to do.

So I call Hubs. I quickly tell him of my predicament and you wanna know what he says?

"Ummm. I'm in the middle of cooking hamburgers. Can you wait til we are done eating?"

(Insert song) "I need a Hero! I'm holding on for a hero 'til the end of the night. He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and blah blah blah-dah-de blah."

Yeah, not so much.

To be honest, I wasn't upset. If he was to come and save me he would either need to find a sitter or bring all the kids with not enough seat belts.

What was I to do? I could sit and cry and wait for Mr. Hamburger to finish up. I could go back into the office and have the only working man come out and help me. But that's just plain embarrassing!

I am a mother, of 5 children no less. I run a household for Pete's sake! This is one tire. One. Surely I can do this. I remember learning how to change a tire when I was 16 from a Young Women's activity (a youth class).

"First loosen the bolts. Don't take them off. Loosen them. Jack up the car. Then remove the flat and replace it with the spare. Put on the bolts and tighten a little. Let down the jack then tighten the bolts...a lot...then voila. Changed tire."

And I did it!!!. (I did have to call a friend to find out where the jack was and where I was supposed to put the jack. No use destroying the car over a flat tire.) Simple.

Oh yeah baby! Bring on the throw-up! Bring on the poopie diapers!

Mama changed a tire on the van! All. By. Herself!

Booyah!

Participating in Jenny Matlock's and Mama Kat's prompts. Tons-o-fun!

So I Married a Deaf Man: Hold on

I am a cuddler. No, really. I am.

I like to nuzzle up close. I love to hold hands, have my back tickled, feet rubbed. Am I making you uncomfortable? Yeah, sorry about that.

Point is, physical touch is one of my love languages.

Another thing about me is I like to talk. A lot. Shocker, I know. How else would I be able to blog 5 days a week. Every week. What can I say? Or more particularly what can't I say?

The best scenario for me? Holding hands with someone and talking to them at the same time. How awesome would that be?!?

You see, Hubs and I can't really do this. Hands are needed for talking. Holding hands stifles the talking. Talking messes with the holding hands.

Holding hands and signing is like trying to talk to someone while they have their hand in your mouth, clinging to half your tongue and cheek. Messy. Uncomfortable. And someone is bound to get hurt.

It's the same with hugging. You can't really whisper sweet nothings into the ear of someone who can't hear you. And it doesn't help to sign to someone who has their arms around you and is looking at your backside.

So in our relationship, we have to choose. Do we want to talk or hug? Hold hands or chat? Rub feet or discuss? It is a tough choice, sometimes.

But other times, it's a no-brainer.

"Shut-up and hold my hand already!"

What's wrong with your face?

My throat is sick. Throat and lungs. Nowhere else in my body is sick.

I woke up this morning and when I went to talk I sounded awful. But isn't that always the case in the morning. We just sound a little off. Then add the throatsick and it sounds monstrous.
Well this morning, as always happens, my children file into my bed one by one. I croaked my "Good Morning!"s and gave them a cuddle.

My oldest asked me, "Are you sick?"

"A little," was my reply, hoping for some sympathy. "How could you tell?"

"By your voice. It sounds weird," was his answer.

He started to walk away, stopped, turned around and walked back to my bedside.

"Also your looks." He turned and left the room.

Huh.

Okay, so my sickness is not simply in my throat.

It has apparently spread, not to my face, but to my looks.

Heaven help me!

Justice and Mercy

I love my third child.

He is the child who forces me to my knees every morning and every night. And several time in between.

He is wonderful...in a strong willed, extremely passionate, intense kind of way.

It's how he came. See what I mean, wonderful!

The other day, he comes down the stairs in his PJ's otherwise known as my T-shirt. He plunks himself down in the middle of the floor and announces, "I'm not going to school today."

"No? Really? Are you sure?"

"Nope. I'm not gonna. I won't go."

I could lie and say that I was very patient and took the time to sit next to him and find out why he was feeling like he hated school. Unfortunately, I had worked until midnight the previous night and had woken up with two little boys who were more interested in eating goldfish at 2am than sleeping. I slept in...by 20 minutes.

Needless to say we were running a little late. Quite late, actually, which may or may not have caused me to be somewhat of a meanie.

"Son, you are going to school. Now, you can either go mad and in your pj's and then have to explain to your friends and you teacher why you are wearing your mom's clothes, OR you can go to  school angry if you like or happy if you choose, but in your clothes. It is up to you. But you will go to school today."

I thought those were good options.

In walks Mercy. My kids call him Daddy.

He calls said son into the other room and comes up with a plan. More like a conspiracy.

The next thing I know Mr. T-shirt is running upstairs getting his clothes on. I could have sworn he was smiling, too. Hubs comes to me with a paper and his plan.

"If he gets up, gets dressed, and goes to school for 3 days in a row, then on Saturday you get to take him to Dairy Queen. Alone."

What the... What are we teaching here?

1. He learns refusing to go to school will result in a blizzard at the end of the week.

2. Daddy wants to sabotage Mommy's diet.

3. Mommy is a meanie. Daddy rocks!

3. Protesting kids will be rewarded. So next Monday, all my kids will be standing outside my garage holding up a big sign with big red letters saying, "Shame on Mommy! She makes us go to school...every day...in our clothes!!!"

But the lesson that was really learned that day?

Sometimes it is worth taking the time to sit down with your child and find out why they don't want to go to school.

They may just want some time with Meanie Mommy.

Whoever said Hubs couldn't hear never checked out his heart.

Mercy indeed.

Giveaway!!

Okay, not really. But kinda.

This post is my 200th post. Who knew I had so much to say? Okay, maybe my family, my friends, people in the grocery line, the bell ringers....

But more importantly, who knew that there were people who would actually listen and then come back for more. Thanks for doing that for me. Really. I love you guys.

And because I love you, everyone who reads this post today will get a little piece of me. (or tomorrow or the next day or...well, as long as you want, actually.)

You see, I would totally have a giveaway...a real one...only I am horrible at getting things out to people. I don't. So if I had a real giveaway, one that required me to buy something, package it, go to the post office and send it, you would probably get it by Valentine's Day.

Instead, my giveaway is going to be a list of things I would give away if I had a giveaway.

1. This is my second most favorite Christmas story. The first is the real one and it is in your Bible, Luke 2, in case you didn't remember. It makes me cry every time I read it. I would totally give it to you.

2. I would send you some of my really yummy, delicious, make-you-gain-five-pounds-just-looking-at-it English Toffee. But instead, here's the recipe. (No secrets here. Just use a candy thermometer. That's the trick.)

This isn't my toffee. Mine is gone before I can charge the camera battery to take the shot.

3. I would send you The Carpenter's Christmas album, but most of you probably already have it. So instead, I would send you a burned copy of the Glee Christmas Album. I have never watched the show, but I heard this album the other day. It is fun, upbeat and fantastic!

4. This is what I usually watch Christmas Eve night, way late when I am wrapping presents and Hubs is putting things together. It is the best rendition by far, in my opinion.

5. Finally, I would send you a little something to keep you warm at night. This tastes just like what my mom called "Tang Tea". Most people just call it "Wassail". I call it Delicious!

I know. I know. Someday I will have a real drive-to-the-PO-and-show-you-the-love giveaway. But this way everyone wins. Everyone wins nothing and everything.

To all...

...pieces of me.

Just forget it

My wedding day. The birth of my first child. Graduation. Losing 10 pounds. All great days that are worthy of a scrapbook page. Too bad I don't do that.

However, today I thought I would mention the un-memories. You know, moments I do not wish relive.  Ever.

"I'm sorry. You aren't going to be able to get an epidural this time."

The time I went to change lanes on that 6 lane freeway and got hit by a semi, and did a 360 right into the divider.

Pretty much the whole year after my 4th child was born. Depression hurts everyone. Really.

The time I was in the sun all day and got burned so bad my skin felt like leather and I felt like a lizard. And itchy itchy lizard.  

Last week when my middle child told me he hated me. Sigh.

Sitting on that curling iron.

Falling down and scraping off a layer of skin from both my shins and knees and forearms the morning our softball team left for state. What's worse is that I was the catcher. Ouch!!

That first year of marriage. Don't misunderstand. I loved being in love. But men are so different. Learning to live with one was tough. Lots of tears. Glad we made it through. Still married. But you couldn't pay me to go back.

The time my son threw up 15 times, in the car, on the 6 hour drive to my parents' house. Then had acidic diarrhea the whole way back. Could have done without that trip for sure.

This morning at 2am when my 2 year old son called me "Meanie!" for not giving him Goldfish. It was 2AM!!!

The 2 hours that we thought Mom was lost on the side of the road somewhere. But really she was asleep in her room.

Seeing my child under our fallen piano. Please, never again!

Some things are only meant to be experienced once.

Because once is enough.


Thanks Mama Kat and Jenny. Check 'em out.