Just call me Alexander

I had an awesome math teacher in middle school and as my homeroom teacher in 8th grade. Ms. Camden encouraged us to still be a little silly when we were all trying so hard to be grown up NOW.

There were duck-shaped candles on her window ledge, one for each of her students. She reminded any of us that were a little off the mark to "Get your ducks in a row!" We sang "Must be Santa" every Christmas and memorized crazy poems that helped us learn math (Madam I'm Adam), at least I think they did. She was a grandma and told us wonderful stories about her red-headed grandson Ted. She wore skirts every day, which were normally covered with chalk by lunch.

She wasn't a pushover. We were convinced she had X-ray vision because no wad of gum ever survived being noticed in her room. Everyone got called to the board to work out problems and if you didn't have your ducks in a row, she'd let you know it. Nobody acted up in Ms. Camden's class.

But one of the most important thing she did every year was take a break from the real stuff to read "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."

Some days I feel like Alexander - when nothing goes right. And then a few of them string together, and I'm ready to yell and scream and stomp my feet. But Ms. Camden and Alexander taught me that I get what I expect, so if I think my day will be bad, it will be.

So I'm done moping about spreading the plague at Thanksgiving and the other plans I've made that have gone awry. Tomorrow is going to be better.

But if it's not, I think I'll move to Australia.

A Turkey Day to remember... or not

 I'm going to try to remember only this about this Thanksgiving.

My adorable children with their equally adorable cousin. Alex thinks his big cousins are the coolest, most interesting things in the world. Nathaniel's pretty enamored with him too. Has been from the beginning.

There is no way either of them were ever that little. Nathaniel would love to still be able to hold Alex like this, but since he's now 8 months and 20 lbs of crawling, cruising, climbing boy, that's a little difficult.

But I digress...

So my kiddos were running around their great-aunt and uncle's home, enjoying the attention of a houseful of people they don't see all the time and I was enjoying the fact they didn't have to be watched like hawks. And they played with EVERYONE.

Which is what came back to bite us.

You did what on my holiday?!

He certainly wasn't acting sick, except that he didn't have much appetite. Who would've thought what he had Wednesday was anymore than a 24-hour bug?

Oh I am never gonna live this holiday down... Of course I paid for it in a way, since I had planned a family birthday party for Nathaniel Saturday afternoon. Only half of the family was up for dinner, or food of any kind, for that matter.

Wow I suck.

Luckily Nathaniel still had a great time and eventually we'll be invited back to family functions.

I am sure in the grand scheme of things this is not the worst Thanksgiving possible, but my ego could sure use some boosting. What's your worst holiday story? Do you have one that takes the cake of infecting no less than 10 people with the yaks?

Please say yes. Not sure I can stand any other answer.

Somebody hates me...

Right when Hubby and I should have been drifting off to a tryptophan-induced sleep last night, there was an internal revolt.

Yes, the bug that started my pie-making day spread and ruined the end of my turkey day. And my Black Friday. Not that we were going to be among the crazies out at the crack of dawn, but anytime we have achance to holiday shop sans kiddos, we're gonna jump on it.

Instead, Granny kept Leah out of trouble while Nathaniel, Hubby and I rotated nap positions. Little man is finally on the mend - I think - but his parents are left with fevers and just general crappiness.

So I'm gonna change my Thanksgiving Day wish, if I could please... I'd be happy if no one ELSE gets sick from this lovely bug and that we can survive a family birthday party tomorrow. That I'm in charge of. Where I have to make ziti for 16 people. And haven't gotten my groceries yet.

Surely I can get a break, here, right?!

Near pie-tastrophy

Another victory for my holiday conquering rampage.

I woke up at 6 this morning to Nathaniel hollering. When I went to his room, he told me he wanted water. I grumbled and got him a drink, but told him not to yell again, he could get his own water.

I had just taken a deep sigh to settle back into bed when I heard The Sound. It's the sound that makes any parent freeze with dread. That Sound that means many, many levels of yuck and turns my stomach.The Sound that makes Lysol, bleach wipes and all things germ-killing my BFFs.

I kicked Hubby on my way out of bed and told him Nathaniel was getting sick. My day began cleaning the bathroom, his clothes and sanitizing any surface I could find. And since I was up and running the washer, and knew I'd never get back to sleep, I decided to start my day.

Hubby ushered Nathaniel back to bed until he left for work and I spent the morning trying to make 2 pies and a 3rd crust, alternating following one child to the bathroom, pulling the other out of whatever she was into and buying her off with snacks. And washing my hands every 30 seconds because as soon as I'd start a food-prep related task, something would pull me away.

But I did it. I made apple and pumpkin pies from scratch and when we arrived at the in-laws', I finished the peanut butter cream in the graham cracker crust. I licked the spatula. It's gooood. Worth the headaches.

I still need lots of practice with Nana's recipes, but I am certain she will be proud of my efforts today. My crusts do not look perfect. I prefer "rustic" or "made with love" or "if you want to criticize, make your own darn pie."

We made the 3-hour-drive with a Tupperware bucket next to Nathaniel's seat that thankfully we didn't need, but he's still not 100 percent yet. Here is hoping he is better in the morning and no one else gets sick too.

For that, I would be truly thankful.

Happy Turkey Day Everyone.

Master of the House

Well it's official. Hubby is smarter than me.

As of bright and early Monday morning, he has a Master of Science in mechanical engineering from a pretty decent school. You may have heard of it - the University of Notre Dame?

Yeah. That's alright.

It's been a long four years. He started right after Nathaniel was born. Now we have a preschooler and an-almost-terrible-two'er. He has a lot more gray hair. I should have more too. *knock on wood*

I have no idea what it will be like to have a husband who's not leaving work for 6+ hours a week and trying to make up for it to meet 50 hours a week all while studying like a madman. The stress level in my house should go down a smidge.

Last weekend, after he had finished his thesis and submitted it to his advisor and review committee we did something unheard of - we watched a movie. Not on TV with commercials while he flipped between other things with a computer on his lap with a paper/work/report/whatever in one window and Facebook in the other. An. Actual. Movie.

And what else? We played board games. Yes, I said board games. He kicked my butt at Sequence (which he always does, even though he swears it's all luck), and I countered with a Scrabble beatdown.

Conclusion from all that? We need new games.

Oh, and I am going to love the next few months.

But of course, this means he's officially smarter than me. Not sure how I feel about that. The whole "I'm not working 'outside the home' and my brain is shriveling up to the size of a raisin" and all... I mean, he makes more than I ever did (or would) AND he's got extra letters to add to his title?

It's a crock, I tell ya. I know he could never survive a week being me, but still...

I guess it's not official official until he walks in May and has that piece of paper in his hand. Until then, I will have to keep beating him at Scrabble. After that, I may be in trouble.

I blinked. What happened?

Wow. I really haven't posted since Wednesday? Eek. Somebody should fire me.

But that's what happens during a concert week. We had two nights of rehearsal and then a concert, so I was just trying to get everyone from point A to point B. No worries - we made it.

Something about those 3 days must've made me think I could conquer the world, because my to-do list has grown exponentially.

I have finished the majority of my Christmas shopping, wrapped almost all of the gifts, gone to the grocery store for what I need to make for Thanksgiving and made another grocery list for Nathaniel's family birthday part Saturday. Oh, and we already have all his birthday presents too.

Whew. That made me tired just typing it. I did all that?!

Before you think, "oh, she makes me sick," I am talking about this because it NEVER HAPPENS. I am a master procrastinator (see Queen of Procrastination), unless I have a hard, fast deadline. Must be a reporter thing. Or a lazy thing. Or a lazy reporter thing.

Just ask the treasurer of our community band. He needed a copy of my driver's license so when I take office as president in January, I would have signing power on our accounts. He asked for it right after nobody else wanted to run I was elected in September, but made the mistake of telling me he wouldn't make the change until December.

I gave it to him last week. Sorry Bill.

So for all intents and purposes I should be a wait-until-Christmas-Eve-and-buy-for-everyone kind of person. But since I have to buy for people in four states (including my own), plus celebrate two birthdays, there is no way I would survive. And neither would our checking account.

Hubby and I started shopping a few weeks ago for Nathaniel's birthday. When I realized I could shop sales early, save money, AND take presents with me at Thanksgiving for family we might not see at Christmas, the organizing began. We still have one big gift for our Christmas plus Leah's birthday to shop for and a few odds and ends for the parents and my aunt, but the grandparents and anyone younger than 6 is done.

I have to admit it feels pretty darn good. Maybe this is the way to survive December. I probably shouldn't say that, because something will explode and send my brilliant plan to the moon.

Until then, I'll start practicing my "I'm ready for Christmas" jig.

I've got time.

A funny

What does this picture say to you?

To me, it's another example of the wild stories yet to come from my creative almost-4-year-old (I'm saying his new age over and over so as to try to wrap my brain around the fact he's getting so big).

One Saturday morning, when the little monsters who live in my house were up with the sun, Nathaniel decided to break out his sister from captivity (oh, how I'll rue the day she learns to open doors). But instead of stampeding into our room, they went into his room and played somewhat quietly. It was awesome. Hubby and I just lay in bed in semi-conscious state and enjoyed their little display of independence.

It was short-lived. Soon we could hear what we thought was the toilet lid slamming over and over. Time for some supervision.

Fast-forward to that night at bed. I notice Nathaniel's toothbrush had something extra. I asked him why he felt the need to put a toothbrush cover on his toothbrush.

He told us very mater-of-factly that if the window was open and a bug got in the house, it would fly into the bathroom and eat his toothbrush.

"So that why I did."

Blink. Wow. I had no words for that.

That meant that the slamming we heard was them rifling through the vanity drawers, which only have bath toys, old paint cards and one rogue travel toothbrush cover in them.

The second time through the story it was a ladybug. I thought maybe he took something from a story at school, so I asked his teacher about it. She had nothing! Well, they did talk about ladybugs, and how sometimes they got into the house, but she assured me there were no children's books about wild, rampant, tooth-brush eating ladybugs.

Maybe that should be the subject my first children's book, so mothers across the country can start the bedtime routine with this.