Good Bye 2011...Possibly. Hello, Hopefully...

It's finally time to say good bye to a lot of things:

1. Good bye to to the POD that has taken up most of our drive way for the last 7 months. We will see if it is truly gone in two days. Possibly...

2. Possibly, good bye to the contractor, though I do love our team of great guys. I've had enough of coming face to face with them every morning. Rain or shine. Happy or grouchy. I have to smile and look sane, even if I'm in bunny slippers and and a fluffy robe yelling at my kids to get to school.

3. Possibly good bye to not knowing where anything is. My life has been shuffled and stuffed, hauled and mauled for the last two years. Complete strangers viewing my bra and underwear collection is bound to be over soon, right?

4. Possibly think about why I do not need to deal with miscellaneous crap and meaningless drama. Who needs that extra baggage? I've packed and lifted enough lately, forget bringing me extra stuff.

5. Possibly re-lizing and re-aligning what is truly important. I'm tired of running in circles trying to keep up with the invisible hamster wheel of craziness. Just because you are on the road, don't mean you have to keep driving in the wrong direction.

6. Hopefully saying hello to lots of time with family, good friends and quality time.

7. Hopefully saying hello to regular sleep and a life full of no boxes, packing or unpacking.

Fa La La La BLAH! My Christmas Dreams & Thank You Very Much!

OK, I have my own Christmas dreams. They include simple things, like watching Scrooge with Albert Finney once a year. I love the idea that you can be a total Scrooge and the spirits can fix you in one night. It just is not a total and proper Christmas without the song Thank You Very Much sung by the townspeople through the streets of this re-hashed musical version of the Dicken's classic.

Right now, my husband needs a visit from the three spirits, and Marley, too. I'm trying to get him to watch any version of A Christmas Carol with me. His reply: "We have at least four versions of that stupid movie, I'm going to watch football."

It doesn't take much to crush my Christmas dreams, but I need someone who finds the hope and magic that comes with the ghosts. I need to believe no matter what hair brained things I've done throughout the long year of 2011, that even I can be transformed into a new and better version of myself.

And if I'm looking for improvement, why can't everyone? Why can't we all thank the spirits and get on with it? Why can't we all buy into a little magic now and then? It's free, or maybe just a small fee on Netflix.

Thank you very much! Get rid of the Fa La La Blahs, grab some hot cocoa and watch A Christmas Carol.

Holiday Spirits: Get Out Of The Way

I hate shopping at this time of the year. This is essentially when I feel like online shopping was truly invented for me. I would rather sip my coffee, point and click and order than go anywhere near a mall in December.

I have already had my car backed into. Watched a lady get rear ended. And, if I listen carefully, I can hear all kinds of honking. Drivers are not patient, they are crazed and just want you to get the heck out of their way. Fast.

Beyond the parking lot, are the lines full of anxious shoppers. Today, I thought a man had only one item, I asked if he would like to go in front of me. "Thanks," he said, and proceeded to go in front of me and ask for something out of a special cabinet. I know, because I had to wait with my three lonely items on the conveyor belt while they got his "special" tequila out of the back cabinet.

Now, generally, if you know me, you know I appreciate good tequila. Please don't, however, accept to go in front of me in line if you are going to take 10 minutes finding your item while I wait for you. Not cool.

That tale tell energy is out there again. People are crazy, impatient and kind of mean. Ladies seem incredulous if I hold the door for them. Salespeople are incredulous that I'm not yelling at them about charging me for someone else's avocados.

Ugh. I do love hibernating this time of the year. Stay home, bake cookies and dream about the good old days with Web Van, that sounds about right.

When Can Kids Be Kids? High School Applications and How They Can Impact Your Entire Life

Well, I have to say that I've pretty much had it. If it isn't hard enough to be 13, we've added a whole new dimension to the teenage twilight zone: high school.

My own middle school years flowed seamlessly into high school. I never thought much about it. There was the high school on Baker Road, and that is where you went after 8th grade. My 9th grade teacher did tell my parents to get me out of that place and get me into a private high school, but I was in 9th grade, I had my friends and there was no way that I would switch.

Now my 13 year old daughter is taking SSATs and writing applications and having interviews and visit days. Even I am writing essays about why my kid is so fantastic that they should be dying to have her at their school--despite me forking over the $40, 000.00 check for tuition. No matter how fantastic my own essay is, or my kid is, the old boys network still exists: if you know somebody or ARE somebody, you have a significantly better chance to beat the regular process. It's like the elite line at the airport.

Welcome to the real world kiddo, you might be 13, but this is how the world works. Welcome to decision making and test prepping and acing an interview. We send our kids to a school that treasures childhood, now it's like WTF? Grow up and grow up fast.

Ruth was playing Lego's with her 10 year old sister. I had to break into a litany about homework and getting it done and done right. No Lego, no movie, just study. There words are hard to spit out, because I don't believe much of this pressure cooker practice, but we live in a world that is steaming up.

There are people out there that are playing the game every minute. They are networking like a flu virus and they are teaching their offspring to do the same. If you go to the right high school then you can go to the right college. Heck, I know this starts at preschool for some families.

I think I'll take Ruth to Toys R Us this weekend, at least there, a kid can be a kid.

The Lost November

My husband said something very interesting tonight, he said that we've lost all of November. Yes, now where did November go? Every year, we hit November and have what we basically can call the birthday month.

Deb 11/2

Francesca 11/3

John 11/4

Beth 11/6

Michelle 11/11

Rick 11/13

Birk 11/20

Lynda 11/23

It is the birthday onslaught. When two people in your family and some of your very best friends all have birthdays in this kind of succession, it is one big birthday month. One big birthday extravaganza. Non-stop, all of the time fun and frolic full of gift wrap, champagne, and party hats.

Once we hit the end of November, we are ready to slow down and take a breather, but oh, whoa, it's now December! December and the Christmas countdown has started ticking as soon as we finish the turkey leftovers.

Funny enough, we just had a week off with the kids. We slept late, stayed in our pajamas and had no routine, which was our ruin. You basically get nothing done when you aren't forced to get up and get on the move. We were slugs, but we were birthday celebrating slugs.

On a cheerier note, we learned that 6 bottles of champagne for 8 people in a limo is not enough to help us finish off the end of the birthday extravaganza month. Oh birthdays, birthdays, birthdays. Older AND wiser, what a treat.

Getting Locked In A Spa Locker At Midnight On Your 10th Birthday

Wow! That's a title that says it all, doesn't it?

It was Birk's 10th birthday. She crossed into double digits, excited and happy to be leaving 9 and all that baby jazz behind her.

Around 11 PM, her dad took Birk, her sister, Ruth, and her best friend to the pool to finish off what was a pretty terrific day. It was time for the famous night swim.

What we didn't expect, was for her best friend to lock her into a pint size spa locker and forget the combination.

No staff on duty, no manager at the front desk of the resort, and my baby trapped in a locker. This puts "use at your own risk" in a whole new light.

Luckily, after 10 minutes of panic, the smartest of the group on the outside of the locker (which included a 9 year old, my husband and a security guard), 13 year old Ruth, figured out how to talk Birk through opening the locker from the inside.

I was blissfully cleaning up from the happy day when Birk arrived shaken and tear ridden. The story was outrageous. We, of course, went on and on about how you would never put yourself into that kind of situation.

Then, we also remembered, kids get into trouble. They get into all kinds of trouble. They get into the kind of trouble that you can't begin to think of warning them about.

Even after 10 years, parenting is still a tricky job. It will always be a tricky job. Things just keep changing, and you never know what is coming up next.

Distressed County French? How 'Bout Distressed American?

We are trying to pick new furniture. I thought this was supposed to be fun, but it's only distressing me out. We only want something to sit on, why is it so complex?

It really comes down to the fact that as a family, we are not all that concerned about the "statement" that we are making. Do we want a couch that screams 2011 Ikea modern, or, are we looking for something traditional straight from the farm, er Barn?

Maybe something from a Crate or a Barrel? Perhaps, we are all just Lazy Peoples?

I'm contemplating a bench from a catalog. A bench that costs more than my first car. All I have to go on is a picture and some measurements. How does one know what that's going to be like when it arrives on my front porch?

Wish me luck. I say me, because, that's what it comes down to. Of all the people that don't care about the furniture in our house, I'm the one that cares the most.