Merry Christmas!

I managed to get up early again this year.

I am sitting by the Christmas tree, which is the only light on in the house.

Dawn is just peeping up in the East, I can see it out the window if I turn my head.

I love this time of day, especially on Christmas. The kids are still young enough to believe in Santa and magic.

I am stationed here waiting for the sound from upstairs of feet hitting the floor and running down the stairs.

That for me, is the magical moment, now that I know who Santa really is.

It is very fleeting and I am thankful for it while it lasts.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas.

If you are a person who loves this day, I hope it is a long wonderful day filled with joy and fun.

If you are a person who hates this day, I hope it is over in a flash for you and that things will be better once it is finished.

Off to buy a hive of bees from Heifer International while I wait for the pitter pat of little feet.

Merry Christmas and as always, thank you for reading my crap

Bechdel Briefs

I logged onto Facebook first thing this morning and saw a post from my friend Heather.

She said that she will no longer be able to watch a movie without checking to see if it passes the Bechdel test.

The Bechdel test, for those of you who don't know, was first introduced in a comic strip by Alison Bechdel called "Dikes to Watch Out For".

A female character said in a strip that she only watches movies if it passes 3 requirements.

1. It has 2 women in it
2. Who talk to each other
3. About something other than men.

Look it up, and my apologies if my explanation seems vague. It is 7am. I have a deadline in 10 minutes at which time, I have to wake B up and begin my very last leg of the X-mas rush.

I am so ahead of the game this year. I finished shopping on Friday.  I wrapped almost everything and I am all finished with baking.

Go Cindy.

So back to this Bechdel test.

It is very interesting. The article I read from Wikipedia also mentioned that one could also apply these rule to one's life/relationships to see if you yourself, as a woman, pass this test.

I am married with oodles of kids. I rarely talk about the opposite sex. Maybe to bitch about B, but not often.
He does Ok most of the time.

I was at a party the other night and the main topics of conversation were "Merkins" and "Vajazzle".

Looks like that party passed the Bechdel test.

You know what I talk about with other women a lot?

Whether or not our children change their underwear.

This is a perfect segway into my idea that I have been thinking about.

My magnum opus as far as embarrassing my children, which, if you read my blog, you know I love to do.

 My friend, who will remain unnamed, has a daughter who does not change her underwear.

I thought it would be so great if I went out and bought said daughter a package of "days of the week" undies for Christmas.

When she opened the package, I would explain to her, that her mother tells me that she never changes her underwear and I thought this would be a perfect gift.

Even better if V gave it to her.

But what would be best?

Arrange a "Secret Santa" party with the neighborhood parents. (most of whom have children who do not change their underwear. It is an epidemic this side of the Parkway, so I hear)

Parents will tell the kids that they will grab the gift for them.

At the party, which would be a group of 8-11 year olds of both genders. (This is VERY important as kids this age are very self conscious about certain things when the other sex is involved.)

The children would open the gifts. All which would be underwear.

All the parents would exclaim in joy and make comments in front of the kids such as, "Oh how wonderful! You never change your underwear and these are so nice! Maybe this will motivate you!"

Your children will hate you. They will probably stick you in the crappiest nursing home when it's time.

But think of those glorious seconds, watching them squirm in sheer embarrassment after the underwear goes round.

And probably totally worth it as children can be so rotten right before X-mas zero hour, that they most likely deserve whatever you can dish out.

Mine do.

It's worth it.

And there is still time...

Crappy Post

I've got to quit sugar.

Not until after Christmas of course.

Probably never. I love that shit.

It does make me horrifically silly and I say things sometimes that I find funny, but other people do not.

G got mad at me last night. Enraged is more like it.

I blame cupcake #4.

When G gets really mad, she giggles as she tries to kick your ass.

I told her last night that sometimes, when a woman gives birth, they poop a little as they push the baby out.

I told her that I had a full breakfast and a chicken salad sandwich for lunch while I was in labor with her.

So odds are, I probably crapped on her head as she came out.

Only the nurses will ever know and I'm sure they are not telling.

Yeah, G didn't take that well at all.

I blame the cupcakes.

Sunday Blues

Day of rest, my ass.

Sundays are the only day that all of us are home together.

It's also the one that drives me totally ragged. Just after coming off a 16 hour shift the day before as well.

It's a day of grocery shopping, ice skating lessons and whatever horrors that the family can cook up for me to do.

Speaking of cooking-it's Sunday dinner too?

I want to know the asshole who thought of that bright idea.

(me)

I was doing Ok, my only big plan aside from the Sunday basics, was to take the kids to the Holiday Flea market.

Horst then comes up with the paper, even before I am finished with my first cup of coffee, to ask that I take him shopping for Christmas.

Just a few hours ago, while at work, I had a person I worked with slowly and loudly eating a banana next to me.

And I really couldn't tell them to knock it off. Professionalism and all.

It was almost enough to make me jump out the second story window.

This might be the one that puts me over the edge. especially if Horst insists on the bulky packages.

However I do have a plan.

Bring him to UPS and sit in the fucking car while he ships it.

Ok, I would love to stay and write more about the tortures and torments of Sunday family day, but I just  looked at the clock and it's time to go.

Best get this over with..Pray for me.

Call Me Dr Zaius

So Thanksgiving is done. NaNoWriMo is done. December is here.

Thanksgiving Eve marks the return of Steve, the homicidal and perverted Christmas Elf. Steve likes to carry knives.

He also enjoys hanging around the bathroom, giving everyone stage fright with his cheerful, vacant grin. Von speculated last year that Steve and the tooth fairy engaged in some casual sex as well. Here's the old post- 

We found him yesterday hanging around here-

It's kind of a pain in the ass. I always forget to move him. I end up remembering when the kids are already awake, so I either have to smuggle the elf somewhere else, under my shirt or I have to call attention to the fact that he did not move and declare him to be a "complete lazy fuck".

But I'm not here today to tell you of my elf problems. I'm here to talk about my outfit. Actually, my favorite sweater. 

Guess what? B hates that too. Bag, water bottle..it never ends.

I put my favorite sweater, which is actually more of a short sleeved sweater tunic, on when we were getting ready to go see a friend and his family on the day after Thanksgiving. 

B exclaimed from the bed, "What the hell are you wearing! You look like someone from The Planet of the Apes!" 

I explained that I was cold as well as, lacking in cardigans because my other ones had all worn out. 

B was understanding of my predicament, but stated he would not allow me to go to his friends house dressed like Dr Zeus. 

I took the sweater off and promised him that I would dress more like his mother next time. (It's not directed at you, P, I love your style-all the barbs are directed towards your son, as always)

Here is me

I don't know if I see much of a resemblance

I will admit, I was secretly delighted. You see, my friend Heather was told recently, that her outfit looked "old school Star Trek" and I was a bit jealous. 

No reason to be now. 

 I wonder if people think that there is a Comic Con in town whenever Heather and I go out togther. 

(BTW-Heather has an awesome new blog called "It's Your Mirror" over there on my blog list. Go read it.) 

In the end, I wore a shawl out that day.  But, as with everything B dislikes of mine, his disapproval has kindled a deep love in my heart for the Dr Zaius sweater. 

Perhaps it will motivate him to get me some kick ass cardigans for Christmas. 

The only drawback is, whenever I put the Dr Zaius on, that Simpson's song plays in my head all day.

I guess it's a small price to pay to look so awesome.