Thanksgiving. It's for the Birds!!!!

There's nothing like sticking your warm hands into a three foot deep freezer searching frantically for the perfect Thanksgiving bird. Butterball.com in it's infinite wisdom provided a calulator for us newbies which help you figure out how much turkey is needed based on the number you've invited to dinner.

It's funny how this works out. Because although I may be hosting Thanksgiving once again, I rarely know how many are coming until they actually show up that day. And may I add, that it really doesn't matter, because in my mother's infinite wisdom, she realized that I will never cook a turkey and therefore takes on the job herself.

At last count we were at 11 guests. Let's not forget the 2 who will be joining us by Skype. (I'm unsure how that works. Do I set a place for them also?)

Turns out that according to the math, we will be needing a 21 pound bird. The butcher told us to come back because he just put in an order for a shipment of 20 plus pound birds. It didn't look too promising. I told my Mom to cook (2) 10 and a half pound birds. I guess that comment alone got me kicked off kitchen duty. When I was asked how I planned on fitting both in the oven and I gave the answer: "We can microwave one," it just added insult to injury.

While I was writing this post I received notice from Mom that they found a 21 pound bird. I'm unsure exactly where they found it. For all I know it was a clean shot. (Need I go any further?) If Mom gives thanks for her new down comforter on the big day, I'll get my answer soon enough.

Until then, may you all find that perfect Turkey. And if you're as lucky as I am, may someone else cook it for you.

If It Could Be Sunday Forever

I'm finally sitting. Hard to believe that my day began at 6am and I've been going full force ever since. I had to be at a show to sell Avon today which required loading the car, then unloading the car, then loading the car, then finally unloading the car.

Once again, I chose my most comfortable pair of shoes....NOT! Let me try that one again. Once again, I chose my most fashionable boots that make my feet look great on the outside, but make me cry in agony on the inside. Needless to say,the recliner is currently resting my sore, swollen feet. I may walk again by morning, but I've learned my lesson....Scratch That. Fashion will always reign first. I just can't help myself.

So I get home and begin checking the calendar. Oh My Gosh! Let's go through the run down: Monday I have to meet with my Writing Critique Group (If only they knew the only work I have to show is this darn blog, I may be kicked out!).

Tuesday is Grandparents Day at Potter's school. My Mom plans to come back to the house so we can buy the Turkey. I have an appointment at the consignment store to turn in some toys and make room for Santa stuff.

Wednesday is Parent Day at Potter's School. Hubby took off to help out with Scooter. I will go to spend time with Potter. After school is the H1N1 shot for Potter. The county notified us kindly after we filled out all the paperwork that they will not be administering any shots to Pre-K children. So we're keeping our fingers crossed for Scooter, because it seems unlikely that we will be finding a shot for him any time soon. I suppose the Bird Flu will be back before we get our next notice.

Sometime this week I have to fit in Karate, Prep Class, and Thanksgiving shopping. I also have the desserts to pick up for the Open House on Saturday.

I generally love to be busy, but this is going to be a challenge. Hubby also notified me that the rugs will need to be steamed again because Harley Dog had an accident in the Dining Room. Apparently Harley didn't notice that the same rug was steamed just three days ago. It must have something to do with the feel of pooping on fresh carpet, because this isn't the first time Harley pulled that stunt.

So I'm dead tired now, but not too tired to watch Desperate Housewives (which is beginning right now).

If only it could be Sunday Forever!

A Prayer for Fish Fish

For the past four years, a little guy by the name of Fish Fish swam in our aquarium. We bought Fish Fish at Pet Smart shortly after Scooter was born. My husband had finally decided to throw in the towel concerning his 90 gallon salt water extravaganza located in the basement. He was so excited when he set that tank up, but shortly realized that once the babies began to arrive, there was no longer "Me Time." That mixed with the fact that Wifey wasn't a fish lover, and refused to help support his salty habit.

So we went smaller...much smaller. This aquarium was set up in the office. No salt this time. We bought 2 fish: Fish Fish and Mr. X. (I can't actually remember Mr. X's real name since Fish Fish didn't seem to like being in the same tank with him and decided it would be funny if he chased him every chance he got. Needless to say, Mr. X quickly went into cardiac arrest.

Fish Fish soon enjoyed all the extra room. We talked about buying him a new friend, but based on what he did to his last friend, we decided that it would be a better idea if Fish Fish swam solo.

Days, then weeks then years went by, and Fish Fish still kept swimming. The children went from crawling to walking to attending school. They even learned to feed Fish Fish.

And then came yesterday.

I sat in the office chair working on the computer. Fish Fish always came out to greet me. Sometimes it took a while, so I didn't give it much thought when I didn't see him. After I finished my work I decided to look for Fish Fish. And that's when I discovered him. Laying so nicely on his favorite hiding place. Fish Fish had passed.

"Don't cry," I thought to myself. "It's just a fish." But it wasn't just any fish, it was Fish Fish. And it wasn't Fish Fish dying that brought a tear, it was the years gone by and the memories that took place with Fish Fish in the background. It was First birthdays, and presents surrounding the aquarium. It was fingerprints on the glass from babies trying to pull themselves into a standing position. It was lip smudges from toddlers giving kisses to their fish buddy. It was chair marks in the carpet from children who needed an extra inch to throw some food in the aquarium. And all at once, it's gone.

"So how do we tell the children,?" I asked my husband. Men have a way with words, there's no beating around the bush. So when he blurted it out to the children, I wanted to cringe. I would have handled it with much more care. But I'm a Mom, that's my job.

Surprisingly the boys handled it better than expected. One wanted to know if we could get new fish. The other asked if he could see the body?

"Excuse me?" What the heck am I raising? This has to be a bad dream. But then, there was today.

Scooter was sitting in the back of our minivan. We were on our way to Walmart. Suddenly, Scooter asked: "Can we say a prayer for Fish Fish?"

"Sure," I said.

And it went something like this:

"Dear God, please take care of my Fish Fish. Make sure he has a big aquarium that he doesn't have to share with another fish. Make sure he has plenty of food. And please remember to keep him away from the sharks. Amen.

Got Diapers?

It wasn't too long ago that I was waste high in diapers...both clean and dirty. So despite surviving that period in my life; I sympathize with those of you who are still knee deep.

While the prices of many items may fluctuate, the cost of diapers seems to have steadfastly continued to rise. So where does one go to make that purchase?

May I suggest a trip to your local Sam's Club. While Sam's Club is known to sell a variety of items, the prices for their baby diapers are extremely competitive.

Major brands such as Huggies and Pampers are carried by Sam's Club. From Newborn to training pants; there's no shortage of sizes.

Sam's Club offers the convenience of buying in bulk. As a mom I appreciate such convenience when there are children in tow. All too often, there is just not time to do a weekly shopping trip. Bulk items help keep cost down while also allowing me to keep the closets stocked with the most important items.

If all this seems to good to be true, just wait. You can also have your diapers shipped directly to your home.

Sleepless nights may continue for a bit longer, but with the help of Sam's Club, expensive diapers are a thing of the past.

And If I Die Before I Wake.......

I'm not a huge Dr. Phil fan, but I once remember hearing him give very good advice. He said: "Do not marry a person until you see them sick." He then went on to explain that he wasn't talking about the common cold. What he meant was the sick where you become one with your pajamas, your hair is more matted than the dog, and your mouth and butt simultaneously take turns fighting for toilet time.

That was easy for me. Once I had children, I became a magnet for germs. I was like a walking case of Ebola. If the kids got it, so did I. As soon as I heard a cough come from one of their mouths, I began frantically searching for the safe room. Soon I realized there was no hiding. Apparently kid germs have a long incubation period, and all those kisses and hugs just add to anxiety.

One thing I noticed over the years was my husbands inability to catch a cold. Sure he's gotten a few, but nothing like the knock down drag out no-cure viruses I seem to catch. He's back on his feet in 24 hours.

I've seen the man vomit once during our tenure together. Let's just say there was no virus to blame. I found him the next day in our guest bedroom wrapped in my winter coat. Well, we were once young too. And there was a time that children were just a thought. My, how we've grown.

And then three days ago on Halloween, my husband mentions he doesn't feel well. He blamed it on all the running we were doing. We didn't get a chance to eat much, and before we knew it, it was time to take the children Trick or Treating.

But then it was Sunday. My husband looked the color of Elmer's Glue. I sprang into action: prescription, chicken soup, provide quiet time by taking children to Target with me. I figured he would be back on his feet in 24 hours.

No such luck. It's now Tuesday night. I've officially quarantined him to our bedroom. Something he is severely pee-owed about since I've been told the bedroom TV doesn't get the premium channels. (Obviously, that was my concern).

This is the first time in ten years that I've seen my husband this sick. Usually when I look like that I get to hear the famous words: "Man Up!" Generally the kids still find a way to their Mommy despite trails of vomit, beads of sweat, and a note to God written on her forehead: "Take Me Now!"

So Dear Hubby, as I get ready to go to bed tonight, I am tempted to roll over and tell you to "Man Up!" Instead, I will make sure you get to a doctors office tomorrow. I will make sure you take your medicine, stay hydrated, and get plenty of rest. I will roll those heavy trash cans down the driveway, take down the Halloween decorations, fill Avon orders, pack for the weekend craft show, make dinner, bathe children, feed children, dress children, bring and pick up children from school, take children to Karate, Prep, and swimming, supervise homework, read notes and sign paperwork. I will wash, fold and put away clothes. I will vacuum and mop after every spill. I will read stories, entertain and act like I enjoy every minute of it. Because the truth is....I do!

Those same 2 words I said to you seven years ago (In sickness and in Health).

By the way, when I'm on my death bed next week due to contamination issues, and you have no idea where to begin, refer to one paragraph up. That should get you started! Hope you feel well soon. I love you.

So You Think You Can Dance?.......Not!

Call it bravery. Call it stupidity. Whatever you call it, take my word, call it quits!

Maybe it was the fact that I was turning 35 last week that got me into a free spirited kind of mood. Whatever it was, I had to face the facts, I wasn't 34 any longer. And despite what you may have heard, Yes Virginia, there is a difference!

It started with an invite to my son Potter's bedroom last week. Both him and Scooter had the music blasting. Just the previous night, they had sat in the living room watching an episode of "So You Think You Can Dance? Let's just say they were inspired.

What was Potter's bedroom just a short 15 minutes before, had been transformed into a combination of Studio 54, a gymnasium, and a stage show that any child would be jealous of.

And my dear friends, I had a golden ticket!

After my children showed off a few choice moves of their own, I was asked if I wanted to join in.

Me, I thought? Well of course I wanted to join in.

And this is where the horror begins. Because something so strange happens to a person when her sister decides to put "The Best of the Eighties" dance hits on a CD and give it as a present to her children. Her children in turn jack the volume up to deafening decibels only to create memories of neon, Miami Vice, and hairspray flash through their mommies brain.

I remember the words I spoke so clearly that night: "Want Mommy to teach you a dance move?"

It was at this point that I should have consulted with my inner Jiminy Cricket. But no, not me. I continued on with my foolishness. Right up until that point where a fiery pain shot across my stomach. I remember curling into a small ball all the while trying to convince my children that Act 1 had still not come to a close. I smiled until I couldn't smile any longer.

I think Potter finally caught on when I left out a small moan. I thought for sure internal bleeding was occurring.

"Are you OK Mommy?" He asked. "Because that was so cool!"

"Cool, I thought?" Did this child not understand the concept of 911? I was sure I heard something inside my body pop.

Although I tried to encourage other dance moves such as the Moonwalk, the Robot, and the Cabbage Patch. My children still thought Mommy's dance move was the best.

I'm officially a year older, a year slower and a year smarter (debatable). I have mastered gaining weight, and losing my mind. I have come, saw and kicked my own @#$! I have had my heart melt, and experienced melt downs all in the same 10 minutes. I am one year closer to hot flashes; yet my kids still think I'm the coolest person in the world.

Not too bad for 35. I'm enjoying it already.

Mommy Down!

Whether your child takes the bus, walks or is car-pooled, one thing is for sure: it can be chaos. Morning routines require precision, planning and a whole lot of energy. By 9am I'm generally looking up to the heavens and asking: "Are you seriously going to make me do this all over again tomorrow?"

When Potter began at a new school this year, it was all about learning a new routine. The morning wasn't so bad. There were some simple rules to follow: "1) Do not drop your child off before 8:30am (the doors are locked)." "2)Your child must be in school by 9am or they are considered late." "3)Use the side door for car riders." "4) The front doors are only for the buses, and of course for the parents who drop their child off after 9am and must sign them in late!"

I'm sure there are more rules, but those are the ones I can remember.

As for the afternoon pickup, well now, that's an entirely different monster all by itself. In the handbook it says the children will be dismissed at 3:15. The car line begins forming in the same place as the morning drop off. I thought leaving my home around 3:05 would give me plenty of time. Boy, was I wrong!

When I arrived at the school, there was no less than 25 cars in front of me. The line curled around the parking lot. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing except for me. By the time I picked my child up, it already felt like the next day. I now leave at 2:45 (yes, an entire half hour before my child is dismissed). Believe it or not, there are already parents there waiting in line. It's not like the school was handing out gold bars. We're just getting the same exact child back that we dropped off that morning. (Hopefully a bit brighter, but still, the same child).

To give you an idea of how exhausting this process has become to not only me, but to the many parents who sit that half hour bumper to bumper, I'd like to share a story.

So the wait was just about over. It was 3:15 last Friday afternoon. The children were beginning to be dismissed. I was about 6 cars back.

As the moderator began loading the children into the cars, the line began to move forward. I put my car in Drive and waited for the car in front of me to move....but, it never did. I was about to beep when I noticed the drivers seat was reclined. And that's when I got the uncontrollable giggles. Scooter was in the back seat wondering what the heck Mommy thought was so funny.

I could barely get out the words: "She fell asleep!" "Good Grief, I cried. Mommy Down!"

I quickly tried to compose myself as I waved down the moderator from my window. The swiftness at which this moderator glided across the parking lot to awaken Mommy Van Winkle showed me that this probably was not the first Mom to go down in a car line. She lightly tapped on the window. The look of shock on this woman's face said it all. She apparently hadn't taken a nap since she gave birth to her first child. She now squeezes in whatever shut-eye is possible during red lights, PTA Meetings and of course car lines.

Sometimes the greatest gifts life can give us will never be wrapped in a box. It will never come tied with a bow. It will simply be the offering of 10 minutes of complete silence. A cool breeze flowing through the window. The smell of evergreen air freshener lingering. And a reclined chair with a soft pillow to hold our head.

Sweet Dreams Mommies Everywhere!