Things That Are (Not) Sacred

We've had this talk before. The one where I remind the children that the fancy, expensive shampoo is mine, and that they are to use the bulk stuff I buy specifically for them. If they want fancy, expensive shampoo then it is up to them to buy their own. We have had the same talk about razors. About bath towels. About makeup. Over and Over and Over again. Which is why it was no surprise to me that when I took a shower yesterday, after cleaning three Persian cat's worth of hair out of the drain, that I was fighting to squeeze the very.last.drops of my fancy, expensive shampoo out of a bottle that had been half full only two days ago. I have few remaining vanities. I get that I am old. And I don't have a  whole lot going for me anymore. But my hair. Which of course is ONLY successful based on the procurement of fancy, expensive shampoo. And when it is gone, along with the money, which was swallowed alive in a comedy of errors we will call Accidental Miscalculation, I am relegated to using the cheap, bulk shampoo, which happens to be Dove right now. I HATE the smell of Dove shampoo. Shampoo is all about the smell, as much as Megan Trainor is about the Bass, shampoo is about the smell. I can't stand Dove. The kids don't mind it, so I get it FOR THEM. But even then, I only get it when I am wandering Walmart (God Forbid) in a feverish state, and I can't smell from the head cold that will certainly kill me before the day is out, so I get the Biggest, Cheapest Bottle of whatever isn't Suave. But next time I am getting Suave. Because since it is readily apparent that I cannot have fancy, expensive shampoo of my own to use, and I refuse to use Dove, and even if I can't smell the flavors, Suave has to be better than what we've got now.

Don't even let me start on the razors.

And the makeup.

and All of The Things.

All of these frustrations are really just opportunities for me to grow, and learn, and become a better person. By not killing any of my children. And discovering new talents.

Yesterday we had our third monthly toilet flooding. This one was the best so far. With swirling poop water standing two inches deep all the way to the back corner of my bedroom, where I was carefully squirreling away the Christmas Presents. By the time I responded to an expletive laced text from Nattie who unwittingly started the flood while I was over at the neighbors, the damage was irreversible. I didn't cry. Well, not til later. Curiously, we had just rolled up our sleeves and embarked on a sugar cookie decorating adventure over at the neighbor's, when I got the text. Two months ago it was pumpkin carving. Apparently even attempts at Holiday Traditions are not sacred to the fates. I think I might ban the use of the toilet for a 24 hour period around such undertakings. Gingerbread houses are on Tuesday. DECORATORS BE WARNED! Maybe I will dig an outhouse before then. Or, as suggested by the many witnesses of this repeat catastrophe, put a drain in the hallway. So I guess I will be hanging out on ehow.com for awhile this morning, educating myself on the nuances of floor drain installation. See! Learning and growing!

In the meantime, between load of poop-infested laundry today, I will be salvaging the few Christmas presents that I was able to get together this year, and write apologetic notes for the poop streaks that may or may not be included in the packaging. Because I care. Happy Holidays. (don't worry DC, your care package escaped unscathed...)

This morning is one of the coldest ones we have had lately, which meant it was absolutely the perfect time for the pellet stove to throw a hissy fit and quit working. Motivated by numb hands, I quickly tore the beast apart and jerry-rigged a solution, so now the stove is reluctantly cranking it out. I wonder how in the world single moms survived before the advent of google, and do-it-yourself videos about ignitor replacement, and without really helpful brother-in-laws. I was able to convince the pellet stove it could get by just fine with what looks like the scarred remnants of a amputated finger for an ignitor remaining. Clearly this is an issue that will need to be addressed more thoroughly in the near future. Probably when the temperatures are at least sub-zero. I am looking forward to that little do-it-myself lesson.

The good news in all of this is that the head cold that seemed determined to take me out has finally subsided, and I can move ahead with fixing All Of the Broken Things without feeling like I just want to crawl under a rock and die. Being mentally functional is somewhat important today as I have PILES of writing that Must Be Done in addition to the poop laundry and masking of Christmas Gift Poop.

So if you need me, I will be over here, on my computer with the rubber gloves on, googling ignitor replacement and drain installation while I am folding towels and writing about the Grand Army of the Republic and locally crafted beer. And I am really sorry if my hair smells like Dove.

 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Things About Snow

It's December 12th. Less than 2 weeks until Christmas. We had snow. We had The Holiday Spirit, in spades. And then something happened. I am not sure what exactly - I can't tell you which rotten, grinchy thing that happened to steal it all away, but the snow melted, and now the dirty, muddy, drizzly December and I are at odds.

Maybe it's the overdrawn bank account, just in time for Christmas. Maybe it's the terrible, awful head cold that makes me feel like my head is in a mailbox and all of the kids are beating on the outside. Maybe it's that I am at what feels like an insurmountable impass with MacKenzie, once again, and I don't know how to fix it. Maybe it's hearing from old friends and missing good times. Maybe it's falling asleep alone trying to pretend that the heated mattress pad and the pile of clean laundry on the bed next to me make a good substitute for "the one". Maybe it's the ever growing piles of bills with red numbers and letters from people that I didn't even know that I owed money to.

But all of these things just make me wonder if somehow fate didn't get the memo that it's The Holidays. I can patch it all together and make it work, but can't we save all of this failing for January, when it's a good time to start over anyway? And when is it gonna snow again, and feel fresh and clean? Because that's what I need. A clean start. A new snow. January. A new name. A new beginning.

And gosh darnit, I'll be dad-gummed if I am gonna let it ruin The Holidays. Me and Aspen are gonna sit down with a  giant mug of Gyspy Cold Care tea and watch the Muppet Christmas Carol and enjoy every minute of it. All the dogs have their jingle bells on, the stockings are  hung by the chimney with care, and nobody is gonna stop ol' St Nick.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Things About My Name

Today I finished the process of having my name legally changed back to Stecker. If feels full circle and final to me. Like this is where I started, and where I will end. But not in a bad way. I like being a Stecker. It carries with it connotations of weird cerebral coolness. And eccentric pack-ratish tendencies that usually result in having a lot of cool stuff for really cheap.

The process in getting back to Stecker wasn't too hard. But man, today was like an exercise in learning tolerance for the Whole Human Race. And that part was hard. I had to sit through the last part of traffic court, which was the contested cases, where a couple of very illiterate and mostly unintelligent people decided to go up against whichever law enforcement officer wrote them up for whatever infraction they were adamant that they didn't commit. It was actually pretty darn funny.

One guy was insistent that even though every witness of the accident that he caused saw him cross the center line, none of them could prove that they weren't lying, and therefore the person causing the wreck remained a mystery. He called his father, his brother and his buddy from down the road to testify on his behalf, because they all heard the officer on scene say that he "probably wouldn't" get a ticket. The high point for me was when the dad, in a raspy-smoke-thickened voice, asked if he should go "over yonder" to the witness stand, and then proceeded to tell the judge about all that he "seen" when he got there. The grammar nazi inside of me was gasping for air. The entire time. Then the brother said the exact same thing, except slipped up and conceded the officer's "probably" to the court. Then the buddy got up and chanted a similar mantra around a thick plug of chew and several rotten teeth, with grammar that put the entire defendant family to shame. It was impressive, and needless to say, they lost and were forced to pay the entire $124 ticket.

But THEN.... This other guy with a dirty gray ponytail got up and asked for a continuance of his ticket, which happened to be the third continuance, and therefore denied by the judge. According to the ticketing officer, this rocket scientist had passed on the shoulder  to the right of a car, and told the cop that he "don't like following slow cars, and I probably do lots of things people think are wrong." Yes. Those words. He proceeded to ask the judge is she could prove that there was a shoulder on this particular piece of  "real estate" and how she could make a judgement call without knowing for sure, and that he really felt sick and needed a continuance. Again. Another loss, he took it with his chin up and muttering disdainful things about the judge and cops and conspiracies about road shoulders, etc, and went off to pay his $124.

It makes me feel foolish for paying my speeding ticket without a fight. I mean, at least I could sound smart. The judge would probably let me off out of pure relief.

Then I went to Walmart. Because God hates me. I still haven't recovered.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, I decided to swing by Goodwill to make sure I wasn't missing and Christmas Candles on Military Monday that Em would beat me to later. After eavesdropping on a revelational conversation about the vicious nature of hippopotamuses between two meth-heads at the counter who were buying a resin hippopotamus statue, I left in a state of intellectual numbness that I haven't quite recovered from.

I went from there to do a few interviews for my next couple of articles, and until after I sat down and looked at a pile of amazing pictures from the early 20th century and newspaper clippings about the Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic, I wasn't able to shake the hopelessness I felt for our species. But here was this little old lady named Edie, pointing out her battle-axe of a grandmother in pictures where she paraded with other patriots and political activists of the time. She told me the story of being apart from her biological father and grandmother until she was 19, and then meeting the woman who was the past president of the Ladies of The GAR, a somewhat celebrated school teacher in the northwest, and an all around mover and shaker. She explained how her bitterness toward her absent father had stolen the chance she would have had to be a part of this great lady's life. She spoke of forgiveness and the wonder of family and opportunities and always being soft.

And when I left, she slipped a puzzle piece into my hand, and reminded me that we all have a place in God's puzzle of life... and that even when we are "so low that we can sit on a dime and swing our legs", that we are loved, and we have a place. And suddenly, being human didn't seem so bad anymore, thanks to Edie.

And I remembered that I am, once again, a Stecker. Fitting into my spot. And while I am thankful for all of the days that I have spent as something else, and everything that I have learned along the way, it's good to just be me again, the way I started. My own puzzle piece.

Things About Giving (Back)

So, here we are, 17 "shopping" days to go, and while I am sure that there are some of you that are far more responsible than I am, and have all of your Christmas Gifts already wrapped and under the tree, those of us who have been accidentally holding out for the just right thing might be stuck between a rock and a Walmart. God Forbid.

Shopping online is easy, fast, and you can find WAY cooler stuff that Wally world offers. I know that we already missed (on purpose) Cyber Monday, but most places online still have a few days left before it's too late to ship by Christmas. With all of those options, and assuming that you, like me, have no where local to shop, other than Walmart (God Forbid), here is something to consider: I have found that all of the cool things that I pine for online can usually be found at a site that gives back to the global community. Sometimes these are small businesses, sometimes they are charitable organizations. But if you're gonna spend online, why not make it count twice, right? So here are some of my favorite online places to shop, and some of the coolest stuff you can find... and incidentally, I know if I post these links, the ads on my blog will correspond. And that is awesome. 

1) SEVENLY . This place is the bomb. Each week they feature a new 7 day "campaign", where $7 for each item sold goes to a specific charity or organization. I have done some research into the company itself as well as the charities it supports, and you guys, it's legit. It is staffed by volunteers, so shipping is historically sporadic, but during the holiday season they have ramped up and introduced a 1-2-3 shipping policy, where Day 1 you order, Day 2 they process, Day 3 item ships. Which means you've got a few more days to get your order in before Christmas. They have a slew of awesome t-shirts themed around the movements they support, including Autism Speaks, Mercy Ships, and Show Hope, this week's campaign, supporting US adoptions for orphans in Asia. As if all of that wasn't enough, you can also buy really really awesome products from companies like Krochet Kids, who provide work to impoverished families in Uganda and Peru, to produce one of a kind crocheted goods. I have this hat. It is RAD. 

 They also sell Giving Keys, which make really cool gifts-that-keep-on-giving, and Pendleton throw pillow covers. Need I say more? Sevenly is an amazing way to get your holiday shopping done AND give back.

2) Bravelets.com - this website is pretty awesome too. For almost any cause you can imagine, you can order a very cool looking bracelet and $10 of the cost goes to the cause of your choice. You can even set up your own cause... one that is near and dear to me is the Wildland Firefighter Foundation, so I ordered the braided leather bracelet, knowing $10 went straight to WFF. And I love bracelets. Especially cool ones that mean something. Who can't stand a little reminder to "be brave"? I know I can.

3) TOMS.com - talk about writing the book on charitable spending, Toms might be one of the best examples of how to do it. Not only is all of their stuff RAD, as in, I want it all, but for every single THING you buy, they give one to a child in need - all over the world. I mean, how cool is that? And oh, by the way, they have coffee now. WHAT???? BRB, got some shopping to do. 

4) OK, so this one isn't a charitable organization, per se, but it is a very small business, and they sell SO MUCH COOL STUFF, including Krochet Kids knits, and other fair trade, locally sourced stuff. I found Pulp & Circumstance when I had a few hours to kill in the cute little town of Newberg Oregon. I could have spent hours in there. And then I found their website. I have been hanging out on there A LOT. Although I haven't ordered yet, this is the first thing in my cart:

I know that there a lot more amazing places to shop online, with a little bit of looking, and maybe the extra bucks you spend count for extra Holiday Goodness because you know they are well spent. I could keep posting all night, but honestly I got distracted by all of my cool links and need to go back to my browsing. 

Things About Scrooge

There is an epidemic in our town. In our state maybe. Probably all over. It is even pervading my own house. It is not the mutant flu strain that has slipped by the defenses of the All Important Flu shot. It is not the head lice, the fleas, the bacterial staph infection, the pnuemonia or the vomiting stomach virus that is sweeping our ranks, although all of those are just gross.

This epidemic is lethal. The death rate is higher than E68 or even Ebola. It is more contagious than ringworm, which, as we all know, is spread by mere imagination.

This plague is killing at alarming rates. It is cascading from house to house like a tsunami, and it must be stopped.

It is the Scrooge virus.

It is December 5th. To date, I have heard no fewer than 12 people complain about Christmas Music, and being sick of it already. And Christmas lights, and how annoying they are. We don't even have a tree up and my very own children are put out by the stress of Holiday Traditions.

WHAT. THE. HECK.

Once a year, we get to be like little children, without shame. We get to believe. We get to sparkle. Once a year. It's less than a month, people. How sad are we that we can't stand to hear "Marshmallow World" after only 5 days. What is wrong with us that "Here Comes Santa Claus" doesn't make each and every one of us giddy. Shame on us for growing up. Shame on us for Not Believing.

I have tried to explain to people why I love the movie Elf. In spite of the love/hate dichotomy that Will Ferrel presents in social circles, Elf tells the story of belief. Of simple faith and hope and JOY. To ALL OF THE WORLD. Elf celebrates childlike joy. Nothing could be more biblical, more under protected, more valuable to this world.

It struck me today, at work, in the middle of a 7 hour Christmas Music Attack on The Humbug, that our holiday music has evolved. If you listen to anything pre-1970, with the exception, perhaps, of Elvis crooning about his Blue Christmas, holiday music was full of Santa Claus and Reindeer and toys and Children Behaving and Snow and Snowmen and ALL OF THE CHRISTMAS THINGS! And then WHAM! We grew up. Christmas became about our jilted lovers and broken hearts and what, even revenge? Not that there isn't a special place in my heart for Last Christmas, and pretty much Mariah Carey's entire holiday album - but I feel like we got a little lost. And maybe, it's time to go back. Or at least to remember what was so flipping awesome about a reindeer with a glowing nose and a snowman that ran through town. Because Lord knows, the Rat Pack can't have been wrong about everything.

And I will continue to be the ridiculous parent, ala National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, trying desperately, to make it the Best Christmas Ever. For my kids, and everyone's kids. Freezing your eyes shut looking for a tree, and electrocuting the neighbor cat with our Bohemian Gingerbread House Lights. Because GOSH DARNIT, I BELIEVE.

So take that, Scrooguloccocous. You ain't got nothing on me. And even if my kids bring you home with them from school like head lice, because Santa isn't cool, you'll get the same treatment that the ringworm and the staph infections got. SMACK. DOWN. Because we believe in Christmas. We believe in magic. We believe in the magic of family. And love. and Joy and Forgiveness. And I, for one, won't stop Singing Loud For All To Hear or wearing RIDICULOUS reindeer antlers to work, etc, etc, etc. So get back, all you humbugs. It's The Holidays.

Things About International Relations

Somebody decided it would be a good idea to volunteer to host an exchange student.

So, here we are, almost 5 months in, and turns out, for once, Somebody was right. It WAS a good idea. Not because the timing was perfect and life is smooth sailing. Not because we lacked drama and intrigue. But because we got When.

Fortune saw fit to smile upon us and send us a quiet little Vietnamese girl named Uyen. Pronounced, and also spelled by my very culturally sensitive sister, "When".

She is little. Older than Natalee, but also smaller. Aspen likes to compare her size to the girl that she calls YooEn. Which is, obviously, the phonetical pronunciation for her name.

She is also, in no small convenient coincidence, funny as all heck. She talks very little. Which, in this house, could be the reason that I love her the most. But when she does finally open her mouth, it's as if she saved her world class sense of humor for a weekly one liner.

When has establish FIRMLY that Wednesday is actually When's-day, and a weekly celebration of, well, her.

She has also adopted my nephews and nieces. Which is something, if you've ever met them. Not that they're not adoptable. But they're not for the faint of heart. And her heart is anything but faint. She even loves the dogs. All of them. Truck is particularly enamored of her, he sleeps in her bed most days and talks to her with great emotion every night for awhile. We haven't figured out whether he thinks she's the newest, biggest sucker and might play with him, or what, but he tries really hard to boss her around. It's fine with me, because this time in the evening is traditionally reserved for the spilling and breakage of wine glasses by his tail, scars on my legs from his toenails and lots of awkward situations when he tries to position himself as a lap dog on top of, say, Aspen, or Dagny or someone. When can take it for awhile.

As The Holidays overtake us with unbelievable speed this year, little "When" has been riding the 10-hour-road-trip-with-5-kids-and-four-dogs-20-lbs-of-apples-and-a-partridge-in-a-pear-tree roller coaster like a champ. In fact, this has been going on pretty much since she set foot on Washington pavement. She emerged from the mountains of emotional confetti that were my brother's summer wedding, which reasonably doubled as a rare-ish WHOLE DARN FAMILY AND FRIENDS reunion and was as much of an ultimate crash course in Stecker family ridiculousity as one, or When, if you will, could ask for.

Introducing her to our family Holiday traditions has been not only a delight, but also a kick in the pants. Rallying through a number of terrible Hallmark Movies, she has decided that the only prerequisite for a true "Christmas Movie" is the inclusion of snow. Therefore, we have been able to justify such rousing successes as Snowpiercer, a post-apocalyptic action thriller with a little more blood than snow. And also I can enjoy all the seasons of Once Upon a Time (which When is the resident expert on) and even much of Arrow, since almost all of those episodes have snow. Or at least frosty breath. In case you didn't notice.

When has definitely revolutionized the holidays for me (I will quit using quotations around her name now). I am excited to see what happens with the Christmas Tree and Gingerbread Houses, which, by the way, she says our house looks like. I guess that happens when you turn Natalee and Aiden loose on a mixed assortment of outdoor holiday lights. We're calling it a "Bohemian Gingerbread House", because the wanton trail of mismatched lights strung haphazardly across random walls of the house is nothing less than gypsy festivity. Not a day goes by that I don't thank the Lord that I am a rigid imperfectionist. And not a day goes by that I am not thankful for my When.

I hope Vietnam isn't permanently damaged from the Steckerization she may carry home with her. :)

Things That Embarrass Me, or Whatever

You know those really terrible Hallmark Holiday Movies? The ones that you are COMPELLED to watch every holiday season, but all have the exact same plot, with the dead spouse, the unexpected blossoming romance, and the salvation of the holiday season for some little kid with a Canadian accent who lives in Arizona? Well, none of that has anything to do with things that embarrass me, except that I will/do watch them, and also the inevitable plot twist when there is a fateful miscommunication, or the snarky, competitive skank next door tells a lie, and the unexpected lovers quit speaking, totally unreasonably, because they won't have one little conversation to fix it all. My shoulders are like that right now. That one little conversation. And it's embarrassing.

Three years ago I hurt my right shoulder under questionable and somewhat disputed circumstances. I missed several weeks of work and lost use of my right arm, but being one of the uninsured seasonal working masses at the time, couldn't get an MRI, etc. So, more or less, I self diagnosed, ala internet, self treated, ala slow workouts and ultimately, mostly healed. Then this year, my left shoulder developed similar symptoms. Suddenly, with no documentable circumstances whatsoever, questionable, disputed or otherwise, other than MAYBE a car accident I was in back in February, where I reached back to save a small dog from Certain Death. Anyway, long story short, being mentally compromised by the basic ridiculousness of my life, I went to the shoulder doctor, and mistakenly explained to him the left shoulder injury as the return of the old right shoulder injury, since the pain was IDENTICAL. Turns out, when I got home, I realized that the old injury was my right shoulder, so I went back to the doctor and tried to explain that I am an idiot, which he obviously agreed with, and ordered an MRI to make sure I wasn't just totally making crap up. Before the MRI, but after the appointment, I took a silly little spill on some pretty rad ice outside of the Krispy Kreme Donut shop as I was moving a 40lb EMT jump kit (on my right shoulder) out of the way of 1300 fresh donuts. I was mostly concerned with an awesome looking bruise on my knee until I realized, three days later, that I couldn't sleep at night or lift my right arm without excructiating pain. Now I have to go BACK to the doctor who already thinks I am insane, tell him "just kidding!" actually my RIGHT shoulder hurts the worst now, and get an MRI on that one too. And I am too embarrassed to do it. Embarrassed, tired of driving to Spokane, doctors agreeing that I am crazy, and All of Those Things. So now I am rendered virtually armless. In fact, trying to erase wet-erase marker from a dry-erase board today at school moved me almost to tears. I can't even hold a wine glass very well. Or drive. Can I get a new doctor and tell him I hurt both shoulders saving a baby from a burning house? Or can someone else call my doctor and verify my semi-sanity, and also that I am not just attention seeking? Or am I?

And there is the Hallmark Crisis. I can't face him. I would rather lie awake at night in pain than try to explain it all. Because it sounds so ridiculous: right, left, right, Krispy Kremes, jump kits... So I won't have the one little conversation that could solve All of The Problems: i.e. MRI's on both shoulders, and then surgery. (Now accepting applications for spoon-feeding care givers when I have both shoulders operated on simultaneously) As it is, I am living moment to moment figuring out which arm to use for any given movement that will result in the least amount of pain.

What frustrates/embarrasses me the most is that otherwise, I feel pretty great. I want to go running. I want to lift weights. And I can, at certain angles/modifications. But just the gravity of my arm on my shoulder joint is jaw-clenching pain. And localized pain is just annoying and STUPID. I know most of you know exactly what I am talking about. You know who you are. The knees and the backs and the ankles out there. It's a waste of time and energy. And we just need it to be better. I don't want slings or surgeries or any more spontaneous dislocations. I need to just have the stupid Hallmark Revelational talk and find my holiday resolution. But that pride thing...

So here's to cheesy holiday movies like the one you are probably watching RIGHT NOW (Mom), and  bodies that just don't bounce back like a 12 year old body would. And addled brains and fuzzy memories and just not being able to Fix Things. But also: Here's to having the one little talk. Here's to swallowing pride, acknowledging our brokenness, overcoming our sometime stupidity and being able to laugh at ourselves just like we laugh at Hallmark Movies, or at least find a new doctor.

PS: if someone wants to send this blog to my doctor, in a Hallmarkesque Santa Clausey fix-it gesture, I wouldn't mind.

Things About My Day. And Math. (Swearing Inferences Contained Within, FYI)

Today I was the 5th grade teacher. That was a first. The thing about teaching is that you have to actually teach things. Like math. If you don't already know, math and I get along about as well as long haired cats and ice water. And the thing about 5th grade, is that the math is...complicated. Especially when you haven't done math for the better part of a decade and the last math you did do consisted of lucky-guessing my way through a multiple choice challenge test of the Last Algebra Course I ever had to take in college. Because I was failing it. (PS - If you have no idea, the answer is most likely C.)

So anyway, today I was the fifth grade teacher. If your child (and, incidentally, one of mine) grows up with ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how to find the volume of a cube, you can blame me. And also, if they are TERRIBLY CONFUSED for All of Time about mixed numbers and improper fractions, I will also accept responsibility. Because math.

I learned a lot today in the 5th grade. Like how wet-erase markers work on dry-erase boards. But how they don't come off. And how taping holes in a plastic cube and submerging it in a bucket of water is probably not the most efficient way to calculate volume. (That one was not my idea, BTW.) I also learned the the people who write curriculum, particularly 5th grade science and math, are total A-Holes. (I apologize for the swearing inference here, to all sensitive parties, but sometimes, sweating inferences are entirely called for.) Like, CAPITAL A. I learned that adjectives are way more fun, and much more flexible than measuring centimeters or multiplying decimals, because slinky and moldy can apply to almost any noun, and doctors could be deaf and holes might be invisible.

Fifth grade was a great mental workout for me. But I think it exhausted my brain for the day week, since I came home and shook up a box of Trader Joe's Tomato Soup after I took the cap off. Because math. Turns out TJ's tomato soup is pretty awesome, even as a facial masque, and makes a pretty decent dinner with grilled cheese and a coke & whiskey. Served in a snowman mug, because, well, The Holidays.

The good news for Northport is that the 5th grade class is actually a pretty decent group of mostly nice kids. Except for the one that cried during fractions. Because math. All I wanted to do was cry with her, and apparently that's not acceptable for teachers, even substitutes. I will admit that we spend part of our time allotted to math on finishing our adjective pages, because they were WAY more fun, and because math. But we managed to get it all done, regardless of what the a-holes who wrote the curriculum in cerebro-code say. We successfully discovered the cube with the greatest volume, which wasn't the one we thought - in spite of multiplying decimals. (PS - sneaking math into science is pretty much the meanest thing I think any curriculum a-holes have thought of.)

Now I am home, and with the help of my snowman mug I will launch into the first of several articles that I need to have written in 20.5 days. But there's NO MATH, no wet-erase markers, dry erase boards or cubic centimeters. Just adjectives.

Things About December 1

Today could be my favorite day of the year.

Today could be when I  take four kids to go hunt down the perfect Christmas tree, drag out 8 Rubbermaid totes of holiday joy and blare Frank Sinatra Christmas music loud enough for Canada to hear. 

Today could be the first batch of Grandma Lee's Gingersnaps. 

Or hanging miles of Christmas lights on a roof with questionable accessibility. 

Today should be the day I iron out the advent calendar, and fill the pockets with daily ritualistic traditions. 

But for right now, I'm in my own bed, with the heated mattress pad turned all the way up, and a very fuzzy wiener dog next to me, all except one of my kids soundly asleep. It's trying to snow outside, which is OK by me for December first, as long as Halle is well on her way out of the snow's reach on her (much dreaded by me) trip to Bend. 

Today could be pretty much perfect, if I decide before I crawl out of my warm cocoon to make it so. 

Yesterday I was scolding MacKenzie for complaining in the car. Complaining about being sick of Christmas music. Stinky dogs, obnoxious sisters. As if complaining helps. And she reminded me that I'm a complainer too. A bad one. Every day. It's about the 40th time this week that someone has reminded me that my children are what I model for them. Which is saddening and overwhelming. But fixable. 

So today will be perfect. In spite of all of the imperfections and worries and aches. 

Today will be my favorite day of the year, because I choose it.

Things About Movies

So.... in a longstanding family tradition of going to see a movie at the theater during The Holidays, which is actually more like a longstanding tradition of arguing about what movie to go see, when to see it, and who can throw the biggest fit for not winning the argument, but anyway... we went to see Mockingjay Part I today with the better part of 21 family members.

Here is what I took away:

Liam Hemsworth. Katniss AND Miley Cyrus, you're both idiots.

That is all.

Things About Holiday Travels

- EVERYONE needs to be in your lane.
- THE WHOLE WORLD is going to the same place
- people are lemmings in motorized weapons
- heavy rain is worse than snow
- Helicopters should be standard issue to those of us stupid enough to have more than one child
- alternate routes are from the devil
- red lights ARE the devil
- children do not help
- music does not help
- no amount of terrible, high-calorie junk food helps
- caffeine doesn't help
- nothing helps
- heavy traffic invokes nervous flatulence in large dogs
- and children


BUT

On The Flip Side

- there is family
- and good food
- and wine (with plenty of justification)
- and no driving for 2.5 days, at least
- nobody died (this time)
- all the other drivers are just trying to get to their families too. (which are mysteriously located next door to yours)
- there is pie
- and your baby brother
- and many wiener dogs

So, it's worth it.

Things I Declare

In the spirit of National Fail At Life Week, I totally bombed on my NaBloMo commitment to post every single day in the month of November. (Sorry, Amaia.) Arguably, this can be overcompensated for by multiple daily blog posts between now and the end of the month, but in the words of that immortal philosopher, Thumper, "if you can't say something nice..." And I just haven't had many nice words.

Until today.

Maybe it was the triumph of finally, if ineffectively, grounding an insolent 17 year old. Or letting go of sleep depriving nightmares about things that ultimately, are out of my control, no matter which option I take. Maybe it was stepping up to the plate of responsibility and turning down something that I wanted in order to save something that I needed. Perhaps it's the acknowledgement that NO AMOUNT of worrying, freaking out, or denying will make certain things so. Maybe it's the undying affection of a blind, obese wiener dog, who would give anything for one good snuggle, or to sleep in the arm of a hoodie for the night. Or it might be that every single fail, all of the obstacles, and each pitfall that I have encountered lately all say the same thing to me, over and over: "you're hilarious". They giggle at my foolish attempts to control the evil universe around me, they mock my feeble swings at Looking Perfectly Together. And they remind me, over and over again, that I am, in the words of my gentle ex-husband : "more broken than anyone I know." And I am. Gladly. Because it's brokenness that brings healing. And growth. Even with the pain. The only people who aren't broken are the ones who aren't living.

All of that being said, I have some Declarations About Life that I feel compelled to make:

First, and Of The Greatest Importance:

It's The Holidays

So get with the program! It is now officially time for egg nog, snow, mittens, decorations, sledding, eating Too Much and Too Well, hot buttered rum and mulled wine. Gone are the doldrums of fall and the mediocrity of seasonless apathy. Now is the time to celebrate family and love and All of The Reasons that WE ARE. 

My next declaration to you, the Whole Universe, is that I am sorry. I cannot fix it all. And for the time being, I am going to quit trying. Also, I cannot control it all. Or even any of it. So don't look at me like that. All I can do is take the next step in the Best Way I can imagine, and if you see a better way, feel free to point it out kindly. But don't think I didn't try. 

Thirdly, in the order of global announcements, I believe in Kindness. But at some point, tough is better than kind. And after many moons of "falling on my sword" and "dealing with myself", etc, etc, etc, I think I need a cosmic minute to bust a cap in the A** of destiny. Because, dude, really? Enough is enough. Take your stupid somewhere else. It's certainly not ALL my fault, and until you stop dealing from the bottom of the deck, I'd rather not play. 

In my declarations I am in no way condoning the use of Christmas Music before-after Thanksgiving, or December 1st, or Easter, or whichever your family standard is. And I am not recommending busting Ye Olde Holly and Ivy out of turn with the Cornucopia. To each his own Holiday Observations. But as for ME and MY Irreverent, Ridiculous, Totally Overrun With Hormonal Emotions House, GAME ON. 

We're watching Elf tonight. Because It's The Holidays. 

Things I Have Done In the Last Week

1. Taught kindergarten, including the days of the week song.

2. Got a lot of blood on my new jeans.

3. Taught Nattie how to make toffee bars 

4. My own darn laundry

5. Got offered a job as the lead writer for a small local publication.

6. Taught geometry and writing summary paragraphs in special ed.

7. Drank some good beer.

8. And wine.

9. And Moscow Mules.

10. Purged the house of three giant piles of junk.

11. Warded off/eradicated: fleas, head lice and at least three viruses.

12. Succesfully avoided any form of exercise.

13. Got a massage. (oh, Heaven.)

14. Worked a double shift.

15. Wrote an article. Or two. Hundred.

16. Listened to a lot of music.

18. Double booked myself at at least four jobs.

19. Made plans to run away.

20. Bought 3 cases of olives.

21. Went to my first out of town middle school athletic event.

22. Kept going. All 7 days. Against my better judgement and very strong will.