Things That I Am Trying To Do

I can't write long because I have a HUGE list of projects I want to get done today. In reality, I will probably write for as long as I want and the list will disappear back into the nether where it belongs. There have been many hard, terrible things this weekend. Like when the Broncos lost to the Ravens and then the Seahawks followed suit. I will overcome my grief and extend my congratulations to 49er fans on their victory and wish them well. Also this weekend I had a fight with my husband. It must have gone well because he has suddenly become an all around angel and I just want to kiss his face. It was a good fight to have, over Necessary Things that have been put off. Contrary to what Josh thinks, I don't like to fight, but sometimes, being human, I get this idea that it's the only way to really communicate. Maybe I have my family to thank for that. I suppose that there are families out there who lovingly sort things out in Rational Tones. But I would guess that they lack passion and are kind of boring. Or that's what I will tell myself to justify my immature attitudes.

Really, overall, things are good here in the Weston House. I would love to say my pain is getting better because some moments I would swear it is, but then an hour later I am writhing on the couch and snapping at people. I also have the slightest suspicion that the pain is actually spreading to my right side now as well, but to stay consistent in my accusations, I will continue to assert my scientific opinion that it is Emmy's NEED to stand directly on my uterus on all possible occasions that is causing the radiating pain. I think she's attracted to the radioactive heat eminating from my lap area, and makes the most of it.

I have had a lot of thoughts lately at night. Really good, profound thoughts that were decorated with really pretty words and some Excellent Ideas, late at night, after the lights were out. Twice now, I resisted the urge to get out of bed and hammer them out quickly, thinking they were So Good that I would certainly remember them in the morning, but both times they were replaced with really weird dreams which were usually somewhat unpleasant if not completely nightmarish. I will keep trying to recall the Great Thoughts, but I am drawing a blank now.

My work hours are slowing down, which is OK as long as Josh's are picking up, so that there won't be a break in the steady flow of shopping I feel compelled to do. It gives me more time to sit at home and be contemplative (translate: watch Bones) and creative (translate: play iPhone games) and relax (translate: take naps). Actually it's a good time to crank up on eBay selling and try out some of the new recipes I've been drooling over on Pinterest. If they're any good, I will totally let you know.

The challenge I have posed to myself this week, since we're leaving for Hawaii on Saturday, includes several facets:

1.   don't buy any more groceries. I am experimenting with cooking ONLY what we have on hand. Tonight it's pumpkin beer pot roast, cause I had some flat pumpkin beer, and mashed sweet potatoes and green beans. It will be an adventure. I may have to cheat and buy a little thing of cream since I have only about 1 morning coffee's worth left. Of course I DO have Dutch Bros gift cards...
2.  lose 30 pounds. This might prove challenging, but I feel like I am off to a good start since I had some incredibly healthy (identified by the horrible taste and color) juice for lunch. (I skipped breakfast by sleeping until 10:30.)

1.  get a tan. Also challenging, but I may spring for some of that Jergens tanning lotion. If I get over the stripes it gave me last time I applied it incorrectly. 
2.  find more money. This is kind of fun, because I have to be REALLY creative. Josh has issues the ultimatum that the only money we're spending in Hawaii for 9 days is my paycheck, which this week will be a bountiful $319. Since I figure it will be somewhat difficult to even feed 6 people for 9 days in Hawaii on $319, I am scouring the house for things I can return in order to pad our wad for the trip. So far I have $37 to return at Costco $45 at the Gap and $32 at Target. This does not include a gift card to Old Navy for $18.98 for which I lost the receipt to get a cash return. I also have $16.00 on my Scentsy Debit card that I can cash out. That's an extra $130, plus the $100ish I'll be cashing out of eBay in the next day or two for selling a bunch of jeans and underwear. Weird how the Baltimore Ravens panties got super popular all of a sudden. Too bad I BURNED THEM ALL. Now we're loaded for bear! We can totally afford the dollar menu at the Waikiki McDonalds. Watch out McChicken, here we come!!
3.  Don't spend any more money. This is clearly the most difficult of all assignments to myself, because right now the clearance at Pendleton (which I just marked another 25% off) is an ADDITIONAL 35% off. Do you have any idea how cheap that stuff is after my employee 25% off of THAT? yeah. Dirt Cheap. D.I.R.T. I have a little pile of stuff that I totally need that equals about $96. To justify that, I went through my ENTIRE wardrobe last night and was ruthless. I now have an eBay pile that would make Sienna Miller wet her pants. I chose her because I like to imagine that we are the same style. Except for the jeans and hoodies. Ok, nevermind. But MacKenzie DID wet her pants when I let her pick some adorable stuff out. Interestingly enough she picked the stuff that probably would have made the most on eBay. And they say I am a bad mother. That is true parental sacrifice right there. I asked Halle if she wanted anything, but she was concerned with the amount of pink in the pile and a bit of lace that was peeking out. She respectfully declined. The unfortunate thing about all of this is that the clearance sale ends while I am in Hawaii and the eBay treasures won't be listed until after. This is where credit cards come in handy, and where it is also a REALLY good thing that I don't have any. Except that one...

On another eBay note, I bought a pair of AMAZING sorel boots, the ones I have been looking for, at the Columbia outlet the other day. They were $54 dollars. If that doesn't make you a little lightheaded, I am not sure if I should bother explaining. These boots are selling on Amazon for $219 right now. Do you see the profit margin here? As soon as I get some capital, my second - no third - job is going to be buying cheap stuff at Columbia and reselling. Why I haven't been doing that is a question related to my lack of capital and/or credit cards.  

OK. I am going to stop for now and go paint Josh's second dresser. It's been messing up my beach themed bathroom for far too long. But first I have to switch the laundry and put that poster in a frame and package eBay panties... I need a slave. Preferably someone fun that likes coffee and gossip and Bones.

Oh yeah! I got Blonde!! 

Things That Oink

It was Nattie's birthday on Saturday, and I decided, at the insistence of some friends and family, to actually make a real birthday cake this year. Or cupcakes as it turned out. I asked Nattie what her favorite was and she said "a surprise" which perfectly coincided with the gently whisperings in my ear from another adult entity about carrot cake. Who wants carrot cake for their birthday? I decided to go out on a limb and give it a whirl. And since Josh is convinced we are destitute after The Holidays, I further decided to make it all from scratch. The only thing we had to buy was red food coloring. I would like to hereby nominate myself for a Good Mom award for Outstanding Effort in the Area of Birthday Dessert Design. If I win this prize, I will give a nod of recognition to my artistic consultant, who also doubles as my boss, and Nattie's best friend for insisting on a pig cake.


You all know I don't like nuts. I did, however, plan to add walnuts like the recipe calls for into the second half of the cupcake batter. I forgot. Oops. Josh was crushed, but was consoled by the added raisins which made Kizzie gag, and in the end, it was all for the best since one of Nattie's friends is allergic to Walnuts. I'll go ahead and credit that little triumph to my stellar intuition. I googled "carrot cake recipe" and actually ended up using the one at the top of the list. I didn't even skip past the sponsored links like I usually do, looking for a "real person" link. I will post the recipe, but also the link to the site, which actually pretty cool. I liked this recipe because it comes from the 40s and anything from the 40s is cool. I have to say, the thought of carrot cake does not make my mouth water. I'd just as soon have an extra slice of garlic bread than a slab of carrot cake, which, as Josh (my carrot cake adoring husband) points out, is egregiously stupid since garlic bread has WAY more calories than Carrot Cake. He knows because he looked it up on his calorie counter app and manipulated the inputs to read that way. (yes, 1/4 ounce of carrot cake does have less than 1/2 loaf of garlic bread. good job, honey.) I made this very basic, traditional recipe with coconut oil, organic flour and sugar, raisins, and of course, no nuts. The website I stole this from is called Just A Pinch, and I will probably use it again.

Best Carrot Cake Ever

2 c	sugar
1 1/4 c	oil
4	large eggs
2 c	flour
2 tsp	baking soda
1 Tbsp	cinnamon
1 tsp	salt
3 c	grated carrots
1 c	chopped walnuts
FROSTING
12 oz	powdered sugar
2	3 oz. cream cheese room temp
1 tsp	vanilla extract
2 Tbsp	butter
2 Tbsp	milk

Directions

1

In large bowl, beat sugar and oil. Add eggs and beat well.

I warmed up the coconut oil for easier mixing - and you could maybe reduce it a tiny bit. 

2

 Sift together flour, soda, cinnamon, and salt into egg mixture; mix well; fold in carrots and nuts.

I added a pinch of nutmeg too. Mostly because I was excited to try my new nutmeg grater. 

3

 Place batter in greased 9x13 pan; bake for 45 minutes in a 350 oven. (Check once because of oven variances.)

I baked in cupcake tins for about 15 min? Give or take. You know how well I use timers. 

4

 FROSTING: Beat together powdered sugar, cream cheese, vanilla, butter and milk; (and add red food coloring to desired PINKNESS!) spread on cooled carrot cake.

obviously cream cheese frosting tastes better pink, right?

Things To Talk About

I have a lot of things I want to say. I feel like maybe I should make a list first so I don't forget them all while I am saying the first one. Except it's too late and I already have. I am not sure who I should blame for my short term memory loss but I do blame them, whoever they are that is responsible.

First: it was pointed out to me that I failed to commend Halle for her heroic effort at her very first timed Nordic Ski competition, in which she place 3rd overall. For anyone who doesn't know, my daughter Halle is a badass (sorry Mom, but it's appropriate). Most of you already know that since you watched me develop her from a sweet, soft, innocent little doll faced child into the analytical, eccentric, fixating tomboy that she is. Actually Halle came out grunting like a cute little baby monster, and when she started imitating the movements of a barn owl at age two, I knew she was special. Halle never played princesses or dolls or house or dress up. Ok, she played dress up, and here is the proof:

Halle is the one on the right. She was never without her purple hat and red cape.

But aside from the occasional emotional meltdown, Halle has been the closest thing to a son that I will ever have. Except for Ethan, but that's a whole different story. Since Halle was a tiny baby she was the easiest thing to care for. Sleeping was her main occupation as an infant, and still is as a 16 year old. She could sleep 12 hours a day and still be functional. I think maybe it was because she was growing at about a rate of 6 feet a year and it was exhausting work, doing all that eating. We've called her Hollow Leg Hal because she always has room for seconds, and thirds, and puts any man I've ever known to shame with her ability to pack it away. The one thing you can say for Halle is that when she decides to do something, she is ALL in. Whether it is arranging rubber farm animals by species and genus on the running board of a bouncy horse, or designing the ultimate wizarding wand for an unsuspecting best friend, she will not be dissuaded from her task until it is accomplished to perfection. Halle never does anything halfway - Except her chores. Halle started cross country running last year and loved it. I think her long legs make the trek an easy lope for her, where I would be panting and scrambling just to survive a 5K job. Since Nordic Skiing started in November, it's pretty much been all she can talk about, think about, dream about. She found a niche, and she is in love. Maybe more so than we have ever seen her or will see her again. I guess we'd better learn to embrace her chosen mate. I tried cross country skiing once. I went with my uncle and cousin who were quite experienced. I was probably 15 and a lot like MacKenzie. I wore my aunt's boots which were at least 1.5 sizes too small and they took me on a seven mile loop at Mt. Spokane. Obviously I swore I would never be duped into such lunacy again. I am pretty sure I got gangrene in the blisters I wore into my ankles that day. Josh likes almost any kind of hard work in the snow, especially if he can wear a heavy medical pack and impress a bunch of people, so he's been happy to sign up as the resident medic/dad at local practices. I have yet to brave the cold to stand and cheer for Halle, but somehow it seemed like enough that we drove 18 hours in two days to pick her up from her dad's three days early so she could make her Nordic team sleepover, wax party, and first race last weekend. Josh did all of the driving so it was totally worth it, of course. I was able to sleep between bouts of complaining and latte stops. Nordic Skiing is the newest in a long line of driving intensive undertakings that we have joined in with our oldest child. Desperately concerned for her future success, she is taking the shotgun approach to high school, thinking if she does everything, she will be good enough at something to make it in the world. What Halle hasn't figured out yet is that she is good at EVERYTHING she does. Partly because she works hard and partly because she is a talented kid. And I haven't even started on her art and writing. Don't think I am not proud of my quirky, slightly nerdy kid. I programmed her to this weirdness half intentionally, replacing baby dolls with dinosaurs and pink frills with overalls. She is tough, smart, silly and beautiful. I have no fears for her future. Every turn will be bright. A third place ribbon is awesome, but we all know it's just her first run. 

Ok. Saying all of that took so long that I definitely can't remember the other things. I'll get back to you.

Things That AREN'T New

It started off as a good day. I had won almost limitless Good Mom points for the surprise 13th birthday party I threw yesterday for Natalee that was a raging success, and even the mountain of Bad Mom strikes I got for the guilt trips about never throwing an Awesome Party for my other kids couldn't cancel out the radness of a cross town, retail scavenger hunt, complete with mochas and holiday socks and mini shopping spree at Claire's. Today, even as I tripped over sleeping bags and unidentifiable teenage bodies, and I rushed through apparently twice as much french toast as a herd of 13 year old girls would eat (did I miss an eating disorder memo here?), and didn't get to wash my hair before work because Halle had to get dropped off for ski practice, I was still humming merrily though my nearly debilitating pain about What a Good Job we had done surprising her and how maybe I could win my parenting merit badge someday after all.

It seems like whenever I leave for work, all hell breaks loose. Suddenly there is an influx of woeful texts about crabby children and minor household catastrophes and how Aspen won't get off Pottermoore so Halle can do her homework, which apparently consists of three hours of Facebook and an intense round of some role playing game I have never heard of. I would like to interject here, that on the day in question, which is today, incidentally, that the girls were not parentless. Josh was home pretty much all day, doing countless loads of laundry that involved racing the girls to the washing machine between loads, and cooking pinto beans according to my recipe WITHOUT burning them. He's pretty much a stud.

I think the Bad Things that were happening at home today were magnified by many things, such as two weeks spent at DAD's house, which is nothing more than a sugar fueled, sleepless duration of as much awkward and random socialization as can be forced on 4 kids in a Christmas Break. Send four girls to spend time with a) disconnected and troubled biological father, b) super-enabling and guilt driven grandmother and c) a mini cultish place full of weirdos and a few innocent bystanders, and you get four confused, exhausted and basically snotty kids with misdirected sympathies and misplaced moral standards.

The aura of peace and tranquil positivity was also dampened by a series of flu bugs that would put Kevin Bacon to shame with their interconnectivity. Who needs seven degrees when I can trace this (the second) virus (without insinuating origin) from Bend, to Marble, to Olympia, to Spokane, and by now to Nashville, Washington DC and Pennsylvania. It's one thing to share friendly holiday germs with family. You kind of come to expect that when somebody ALWAYS has a snot nosed kid or husband running around. But the holiday cheer of passing the flu onto random passerbyers and realizing that YOU helped start the epidemic that is ravaging Maryland is somehow deeply satisfying. I have made an impact CONTINENTALLY! I have boosted the economy in sales of Kleenex and NyQuil, and connected millions of strangers to each other WAY more efficiently and intimately, biologically even, than Kevin bacon ever did!

Another exacerbating factor to consider for the entropy we were facing at home is the fact that it is January. With the exception of January 1st, the entire month of January is bleak, cold and desolate. We are broke from Holiday Overdoing-it, the bills are three times their normal amount because "Halle" left the space heater on the whole time we were gone, and work is slim. After the glorious rush of New Years optimism and joyfulness, we are faced with the hard truth that another year has begun and we have to do it all.over.again. Like right now. Turns out, you still have to take the garbage out on Thursdays in 2013 or you'll have overflowing cans for another week. Turns out that the puppy poop on the back porch and the mountain of laundry didn't suddenly vanish at midnight 12/31/12. Oh yeah, and the car is still running rough, and somebody STILL needs to go to the dentist, and you guessed it, I am still in pain. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I just wanted to come home from my grueling (4 hour) work day and curl up in sweatpants. All of the elements were right. Josh made amazing fajitas. I found a (mostly) clean pair of sweatpants. I almost made it to the couch. But WHAM!!! chore time hit with a fury unlike anything that a scorned woman has ever seen. I am not even sure what happened, but by the time the dust settled, Kizzie was doing Halle's chore, Halle was doing Aspen's chore, and Aspen was innocently MIA with her unfinished plate of onions. Josh started helping do Aspen's chore then disappeared downstairs to pout over a basket of laundry, and Nattie somehow squeaked by, messing around on the computer the entire time, until Halle finished cleaning the kitchen halfway and tried to remove her physically from Facebook, which, as we all know, is a scientific impossibility. All of this transpired with quite a bit of yelling, huffing and puffing, whining, stomping, a few tears and ultimately, me losing all my glorious good mom points when I unplugged the girls computer from everything and carried off the hard drive. Josh got mad at me for getting mad at him for getting mad at the kids for getting mad at him and after I got mad at him for getting mad at me for all of that I got mad at the kids, just for the heck of it and he started acting much nicer because I was REALLY mad. He even offered me wine. But I am not drinking. For a minute.

Now I am in my sweatpants on the couch, waiting for some wine, Kizzie is playing nicely with the dogs, which should give you some indication of how serious the situation was, since Kizzie won't play with dogs unless her life depends on it. Josh is wearing his itchy Pendleton shirt just to make me happy and Halle went to bed with a headache. Aspen and Natalee are still trying to figure out how to make the computer work without a hard drive.

I am going to watch a movie. I am on the fence between a gangster flick with fedoras and a lot of shooting or a mushy tear jerker. Hmmm. PMS much?

Things That Are New

For the life of me, I wasn't going to say anything today. Or anytime this week for that matter. It's not that there aren't things to say or it wouldn't be a good idea, but I've developed kind of a bad attitude, and was more or less throwing a fit. I think I had resolved that I needed to quit whining in front of the world, and until I have something new and fresh and positive to say, I should just shut my big self-centered yap. But sitting here, on New Years Day, January 1st, 2013, I was convicted by the typewritten words of my Grandma Stecker, who, in spite of pain and frustration and a million reasons to give up, somehow found the time a reason to pound into tightly squeezed lines, all of the little details of her life. Because those words reach beyond her earthly departure in 1987 and tell me what kind of a woman my Grandma was, I feel compelled to give words to my days. I suppose for some people this seems like a meaningless waste of time, but for me, I love to hear her sometimes pain-filled voice talk about me as a tiny girl, and understand that who I am is in some way because of who she was. This is powerful to me, and if my words even live past me for a few months, maybe somebody will hear something that resonates and gives them a laugh.

We are important to each other, us human beings, and for all of the crazy, negative, horrible wrecks of human beings out there, we pull together with the dearest ones to us and we make life worth living for each other. The last few weeks have been a little rough, since I am an enormous baby, and even though I make a conscious effort to not give my pain energy, there it is, consuming me anyway, and dictating not just my life but the lives of the people I love. This is insanely frustrating, especially for someone like me who would much rather be eating the glory of being the World's caretaker, entertaining and amusing and lighthearted and gay, and I have become the millstone 'round the World's neck, dragging everyone down to the depths of my own limitations. I don't want to, but they love me, some of these weirdos, and they hang in with me, in spite of extreme boredom, mild frustration and I am sure, some repressed impatience.

My husband, God Bless him, has picked up the slack for me, as I have worked every day just enough hours to render me incapacitated for accomplishing anything else. I have done less laundry and cooked less real food lately than I usually do in a summer when I am gone. He cooks for me, and cleans up after the trail of mess I leave lying throughout the hours, sometimes hardly able to get my boots off, and leaving my work clothes in a pile near the closest available sweatpants. He runs after won-ton soup in 8 degree weather, even after calculating the thousands of dollars I spent Christmas Shopping for myself. He rubs my feet with peppermint lotion and says he loves me, even though I give him absolutely no reason to. He caters to my dining whims, my shopping whims, my bizarrely irrational justifications for fiscal irresponsibility with a patient roll of his eyes and a careful watch on the bank account balance. And with a sigh, he trudges off to work he hates to make sure there's enough in there to cover my next trip to Victoria's Secret.com. He puts up with episodes of Bones and The Walking Dead and has even consented to video game dates with me in the near future. Forget his dreams of snowboarding next to his über cute little wife or a blond in golf skirts and visors... He is a good man.

Today is the first day of a new year. A year that I plan to make better than the last for the man I love, the kids I love and the life I love. I am resolved to give back to the friends, new and old, who have given to me, sympathy, compassion, understanding, flexibility, forgiveness... I am determined to know my girls better, love them harder and put effort into them that I quit offering years ago when I was overwhelmed and self absorbed. I am excited to get better. To MAKE myself better, by whatever means necessary, and become the strength for others that they have been for me. I want to become the wife that my husband deserves, that can bring him the happiness he brings me. These are my resolutions. And then on top of that, I have a slew of superficial plans for this Lucky 13 year. Like losing 20 pounds to start - I am hoping that my diseased uterus will account for at least a few of these when they finally drag it out of me - is that cheating?? I plan on getting myself, and in consequence, my family, healthier and happier in our lifestyle. I have struggled with finding a balance between overkill resolve and an unreasonable diet plan, and total abandon to my hedonist whims. I have settled on a comfortable plan of attack that is not legalistic, but pares away the unnecessary and un-beneficial frills in our diet and lifestyle. Deprivation always results in overindulgence for me, so I plan to avoid both.

More than anything, my resolve for 2013 is to make good choices, in my actions, attitudes and responses. To be love to my friends and family. To be honesty and integrity. To question the necessity, benefit and consequence of everything I say and do. To be the same person to every person, all of the time. To extend grace, give the benefit of the doubt, but operate in circumspect wisdom in all things. In short, maybe I am finally ready to grow up.

Nah.

But Tigger can reign in his blundering antics, and Peter Pan can put off some of his self absorption. That is all it takes. In my darkest times, Captain Hook's overhanging doom "old, alone and done for" echoes in my head as the ultimate failure in life. To avoid this, maybe I won't grow up, but I will balance the zeal and joy of with a listening ear and humility.

There is joy even in pain. And happiness even in struggle. There is no need to be consumed with sadness and wallow in the truth that hurt hurts. I am tired, but I am hopeful. I am loved, I am so richly blessed.  Even though we know that eventually our road will lead us to an end, the not knowing of that end is exciting in and of itself. Once I prayed for the peace of a dark rest after death. Now, the fear of death that drove me to salvation as a child is evolving into a mild and patient curiosity to see what is on the other side of this adventure. Not that 2013 holds any threat of an end to me, but being able to see EVERY end as a beginning and every death as a new start, I am thrilled to welcome a new year as the last one is laid to rest. Every good thing is only good because we know what bad is. Even with the waves, it's hard to imagine life getting better than 2012, but somehow, I know it will.

Happy New Year, y'all. Let's get after it!!

Things That Make Me Cold

When I married Josh, I conceded bed space to a ridiculous little black dog since I still wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't just kidding about having married me. After a few months, I either stopped wondering, or didn't care, and vetoed the ménage a trois in favor of less contortionist sleeping positions. Enter Dagny, and my confounded guilt issues. It didn't seem fair to let the baby wiener dog cuddle in between Josh and I when the poodle had been so cruelly evicted. I rescinded my former mandate and Emmy relocated her position of Bliss between Josh and I at about knee level. By no coincidence about this same time I started finding myself wide awake at ungodly hours, like 5 AM, for no perceptible reason. At first I blamed the pain that was always there, waiting to greet me like a mean 2 year old wanting breakfast. But then, through chattering teeth, in my early morning dysfunctional state, I realized that I was in a constant struggle to keep the edge of the king sized comforter wrapped around 80% of my body. Let me add that by this time in Dagny's youthful evolution she has decided that sleeping with mom and dad is hot and claustrophobic and she'd much rather be pooping under the table and eating Christmas presents. Emmy was hoping we wouldn't notice that she was the only canine remaining nestled in the blankets, but my chronic hyperthermia has revealed her secret. Emmy has a special tactic of rolling and twisting and wriggling so that the covers all spin up underneath and around her in the middle and there is about a foot remaining on either side for Josh and I to contend with. Josh has craftily adopted a whole different blanket which he keeps stealthily on hand on his side of the bed, offering the excuse that our big blanket is too hot for him. Uh huh. How did it take me so long to uncover this sneaky plot between them to freeze me to death? At any rate, I've been awake since five, pulling covers from underneath a 12 lb. poodle an inch at a time and plotting her near-future eviction to the dog bed lying unattended on the floor next to us. How 12 pounds can be so difficult to move is beyond me.

Things That We Are Good At

We have done a really good job potty training Dagny. She is very smart, and has already learned that right after she pees on the carpet she needs to go outside for a second or she will get yelled at. She dashes right out the dog door as soon as she is done pottying now, whether there is anyone yelling or not. It's a pretty cool set up. We have also succeeded in teaching the girls how to keep their wads of long hair out of the shower drain, by sticking said wads to the shower walls and then throwing them away after. Somehow the throwing away part got lost in translation, so now our upstairs shower is decorated with multicolored wads of hair. It's pretty awesome, I am not gonna lie. Another great success story for me is the personal record I hold for most unfinished cups of coffee in random spots around the house. I have just barely edged out February of 2010 and I would like to credit the over sized wonderfulness of my new Pendleton mugs for this triumph. In my own defense, I will say that I actually found a half finished cup the other day and reheated it. Twice. And still never finished it. It reminds me of Grandma Schiffman and the perpetual cup of coffee in the microwave.

In other news, and in the interest of honesty, I would like to issue a revision to the facts set forth in my Holiday Poem: three out of four girls are rocking straight A's, and I will leave it to you to wonder who could be the slacker. Obviously this information wouldn't fit the smooth-flowing format of my poem, so I took a little creative license. And was guilt racked for two days. But now I have made my confession.

If my ramblings seem disjointed and incongruent lately, or even unedited, I would like to cast sole responsibility on a very small hairball who is constantly either eating Christmas Presents or running outside to celebrate her most recent urination, and the fact that I am forced to claw my way out of my Pendletony nest on the couch to save gifts and rugs. I might as well give up because I am mostly succeeding in forgetting about my coffee and I think the carpet is past saving. This would be cause for distress except I know that there is beautiful hardwood underneath that we are intending to convince the landlords to let us uncover as soon as Dagny is potty trained, but since the world may come to an end before then, I am not holding my breath. And no, that is not a reference to December 21.


Today is my day off. Yesterday I thought I didn't work until 12, but luckily I called in to double check, and found out that I actually worked at 10, which was precisely 20 minutes from the time that I called. Somehow I still got almost everything done that I had wanted to, except showering, but I just threw some jingle bells in my dirty hair and called it good. I have another long list today, at the top of which is finishing my coffee, and then beginning to pack the smallish things that need to go North with us for Christmas. -- Stand by, Dagny is eating the area rug.--  Anyway, I have been losing sleep over the thought that I will forget things like Mom's turkey roaster rack, or Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas (an absolute holiday requisite viewing, in case you haven't yet), or the stuff for Josh's tactical stocking that I have hidden in such an obscure place that I am not sure even I can find it. And by the way, yes, Josh has a tactical stocking, complete with molle strips and carabiner hooks. Obviously it will be filled with tactical tools. Like shot glasses. I have already conferred with Santa about this.

I also need to spend some time working on my eBay junk, shipping, measuring, messaging. One last push before Christmas, and every penny in the Paypal account means non-accountable spending for me! Or not. But I am doing quite well selling Victoria's Secret panties that I buy on clearance and sell for slightly over retail because somehow people who have figured out how to navigate eBay and set up a Paypal account haven't stumbled across the Victoria's Secret website. Hmmm. I am not complaining. --- Dagny is now UNDER the area rug. Trying to decide if it's worth unnesting to save her. Probably not. She can just chew her way out. ---

One major non-success in our life right now is that I taught Natalee and Aspen how to sew. How cute, you say. How mother-of-the-yearish of you and all that. It would be, but for the random misplaced needles I am finding on the rug, hanging off the coffee table, sticking out of the couch cushion just millimeters from Truck's elbow. I mean come on! Who leaves a needle on Truck's side of the couch! That's just mean! Apparently Josh lived as a child in a rental that had previously been inhabited by seamstresses of some nature who had a habit of dropping needles in the carpet. Several of these were relocated by various members of the Weston Family who would then have to remove them from metatarsal bones with pliers. This will not happen in my house. --- Dagny has weaseled her way on to the couch and is now chewing on the corner of my MacBook. --- So tonight we are going to have a needle safety debriefing, wherein I will pull gruesome pictures off of the internet of needle related accidents and strike a fear so deep in the girls that they will have to be sedated for Tetanus shots.

Well, I think it's time for me to go unpack the dog's stocking and dole out all of the chew toys we got for Dagny before she eats my technology. We are currently accepting donations of anything that you would like chewed up. And if you'd like a cold cup of coffee - stop on by!!

Things That Are In The Mail

I asked Josh for help on the holiday poem. His started off something like this:

“Jingle bells ringing while puppy dogs itch,

Kizzie is in the back room being a witch…”

Anyway, needless to say, I took over. The Holidays are a

magical time in the Weston house, so many cheerful voices

and happy puppies – at least that’s what I am going to read

into the shouting and jingle bells.

Hope you enjoy the censored version of our Holiday story,

and feel free to drop by anytime. The rum is always buttered

and the cookies haven’t gotten stale yet!

Much love,

Josh, Liv, Halle, Kiz, Nat and Aspen (and Truck, Emmy, Dagny and Rascal)

PS: Be warned, it's terrible. 

My Favorite Every-Things

(you know the tune)

Football on TV and soup in the crockpot

Dogs dressed like reindeer and

Movies with weak plots

Blubbery teenagers locked in their rooms

These are the things that cause parental swoons

3^rd grader homework and 12 year old cello

Tuba sounds echo from attic to cellar

Backpacks with contraband high heeled shoes

This is why mom and dad feel abused

We have four girls

And three weird dogs One ridiculous bunny

Who thought that this was a brilliant idea?

It’s nothing short of funny

Girls all get moody and puppies like chewing

Rabbits don’t potty train

Carpets gets ruined

Nine year olds seldom take showers at will

Kizzie is lucky if she don’t get killed

Halle’s skiing

Aspen’s dancing

Josh is hiding downstairs

Truck he just sleeps all the day long and night

And Emmy is losing her hair

Kizzie takes pictures

Aspen takes long walks

Natalee plays with the rabbit and dogs

Even with trouble the kids get straight A’s

This means that somehow their parents are great?

Josh and Liv take turns working and whining

The bills are all paid

So there’s really no pining

Natalee plans to make all of us rich

Being a track star and concert cellist

Liv is shopping

Josh is cursing

All the girls do their chores (mostly)

If we survive through at least one more month

We’ll party on Waikiki shores!

Things That I Should Say

It's The Holidays, right? So now is the perfect time to bellow out long refrains about peace on earth and goodwill toward man, blah blah blah. I know. With so much happening in this crazy world, dozens of children slaughtered senselessly, random crazies shooting up malls - I can't even imagine where to start spewing my Noels and Night Divines. How my heart breaks for the parents who waited outside of that school. Waited, and waited, watching children pour through the doors - but not their child. How do you ever get past that? What can you ever do to recover. Aspen is 9 years old. She is almost an angelic child. She is smart, adorable, funny - all the promise of an amazing adult. I can only pray that she gets there. What kind of a world do we live in where this is even a thought? Just a century ago parents lived in the constant knowledge that a simple virus could be the undoing of their young child. The only virus that we have no defense against now are the unfathomable selfishness of a generation raised to be served. Every time I hear my teenagers yell at me that is is not their fault, I realize I am guilty of raising them with the same presumption and expectancy for a fair world and an equalized treatment. My 15 year old would like to tell me that she is "a good person" and she shouldn't be disrespected by me or Josh. When did discipline and parental directive become disrespect? My god. How far we have come. How much I have failed. The ultimate extreme of this victimized, self-absorbed mentality, is the kid who shoots up an elementary school because his mommy wasn't nice to him. I cannot fathom it. If there is anything I thank my parents for, it is raising me with the understanding that life isn't fair. It is about sowing and reaping, action and consequence, and developing the knowledge that everyone around me is at least as important as I am myself, if not more. Apparently Adam Lanza never got that memo. I understand mental illness can be a real thing, but so is a spoiled child - Real, and deathly. God forgive my laxity, and my willingness to spare my children from the natural consequences of their actions. I would rather lose all four of my kids to a random flu bug, or scarlet fever, than to have them wind up on either side of an unaccountable gun. I won't even bother with the gun control issue - as if someone crazy enough to kill a 9 year old would really let gun laws get in his way. For god's sake. Get real.

I am so thankful that there is still time, that I can still try to instill in my kids the understanding that only they will be accountable for their actions. That no amount of whining can remove the blood from the hands of a killer. I don't understand what has happened to our culture that makes these massacres so common that we expect them. Somewhere, somehow, some punk kid started a rumor about a shooting at Mt View high school on the 21st. While the cops are chasing down the smart ass who thought this would be a cool prank, we are taking a snow day that day. Is it really important enough to be at school that we will send the message that we don't care? I don't believe there will be any shots fired at Mt. View, but I also don't believe in ignoring even the most stupid warning signs. So my kids will get an extra day of Christmas break. Besides, we still have cookies to make.

My holiday rush has de-volved to the point of almost melancholy. It doesn't help that I've been in a lot more pain lately. I need to re-orient myself and get happy again. There is so much to be thankful for. I love the snow that we finally got, and the cold days, and the Christmas songs and wrapping paper. I love that Dagny the Puppy has unwrapped almost every present I have wrapped and chewed the corners off of every gift box. I am happy that I somehow pulled off all of my holiday shopping and Josh hasn't filed for divorce yet. I am excited for a road trip back to good old Northport and sledding and MIMOSAS!!! with my buddies. I am stoked to break in the new snowboard boots that we got a killer deal on yesterday, even though the experience promises loads of pain. Sometimes, it's just worth it. I am thrilled that I am finally getting some Christmas cards sent, even though the poem is AWFUL this year. Even Josh said so. There are so many reasons to be happy, to be thankful, to make it better. And I will. I am gonna take off my sweatpants, chase my delicious breakfast beet juice cocktail with a sugar cookie and don one of my merry holiday outfits so I can go sell amazing Pendleton presents to excited Christmas Shoppers. How could I not be happy with this ridiculously cute puppy around?

Things That I Hate

You know, I was having a kind of crappy week already. But then my period started. I'd like to revoke all of my previous complaints and start over: being a girl SUCKS. Being a girl with adenomyosis is even more awesomely horrible. Thank god I don't have something really serious or terrible. Turns out I'm a great big baby.

Things That Hurt

My  head. I woke up with a pounding headache that I blame entirely on a horrible dream wherein I was married to my ex-husband once again and we were moving into a giant weird house full of spiders. I was trying to run away with the kids but nobody could understand why I was so upset. I hate dreams like that. I wonder what causes them? I refuse to blame the peppermint candy ice cream I ate before bed. It has enough guilt to bear for the stomach ache that I fell asleep to.

I haven't had much to say lately, partly because I have been somewhat busy, making picturesquely imperfect (leave me my fantasies) gingerbread houses and homemade dinners, and starting loads of laundry which my Adorable Husband ends up following through to the fold an put away stage. And then when I sit down with my computer and contemplate something deep and profound to say, websites like Urban Outfitters and Victoria's Secret and Amazon all scream out to me with their amazing Holiday deals and I have difficulty focusing on anything except boots and things like that. And then there is the issue of the Very Cute, but Very Bad puppy who at this moment is shaking an unwrapped Christmas Present like a dead kitten in her little needle teeth. If I catch her chewing on something I can possibly live without, like an empty cardboard box or the car microfiber duster I paid $1 for, I let her be, since it's going to be that or something else. This morning she brought me first one, and when that was confiscated, the other red velvet shoe from my closet. At least she has good taste. And I will say the jingle bell collar was a wise investment since she is easily located now, wherever she is tearing up something that she should not be.

Right now The Avett Brothers are playing on 101.7, and sometimes I forget how much I love them. But the first strains of I & Love & You reverberate along with a chill down my spine and the warm fuzzy feeling of KNOWING not only them, but their songs, and their people, and the ideals that they champion in their music. Christmas Music is a nice little break from routine for us, other than Josh, who is already sick of everything except the California Raisins' version of We Three Kings, but I am secretly excited for January and making up for all this lost time with my boys.

This last few days, or week, or maybe even half of a month has been a little tough for me, on several levels. I've already done enough whining about the physical stuff, so I think I will delve into some internal stew that has been simmering since my Loving Husband, ever so tenderly, called me out on my bad attitude. Just when I was feeling all smug for my positivity and happy spirit, and self righteously condemning the pharisees who couldn't just catch the contagious joy that probably had something to do with an unbridled Holiday Shopping binge and endless espressos and parties and an excuse for a Whole New Wardrobe, I run face to face with the ugly truth of my selfishness. Why Josh couldn't just "get happy" was beyond my grasp, since the world is perfect and I have new skirt. When he finally got tired enough of tolerating me, he was able to articulate quite well, my self absorbed approach to life. The unfortunate thing about being married to Josh is that he is almost always right. He is graciously learning to allow me to be wrong from time to time without needing to crusade against my erroneous views, but in this instance, he was dead on and I was out of excuses. I was being shallow and judgemental and all of the things that I professed to loathed. So, in true contrition, I begged him for the grace to allow my little binge of selfish misbehavior continue until after Christmas, at which time I would become absolvent and depressed in response to the dire conditions we face in this life. No, but seriously, I needed a kick in the butt and I am thankful for a guy who can do it, even if clumsily, at least faithfully to me.

So I am still working through some of this inner process, which loosely translates to a mild slow-down in spending and more cautious approach to spousal reprimands and arbitrary judgements.

On another note - I just got called for an interview as an Emergency Room tech at the hospital. This is something that I will have to carefully consider. A grown up job with grown up side effects - like giving up fire season? But something that I would enjoy and would keep my mind and body active, and helping people... Pondering.