What I've Been Doing

I mean to post every week, but last week doesn't count because I was doing this:

Camping.

There's this fantasy I have in my head that I'm on a game show, and I get to choose which type of vacation I want; one that is the nomadic style camping trip that we always do, or one in which I stay in one place for a full week at a luxury resort hotel.  All I have to do is ring a bell on a tray near the kind of trip I want.  I'd slam the bell for the luxury resort so hard that it'd fall through the floor.

However, camping is kind of Matt's religion and it is one of the few times I really get to see him relax.  Plus, it's not something we have to save for over half a year, like, say... Hawaii.  Therefore, a camping I will go.

This year was a bit different because it was the first year that we were dropping J off for camp. His brother and sister have been going away to this camp for years, and before last fall, J was excited for his turn to come.  However, because J is J and because since babyhood he's exhibited his belief that life should mostly be hard, he changed his mind after we paid the non-refundable deposit. He spent the next six months riddled with anxiety over it, sometimes crying himself to sleep and repeatedly telling us that we didn't love him because we were forcing him to go to camp.

I almost just ate the deposit and gave in to him. Of the four, he's my kid that I worry about the most. It'd have been easier to keep him with me than to send him off and worry about whatever forces may cross his path at camp. He has allergies, he's not as mature as PG and 9 were when they first went, nor is he as outgoing. I had to keep reminding myself that one of my parenting philosophies is to never let my personal fears keep my kids from having experiences that are good for them.  I think that's getting to be a lost art in these days of helicopter parenting.

Thankfully, sticking to our guns turned out to be okay. His sister and brother amped up their "camp is fun" campaign by repeatedly regaling him with stories about how much fun they had in the past.  By the time we dropped him off, he was feeling better about the situation.  In fact, he didn't want to hug us goodbye because all of his cabin mates were there and watching.  (The kid across from him had a sound-effect machine with 32 sounds that he was really enthusiastic about, and all I can say is, sitting on a cactus would be more pleasurable than being in charge of eight boys in that particular age group for six whole days.  God bless that counselor. I hope he survived.)

And then there was one.

If any of you other parents of multiple children haven't had a chance to spend some extended one-on-one time with each kid, I highly recommend it.  It's kind of amazing how different kids are without their siblings around. (I think science has mentioned that fact once or twice before.)

We had fun.  We camped in Sequoia for two nights at Stony Creek.  You want to know what I learned about stony creeks? It's not a good idea to climb around them in flip flops because you may fall on your ass.  Twice.

This picture commemorates the last time I did NOT have pain in my rear or my wrists. 

You also make look up from falling to see your husband reaching in his back pocket for his phone-not to call 911 (which you aren't entirely sure shouldn't be done)- but to take a picture of your humiliation. To his credit, he put his phone back when he saw I was hurting, so that redeems him.
A bit.

A very tiny bit.

After Sequoia we headed to Lake Cachuma, and stopped at Madonna Inn on the way. If you haven't been to Madonna Inn, it's a huge hotel tucked in at the backside of the Hearst property in San Luis Obispo.  When I was a kid, I thought it was the height of fanciness, but now the decor just looks to me like a weird marriage of Swiss Chalet and Las Vegas Tacky. Still fun to visit though, if for nothing but old time's sake.  

This is not an exaggeration.  The dining room seriously looks like this.  

The next day was the best day of the entire trip, with the exception of a small blunder in the morning:   Roo and I were in a chocolate shop in Solvang when she asked if we could buy some marzipan.  I told her "Honey, you don't want that. I put it in your Easter Basket one year and you didn't like it." Right away, the lady behind the counter looked at me with an expression that said, "You stupid, stupid woman." and I was like, "What's her problem?" But then Lily looked at me very solemnly and asked "Who put it in my Easter Basket?" and that's when I realized my mistake.

Soooooo, that cat is out of the bag.

We stopped for lunch at Cold Springs Tavern.  This was an old stagecoach stop with buildings dating back more than a hundred years.  Even in the middle of the week there was a wait, but the food was worth it.  While I was waiting, I overheard this kid tell his dad, "You know what I liked about that place? It was really dark.  I like dark spaces."  I wondered to myself whether that was a kid I'd want to get to know better or stay far away from.

After lunch, we headed to Santa Barbara where we toured the Mission, sat on the beach for a few hours, and then ended the day with a bowl of clam chowder on the wharf.
It was perfect.

And now I get a few weeks to enjoy the comforts of civilization before we head out and do it all again, this time through Utah.  I'll try to get some decent posts in between now and then.... you know, the kind that don't ramble and that do actually have a point and purpose.  Maybe all that fresh air messed up my creative thought.  Or, maybe it was the campfire smoke.  Or the vast amounts of Cheez-Its I consumed.  All I'm saying is that I'm tired. And I'm sorry.  I'll do better next time.

Have a good night!

Hello, Goodbye

I'm dedicating this post to my friend, Tina, who always read my posts, always had a kind word in the comments, and who will be missed by myself and many others. Rest in Peace, sweet lady.  



Today was a sad day. I woke up to a text letting me know that a mom-friend of mine had passed away last night from a brain tumor. She left behind a young daughter, and while I wasn't close to her, my friends and I have been supporting her since her diagnosis.  I'm sad that she lost her battle, because I know how badly she wanted to win it.  I tell you, I am so sick of cancer. Brain cancer, especially.

Then another friend of mine, with two sweet, sweet girls that my kids adore, texted that they will be moving out of state this summer.  I'm going to miss them.  I also had my last session with a client who I started working with when he was in fourth grade. He just finished his junior year and is on his own now, so we said farewell. And then, to top it all off, I was to take Roo to a goodbye party for a family who we've done two years of soccer and three years of preschool with.  They're moving out of state too. (Does everyone in their thirties and forties experience high volume of their friends moving, or is it just the desert? I really want to know.)

The whole theme of the day was goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.  All on one day, thank you Universe! It started weighing on me as I was getting ready for the party.  Everyone leaving was going to a better place and was happy about it (with the exception of my friend with cancer, who I'm sure would have rather stayed with her daughter), but I wasn't feeling happy. I was feeling weepy and heavy-hearted. I started worrying about my demeanor at the party- Roo was coming with me, so I couldn't walk in already a mess- I had to put on a cheerful face for her. Plus, my damn hormones are working against me this week (although I hate blaming my irrational feelings on hormones. It makes me feel so irrational.)

So, as it was, I was struggling to keep my thoughts positive and be happy, happy, happy when Roo walked in carrying the card she had made for her friend who was moving.  She opened it up to show me what it said inside:

Oh, the sweetness. It kills me.

The Kindergarten scrawl.  The message.  The picture of them in matching dresses, carrying purses, for God's sake.  Sweet Jesus on a bicycle. It was too much for my fragile state.

Choking back sobs, I threw my sunglasses on my face to hide my red eyes and towed Roo to the car, where we drove to the party.  When we got there, I did this stupid thing where I accidentally transposed the numbers on the address and knocked on the wrong door.  We waited forever, and right when I started walking away, the door opened and a nice lady pointed us in the right direction. I just brushed it off, but Roo embarrasses easily and followed behind, giving me abashed looks from beneath her eyelashes.

This time we knocked on the right door, but again, it took a long time to open.  When it did, my friend, the one throwing the party for the departing family, opened it with a lovely smile and said, "Hi! How are you? You've got the wrong day."

To which I answered, "No, I don't." Because besides being overly-emotional and weepy, I am apparently also arrogant.  I'm wrong? No surely, you, the hostess, the organizer, the PERSON WHO LIVES HERE, is wrong.

And bless her heart, she just smiled and said, "No, it's next month. July 6th. But come on in."

Then she let us into her home while I fumbled around my phone to pull up the date, still intending to show her she was wrong.  I found the text, and there it was, Monday JULY 6th.  So, I have some bad news for you. If you're my friend, we're going to have to find another way for us to communicate addresses, dates....basically anything with numbers.  Evidence shows that the traditional way of passing this type of information to me is ineffective.  We should try Braille, maybe?

Roo followed me back to the car, and if she was abashed last time, by now she was just kind of disgusted. Her look said "Lady, just WHAT is your major malfunction, because we knocked on two doors, and there wasn't a party behind either of them!"

She may never look at me as an authority figure ever again.

Here's the reason I'm telling you all this: when we got back in the car, I was thinking a lot of things. I was thinking that it was good that I had another month before I had to say goodbye to this family. I was thinking how nice my friend was for not calling me out on my crazy on her doorstep.  I was wondering how Roo felt, seeing her mom make not one, but two, embarrassing screw ups.  And, I also was thinking that I wanted to talk to you guys again, here on the blog.

I always think of writing here, but in the past four months I just haven't. It's nothing more complicated or simpler than that. I haven't, but I think of it all the time.  Today I needed this space to explain myself, and sure I could've written a short status on FB: "Feeling super sad today. Saying goodbye to too many friends!" But besides being slightly obscure- and I've come to detest obscure Facebook status'- it's kind of begging for attention. I know at least a few of my friends would respond with condolences and support, and while there is nothing wrong with that- I always appreciate it- it's not what I need. Condolences should go to Tina's family and friends, they are the ones who need them.  My friends are happy about their moves, and after I get over myself, I'll be happy for them too. In fact, that's already happened. As for my client, I know I made a difference with him, and that's all I need. But it's nice to have space (976 words worth, and counting) to tell the longer story. I missed this space. It's nice to come back to it.

And I thank you, for visiting it.

Have a good night.

Saying Goodbye

My grandfather died last night.  

He's the handsome guy on the right.  

We knew it was coming.  Hospice had been called in about two weeks ago.  Dying in his sleep is what we were all hoping for, rather than having him suffer another heart attack.  Only twenty-five percent of his heart was working.

It’s weird for me to type ‘was’.  Yesterday I was explaining his heart condition to my good friend over the phone, and I said ‘twenty five percent of his heart is working.’  And now today it’s was. 

It’s a little bit hard for me to get used to. 

Can I tell you about my grandpa? I know that people lose grandparents all the time, and that something that feels so huge and sad to me right now is actually small and common to other people.  But I feel like the world should know more about the man who left it last night. He was so wonderful. So can I tell you about him? And then, if you like, you can tell me something about your grandfathers or grandmothers.  I know that generation is filled with incredible stories from incredible people.  We’re so lucky. 

Grandpa, Grammy, and my great-grandparents.  

My grandpa was born in 1924.  His 91st birthday is less than two weeks away.  Over the last few weeks, when I would go over to their house to visit, he would talk to me about dying.  I would change the subject or make a joke, because I couldn’t be as matter-of-fact about it as he was.  I wish I could’ve, because we probably would have had a pretty good conversation, but instead a lump would form in my throat.  The thought of him not being here anymore would literally choke me.  But I know he was okay with death, and he could talk about it openly and honestly. When he saw that I couldn’t do the same, he would smile gently and back off.  A few weeks ago however, he did say one thing to me that I’ll always remember.  It wasn’t the words, but how he said them.  In a tone much like one who is fondly remembering an old friend, he said, “I enjoy life. I’m in no hurry to leave it.  Even now, there is so much that brings me joy.”

That’s my grandfather’s legacy.  That’s what I am going to remember about him-the way he loved and enjoyed life.  Right to the end, he always found joy in the smallest of blessings.  

He was a World War II veteran, and very proud of it.  He went to the reunions, even when they dwindled down to just a few men left from his battalion.  My grandpa was a storyteller, and the war was one of his favorite tales to tell. He told us once (or twice) about a guy in his company who made a distillery behind the camp and how they'd sneak away to take a few drinks of homemade hooch.  He told us about operating the huge guns that they used to shoot at the Japanese.  He even told us about the girlfriends he had overseas.  (And somehow, my grandma never seemed to mind those trips down memory lane.) 

He and my grandmother met on a blind date.  My grandfather tells the story by saying “she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” My grandmother says, “Every time I looked over at him, he was staring at me.  I was so uncomfortable, it got to be that I wouldn’t turn my head.”  Three days later he asked her to marry him.  They were in a graveyard, so she told him to ask her again in a decent setting.  He did, and that time she said yes.  They were married in 1946.  

Sixty nine years, my grandparents were married. 

My grandpa was a Christian.  He was the best Christian I’ve known.  He led by example. I never saw him judge anyone.  He was honest, and humble, and he loved Jesus. At every family gathering, he led our family in prayer. And every morning, he and my grandmother would pray for all their family and friends.  That action speaks of so much love to me; that every single morning, they took time to place us in their hearts and pray for our well-being.  It’s one of the greatest endearments from them that my sisters, cousins, parents, aunts, and uncles enjoy.

  

He was a second dad to my mom, whose parents were absent.  When she started coming around my father’s family, she was my aunt’s best friend from elementary school.  My grandpa picked up some of the slack from her parents by attending her award ceremonies, driving her and my aunt places, and sponsoring her various activities. He always spoke of how she impressed him by taking herself so far, without any support from her home.  Later, when she married my dad, my grandfather said they were lucky to officially get her. 

Both my grandparents loved to play card games.  At their cabin, they’d sit with us around the dining table playing Up and Down, Hearts, Uno, and Pinochle. Sometimes we even played a rowdy game of dice.  They played just the two of them, too, and though we never witnessed this, my grandpa would tell us that sometimes my grammy would accuse him of cheating and throw the deck of cards at him.  This made us laugh.  I think that’s why he told us about it.

He could build things.  He built us kids a treehouse at their mountain cabin.  We played pilgrims and indians in it, and he filmed us playing with his old 8mm movie camera.  

When the first of us cousins got married, he announced that he was going to dance at her wedding- and then he did.  I would say that he looked a little ridiculous, except all that anyone could see when he took the dance floor was a lot of fun and love.  My grandmother watched him stomp and flail around and she called him an “old fool”, but she was smiling when she did it. 

On the dance floor at one of his granddaughter's weddings.

However, the thing that is going to leave the biggest hole in my family, that is going to be missed the most, is the thing that he was the best at- and that was his unconditional love.  I’ve never met anyone who was so good at love.  It didn’t matter how bad I had messed up or what poor choices I’d made, I could go see my grandparents and feel loved and adored. When I left them, I liked myself again. They had that kind of magic for all of us. 

Almost all the cousins at grampy's 90th

And when our own kids came along, they loved them just as well. 

 I keep saying it, we are so lucky. 

Grandpa, we love you so.  Thank you for your love, for your kindness, for the example of faith in Jesus that you led us with.  I know we'll see you again someday, and when I do, it is this smile on this face that I look forward to seeing the most:

Harold Samuel Herrington, Jr (1924-2015)

2015, Post 1, Edition: It's Late and I Can't Think of a Title

Happy New Year, friends!

Do you know this is the third draft I've written of a New Year's post? I wrote one on New Years Day and one last Monday, but never published them.  Maybe the third time will be the charm. (Although, probably not because I'm not even five sentences in and am already using cliche phrases. Not looking good so far.)

We've had a few changes around here of late.  9 moved out.  He told us the week before Christmas that he is moving in with some friends.  We were a little concerned because the friends he's moving in with happen to be a couple.  Mr. C had to have a "When you live with a couple you are IN their relationship." talk.  9 didn't seem concerned, and I didn't want to burst his bubble, so I refrained from telling him of my experience of living with a couple.  My roommate moved her boyfriend in, pretty much without asking me.  They took over the refrigerator and I could hear them having sex ALL THE TIME through the walls. So let's all hope 9's experience is better, because having to look the people you live with in the eye after you've listened to them get down all night long is embarrassing.  I basically felt awkward for months.... and hungry too, because like I said, they took over the fridge.  So yeah, awkward and hungry.

Bringing all this up really makes me happy that I'm through with my twenties.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right.  I'm supposed to be talking about 9.

He moved out last weekend and he's already been back for dinner twice, so that's good.  Before he left, J drew him a picture of them playing soccer.  Across the top he wrote, "SEE YOU ONCE A WEEK!" because that's how often 9 told him he'd come back home.  Then J asked me if I could take the picture into Costco and have it blown up into a poster.  He wanted 9 to have a really big reminder.  The sweetness of it all almost killed me.

One person who was pretty happy to hear that 9 was moving was PG, because it means that she gets his room. (I think PG has lived in every bedroom of this house at one point or another, and now we've  come full circle since that room was originally her nursery.)

Because her birthday is coming up in a few days, we told her she could decorate the whole room.  New bed, new paint, etc. etc.  She chose a pale green color that almost exactly matches the color the room was back when it was her nursery, and today I spent the whole day painting. Is it annoying that I had to repaint the room a color it had once already been, or is it sweet that she likes that color so much she wants it back?  I couldn't decide, but I thought about it the whole time I was working in there. Anyway, you all can give me your feedback with the next post.  I'm planning on a before and after of the makeover to show you guys. (Unless it turns out awful, in which case I'll just leave you all wondering forever, because that's the kind of evil genius I am.)

(I realize that I'm stretching the definition of genius there.  Also, probably the definition of evil. I'm okay with that because it's late, and I want to get this done so I can watch The Golden Globes on my DVR.)

That's mostly it.  I'm still working on the design for the new blog URL I have.  I have a feeling I'm going to give up on all my hoity-toity design ideas and do something simple and plain for the sake of just getting it done, but I'm not there yet.  I still want to keep trying.  So that'll be coming up.  And guess what? I started writing a book. Don't get excited, it absolutely sucks.  Every time I read it back to myself, I want to hack off my hands for writing such atrocious garbage.  But I don't, because I remember what Anne Lamott says about letting yourself write a crappy first draft.  She says you have to suffer through the stink to get the bones out there.  So that's what I'm doing.  I'm getting the bones out, and maybe one day I'll work on putting some meat on them.

Or maybe not.

But hey, it is looking like I'm going to hit "Publish" on this one, so that's a win.  The official first post of 2015.  Thanks for reading, guys.

Have a good night!

Christmas Bloopers

Hello, friends.  How is everyone surviving?  Actually, what I mean is, how is everyone doing? I’ve recently read a few posts from other bloggers complaining about the holidays- how they feel overwhelmed with their “to do” list and how that to do list makes them just want to get this holiday over with.  They feel the holidays are something to survive. Do you feel that way?  To be honest, I’ve gotten pretty good at having a laid-back attitude towards Christmas.  Whatever gets done, get done.  Only half of our outdoor lights are working, I never finished decorating the garlands over my living room windows, and while Santa is going to be pretty good to the kids this year, the stockings being hung by the chimney with care will be on the light side. That’s okay.  I’m still enjoying the holidays.  I suppose I'm surviving just fine.  

However, that’s not to say that the season hasn't had it’s moments with me.  It has.  Thought I’d share a few here:  

Let’s start with the elf.  Our elf’s name is Bucky.  Bucky.  I named him. I should know his name.  Yet, one morning the kids woke up and found a message written to them in red lipstick on a mirror, and that message was mysteriously signed, “Buddy.”  This sparked a huge controversy in our home.  Who is Buddy? An imposter? A friend? A foe?  

From across the room, Mr. C silently shot me an amused look and I sent a look right back that said, “Bucky, Buddy, WHATEVER.  I REMEMBERED TO MOVE THE STUPID ELF, ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?”

Listen, parents.  Can we all agree on something?  I’m sure more than one of you have forgotten to move your elf once or twice this year.  We all know that these elves wear out their welcome pretty early in December.  Can we all understand that if one is coherent enough after a full day to not only remember to move the dumb elf, but to set him up in an amusing situation for the kids to discover the next morning, then that is enough? Let’s not expect more than that.  We don’t need to get their names correct.  WE GET POINTS FOR REMEMBERING TO MOVE THE ELF. 

Then there is the baking.  I first want to brag about the awesome wardrobe choices I make on days in which I plan to work extensively with flour:

 Black cotton capri leggings.  Fantastic.

Next, I’m going to show you a picture of two iced cookies.  One, I decorated.  The other, my ten year old daughter decorated.  If you remember me writing about how my Kindergarten teacher thought I belonged in Special Education because of my poor hand-eye coordination, then you’ll be able to guess who decorated which cookie:

Yep. PG’s is on top. Mine is on the bottom.  

Can I tell you a secret?  It bothers me that I am bad at decorating cookies.  I know that it’s stupid to be bothered by such a simple, inconsequential thing, but I feel like I should be able to do a better job. I always give it my best shot, and I always suck.  Meanwhile, PG is a machine, decorating them all beautifully. While I watch her, there is this weird jealous-yet-proud commentary going on in my head: “Oh, my gosh.  Crisscrossing diagonal stripes on the trees!  Why didn’t I think of that? And mixing the stripes with dots? Genius!”

Last thing:  Yesterday I made Tiramisu Balls, Spice Cutout Cookies, Pineapple Upside-Down Cookies, and Candy Cane Fudge.  Today, I made Chipotle Roasted Almonds, Cranberry Cheesecake Bars, and Pretzel Toffee Bark.   I got to the very last item I was going to bake, Rachael Ray’s Peppermint Yule Log Cookies, and it turned out to be one of those stupid recipes where they leave out important information- like, to expect the dough to be crumbly so you don’t end up frantically Googling “how to save crumbly dough” with your floury fingers and make a mess on your keyboard. Anyway, I was tired.  And my back hurt.  And I was sick of baking.  And I was mentally cussing out Rachael Ray.  So I took passive-aggressive action against the faulty dough.  

I turned it into a poop emoji.  

Oddly, that made me feel better and gave me energy to finish my insane cookie marathon. 

As you can see, most of my least desirable holiday moments revolve around baking.  Please remind me next year that I don’t like to do it.  I won’t believe you, because by then, the stressed out, mess-making, back-aching lunatic that I turn into while making cookies will be a distant memory. But for those of you who love me, you should really make a concerted effort to stop me.  Truly.  It’s best for all involved. 

And, I know this sounds nuts, but tomorrow I am hosting the third annual Craftapoolooza at my house.  My friend Jennifer and I get our kids together and craft homemade Christmas gifts all day long.   I’m about as good at crafts as I am at baking, but Jenn is good at it and we have fun.  The kids have fun.  And at the end, there is wine.  

(That’s a lie.  The wine is there long before the end.  It shows up right in the midst of making glitter bulbs and homemade bath bombs, and that is because it is necessary.  For survival.  Of all the crafts.)

Here’s to surviving, everyone! 

 Merry Christmas, Happy Channukah, Happy Holidays- take your pick of whichever you like.  May love surround each and every one of you, on Christmas and everyday thereafter!  Thanks for reading.

The Most Difficult Children In The World

One of the nice things about writing this blog is when one of you comment that I make you feel normal, because really, when I write this stuff, that's exactly what I'm looking for: a connection with all of you, a validation that what I'm feeling is what other people are feeling.  Let's face it: most of the time, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm okay with that, as long as none of you know what you're doing either.  We're all in this together.

Except for today.  Today I need to believe that I have THE MOST DIFFICULT CHILDREN IN THE WORLD.  I don't want to anyone to relate, because if they related or told me I was normal, I wouldn't be able to martyr myself and sigh and feel sorry about the fact that I have THE MOST DIFFICULT CHILDREN IN THE WORLD.

Here are the things that the Most Difficult Children do that qualifies them for the title:

The Most Difficult Children tell me that they've brushed their teeth and when I clarify by asking "With toothpaste?" they said "Oh." and turn around to head back to the bathroom.

The Most Difficult Children also put on clothes that they wore yesterday and hope that I won't notice.  Then, when I do, the most difficult children will wail and cry and get mad at me because I won't let them out of the house looking like homeless people.  This happens repeatedly, several times a week, and they are always surprised at the fact that I won't let them wear dirty clothes.  I don't understand.

The Most Difficult Children in the World will not be able to share space in the bathroom without fighting with their siblings in the bathroom about stupid stuff that has nothing to do with getting ready for the day.".....  The most ironic thing about this is that one of these children have no less than three cherished shirts that say "Make Peace Happen", and she WILL BE WEARING SAID SHIRTS WHILE INSTIGATING FIGHTS OVER NOTHING.  When I point this out, she says "My shirt is talking about world peace mom, not here."  To which I ask, why not here?  We obviously need peace to happen here, in this little, crowded bathroom more than the world needs it. We need it.  I need it. So much needing of it.

The Most Difficult Children In The World listen to me lecture and yell and beg and gnash my teeth all the way to school, and then when we get there, I say "Have a good day.  I hope you listen to your teachers better than you listen to me."  And they exit the car and give me dirty looks that say they think I am the Meanest Mom In The World.  And that makes sense, because what other kind of mom would The Most Difficult Children In The World have other than The Meanest Mom In The World?  

Yes, I could have handled the morning better.  I could have held my frustration in check.  I could have  left out the mean, martyred, guilt-trippy goodbye in the car.  However, today, I'm doing away with introspection and mom-guilt.  I am well-practiced in both, but I'm choosing right now to let it go.  The kids hold responsibility for their behavior too, for behavior they know is not okay, that they've been told is not okay.... multiple, hundred, a million times. I am not a saint.

Except today.  Today, I am saint-like.  I'm going to be kind to myself and think of me in exactly that way.   It's hard being the meanest mom when your kids choose to be the most difficult, and I'm still here.  Still doing my job.  Yay, me.

You can all be thankful that today, I own the title to Meanest Mom of the Most Difficult Children.  Tomorrow I have a clean slate, so the title is up for grabs.  And if this unlucky title falls to you, my friend, I will admire you and give you mad respect, because any given day that a child decides to be the Most Difficult Child, is a day that a mom needs to know that she's doing holy work.  She may not be doing it perfectly, just as a lot of our saints didn't do it perfectly, but she's doing it.  And that makes us saints.

When Your Kids Discover Photo Booth While You're Not Looking

I have a new computer.  I received it as a consolation prize for turning forty.  My family is not supposed to use it because they know I did my time sharing a keyboard with grubby, nasty, little-kid fingers.  They are aware of their unsanitary affliction and usually respect my computer.

However.

This morning, I left my laptop sitting on the couch while I went to sort laundry.  While I was sorting, a good song came on my iPod, and what followed was reminiscent of the "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" series.  I danced, and while looking in the mirror, realized I should tweeze my eyebrows, which led to trying some new eye shadow tricks which led to me organizing my makeup drawer- and the only reason I'm telling you this is so that the record reflects I was gone a while. 

When I came back to my laptop, it was open to Photo Booth.  

And there was this:

 

And then this:

 Followed by a few selfies:

Hmmm.  

Then J must've got bored and left, because the next few were of just the girls.

"Hey!  What does this button do?"

"Oh, cool! Contortions!"

"La,la,la.  Friendsies."

And then they discovered the frog lens.

They really liked this effect. 

They even made a video.

Movie on 11-24-14 at 7.51 AM from Tacy Cauthron on Vimeo.

The above is proof that Matt+ Me= Doubly Weird Kids

They weren't done yet.

Chipmunk cheeks

One more video.  I think what I like about this, besides PG being a goof, is the way Roo giggles through it. 

Movie on 11-24-14 at 7.55 AM from Tacy Cauthron on Vimeo.

Yep.  Weird kids for sure.

After that, PG must've left because this was the last pic on the photo booth reel:

"Quick! Mom's coming!"

Sticky keyboard aside, I don't think I can get mad at them for this.... do you?