Decompressing

I know it's not all men, but it is certainly all of my men. They are just so...so slovenly. And unorganized. And smelly. And clueless. Which I know is not the end of the world, and I don't hate them or anything because of their awful, disturbing habits, but surely on my own blog, which is frequented by people who interact with me and not them, I get the luxury of a little complaining every now and again, right?

Oh, and did I mention forgetful and obnoxious?

It's all just so constant. Constant chaos, constant laundry, constant "Oh, I need black felt, a non-fiction book, and a potato by tomorrow"**, constant "You owe me $40 for January's allowance and I need it now," constant noise, constant underwear lying on the floor with the leg holes still intact, as if they just stepped out of them, when in reality they've been there since Sunday, constant everything.

Which, for an above average wife and mom, might not be a huge deal, but for me, it is overwhelming. I need time to think. I need time to assess. I need time to plot revenge. But with all these men of mine up in my grillz 24/7, I find myself having to just react.

And I am not so good at reacting. I snap. I yell. I become catatonic. Oh, and now that my kids are old enough to get it (but young enough still, I suppose, to feel the cruelty), I am sarcastic. And sometimes, I just capitulate. Capitulating when beaten down may actually be the worst reaction of all. Because that means they have sensed my vulnerability and moved in for the quick, decisive kill, prompting my cowardly surrender.

Did I mention I am glad everyone is back at school/work?

And can someone please explain to me how I have managed to go to Target on three separate occasions, looking for some sort of miracle cream to put on my haggard old mug, only to come home, ALL THREE TIMES, with the same stupid stuff that does nothing but make my skin itch?

**no, I'm not making this up.

You Know What They Say...

The family that performs emergency surgery on Moody's hand at the kitchen table together, stays together!

And a Happy New Year to you all!

And As If Right On Cue...

The UPS man just appeared at my door with none other than our second annual nightmare... The Turducken.

Is it considered a tradition if it is thrust upon us unwittingly?

Aftermath

Here's what I have learned...

A little snow = frolicky fun. A lot of snow = hell, in many different forms.

Let me share...

So, things were going swimmingly for the first 3-6 inches. Dogs were prancing, chasing after the wet snowflakes. Kids were red-cheeked and buzzing with anticipation of even more snow to come. I had actually gotten off my ass and hit the store and was prepared to be snowed in indefinitely.

But then, the snow kept falling. And falling. 12-18 inches later, the scene had changed drastically.

The school bus carrying Moody's swim team home from the meet Friday night got stuck on the icy roads, with the scantily clad and still damp team on the bus, until well after 1:30 in the morning.

Our entire little outdoor winter scene, complete with lighted snowman, arctic seal and penguin was buried, shorted out, and declared DOA by Saturday morning.

The dogs have become overwhelmed and disoriented and have no idea where their invisible fence is. Since they no longer wear their collars, they have been venturing way past our yard and are thisclose to being official runaways. Look for them on this week's edition of 20/20, living under a bridge and selling crack for dog biscuits.

Moody keeps insisting he should be able to be out driving in all this mess and is making our lives miserable. Truly.

Apparently, I miscalculated at the grocery store, and while we still have about $200 worth of cookie dough left, we have been out of actual food food since Saturday afternoon. And who the heck wants to eat cookies without milk?!

Digging Out

Well, it snowed. And snowed. And today, we are digging out, not that we have anything to do, or anywhere to go. The streets haven't been plowed, but Hubby has been hitting the pipe stem pretty hard, snow blowing every 4 hrs or so. We haven't gotten any word about school tomorrow, but I forced the boys to get some homework done, just in case. Once the work was done, we decided to play a little...

Do You See What I See...?

I have noticed for the last few days that there was something amiss with our tree (other than it being mildly pathetic and small). It took me a while to deduce what was happening, and then another little while to actually catch the perpetrator in the act.

In other, somewhat related news, I hear fur is back en vogue. I am picturing a nice muffler and perhaps a matching hat?

Christmas Miracle, Part II

Well, it turns out, the real Santa can bite me. I was out of my jolly mood, and back in the saddle of irritation, panic and distress, by sundown yesterday. Whatever, Santa. However... I adore my Secret Santa Soiree partner. She is an angel. A bonafide gift from the heavens.

I must confess that my Secret Santa wasn't much of a secret for very long. Due to my own crass pushiness, and a SSS partner that is such a good person that she is horrible at lying, even through email, I was able to figure it out PDQ. Am I officially kicked out of the SSS program now, Georgie and AmyBo?

Anyway, my unSecret Santa sent me the most wonderful (and needed) box of goodies that, because of the intensity of my emotional crisis, were put to use immediately. Therefore, the photos below may not truly emote the festivity, care and love put into my gifts.

So, without further ado, I present to you my goodies! Lotion and body wash and comfy socks and yummy chocolate... All to de-stress this crazed scrooge. Oh, and they were accompanied by the most hilarious and perfect Christmas card, ever.

Here we have the "before"... yay!

And then the boys got home from school and things began a pretty swift downward spiral...

No, my unSecret Santa isn't stingy... the pail was brimming before I got my hands on it. My mood lifted a bit, until the sugar high passed and I started to crash. Coincidentally, about this time, Moody's math progress report landed in my inbox. I grabbed the 'stress relief' body wash and took a nice, hot shower.

And no, I didn't use the razor next to it on my wrists or Moody's throat! Oh, and I didn't get a chance to photograph the cozy slipper/socks because Sassafras, the rogue, evil, Christmas decoration destroyer kitty, had run off with them somewhere. Take my word for it... they're heavenly.

Thank you, my dear unSecret Santa for being an excellent seasonal Santa, and a true year-round friend!

Oh, and muchas gracias to those big hearted elves, Georgie and AmyBo! I love you both for your commitment (I am sure you are feeling like you are ready to be committed about now, right?) to the season and to us lowly bloggers. I am thankful that there is always room at your inn.