Happy.

With the holiday season now in full swing, I have to say that I am feeling especially mushy this year.

Which is weird - me and mushiness don't exactly go together.

I have always loved the Christmas season, for as long as I can remember.  I've always seen it as a magical time of year, and even as I get older and have my own family now and it's significantly more stressful than it ever used to be, it is still, if you will, "the most wonderful time of the year".

The beginning of the holiday season, I will admit, was a little touch-and-go.  I was kind of stressed about the end of my semester at school, and the dreaded Psychology final was looming.  Then there was my work Christmas party, which was a super fun time, but let's just say that this momma walked (uh, stumbled) away with a horrible two-day-long martini flu that left me bedridden and wishing I could just take my bucket and crawl into a dark hole somewhere and stay there for a few days with a blanket over my head and an endless supply of McDonalds french fries with extra salt.  It was awful, but thankfully, the hangover from hell was not a prediction of things to come!

I'm just going to go ahead and say that I ROCKED my first semester.  3 A+'s, and 1 A- (OK, if I'm being totally honest I have to say that A- pissed me off a little, but it was for my health care/nursing class, and it was only a couple of years ago that I learned that pee and babies come out of different places, so really, I suppose I should be celebrating that A- with vigor.)  Anyway, it would be a huge understatement to say that I am proud of these results.  I pulled pretty incredible marks, at my rusty old age, with a family at home that I still needed to keep fed and clean, while shuttling them around town and volunteering time at the kids' school and working a few hours at the radio station and keeping this house in one piece...all on top of my studies.  My husband is amazing, he was incredibly understanding through all of it (we did have cereal for supper more times than I'd like to admit), and I couldn't have done it without the encouragement and endless support from him, my parents, and my friends.  Going in to my next semester with grades like this feels pretty bloody good.

Next - I've been lucky to be able to spend a lot of time lately with my cousin's baby, E.  She is the cutest damn thing in the whole entire world.  She's about 18 months now, and she is so much fun.  A couple of weeks ago, she and I were playing with my iPhone, and I headed over to Youtube to play her some videos.  For some crazy reason, and I have no idea why I even did this, I opened up Gangnam Style by Psy - which is, hands down, the weirdest music video I have ever seen.  Well, she LOVED it - and when I say love, I mean the kind of love that only an 18-month-old can show.  She will sit in my lap and watch it over and over and OVER again (she knows exactly when it's going to end, and how to re-start it), and when I try to play any other video, she kiboshes it by reaching out her tiny little finger and shutting the phone off.  When I shut the phone down after watching Gangnam Style 3 or more times in a row, she will kick and scream and cry and try to grab for the phone until I hide it somewhere so she can't see it.  All she wants to watch is that silly video.  Whenever she sees that I have my phone in my hand, she will drop what she's doing, run over and frantically say "STY! STY!  STY!  STY!" until I put it on for her.  It is CUTE.  That video has something like 950 million views on Youtube, and I'm pretty sure E and I are responsible for that last 50 mil.

Keeping in the theme of E, and kids, I love how much my kids and her love each other.  Watching them interact, especially AJ, makes me smile.  E adores him, she loves to copy him and chase him around, and he will do absolutely anything to make her laugh.  Mackenzie loves to play momma, and hold her hand, and teach and show her things.  I love that they have a little person like her in their lives!

On a sad note, a tragic story came early this week with the accidental death of two teachers from a community close to ours.  I do not know this couple, nor do I know anybody who knew them, but when I read the story I cried and cried.  She was 7 months pregnant.  They were killed in a car accident when their vehicle went off the road and ended up in the river.  It was absolutely heartbreaking.  Stories like this one can shake you to your core, and force you to remember the things - the PEOPLE - that are most important in your life; and to make sure you remember to tell them that, with words as well as actions, every chance you get.

With that, I wish you and yours the happiest of the holiday season.  Remember the important things.  Don't stress.  Remember how lucky you are in so many ways.  Give where you can - time, money, whatever you have to offer.  Pay it forward.  Hold your family close and tell them how much you love them.  Watch the holidays unfold through the eyes of your children, or any child, and try to remember the magic that you felt at that age at this time of year.  Pile your whole family into mom and dad's bed and read stories and sing Christmas songs as loud as you can.  Be calm.  Be grateful.  Eat, drink and be merry.

Just stay away from the martini bar.

My son is funny.

So, the whole Santa thing with AJ?  He's not as smart as we once believed.

AJ (with a big, unconvinced sigh):  "Well, Dad, it looks like Santa actually is real after all."

Shawn:  "Oh, really, buddy, what makes you say that?"

AJ:  "Well, because we put out cookies and diet Coke for him every year, and he ALWAYS eats them!"

HA HA HA, kid, joke's on you!  I love that he's figured out that Santa isn't real, but just can't figure out who eats the cookies...and really, shouldn't the diet Coke be the giveaway???

**********

It's kind of a running joke that I was born without the sympathy gene.  If you're looking for someone to feel sorry for you when you have a cold, I'm not your girl.  I am not one who is going to coddle and baby you and "ooooooh, poor you, oh no, are you OK, tell me more about your flu and all the barfing you just did, blah blah blah" when you are sick.  You're sick, it sucks, I'm very sorry about that but everyone gets sick, it's called life, so just stop whining, stay in bed, sleep, drink your apple juice and zip it.  (I'm referring to adult sick people here, not kids).  Anyway, Mackenzie's been sick, and this kid is a total rockstar when she's sick. (She is SO my kid.  I have no tolerance for pain, but I am the best sick person ever!)  So when she says something feels bad, or hurts, you KNOW she really means it.  So last week, she's trying to eat her toast, and there are tears welling up in her eyes.

Me: "Oh, baby, are you OK?"

Mackenzie (almost crying): "It REALLY hurts when I swallow my food, and my ear is soooooo sore!" (now starts really crying.)

AJ: "Well, SUCK IT UP, SALLY!"

Huh.  Clearly that old 'sympathy gene' skips two generations.

I don't understand zombies.

I totally love having my back massaged.

So, LUCKY SHAWN, whenever he is in his Calgary-Flames-Barfed-In-Here-Man-Den, kicking back in his leather recliner, watching his PVR and trying to relax, I slink quietly to the door, stand there super-quiet til he notices me, then I tilt my head all cute-like and open my eyes super wide and say in a super sweet and adorable voice, "will you pleeeeeeease rub my back?"  (I love that I say it's all "cute".  In reality I probably look like I'm having a stroke.)

Anyway, because he loves me and actually thinks I AM sweet and adorable (OK, it's either that or the fact that he knows damn well I'm not going anywhere til I get what I want, it's just a fight he won't win), he says "ugh.  Fine.  Sit down."  And he straightens up that fancy recliner and I sit on the floor and he rubs my shoulders.

Now, this obviously works for me, I get my massage, BUT the trade-off is that I have to watch some stupid show of his, like Family Guy or Game of Thrones or that new one he only watches because the hot girl from "Chuck" is in it, or that one with the zombies in jail.

Yeah, Walking Dead.  That's it.

So that's the one that was on tonight.

Me: "I don't get this.  Is he a zombie?"

Shawn: "Does he LOOK like a zombie?"

Me: "Well how the hell would I know what a zombie looks like?"

Shawn: "Zombies are dead.  It looks like a gross dead person."

Me: "Well that's stupid, why don't they make it so they can morph into something super hot, like on True Blood?"

Shawn: "Because this is not True Blood.  Now shut up."

I'm quiet for a minute.  But then I can't help myself.

Me: "Is that baby a zombie?"

Shawn: "NO!!  STOP TALKING!"

Me: "I'M JUST ASKING!!"

Shawn: "Why would I give you a bunch of detail about a show you don't care about??!"

Me: "I do care!!  Are they in jail?"

Shawn (with a MAJOR eyeroll, my back was to him but I could totally feel it): "Yes.  Zombie jail."

Me: "Do the zombies walk amongst the living?"

Shawn: "I mean it, STOP. TALKING. NOW."

I'm quiet again.

Me: "What is that guy doing in the jail?  Or lady?  Is that a man or a lady?"

Shawn (sighing in defeat, clearly I'm not shutting up.  Once again, I win): "It's a lady.  She is not a zombie.  The zombies don't know she's human because she is covered in zombie blood."

Me: "...what the hell!  This show is stupid!  Why doesn't EVERYONE just cover themselves in zombie blood, then they'd all be safe from the zombies and everyone could coexist peacefully!!!!"

That's about the time my massage ended.

I don't think the big eyes and cute voice are going to work next time.

The jig is up...maybe??

WARNING.  DO NOT LET YOUR CHILDREN READ THIS POST.  I mean, really, it's a bit weird if you let your kids read my blog anyway, but whatevs, it's your choice, I'm not here to judge.  I am saying, though, REPEAT:  DON'T LET THEM READ THIS ONE.

OK?  We're good?

Alright.

So, we're walking to school yesterday morning, and out of the blue, AJ says, totally matter-of-factly: "You know, Santa's not real."

Mackenzie: "OH MY GOD SHUT UP YES HE IS!!!!!!!!!"

Me: "Uh, wow, look, there's a...hmmm...uh, big piece of dog poo!!!!!"

AJ: "Seriously.  He's not real."

Mackenzie: "STOP SAYING THAT, SANTA IS TOTALLY REAL!!!"

Me (because obviously the poo distraction isn't working): "OK, AJ, what makes you say Santa isn't real?"

AJ: "There's no way he can do it.  The only way he could possibly work is by magic, and magic is NOT real."

Me (totally floundering here, Mackenzie looks horrified and AJ looks super sure of himself and I am totally taken by surprise and am not sure what the hell to say): "Well, OK, but don't you believe in the magic of Christmas?  I know I do!"

AJ: "Well, you shouldn't believe in magic, because magic is totally fake."

Then, THANK GOD, he saw a little buddy of his getting out of their vehicle and he took off running.

He hasn't mentioned the whole Santa thing again, but I know my kid, and I know that he was dead serious.  I was blessed with (cursed with???) an extremely logical-minded child, and he is well aware that magic is a ruse.  He knows it's not real, that magic is just tricks.  And so saying that Santa is "magic" just doesn't cut it.  He needs a better explanation than that.  He also understands that the world is a big place.  He knows it takes us all day just to get to Arizona, that our friends from Australia are from the 'other side of the world', that his Grandpa lives alllllllll the way in Florida...so how the hell would Santa possibly get to every single kid in the world in one night?  He has Muslim friends in his class who don't get visits from Santa. He knows that reindeer can't fly (unlike his mother, who, for an embarrassingly long time, thought that reindeer were fictional characters, like unicorns).  And he knows that nobody in their right mind would ACTUALLY try to fit themselves down a chimney.

The super-secure hiding of the presents, the Santa-only wrapping paper that also needs to be very well-hidden, trying to explain why Santa will NOT be bringing you a pony/a baby sister/a fancy convertible/your very own motorhome...as much as it would make my life easier for the whole Santa deal to be blown wide open (my kids will still get presents from Santa for as long as they live in this house), he's only 6.  I have no intention of confirming or denying anything at this point, but I'm not sure I'm ready for him to totally stop believing.

Ideas?  Help me!

Problem SOLVED.

I discovered today that I've TOTALLY been doing it all wrong.

This is another bus story.  Sorry.  But honestly, this shit just writes itself.

So we all know that my own personal bus rules include the following:

1 - do NOT look at ANYONE for ANY reason.
2 - do NOT, under any circumstances, TOUCH another person on the bus.
3 - do NOT touch the bars unless it is absolutely crucial to do so (for example, in the instance where the choice is either falling on my ass or grabbing the pole, I will grab the pole).
4 - keep a neutral, not friendly but not unfriendly, expression on my face.

And lately, like the last two weeks, I've been having this problem where people are choosing to sit with me.  In every single instance to date, there have been other available seats on the bus - in some cases, actually, MANY available seats.  But for some reason, they are gravitating to me.  C says it's because I'm pretty.  I love C.  Friends who blow sunshine up my ass are totally my favorites.

Anyway, whatever the reason, I'm kinda over it.  I don't like people sitting beside me.  If they have no choice, fine.  But there is ALWAYS another choice.

So, I tried a different approach today, and I realized something:  #4 IS ALL WRONG!!!!

Today, instead of remaining neutral, I decided to try keeping my face in a sort of angry, unfriendly scowl-y expression.  AND IT TOTALLY WORKED!!!!

The bus this morning was the fullest one I've been on yet.  And guess who had a seat to herself?!  That's right - this girl!!

I tried it again on the way home, and IT WORKED AGAIN!!!!

Let me be clear, first of all, nobody is required to stand when I am making my scowl-y mean face.  Everyone still has a seat - it's just not with me!  Also, it needs to be noted that I am not looking directly AT people with this ugly look on my face.  I just kind of plaster it on and stare out the window or straight ahead.  So I'm not actually being directly mean to anyone; I just have a look on my face that clearly says, if you sit beside me I WILL TOTALLY FREAK THE F OUT SO YOU JUST BETTER NOT!!!!

I'm so glad I discovered this.  I actually can't wait til Friday when I can try it again.

I might need Botox by the end of the school year, but really?  A small price to pay.

Six years ago...

A post for my son on his 6th birthday (OK, the day after his 6th birthday, WHATEVER, give me a break, I had a lot going on yesterday!!)

Six years ago, you came into this world, tiny, wrinkled and screaming, with lots of dark hair and the cutest dimple ever, and with that you completed our family.

You were a sweet baby (except with your dad, you two were NOT friends for a few months), you were fat as can be and happy as can be and you had a weird shaped head because you refused tummy time for an entire year - which is likely why you never actually crawled; instead you did this super awesome bum-scootch in which you used one hand to drag yourself across the floor while sitting up.  We called it booty-scootin'.  It was hilarious and amazing how good you were at it!

You've been a kid who does things "his way" ever since, and I couldn't possibly be more proud of you.

You should be thankful you have that adorable dimple and that killer smile - that combination has saved your ass on more occasions than you know.

Your sense of humor is unmatched.  Nobody makes me laugh like you.  You get your sense of humor from your dad and it is another piece of you that does, and will continue to, save your ass on a regular basis - so don't ever lose it.

You are so bright that it blows my mind.  You were speaking easily in full sentences by 18 months, and you were reading at 4 years old.  You have an incredible, mathematical mind and I have no idea where the hell that came from, but baby, use it.

You are such a happy child, and my hope is that you are always filled with happiness.  You have a positive outlook, you love to be with your friends and family, you know how to share, you are compassionate, and you would give your friends your very last Pokemon card if you knew it would make them happy.

Sometimes, I do wonder if you were put on this earth to test my own patience - as you, right this minute, are blowing a giant hockey game horn as loudly as you possibly can; driving your sister completely up the wall; demanding I help you with your new Lego; wanting another piece of cake; dumping out the entire art drawer just so you can find that "one crayon you NEED RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!!!!"  All by 9:30 on a Saturday morning.

Six years has gone by way too fast, and it's only going to speed up from here.  I love you to the moon, buddy - you are my most favorite little guy in the whole entire world.  Happy Birthday, dude.

Oh, and once again, before I finish, I'm just going to need you to promise that you'll always love your mommy more than you love your wife!!

Oh, *^&@#!!

So, there's something you may or may not have noticed about me:

I swear like a trucker.

It's not pleasant, I know this.  It's not ladylike to swear (HA HA HA, I'm sorry, just typing that made me laugh out loud, it's not ladylike to do a lot of the shit I do and I can honestly say that I've never once in my life had the thought, "gee, I shouldn't do that, it's not ladylike.")  And you should know that I actually am very restrained on this blog.  VERY.  My out-loud voice is way dirtier than my mom-blog voice.

They say that people who use curse words often are either too dumb or too lazy to think of other, more appropriate words.

Well, THEY can shove it up their asses.

I am plenty smart enough (unless we're talking about penguins), and I am definitely not lazy.  I just happen to sometimes (um, often) use language that perhaps is not what some people would deem appropriate.

I try to know my audience:  I don't swear in front of my parents, I don't swear at school, I don't swear when I'm around people I've just met...

Oh wait, never mind.  I do.  Sorry.  I actually do all of those things.  Just go ahead and scratch all that.

Anyway, the truth is, my potty mouth is NOT my fault.  My dad is a media dude.  He's been in the radio industry for EVER, and everyone in the biz knows that media folk know of words and phrases that you can't even imagine stringing together.  Mix that with the fact that my parents had me when they were pretty young, none of their friends or siblings had any children yet, and suffice it to say, I've been exposed to some extremely colorful language from a very early age.  Legend has it, when I was around 2 years old, my aunt was pushing me around in a shopping cart at a grocery store.  Imagine me, cute as can be, all big fat cheeks and innocent brown eyes, busting out a charming rendition - LOUDLY - of David Allen Coe's Rodeo Song.  Oh, you're not familiar with that one?  Well, let me give you a few of my personal favorite lines:

"Well, it's 40 below and I don't give a f***, got a heater in my truck and I'm off to the rodeo..."
"...piss me off...you f***ing jerk..."
"...come on you f***ing dummy, get your step right..."
"...here comes Johnny with his pecker in his hand, he's a one-ball man and he's off to the rodeo..."

Yes.  Those sure are the real words.  And I sure did know 'em all.  And my poor aunt failed to shut me up, and instead had to resort to loudly proclaiming to anyone within earshot, "SHE'S NOT MINE!!  THIS IS NOT MY KID!!"

So, yes.  I have a long, shameful past with my language.

AJ's been known to bust out, "wow, mom, it's frickin' cold outside!"  At three years old, he thought 'frickincold' was one word.

Mackenzie has gotten in shit (trouble!  I mean, trouble!) twice so far this week for saying the word shit.  She doesn't yell and scream it, or say it for shock value; she says it quietly to herself when she's on the computer and makes a mistake with her Mathletics program, or when she mis-files a Pokemon card, or when Barbie's slutty little dress keeps falling down and exposing her ridiculous boobs.  And whenever it happens, AJ has to gleefully run down to the kitchen to tell me "MOM!  MACKENZIE SAID SHIT!" just so he has the opportunity to say it too.  Then I have to remind everyone to not to say that word, that it's a grown up word and saying "shit" is just one of those things you have to wait til you're a grown-up to do, like having babies and riding motorcycles and playing poker and drinking gin and tonics.

Clearly, my language needs to clean up.  And I'm trying.  I am.  Well, I'm at least conscious of the fact that I'm doing it.  That has to count for something, right?  Maybe I should try a Swear Jar.  I remember my mom having one when my brother and I were little and she would have to put a quarter in it every time she cursed.  (Come to think of it, actually, what the hell happened to that money!?!?  MOM!??!)

Or, I could just say F*** IT.

Yeah, let's face it.  That one's most likely.