The party's over. Welcome 2012!

Alllllll over. Thank god. Do you ever feel that way? My family has been in celebration mode since mid-November with a birthday, Thanksgiving, another birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas and several more birthdays.  Just when I thought we were done, and I was ready to hunker down in my sansibelt pajamas for the next few months, we were invited to a family-friendly New Years Eve party which was fun, but NOW, we're starting clean slate.  There have been too many presents, too much food, way too much alcohol, and my fingers seem to be waaay too permanently swollen.  Ugh.  It's time for water and spinach.  Happy New Year!

Eastbound and back "home"

We're back! We survived Holiday Travel, which was actually not as bad as I expected.  We totally, completely, weirdly-suspiciously-unlike us-always, lucked out by getting onto a direct flight from MO to VA, rather than the delayed stop-over in Chicago we had been booked on.  The boys behaved themselves, for the most part, and no one punched me in the face due to their occasional whining.  (A special holiday shout out to the family of two young girls seated one row behind us who beat us in the highest decibel contest.  In their defense, the cabin pressure was unbearable for a few seconds there, even for me. Those poor, poor little girls.)

Our flight back was not as wonderful, having to stop in Chicago, which never makes any sense to me.  Our layover was longer than either leg of the flight, and it's a given that meltdowns will occur if actual travel time is interrupted.  So, all we could do was walk back and forth on the flat escalators and consume 4,000 goldfish (3,764 of which were ground into the rug in our terminal. Luckily, we had our own personal janitor who followed us around with a manual vacuum, making sure crumbs didn't pile up too high.  She was also a helpful distractor because the boys loved watching her and I'm pretty sure they were dropping a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of crackers so she would follow us.  T decided he wanted to be her when he grows up so he can use that "special thing", which I told him he is welcome to use at home any time.  Also, T wants to be a shuttle driver at Dulles.  I reminded him that as long as he can support Mommy in her twilight years, he can be whatever he wants).

Overall, our trip was fairly uneventful with only one minor embarrassing incident.  Though I am fully aware that airport food is not cheap, I ordered a panini and orange juice to find out it was going to cost me $15 - literally all the money in my wallet, including change.  After a totally polite exclamation of surprise - I said $13 for a sandwich?! the guy looks at me and says, really? is that too much? all sarcastically, implying I am a loser if I don't pay it.  So, I asked him to void the sale. He tried to tell me he couldn't and that I'd have to pay.  I guess the cogs were already turning deep inside the specialty sandwich factory, which to my amateur eyes just looked like the little old lady behind him had fired up the big toaster. I was like, Seriously? You can't just take 4 steps to tap her on the shoulder and say, hey Gladys, never mind on that panini? Maybe yell out, HEY, FORGET THAT PANINI? Or how about whistle to get her attention and draw your finger across your throat? As I'm trying to help him realize that he indeed can void the numbers he just punched into the cash register, T is realizing that we might walk away from the food counter with nothing, so he begins to clutch the orange juice bottle, crazed and wide eyed yelling "No Mommy, I NEED this! I WANT this juice. THIS IS MINE."   You'd never know he'd opened hundreds of dollars of gifts in the past week.  So, cue my sweat mustache, I shove cash back into my wallet, rip the OJ from T's sweaty paws, and march/run away.  Could have been worse.

A guide to holiday travel, with kids

Beware! If you are traveling by plane for the holidays and you are one of the few who won't have children in tow, consider this fair warning. Because there will be many of us - MANY of us - sitting behind you on the plane, kicking your seat.  In fact, most of the moms in my playgroup today said they will be flying somewhere this week, so I'm guessing that every plane will be filled to the brim with wee ones, screaming, crying, flailing, and whining.  Part of me feels bad for those of you who hate traveling near children.  The other part of me laughs at you.

Look, I used to be one of you. I once preferred to sit next to someone with clean underpants (actually still my first choice).  I'd have rather not be jostled by anything else than turbulence.  However, being heartily equipped with empathy, I usually felt bad for the poor parents with the kid throwing themselves on the floor in a tantrum and always felt awful for the little infant who cried at take off because her little ears hurt.  I never understood how an old grandma could huff and puff and roll her eyes as if the crying was impossibly interrupting her SkyMall reading. Or why the guy in front of me thought it was a good idea to tell the guy behind me that he better shut his kids up...or else.  That resulted in fisticuffs over my head, which scarred me for a long time. I swore I'd never fly with kids for fear of bodily harm.

Let me also add that those of us flying with kids do not want to be flying with kids. Air travel with children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done.  I once flew alone with both boys, 9 months and 3 yrs, from VA to CA with a layover in TX.  You do not. know. stress. until you have made this trip. I was drenched in sweat for 12 hours straight as I tried to not lose my children. THAT was my goal. Not to make sure others had a pleasant trip, but to make sure I arrived from point A to point B with the same number of bodies - alive- that I left with.

Oh, you curmudgeons might say "Well, why don't you stay home?" or "Learn to control your kids in public!"  But I don't care.  I want to be with my family for Christmas and my money is as good as yours.  And trust me, I do try to control my kids in most instances, but at 30,000 miles above sea level all control is out the window (hopefully not literally -har har)  I cannot make my 16 month old sit completely still.  I can only try so many times to get my 4 year olds finger out of his nose and to stop screaming about wanting more M&Ms, but I have to pick my battles.  And to me, boogers are not worth it.

So don't turn around and give me a rude look every time my kid makes a sound or jumps around due to his sugar high.  That's the nature of air travel.  I suggest you bring your earphones and jack your Ipod up as high as it can go, have cash on hand to purchase mini bottles of alcohol, and remember that your flight will be over in just a couple hours (unless we sit on the runway for hours).  That's my plan too.

Personal appearance

Dear Santa/Hanukkah Harry,

Please bring me a new wardrobe. Besides not having the money to go purchase the few things I need just to update my look for 2012 (or even to catch up in 2011), I just don't have the energy.

I'm so disappointed in myself - the girl (lady?! ugh) who used to browse every fashion magazine on the block and could put an outfit together like nobody's business, if I do say so myself. Though I swore it wouldn't happen, motherhood has made me leave the house unwashed, unshowered, unmatching, unwearing something not made of sweatsuit material, and most scary, uncaring - most of the time.  But today, as I ventured out to get some Sudafed to alleviate the symptoms from the 43rd cold T has brought home from preschool (why does my husband never catch anything?!), I saw two moms pushing strollers with teeny, tiny babies in them (= they've gotta be up more hours of the night than me, right? Or was that just my kid who never slept for the first nine months of his life?) and they looked GREAT.  Sassy shoes, hair artfully tousled, makeup tastefully applied, and they looked fabulous. I was embarrassed to get out of the car because I was wearing the same shirt I'd worn the night before and then slept in and kept on all day. Kind of gross, I know, but so comfortable! I waited until they passed for fear they'd look at me and think "Oh, I am so glad I took a shower today and that I don't have horrible crows feet like that sad, dumpy lady. Or maybe she just has newborn quadruplets at home".

So, I made a decision.  As soon as I got home I put on makeup and a cute ("cute") outfit, just to go to my mother-in-laws for Sunday dinner.  I felt like an imposter, especially when I put on lipstick, which I haven't put on since my wedding in 2006.  I added some dangly earrings and totally felt like some hipster poser, but I tried to fake it.  Really, I did.  My husband said nothing after his initial double-take at my outfit change. G couldn't stop staring at my sparkly pink lips. And trying to rip my earrings out.  And T just took the tube of gloss and applied it to his moustache area, looking very pretty himself.  When I walked into my MIL's she complimented me appropriately, probably thinking it was weird that I was out of sweats for the first time since we moved to KC in August.

Maybe I just need to do it more often? To try a little harder a couple times a week so it feels more natural? Maybe I can manage to upgrade the sweats to leggings a few times a week. Because I can't continue down this road.  I'm only 34, and the wrinkles are only going to get worse.  I KNOW I've still got it in me...right? Why didn't I appreciate my wardrobe and smooth skin 10 years ago? Why didn't I open a separate savings account when I was in my 20's to be put only towards Botox, Spanx, and skinny jeans in the years to come? Let this be a lesson to those of you who still have the chance to prepare yourselves.

You know, I take the wardrobe request back, Santa/HH. I want Botox. And a personal trainer and personal shopper. And the energy to drive myself to wherever you go to get Botox.

I can see clearly now

Rocking the popcorn ceiling



Chair rail down, popcorn gone, chandelier hanging (dangling?!)



New ceiling, new walls, awesome table

It's amazing what clean windows can do for a room! Actually, these are brand new windows and most likely the cleanest they'll ever be. They went in yesterday, after sitting out on our porch for two frigid and busy weeks, on a blessedly warm winter day.  The room looks so clean.  Now, we just have to mud, tape, and paint - kind of a grayish blue is what I'm thinking.  My husband likes the idea of blue after learning years ago on the Today show that blue suppresses the appetite.  As if he needs to watch his weight.  Huh, so, does anyone know if white makes you eat hordes of Christmas cookies and candy? Because that's what this white sheetrock seems to be forcing me to do.

the right side of the brain

In my ArtEd classes we were taught that it's best to guide young children in drawing, not tell them how to do it.  Of course they need direction, and some kids are more likely to do well if you can give an example first, but after teaching high schoolers I think that mostly applies to older kids. Older kids are more worried about new stuff because they don't want to get it "wrong", and don't want to look stupid in front of their peers.  That always made me sad to see how uncomfortable some of my students got in a class that was only supposed to be fun. It's Art, I'd say! There is no wrong way to do it! (Unless you are carving inappropriate words into the tabletop with an X-acto knife.  Or throwing the X-acto into your seat mate's thigh, causing the need for 4 stitches. True story.  And then, my teenaged friend, you are waaaaay off base.)

Preschoolers are so imaginative! T is almost open to trying something new.  He usually asks, what does it mean?, when I say Let's paint by numbers, but he jumps right in, nowhere near actually using a paint brush correctly. But I want him to try however he wants.  So, I've been really hesitant to show him how to draw things when he asks for help.  I don't want to lead him to only draw houses made of squares with triangles on top, yellow circles in the sky and horizontal green lines on the paper below. (Because that is how I still draw houses). I mean, I know, this is how 3 year olds are able to representationally draw a house, using shapes they know, but I want him to try to figure it out on his own.

 Rainbow

 Our house

My favorite, our family. The dog gets me every time. Is he the next Calder?

Amateur Photographer

Last year, T got a camera for Christmas. One of those heavy-duty plastic ones for kids, made to be dropped, stepped on, and flung across a room during a temper tantrum (which it has been). Its batteries had been dead since before we moved to KC, and after a lot of begging, I recently put new ones in. After T snapped a few pics, we realized that the memory card was full, so, begrudgingly, I found the cord and uploaded all of the images on to my computer to free up space.

Out of the 840 (!) images on there, about 800 of them were of the floor or ceiling. Or me, close up, looking really annoyed. Oh, and one was an extreme close-up of me nursing G. That one took me quite a while to figure out what I was looking at. The other 39 actually had a person of interest in some part of the frame. The camera does have a flash, but no other adjustments can be made as he takes pictures, so most of them are blurry but actually kind of cool - very pictorial. And I like the fact that T took them all during a time when I was too exhausted to document the no-sleep hell I was living in. (If I included any of the ones he got of me, you'd see a crazed look in my eye. Zoomed in. Like, pupil close.) And that these pictures were taken almost exactly a year ago, with teeny G making his holiday debut, is a cool comparison to the large child who now often out eats me at dinner, which really is a feat.

Here are a few of my favorites. (Sorry, the nursing picture didn't make the cut.)