Saturday, December 11, 2010

Put On Your Red Shoes

If you’re ever in a bad mood, come over to my house. I’ll make some cocoa, we’ll sit on the couch and watch my children play Just Dance on the WII. I swanney, it’s enough to make you believe in human nature again.

First, there’s something delightful about 4 children doing anything together that doesn’t involve bloodshed, tears or Disney. Second, my children are not exactly the most coordinated of bodies, and the dance moves on the game are not exactly easy. Okay, some of them are, but then the game combines them with other moves, and pretty soon, if you were born with my genetic code, you find yourself pretzel-like and 3 steps behind. The point is, it isn’t like watching Baryshnikov (yum). More like watching a slow-motion train wreck, Charlie Chaplin style. Third, and this may be the most important point, we can sit on the couch. That means we’re not actually doing the work. See the beauty of this mood-improver?

I do, in fact, dance with my children when other adults aren’t present. The first time we played, over Thanksgiving weekend, we laughed so hard my stomach muscles hurt the next day. Now, it’s the favorite play-date activity for Oldest Child. They make rock candy and dance.

We also play Twister together, which also makes us laugh, especially when Toddler Son joins us. Try moving your left hand to red when Boy is lying underneath you, kicking his feet at your face. He also likes to grab the corner of the mat and roll, pulling it around him as he goes. This makes it a bit difficult to play.

He, too, dances when we turn on JD. And if you give him a remote, he’ll usually score pretty high, until he runs off to hide the remote in the toilet, that is.


Thursday, December 9, 2010

To England, Please

They’re getting married in April?!? This April? They clearly have no idea how long it will take to have my dress made, several hats ordered (the British wear a lot of hats), plane tickets reserved, accommodations set up (Buckingham might be a bit full, so we’ll opt for a more private place to unpack our bags). I have to line up babysitters, and April is too soon to have lost the Christmas pudding weight. How rude. And how does one dress for a wedding in April? It may be too cold for short sleeves, but oh, the horror, if it’s too warm for long sleeves. Arm pit stains are so 17th century.

I fully expect to be invited to the Royal Wedding. I want to see if she goes Grace Kelly ball gown or if she’s not afraid of public opinion and chooses to show off her will-never-be-the-same-after-childbirth 20-something body.

When the last British Royal wedding was aired, I watched the whole thing. I couldn’t understand why she would marry him (I was all of 9 years old.) Charles looked so old to me. Well, he still does. Pictures of him at the time seem so old-man.

But this blog is not about that wedding. Nor is it about Kate and William. It’s about me, waiting for my invitation, and wondering if I should do my hair up or let it hang down? I also need to decide whether or not Hal is invited to go with me. Harry is still single, and that isn’t creepy at all.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Letter to St. Nick

Dear Santa Claus,


Every year for Christmas, I ask for world peace, or at least peace in my home. I ask for everyone to have enough to eat, or at least that my children will eat the food I put in front of them. I ask for shelter from the cold and rain, or at least that I might appreciate the cold and rain if I have to be outside in them. I ask for patience without going through the trials that produce patience. I ask for a sense of well-being, or at least a false sense of well-being. I ask to be 4 inches taller.

Every year, you fail miserably.

So, this year, I say, “Screw it. Let me win the lottery.”

If I win the lottery, I promise not to spend a dime promoting any of the good values I’ve tried to foster in my children. I promise, instead, to get a boob job, a second home somewhere coastal and foreign, and a nanny.

Oh, please, let me get a nanny.

With bigger boobs, a hide-away in the Mediterranean, and a nanny, I think the peace, food, patience, shelter and well-being will take care of themselves. And if not, I’ll have enough money left over to self-medicate in any way I choose.


Wishing you a very Merry Christmas,


Mama