If I Only Had a Heart....

I made an amazing and enlightening discovery today...despite her self-indulgent, never satisfied, center of her own universe attitude -- it turns out my 7 year actually does have a HEART. After hearing a story from her friend about a homeless man she had seen, she proceeded to make a bulleted list of things the homeless man needs. I have duplicated her list below exactly as she wrote it...

• bug spary
• hat
• gloves
• jeans
• jacket
• cake/browns/cupcakes
• house
• money/bed
• stuff he likes
• pillow
• blacket
• chothes
• lights
• kicten
• closet
• pencil/marker/crayon
• pen/paper
• shoes
• movies/TV
• games/scrabble
• clock
• hiking bag
• pajamas
• big stick (I had to ask about this one - it's to ward off any animals that come near him)
• boots
• snow stuff

At the end it said, "We will do this in spring!" Oh my goodness, such a proud mama moment.

This is coming from a girl who wouldn't share a tic tac with her little sister, just for a little background information.

Betty Freakin Crocker

The turkey roasting went so well that last night I decided, "What better to do on a snow day then bake a cake with the girls." So I told them we'd be baking Daddy's favorite cake -- yellow cake with chocolate frosting. From the other room Daddy mumbles something about his favorite cake being yellow cake with vanilla frosting and mommy should know that after 17 years of dating and ten years of marriage. But whatever, I digress. SO the baking got off to a great start. The kids washed their hands, took turns pouring in the water, oil, eggs. We were sharing and measuring and mixing, it was like Betty Crocker and mother-of-the-year together in one kitchen. Then came the only part I actually had to do without their help. Remove the two round 8 inchers from the oven and transport them to the cooling rack. The first half went smoothly and I had visions of my cake looking just like that picture on the cover of the Betty Crocker box. The second half, on the other hand, stuck in the pan (YES MOM, I greased it first). I had to shake rattle and pound this thing to dislodge it, which of course broke it into quite a few pieces. I still wasn't discouraged. I now had visions of using the frosting to repair the damage and get this thing all stuck back together - good as new. That plan shit the bed when I attempted to frost the top of the bad half, which was all crumbly, and made things worse. Then I broke the good half while transferring it onto the mountain of cake mess I had on the plate. I persevered and STILL thought I could manage to frost this sad excuse for a cake. I can't tell a lie, I thought of blaming it on the children. But truthfully, I think they could have done a better job. (and besides, they both would have ratted me out). They weren't thrilled when they saw the disaster on the counter (see photo) but the best part came when I placed the cake in front of them. Ava got hers first and she wrinkled up her face, which prompted mini-me (Maddy) to say in her sternest voice, "YOU EAT that RIGHT now." When Maddy got her cake she dove right in. (thatta girl!). Would love to write more, but I have to get ready for my job interview at Cake's For Occasions. Once they see this beauty, they are sure to be calling.

Me and Mr. T

Just when I thought the holiday season was officially over, and I had sat my fat ass down at every friend and family member's dinner table from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day....I had the bright idea to host one last Xmas party with some of my family that my Mom usually hosts at her house. This would have been fine if I had also decided to cook sauce and meatballs, or eggplant parm, or chicken ziti and broccoli (basically the three things I know how to make) or even order some food. But instead, I thought cooking a 22lb turkey would be a swell idea. Only problem was that I had never cooked one before.SO I gave myself a little pep talk first, reminding myself what a smart, capable woman I am...reasoning that I had been 8th grade valedictorian (even though there were only 13 graduates in my class), 1990 Teen Miss Chelsea (which I tied with someone and had to share the coveted title), I have a Master's Degree, and that I used to work as a United States Special Agent/Criminal Investigator. Roast a TURKEY? Piece of cake. So I had this bird (let's call him Mr. T) sitting in a shallow roasting pan defrosting in the basement fridge for 5 days. I have to wake up early to get this monster prepared and in the oven by 8 a.m.. The fun started right away when I took Mr. T out of the fridge and underneath the pan was a large gooey pink puddle....which of course dripped all over the fridge and left a trail all the way up the stairs and to the kitchen sink. I plopped Mr. T onto the pan roasting rack which I had in the sink. Now came the part that I dreaded - the real reason why I have never cooked one of these things before. Reaching in to take out the neck and the giblets. (gag). I was totally prepared for this job....I had several plastic bags from the supermarket. One to use as a glove over my hand while I reached in, and the others to triple-bag whatever the %^%$% I was about to remove from Mr. T. So I closed my eyes and went in for the kill. Only problem....I couldn't find anything. It felt pretty icy in there, so I thought maybe this bulging bag of guts was frozen somewhere inside there. I decided to prop Mr. T up and run some cold water right into his nasty neck hole (see photo). At this point, I have no choice but to call and ask my Mom for a turkey tutorial. At first she sounds completely annoyed at my apparent stupidity and inability to locate the guts-- like she may even want a refund for my college education. But by the end she is laughing her azz off and my father is in the background yelling, "I can't believe this, hasn't she ever cooked a turkey before?" My mother assures me that there HAS to be something in there, a neck, a bag with the organs, etc. At this point I knew I needed to get brave, lose the shopping bag mitt and check this mo-fo out once and for all. For this, I needed a flashlight, because I really couldn't see too well in there. (See flashlight in photo). Now, let me assure you, there was all kinds of nasty looking shit in there, but none of it was loose, and nothing was coming out - I was really tugging around in there. Then my mother drops a bomb on me. She tells me to check the other hole. This news leaves me speechless, but all kinds of bad words are circling in my head. WHAT other hole does Mr.T have!?!?!? I turn wet, slippery, 22lb Mr. T over and my mother tells me to lift up the skin flap. I throw-up in my mouth a little at this point. THE skin flap? This turkey butt had many many fatty skin folds, none of which I enjoyed peeking under. FINALLY I peel open the right one and find Mr. T's glove compartment and sure enough there is a little bag with a couple of dark colored organs in it. (gag). Never did find his neck, which I am actually very happy about, and I would like to thank whoever it was at the turkey farm that apparently forgot to stuff half of Mr.T's body parts back inside. I did get one last nice little surprise when I unhooked Mr. T's turkey legs from their little vice, and there was his little neck stump where they chopped his head off (complete with the chopped bones sticking right out of it). I tugged on this a little bit, just to make sure it was supposed to stay on there and it was on there pretty tight. Which brings me to my next point...if Mr. T were still alive he definitely would have called the police or a perhaps his therapist because there is no way around the fact that I had assaulted this putrid piece of poultry. One hour later, I had Mr. T safely in the oven under his tin-foil tent with two celery stalks and a quartered orange sticking out of his neck hole. The only other problem I encountered was nearly causing a grease fire while attempting to baste the turkey. Apparently I needed to squeeze the bulb a little more gently, as to not spray the entire oven with Mr. T's juices. Fast forward to dinner time, I actually cooked a perfectly edible turkey. Maybe some of my blog readers who were at my house today can vouch for me. And for the rest of you, if you have always driven your fat azz to someone else's house for Thanksgiving and never roasted your own turkey, you should be sending a thank you note to your hostess, cause that task is a bit more involved than I ever realized!

PS: If you look closely at the picture, in the background you'll see an "Icee Maker. " I guess Santa talks a lot of smack in his letters. (See Pen Pals with Santa post 11/16)

Naughty Girl

Let's recap the last 20 minutes with Madelyn....

4:45 pm...."Maddy, what did you do in preschool today?" She replies, making spit bubbles in her mouth, "Blew spitballs."

4:50 pm....playing with the dollhouse. Mom doll is pushing twin dolls in the double stroller. Mom doll (Madelyn) says to the twin babies, "Sit down or I'm going to SMACK YOU!"

4:55 pm....I leave the room momentarily and it's suddenly very quiet. TOO quiet. "MADDDDDDDDYYYYYY, WHAT are you doing?" I ask - but get no reply.

Oh nothing mom, just stripped down to my undies, got a stool, brought it over to the tree and now I'm touching the ornaments you told me not to touch. (See photo)

5:00 pm...she sticks her baby doll in the corner for a "SIX MINUTE time out!"

WHERE is she learning this stuff?????? (Don't look at me!)

More letters from the Big Guy

Dear Demers Girls,

Thank you so much for visiting one of my "helpers" at the mall. Santa's never quite sure who to hire for helpers, as some may very well be major perverts who get their jollies off having small children on their laps. But I know your Mom, like most moms, tucks this thought deep into her subconscience just so she can get the adorable Christmas picture she so desires.

Ava, your Mom and I were wondering when you were going to wonder if that was the REAL Santa at the mall, so I'm glad to see you finally using your noggin and inquiring about this, as you were a little behind the 8-ball on this one. Although, you must know that I, in fact, AM 100% REAL and you must never stop believing in me because it will break your mother's heart. Pretend if you must for a year or two, but whatever you do, DON'T tell your little sister or I'll have to break your fing -- I mean ----I'll have to put you on my naughty list. (Forgot who I was there for a second).

I am so glad that you and your sister thought of even more things I could bring you for Christmas, but I think you've met the per capita quota for gifts. I was truly surprised to hear you ask for an"Easy Bake Oven," especially since you didn't even write it on the Christmas List that you mailed to me approximately 2 minutes before coming to sit on my lap. Please refer to my previous letter -- item #9, as "easy bake ovens" are specifically mentioned in the "crappy tasting food items" section of gifts I don't bring. You asked for it last year too, give it up already. And while we're on the topic, Santa forgot to tell you that I don't bring American Girl dolls anymore either. See the cute ones you're holding in this picture, try paying a little more attention to these dolls first! Santa sees everything, so I know it was your Mom who got those dolls dressed in their Christmas dresses and insisted that you hold them for the picture...nice touch though.

Before I go, I must ask Ava one last question. In early October your Mom asked you what you wanted for Christmas this year and you replied without so much as a moment's hesitation, "One of those bags you sit on and air comes out." (whoopee cushion) How on Earth did you go from THAT to an Ipod Touch?

Much Love,

Santa Claus

PS: An Ipod touch falls under item #6 on the list of gifts Santa never brings "Items your Mom and Dad don't have!"

Pen Pals with Santa

Dear Demers Girls,
As Christmas quickly approaches, I felt there was no time like the present to let you know that Santa never ever brings the following Christmas gifts:
1. Drum sets

2. Make-up

3. Dogs, cats, or rabbits

4. Things with more than 10 pieces

5. Things that have to be assembled

6. Things that your mom and dad don't have (lap tops, ipods, blackberry phones)

7. Things that are hard to find and therefore exploited on Ebay and Craiglist. (Remember those Zhu Zhu pets I managed to make in my toy shop last year.....yeah, where are they now? Enough said).

8. Things that will cause any destruction to the household furnishings (scissors, paint, sharpies)

9. Things that involve you making crappy-tasting food items like: Easy Bake ovens, snow cone machines, etc.

I realize that this eliminates most things on your Christmas list, but rules are rules. And if any of your friends say that they have received any of these gifts from me, they are lying.


Much Love,
Santa Claus

What items does Santa ban in your your house?

Update

An update on the last 3 blog entries...

1. Friday came, (the day after Veteran's Day holiday) and I had to drag Ava out of her bed for school. But Saturday she was the first one up, again. I'm just glad that this is the biggest issue I'll ever have to deal with when it comes to her. Parenting just gets easier as they get older. Right?

2. I never did get around to writing a real pretend letter from Santa asking for JB Jacks return to the North Pole until December. (The other letter I wrote was not really for the children. Since my husband actually had to ask me if I was leaving that letter for them - I thought there might be others out there who were wondering the same thing. I thought it was pretty obvious, but maybe no one gets my humor after all!?!??) In any event, turns out I've been creeping around the house each night hiding Jingle Bell Jack for no reason. The kids have already forgotten about him. Perfect foreshadowing to the events of Dec. 26th when the novelty of all their new toys will have worn off as well. I think I did find a way to rekindle Ava's interest in JB Jack though (see photo). She looks like she is having sweet dreams too, poor kid. (Looks like mother of the year will have to wait just one more year).

Thank a Veteran, Punish your daughter

On the first day of starting this blog I vowed to only tell true stories (see archives!) but today I vow to not even exaggerate...although that promise may only apply to today's blog (come on, give me something to work with here). So here goes.... Every.Single.Solitary day I rip my 7 year old out of her bed by her feet. I start the gentle awakening process at around 6:50 a.m. by opening her bedroom door, turning on her light, pulling her shades up and taking her covers off. I end the unsuccessful gentle awakening process at approximately 7:20 (school bus comes at 7:45) when I tear the covers off again grab her feet and pull her out of her bed. I then carry her stiff, lifeless body into the bathroom where I undress her and position her on the toilet seat. I leave her there to continue getting myself ready for work. I could return in ten minutes, or a week later (oops, I couldn't even keep my new promise for one blog) - either way she's still sitting there no matter how long I'm gone. I then position her at the sink to brush her teeth and hair. All the while I am ranting and raving posing one empty threat after another....pretending to hear the school bus coming, threatening to cancel every activity she has planned from now until New Year's, even resorting to "you'll go to bed tonight without your supper" (clearly this worked for parents of the 1950's)...all of which to no avail. On Saturdays, I drag her out of bed to go to her sister's dance class, on Sunday I drag her out of bed to go to CCD (WHAT KID doesn't jump out of bed for THAT!?!?). BUT THEN... came TODAY. Thursday. Veteran's Day. No school, no work, no dance, no religious education. A day to sleep-in and rejuvenate oneself from a busy week. Did I have to drag her out of bed today? Funny you should ask. NO, I didn't. She was up, on her own, at the crack of azz while the rest of us were sleeping in a completely quiet house. Seriously!?!? Does this happen at your house?

While I'm up - I might as well thank a veteran. My #1 veteran...my Dad...who at 19 years old, fought in a thankless war where most of the people he was fighting for didn't want him there and the people back home were protesting too. My dad, who 40 years later, still carries so much of that war around with him. Dad, I hope that someday you will find some peace, but I know you are a changed man because of your experiences. I also hope the day comes that you will let me write about it. xoxoxoxoxo

Hit the Road Jack

I needed some way to not have to hide the elf every night from now until Xmas....so what better excuse to pack Jack away than a letter from the old Mr. Claus himself?
*********************************************************************************
Dear Demers Girls,

Thank you so much for adopting Jingle Bell Jack, he has had a lovely time staying at your home so far and he has filled me in as to what's been going on with you and your family. I would like to address some of my concerns so that we can see some improvement before the big C day.

Ava, you must make a better effort to get up and get ready for school in the morning. Your stalling, whining and complaining is surely going to cause your poor, hard-working mother to have a nervous breakdown. She has already developed a nervous twitch in her eye. I realize you are the product of two non-morning people, but surely you can try a little harder to brush your teeth and hair and present yourself at the breakfast nook all dressed and ready for school. PS: the clothes your mom picks out for you are super cool, so save yourself the aggravation and just wear them. You may not admit this until you're out of college, but I want to tell you something now and you can file it away for the future, Moms are always right!

Madelyn, you are quite the character my dear. But you are only 3, and you really shouldn't be using the word "stupid" as often as you do. Just yesterday JB Jack told me the story of how you had your Elmo towel on your head and you said to Jen, "Jen did I used to wear this towel when I was a baby?" To which she replied, "Yessss, you did. And you looked soooooo cute, I just wanted to pinch your cheeks." And then you ruined the moment by saying, "Yeah, now I just look stupid." Despite the fact that you caused a grown woman to cry with laughter and almost pee her pants- this kind of language is simply not becoming of a sweet little 3 year old girl. PS: I need you to narrow down your Xmas list by naming maybe one or two things in the toy catalogue that you actually DON'T WANT....that would be easier. Thanks honey.

Rolly, you really need to stop checking the bank account online while your wife is at the mall. Your poor wife works full-time and then comes home to nurture your needy children. Shopping is one of the only pleasures she gets out of life. It really takes the joy out of it when you are already aware of the purchases by the time she pulls in the driveway, she really wants to surprise you.

Keri, keep up the good work. JB says you're like a regular wonder-woman and could possibly be up for mother of the year in addition to teacher of the year. Although, he says you have banned him from your room as well (like Ava), I hope there's nothing naughty going on in there that you are hiding from me.

Well, Demers family, I am sorry to say that I need Jingle Bell Jack to come back and help me at the North Pole until the end of November. You see with the recession, I had to lay off a bunch of the teacher elf aids at the elf academy, and with the No Elf Left Behind (NELB) act all of my elves are supposed to be proficient by 2014 so I need JB Jack to come back and help tutor some of the elves. I will make sure he's back by December 1st. Thank you for your cooperation!

With Love,
Santa Claus

Jingle Bell Jack

Well, the Demers family finally has a son (albeit, adopted) and he goes by "Jingle Bell Jack." (creatively named by Ava and Maddy). He's the Elf on a Shelf (we're a little late on this phenomenon, but finally it was something blog-worthy). For those of you with post-Santa aged children....let me build some background for you....the elf on a shelf is a little elf character and picture book. The story has it that the elf flies back to the North Pole each night and let's Santa know if you're behaving (kids only, no worries). Then he perches in a new spot and the kiddies have to find him in the morning. He comes all inclusive with an adoption certificate signed by Santa Claus himself. To the normal child, this brings additional excitement and enjoyment to the already joyful holiday season and to the normal parent, this brings one more thing to remember during the most hectic time of the year (moving him each night....because, he's actually not magic at all, it's just pretend). Now to OUR child....who likes to contemplate the smallest details of life and worry herself into a tizzy, the Elf brings yet a new form of anxiety. After reading the picture book, I placed the Elf on the mantel (which was a rookie mistake: it's MUCH too soon to start these foolish "move the elf in the night" antics). I then answered (as best I could, not knowing how this Elf magic really works) a plethora of Ava's questions regarding the logistics of how the elf got in and out of the house, how he got to the North Pole and back etc. Shortly thereafter, while the rest of us had moved on to something else, I hear Ava in the living room whispering to the elf, asking (PLEADING) with him not appear in her room overnight. She clearly marked some boundaries in the hallway that he was not to go past and she looked at him with such hope in her eyes - looking for some sign that he understood what she was saying. She went over these plans again with "JB Jack" about 10 times before she went to bed. Now for the normal parents, this would cause great concern and perhaps a reconsideration of this new addition to the family. But for US, it was pure hysteria. We both chuckled in the other room, laughing harder and harder everytime we heard her in there talking to him. She asked us for a banana right before bedtime, so of course I had JB Jack hold the banana in his hands and I brought it into her room and gave him a tour....and she once again told him he could look around now, but he couldn't come back later. Although we had evil thoughts of poking JB's head through the crack of the door we decided that the cost of therapy would far outweigh the short-lived amusement. Sure enough, Ava sprang out of bed this morning and looked for JB, who was sitting in a new spot in the living room (1st NIGHT with the Elf - and I went to bed and forgot to move him, but shockingly enough Rolly remembered). She was overjoyed with his obedience and has already begun to trust him. Maddy, on the other hand - unphased by the presence of this creepy little character woke up and said, "WHERE'S the PRESENTS?" Clearly, she missed some of the details in the story. So JB Jack is supposed to remain with us until Dec. 24th when he flies back with Santa until next year. Supposed to....but I'll have to think of something, that is just TOO many nights and not enough perching spots within the perimeter Ava has roped off.