Speaking of elves

Warning...this post may either offend, provoke, incite or at the very least make you squirm in your seat or it will have you nodding vigorously in agreement, empathy and solidarity.

So to my question.

WTF is it with Elves phenomena?

As in your child's own personal elf.

An absolutely repugnant concept that has sprouted wings, multiplied like the plagues of biblical times and spread through the South (I can't speak for the rest of the country, only what I observe in my red neck of the woods.)

What has possessed otherwise sane, grounded people to add one more ridiculous "tradition" to the Christmas season.

Ahem...excuse me.

Check the timing.

911.....economy in shambles...enter Madison Avenue Money Monger...stage right (rubbing hands gleefully)


Sales in the toilet, consumer confidence waning? Why....we'll give the people something playful and lighthearted to take their minds off the tragedy of the day and to pad our meager pockets. It's all in good fun. An Elf. Santa exceeded our wildest imaginations, elves are the perfect counterpoint to our pyramid plan. We'll guilt the parents into it, peer pressure from the kids classmates. They're small, cute, mischevious, who can resist the magic? Why you'd be a SCROOGE to do so!

BAH HUMBUG...that's what I say and so........................

Today I snapped.

Bambam climbed into Big Red at carpool today with tears pooling in his eyes.

'Mommy....all of my classmates have an elf. Why don't I have an elf...have I been a bad boy? Peyton's elf toilet papered his bathroom and left him glitter and a new stuffed animal on his bed. Travis' elf hid his shoes under the bed and there was candy and a star wars action figure in them when he found them. Everyone has one but me." (head in hands sobbing)

I pulled the car over into the nearest neighborhood, got out of the car, climbed in back and hugged him and his brother, good and hard and then I did it. I told him the truth. Here's the conversation as best as I can recall.

"Honey, what your friends think are elves, are just their parents playing tricks on them."

'Why mommy...why would they do that?? Are there really no elves?"

"It's called peer pressure"

(Notice my total sidestepping of the question of the reality of elves. I'm sure there's a psychological term for this, but it escapes me)

"What's THAT?"

"It's when people try to make you do things you don't want to do because they don't want to feel bad about themselves ."

"Why would the parents feel bad, Mommy"

"Because the world can be a sad place and they think buying things for their kids will make them happy"

"Well...I'm happy when I get a new toy!!! Can we go to SuperTarget?"

Let me ask you something sweetie....what was the last toy I bought you at SuperTarget??

(long, lengthy pause and pondering....okay, now we return now to our regularily scheduled programming)

"uhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm....I don't remember"

"You don't remember? Then it must not have made you very happy"

(longer pause)

"Let me ask you something else. What do elves or toys or playing tricks on you, what does any of that have to do with Christmas?"

(silence)

"What do you think Christmas is about?"

"Well duh mom, it's about Jesus coming to earth to love us and teach us."

"Right you are sweetie, you are one sharp cookie. Do elves love us and teach us?"

"Nope...they just make a mess....but they do give you candy and stuff."

"Well there's that, but I give you candy and stuff."

"(snort) SOMETIMES!!!"

"So I have an idea.....how about we pretend to be elves for each other? We'll do nice things instead of mean things for each other and we won't tell who did it until Christmas day. Does that sound like a plan?"

"COOOOOOOOL........I'm going to start thinkin of stuff to do right now"

"That sounds great...but just on other thing and this is going to be hard. You can't tell any of your friends what I just told you."

"Why mommy?"

"Because I'm not their parent honey and it's not my job or your job to tell them what to believe or what not to believe. "

(pause)

"Okay......but can I still have some candy?"

Problem solved at least for today.

We shall see what the morrow shall bring.

The decorating elf cometh.....

and she would be ME!

Sunday we drove home from North Carolina with our POS (pumped on steroids) Fraser Fur strapped to the top of the roof. Seriously, this thing takes up half my family room. We set it up Sunday, but not before my husband managed to drop the darn thing on me while unloading it. I accused him of trying to do me in for the insurance money...he said it wasn't enough.

HAHA, funny guy.

He did penance by doing my bidding the rest of the day while I rested my leg which has a very nice grapefruit sized bump turning all manner of lovely colors!

One night's sleep, half a tube of aspracream (sp?) and several Motrins later I was sufficiently pain free enough to start dragging boxes from the basement and setting up shop, so to speak.

To recap, we now have:

Candles glowing brightly in the windows with lit swags hung over the windows as well.

Fireplace and mantle are decorated and ooopps, along the way I broke one of the chimneys of my husband's antique gas lamps.

Now STOP! I know what you're thinking. It was an accident. REALLY!

Cleaning up from that little debacle, I moved on to the advent calendar which now positioned and ready for decorating

Finally, we sat down to dinner last night and actually lit the advent wreath....veddy...veddy nice!

Tonight......the lights shall be hung on the mammoth tree with care. I've got a new method I'm going to try out. Weaving the lights in and out vertically instead of doing our usual Christmas Maypole circle dance.

And the boys are going to hang all 100 of my Chrismons in our window panes.

I (((HEART))) Christmas!

The countdown begins...................

The countdown to December 25th begins and this year I find myself digging in my heels, turning my back to the wild, loud obnoxious voice that is commercial and throwing shoulda,woulda, couldas to the wind and saying.................This season I resolve these three things

1) Be at peace. With myself, my neighbors, my family, my friends. Life is too short to nurse the slights and slings of everyday life and miscues.

2) Be joyful. That I have people who love me, need me, want me. My best is good enough and if it isin't, then the ones who matter will get over it and those that don't...... well, they'll move on.

3) Be still. To hear the quiet voice of my God, my Creator and His/Her words of love and guidance in my life. And to prepare my heart for where I will be led.

Peace my friends.

The Excellent Adventures of Suzy Trooper

It all began innocently enough.

My friend Phil, recently divorced and feeling like he had no place to go this Thanksgiving left for Peru yesterday(never mind that he made these plans before we had a chance to include him in OUR plans. And that is plural as in his circle of friends)

Why Peru? Machu Pichou. I guess launching himself over the mountain that is divorce wasn't enough of a challenge.

But I'm getting off topic here.

So back to topic, I have a little send off party for him yesterday afternoon. We fire up the smoker, offer up brisket to the barbeque gods, feed him, love on him and send him on his merry way.

That's when things got, well, a little interesting.

It started with the normally reserved architect aka my "boyfriend" Kyle. Don't be deceived. Architects by nature are creative and VERY logical...dangerous combination in my book. And okay for all you puritans who may be reading this. YES I'm happily married and YES, Kyle is my friend and YES he is a boy....and he gives me greeting/parting kisses. so ergo he IS my "boyfriend". Now...back to my story.

Anyway, one minute we're savoring my favorite red wine, "Menage a Trois" (oh SHUT up!) and the next Kyle has planted the seed that it would be fun to take Phil's Izusu Trooper, drive it around town and pose it in front of various favorite and secretly favorite haunts of our friend Phil.

Now here is where I made the mistake. I got up to go to the bathroom (did I mention we had been drinking red wine for a couple hours? No? Okay well, back to story)

So I'm in the bathroom and somehow, "while I was out" the gang decided that I needed to be the designated driver and that we would meet at my office at lunch to begin the adventure, because my office is located behind prime photo ops.....a high class "gentleman's club, near a famous liquor store and right across the stree from Georgia Tech and BONUS...free parking!!

My dear husband, of course assures everyone that "Why yes my wife knows how to drive a stick. The first car she bought was a Corolla stick 18 years ago"

What he failed to add is that it has been 15 years since I drove said stick.

Note to self....don't EVER leave to go to the bathroom during one of my parties again.

Fast forward to this morning.

It's pouring down rain. I roll over and look at my husaband and ask

"What the hell did I agree to this morning???""

"Stick shift baby. Photography. Scrapbooking. Ya ready??!!"

Hitting the floor running I'm ready in 10 minutes flat cause I MUST beat Atlanta traffic to my office. If I, in my stick shift senility, fail to engage the gears properly I will stall on 285 and I'll be just another traffic statistic.

Before getting to Kyle's house where Phil's car is parked, I pass Kyle on the road. Backing up, we roll down the windows.

"Is Phil's car ....reallllllly a stick??" I ask, voice quavering

"Don't worry Luke, the force will be with you."

"Leia, Kyle, Leia....Luke is a freaking wimp" I mutter to myself rolling up the windows.

Surprisingly driving a shift IS like riding a bike and I manage to arrive at my office with car, physical body and sanity intact. I will not be winning any driving awards and Phil's clutch may be a little worse for the wear, but I didn't get myself killed. Score two for me.

At lunch time, my cohorts arrive en masse in one car, Kyle having acted as chauffeur for my friends who work in my neck of the woods. It's still raining. I'm driving...did I mention that Isuzu's have really screwed up gear boxes, like why even bother taking your foot off the clutch between first and second???

No??Okay. Well we take many pictures, funny stuff. Suzy in front of the gentleman's lounge, Suzy in front of the liquor store, Suzy at the Ikea looking for a "hot" new sofa. The list goes on and on.

And somewhere along the way I'm channeling Phil, who shall we say, has rather reckless driving habits. He drove through the footpath cut through from my neighborhood to his one memorable Halloween night.

So yep...that would be me driving over curbs and on sidewalks and squeezing around barricades for the perfect picture.

Sometimes it's fun NOT to be the responsible one.

And when Phil comes back he will have a little album of photos of Suzy's adventures "while HE was away"

heh.

I love my friends.

When your best isin't good enough

There was this girl with a tight circle of friends.

Or at least she thought the circle was tight.

Then one of the circle got divorced.

This wasn't so hard because the ex was a verbally abusive asshole who inflicted pain and discord everywhere he went.

So the circle survived and moved on.

Then another friend got divorced.

This time it was different. There were no clear cut bad guys/girls. It was just sad. Two people who got married, had three kids and finally came to terms with the reality that others had seen for years, that they should have stayed friends, nothing more.

So it begins. Who "wins" which friends in the split.

So now I move from the third person narrative to the first person...cause I'm getting down to the raw and personal place where it really hurts.

I like the wife. She's funny and smart and creative and a little reserved and I like her a lot.

I send numerous emails, make many phone calls to her, trying to include her in activities with the group. No response.

Except.

I don't invite her to one event. And now she doesn't want anything to do with me.

My rule has been to invite the spouse without the kids on week-end social events and I've tried to be respectful of the fact that they don't want to be in the same room together. That one no invite is what landed me on her shit list.

I'm not writing this because I feel I need any reassurance or censure.

I write it just because I feel sad.

Sad that she doesn't want anything to do with me. Sad that I miss her wit and intelligence. Sad that she never called me back. Just sad.

Could I have done something different? Yes. Would it have changed things? Probably not.

It doesn't matter. I still mourn the loss of what was and what could have been.

101 Dalmation Guppies

Well instead of writing this week-end, hubby and I thought it would be a swell idea to got to the pet store and get Thumper his own fish for his tank we set up last week-end.

BamBam already had a very hearty fish, named Sunny D, that has survived for over a month in a non filtered tank, so we didn't have any second thoughts about dumping him in his new filtered, heated 10 gallon new digs. He hit the water swimming.

After an hour, I kid you not, an hour of perusing all the fish on display, Thumper decides on a nice fat, sassy and very healthy looking Dalmation guppy. He promptly names it Polka, cause well it's got polka dots and he then informs me that as soon as Polka has time to get used to the tank, he's going back for another and naming it Dot.

Sounds like a plan to me although I'm wondering to myself if the people at the pet store can tell girls from boys cause I really don't want to start a family at my age, kwim?

Fast forward to yesterday. I'm in the grocery store, bumping through the lunch time crowds at Publix when my cell phone rings. It's hubby and the conversation goes something like this.

"Hey honey, got a little bit of news for you.....uhhhmmmm Polka" he says pausing.

At this point I'm muttering a hearty little curse under my breath thoroughly convinced that Polka has gone belly up and we really should have waited a few more days for the tank to stabilize. Thumper is uber sensitive....drama of fish going to the tidy bowl in the sky was not something I wanted to deal with today.

"Stop cursing.....geeesh...it's a good thing the kids aren't with you."

"I never curse around the kids"

"Hhhmmmmm....."

"Well except when one of them steps on my bare feet for the thousandth time"

"Hmmmm...okay...whatever......Polka is fine, in fact she's more than fine, she's been a busy little girl our Polka"

"Girl...wait how do you know it's a girl?....oh....oooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh....OH NO!"

"Yep I'm counting one, two...five...eight, at least eight little DOTS."

"Well I guess we don't need to make a trip to the pet store for another fish this week-end. Unless of course Polka gets hungry""

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW......don't say that, especially don't say that in front of Thumper."

Disconnecting, I race through the checkout and home and by this time Polka has popped out six more Dots.

After school, I told Thumper and BamBam to go check out the tank, without giving them any other clue.

Of course they about knocked over the tank in excitement. Poor little Dots, if mama doesn't eat you the boys will finish you off.

So moral of the story....don't buy fat little fish unless you want a tank full of them!

What child is This? Chapter One

WHAT CHILD IS THIS?Chapter One

Thump. Whump....whump..whump. Slam. WhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrSigh. I am such a light sleeper.

Rolling over and a quick peek at the glow from the clock confirms that it is 4:00 am, Friday and my weekly delivery of milk has just been deposited on my front door step and the delivery truck is backing out the driveway.

My husband, oblivious as usual, snores gently away by my side. HE is most definitely NOT a light sleeper. No....this is the man who slept through a tornado barreling through our back yard one Spring night while I, 6 months pregnant, launched myself out of bed, holding my bulging belly with one hand, clasping my 16 month old with the other hand to my hip, racing down the stairs all the while screaming at him to get his butt to the basement before he ended up like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

But I digress, I love my milk man! Well not love, like in the sense of lusting after him or planning little afternoon trysts whilst my hubby toils away in the salt mines of the family business. Actually, I've never even met the man and I seriously doubt he would be my type because whenever I call him with my weekly order changes, he sounds like he's 69 plus and has smoked for at least 59 of them. No, I love my milk man because he delivers fresh, good, straight from the local dairy, creamy goodness to my doorstep every week, therefore sparing me the drudgery and toil of dragging myself and my two wild things to the store on a daily basis for a product that pales in comparison.

Between him and my local produce delivery girl I see the inside of a grocery store, maybe, about once a month. And as an added bonus...I just love tossing out in casual conversation " MY milkman brought me the most fantastic eggs this week and I can't decide whether to make my famous killer frittata or a from scratch chocolate angel food cake" which always ellicits murmurs of envy, either for the food or for the service.

And then I, feeling all beatific, condescend to share the name AND phone number of my source. See it's the little things that make me happy. Yep that's me, Saint Elisabeth of Dunwoody, sharing one of her novenas on the path that is domestic bliss ..and all the Dunwoody housewives said, "AMEN....preach it to me sistah!"

But the dark flip side of all this catering to my culinary needs is that I am awakened every Friday at 4AM and while I am a morning person, 4AM really stretches the definition of the term. I always lay there and debate with myself for a few minutes on the merits of retrieving the milk now or waiting until my normal wake up call of 6am.

I snuggle up to my husband's back, pull the pillow over my head and the down comforter up high around my face and try and get another two hours of sleep. Of course this never works. I am as predictable as the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. Once I wake up, it's game over and I might as well try and get something productive done, because as a telecommuting, working mother and wife, I'm all about productivity.

So slinging my comforter over my snoring motionless hunk of a husband (yes I think he's still hot after 18 years, even if he thinks he needs to lose 20 pounds and frets over his growing "thin" spot) I toe my way into my ragged LL Bean slippers, grab my equally well loved robe and head downstairs to fire up the coffee (girl has to have her priorities) before slipping outside to retrieve my dairy stash for the week.

I've gotten really good at fumbling quietly around the house at the hour of the morning. I'm thinking it should be an event in the Mommy Olympics. Lights would wake the rest of the family up and that is a BAD thing...at least in my prior experience. I can set up the coffee solely by touch. Don't ask why I don't do it the night before. My school age children attempt, and the operative word is attempt, to suck every available moment of my free time out of my life. And since I think they are pretty darn cute and I CAN NOT resist the plea for just "a little more snuggle time" or "one more story" every night, coffee set up before bedtime is the last thing on my mind. Besides I like the challenge of early morning, vision and coordination impaired coffee preparation...keeps me sharp.

Today though I have more light than normal cause it's December. And why would you ask do you have more light in December, the longest, darkest, coldest month of the year? Because I am Martha Stewart's younger, kinder and much gentler sister! Not! Well, I do tend to channel all things Martha and basically my two-story home in December looks like Christmas exploded, ever so artfully and beautifully, of course! Candle lights that come on at dusk and off at dawn in EVERY window, back and front. Trees downstairs in the dining room, living room and family room programmed to come on in the early morning. Trees in the boys rooms programmed to come on at 6:00am, a seasonal alarm clock if you will. Boughs from every window, advent calendars and wreaths, 3 different nativities....a convention of Santas clustered on the mantel and around the fireplace....you get the picture...I ADORE Christmas.

So anyway, all the ambient light from the candles and trees and nativity sets make the usual challenge of making the morning coffee, less so. After successfully measuring, pouring and pushing all the right buttons, I check the fridge to make sure there's enough room for my 4 gallons of 1%, butter, eggs and yogurt and season treat, eggnog (note to self hide from hunky hubby in back of fridge or he will drink at one sitting) Of course there never is and I mutter and curse slightly under my breath as I push, prod, pile and poke things around to clear the necessary space. Aha...mission accomplished...and I only managed to partially knock over one half empty carton of yogurt in the process, averting clean-up in the process. Score two for Mom..woohoo...alright so I'm the only one keeping score, but again, it's the little things.

Heading to the front door, I check my beautiful Italian crafted nativity at the entrance, the one that flew shotgun between two Delta pilots on a flight home many Christmas ago. My husband's witty comment to the pilots about Jesus as their co-pilot actually got a good laugh from the crew and passengers. Picking upthe camels and Magi, I move them slightly closer to the manger scene from their perch on the credenza because,of course, it's NOT Epiphany and the wise men should not be in the manger yet, nor the Christ child who is presently hanging out in the bread box, patiently and serenely waiting for his big appearance on Christmas morning.

Why the bread box you ask? Because I read a fantastic story years ago about how two boys decided to swipe the baby Jesus from their family's nativity and hide him in the bread box because they had heard on two consecutive Sunday's at church that Jesus was "the Bread of Life" and then it was "Not proper to put the Baby Jesus in the manger until Christmas day" So their 7 & 9 year old brains put the two together and rightly reasoned that the only logical place for him was the bread box. The minds of children.... dangerous, imaginative, wonderful things. I immediately co-opted the tradition.

Pulling the front door open, I always stop and look up because the sight of the stars in the trees is one of the best things about being up at 4AM and on winter mornings here in Atlanta, they shimmer and dance in the cool air, my own personal little Christmas light show.

Bending down to pick up the first gallon of milk, I hear a noise, a faint smacking sound and then a gurgle and a whiff of something sweet and powdery. Freezing in mid lift, I turn my head ever so slightly. I know that sound and I know that smell. I'm a mom.There on the other corner of my small porch is a “Moses” basket, one of those totally impractical but absolutely beautiful icons of newborns since biblical times.

And in the basket....a newborn child.Tucked in the folds of the blanket swaddling the baby is a fat envelope with beautiful penmanship and a cryptic message......"What Child is This?"

NaNoWriMo Update #1

Wooowooo....thanks for the high fives and encouragement everyone!

While I bow to the amazing word count of Wendy, I am still pretty pleased with my own effort. I hit 10,000 words last night.

Carrie, I went with your advice....word vomit...bwahahahaha!!!

I stopped editing myself, spell checking, etc, worrying about grammar and sentence structure.

Also, I began writing completely out of order.

I did one complete chapter and 4 half formed chapters that I have no idea where they'll end up in the grand scheme of things.

But they are words by Golly and they're mine and they're on paper!!!

wooowooooo....only 40,000 to go (faint)

Oh and I'm going to post the first chapter as a teaser...let me know what you think!

Do I still have it?

Wendy threw down the guantlet with the NANOWRIMO challenege and now I'm trying to see if I can write a 50,000 word novel by the end of novemeber.

It's official.

I've lost my mind.

The first two days were a piece of cake. It just flowed.

Now I'm on day 4, two days of no writing and I'm stuck. Not a single bleeping thought to paper process.

Sigh.

Maybe inspiration will strike tomorrow.