Disclaimer:  the lovely, naughty, hilarious applewoman (who is gone from Xanga far too long, just saying) wrote this lovely, naughty, hilarious tale and suggested that I share it.   How can I say “no, it’s too naughty for me”? Remember though- I had nothing to do with it.  Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Warning:  I said it was a little naughty.

Another warning: I mean it.

Last disclaimer: I’m innocent.  Completely. 

This might just end up sounding like whining.  It’s not really intended that way. 

Tomorrow at school we’re doing festive centers.  We don’t do centers much this year.  So this is big news.  You would not believe the creation I decided to do with the little angels.  We’re stitching.  Yes, we are.  I’m not concerned, why do you ask? I just remembered this morning that I might have said I would take care of prepping the other two projects, only one of which I can even remember at this current time.  Yippee.

Tomorrow night I’m going to choir practice so’s I can sing Christmas Eve.  Assuming I have a voice by Christmas Eve.  Not so much today. Kinda lost most of it last night helping the kiddos practice for the early Christmas Eve service. 

Friday we have school.  Our first hurricane make-up day.  I suppose that is ok.  It’s also LLO’s birthday.  12.  oh my golly.  She’s making cookies to share with her class.  But that’s not my problem, I think.  Both girls are having a sleepover Friday night,

which will merge directly into the mega birthday party on Saturday morning.  They decided to share the party at the roller rink which is closed to everyone but us.  I haven’t thrown a birthday party in a couple years (which has been the topic of conversation lately alternating between this party totally makes up for my deficiencies as a birthday party throwing mother and just the deficiency part.)  In any case, yikes.  However, I don’t have to do a thing except (gulp) pay.  And skate. (yay)  And not permanently damage myself.

Because 2 hours after the birthday party extravaganza, I get to don a lovely robe and shake hands with the Dean.  Pretty sure that I’m wearing my painted shoes.  Try and stop me.  I think we’re celebrating with ice cream. 

Sunday.  I think Sunday is slow.  I’m only busy all morning.  Possibly baking all afternoon.  Or maybe making a Christmas dress for LLO.  Or doing all my Christmas shopping. 

Christmas Eve is mellow too.  Annual party with friends and then the church extravaganza. Between services, I’ll put the presents under the tree, if there are any. I really do like Christmas Eve, helping with the kids and then singing with the grown-ups too.  Also we’re doing a little bell sextet (that’s 6, right?) which is going to be really fun.  If I can still read and count at 11:30pm.  Ha.

And Christmas.  Which is completely unplanned. 

And then. Nothing. I have zero trips on my calendar.  Neither set of parents has said a word about when we are coming.  I’m ok with that.  Because that is the part that makes me so cranky.  Watching my incredibly short break eaten up by a trip to the land of annoying bird calls and the other land of we don’t believe in heat. Surely we’ll have to go.  But I don’t know about it today, so it doesn’t exist.

In other news, I had to call that family who is no longer speaking to us, because LLO wants her best friend to be the sleepover patron.  I left a phone message, which was ignored.  Saw the mom yesterday and asked her about it.  She admitted that she knew I’d left a message, but she didn’t have time to listen to it.  And then she said she’d have to check her calendar.  That was 12 hours ago.  Clearly she didn’t check her calendar right away.  I wouldn’t bother with her if it wasn’t LLO’s choice.  I haven’t missed this woman’s self absorption.  You know that I’m going to have to call again.  How freaking rude is that.

Also, I’m tired of rain.

Also, I just want to go back to bed.  So I’m going to get another spot of tea (it’s a tea day, that’s how bad it is) and put on some festive music and have a good day.  Feel free to do the same.

While I’m waiting for my poorly-timed 2 hour cake to bake, I have plenty of time to talk about my parent of the year award.  Oh, that’s right.  I won’t be getting it.  The good news: I knew where both of my children were for most of this week so far.  Give or take a couple hours.  Each day.

Like, for example, last night.  When LLO was at a churchy party instead of at church.  When she was supposed to bring a wrapped book to exchange.  (All of these things I could have remembered from the 3 years Spawn was in middle school.  OR I could have actually read the email that I was sent telling me all these great things.)  I could have been reminded that it was party night when the fuss was happening about the book.  LLO happened to have one in her backpack.  (A book she owned and liked.  Which is truly shocking enough in itself.)  But I didn’t think of it.  In fact, had no idea she wasn’t in the building until Spouseman came to pick us up and couldn’t find her.  At which time, I was informed by 3/4 of the people in the room (many of whom don’t even have middle school children) that it was party night.  I didn’t even have time to panic, before phone calls were made on my behalf and then suddenly my kid appeared in the doorway since a very nice person had brought her back from the party.  I didn’t even have time to feel like a complete failure as a mother. 

Which I really am.  Because at least one of my kids has a report card out there in cyber space- I think both- which I haven’t looked at.  I can pretend that their grades are not a reflection of who they are and what they are doing.  Am I really fooling anyone?  I don’t think so.

On the other hand, I had quite a revelation with Spawn.  Early last weekend she asked me to play the Google Translate game with her German homework and I said yes.  Because it’s entertaining and fun to translate German paragraphs with Google by my side.  However, she came to me at 8pm Sunday to play the game.  And basically expected me to do all her thinking for her.  She was completely disinterested in looking at the paragraph while I googled.  And, you know what?  I didn’t feel like being taken for that ride.  I’m perfectly happy to help.  But I’m all done with the enabling.  And we had an epic fit.  Well, I didn’t.  She did.  But somehow she managed to translate the paragraph on her own (or with her dad’s help) and she apologized to me Monday morning.  Yada yada.  Well, Tuesday morning she came to me and asked if I’d help her with a paper about medicinal moss.  First question, when is it due?  Wednesday, of course.  My Tuesdays are busy as can be.  So I told her to have a rough draft for me and I’d be happy to edit.  I told her what the basic format should be, which she said she didn’t know. (Really?)  I got home from Tuesday’s joyous drama and Spawn says to me that she didn’t get a rough draft done.  I said these amazing words, “not my problem.”  And I waited.  The most incredible thing happened.  She said “ok” and that she’d go write a rough draft.  I waited.  No drama. No hateful words. No crying. She actually just went and wrote a rough draft. I may never forget this day.  Because honestly, I think this is the first time in nearly 16 years where her problem has not been my problem.  It was beautiful.

Also my cake looks like glue because I seem to have dyslexia tonight.  Sigh.

1. The first item.
LLO can be such a drama queen and stubborn.  But sometimes she is about perfect.  This afternoon I picked her up at the bus stop, which I never do, with the crazy plan to go pick out a tree (in the rain).  She was cool with this plan. And she was cool with the fact I didn’t know where we were going and we got lost.  And she was cool with our pitstop.  (Probably because she got ice cream.)  Then we drove back to the tree farm I knew where it was (but not the over-priced stuffy place we usually go).  We were the only customers.  Pretty shocking for a rainy Monday afternoon.  Ha.  Anyhow, really nice older guy was mildly surprised we wanted to cut down our own, but set us up and told us where to go (even though we didn’t listen.)  And for the first time in the history of sunshine household tree picking, we did it in under 15 minutes and without arguments.  LLOster and I cut the sweet thing down our very own selves and it’s even only a little bit dead. She was in charge of the cart with the tree and that was that. 

While we were waiting for the man to finish talking to the other customers who’d arrived while we were out, LLO and I explored the barn.  Really cool barn full of antique stuff. Gas pumps, wringer washer, one of those cash registers with the keys you have push down on hard.  Not sure why I didn’t take any photos, but I didn’t.  Then she started asking questions, like she does.  The guy told us about the barn.  One part of the barn was 200 years old.  The addition on the barn was 100 years old.  How cool is that.  Then LLO asked about the enormous pine cones that she’d seen in a basket, wanting to buy one.  He let her pick one out.  He insisted.  Also told her what kind of tree it came from- sugar pine.  Big pine cone. Ginormous.

Anyhow.  Have tree, dirty knees, wet shoes, and pine needles in my hair.  But my girl reminded me just how awesome her sauce is.  Also she gave me an idea for a great gift for her.  She just started basketball at her school which she loved.  The elementary school with basketball hoops is just a block away.

2. The second item.
Got a phone call from friend/coworker.  We’re going out to dinner with other peops from work.  Earlier we’d made plans to walk together.  The restaurant is a block from my house.  She called to see if I was still ok with walking.. in the rain.  Um. yea.  It’s a block from my house and there’s no parking.  And my knees are still wet.  I’m ok with walking. 

Update:  went out with people to a festive occasion and had fun.  Shocking. 

3. The third item.
I’ve gotten a series of emails from those nasty woman’s club people.  Who, admittedly, aren’t quite so irritating now and were kind enough to change our potluck to a later time so I can come.  I was surprised, actually.  But anyhow.  Some people are obsessing.  My philosophy on potlucks- it all works out, just bring what you want.  But, no.  We’re apparently going to spend this entire week doing bulk emails about what people are bringing.  Hence the artichoke pimento molded salad.  Which, frankly, is enough to make me wanna hurl.  I don’t know what I’m going to take, but it won’t be molded anything.  Golly. Now I want to know what I’m making.

4. The fourth item which is really the first item. 
My tree is gorgeous.    Naked, but gorgeous.

Sure. I can put up a picture of me when I was little and cute.  (Thanks for asking.)
Judging by the front teeth, I’d say this was somewhere around 8 or 7.  Didn’t ask my mom.

I posted this one before. My mom sure liked red for photos.

Yup, it’s my birthday.  I’m celebrating either 29 or 39 again. Haven’t decided. 
In any case, it’s a great day in the land of sunshine. 

I did less traveling last night (in dreamland).  Which is good. I suppose.

Instead I spent the evening in a parking garage.  Yes, indeed.  First I was walking around a lot, because who doesn’t walk up all the ramps in a parking garage.  At one point, I was in the top bunk. Sitting. Don’t know why.  Then I waited in line.  We were waiting in line to teach Sunday School.  Lots of us.  You have know idea how many people are desperate to teach Sunday School in my subconscious.  It’s the in thing.  And then I bought a sandwich for a little girl in my class and I didn’t have enough money because two sandwiches were over $40 (must have been at the Smithsonian.) 

Then I had another dream.  I was looking for my middle school (I have no idea why I was looking for that.) There was obnoxious construction at the bottom of the hill and I was scared of all the trucks and traffic.  I couldn’t find the right street to turn on and overshot the road.  Drove into an area of town that I apparently believe is a slum now.  Then I finally found my middle school. I must have walked in.  And it was this huge mall thing.  All blue and shiny.  And connected to a medical center. Everything in the mall was somehow related to the hospital.  I almost bought a life-time supply of it’s a boy and it’s a girl wrapping paper.  And I just kept walking around.  Until I woke up, I guess.

My dreams this week are so entertaining.  Makes up for the fact that I’ve lost all brain power.

Tonight is my last class.  I’m looking forward to the flip side of 9pm.  I wish that I didn’t have to make up for being quiet all semester before then. (I arranged it so that everything I had to do for class is due today.  Hooray for planning ahead.)

Also, 6 year olds are very bad at keeping secrets.  I will punish them by making cookies. 

I had a song in my head all yesterday afternoon (because a friend put it there without any lyrics whatsoever and didn’t know what song it was. I told her when I remembered, I would call her up and it’d probably be in the middle of the night.) As soon as I got home to do something about it, it got replaced by Santana.  Sigh.  Good thing I like Santana too.

I’m tired this morning. And no wonder.  I had a busy night.

Ha.  I meant in my subconscious.  Let’s see.  I was in the middle of some town and ran into a lady I work with.  She was glad to see me. I can tell this because she handed me her less than year old baby (in the dream she was a boy, in real life he is a girl. but anyhow) so she could carry her 3 year old across this street.  It was nighttime.  And a city I don’t know, but I think it’s one I’ve dreamed of before (that might be dreamt there. I do not care.).  So we survive getting across the street and we’re walking down the sidewalk.  Suddenly it’s daytime and she wants to stop at this shop to make a craft.  And her baby turned into a kitten which somehow I’m still supposed to be carrying.  I gave it a really good try.  I don’t recall seeing any blood, but surely there must have been some. Then I gave up and let the cat go.  The little bugger ran into the basement.  Then suddenly I’m lying on a bed (which was nice for a dream) and a bazillion kitties are crawling all over me.

I believe I also did a lot of driving in my dream.  Might have been a truck this time.  Oh. And down steps covered with snow.  And there was my mountain road and my river.  Can’t have a long driving dream without those two places.

Don’t hobbits have hair on their feet, not just their toes?

Spouseman was looking at his pants this morning and said “this looks like a hand job”.  I busted out laughing.  And not just because he thinks I’m going to sew his pants today. 

LLO is arguing with her dad about surfice.  Surfice it to say that she is not convinced on the surface.

Can I run away?  Like, really?  This month is kinda action-packed.

A friend of mine played what she thought was a joke on me last night.  She does not want to know what I thought of her.  Later she told me that I couldn’t take her sarcasm.  Yes, friend, you are right, I cannot. Used to be that she knew what was going on in my world. 

This was your weekly random posting.  Just so you know I’m still alive and kicking. (up a fuss)

We have a knitting thing going on now.  Spawn is going to knit scarves for the world and LLO is going to make a coaster maybe. Which is fun.  So’s the other day, Spawn asked me if I wanted a scarf for Christmas and since I’ve been a mother going on 16 years now I know the right answer to that question.  (That would be “yes”, by the way.)  So she asked me what color.  And I answered, somehow forgetting the code, that I like green and purple and I already have a purple scarf so how about green.  Yes, we do answer all questions with long answers in my land.  Unless the answer is no.  But anyhow. Spawn proceeds to tell me that she thinks she’ll make one out of this cool yarn that she’s seen that is black and red and blue.  And hello- I said green, girlfriend.  Alas, I know how it is and I will love the black, red, and blue scarf that my girl makes me and that’s that.

LLO has been cracking me up with her knitting talk.  Not so much action. Because that girl is a talker not an acter.  Well, she is an actor, but that’s a different thing entirely.  Anyhow.  Been trying to get the LLOster to knit since this summer when her goal was to watch screens 24 hours a day and I thought maybe she could do something else. Naturally, with Spawn knitting around the world, LLO wants in on the action.  Yay.  The other day she was spouting about how unique she is because she’s knitting instead of ___ (forget what she said) and how many 11 year olds knit instead of (that) and on and on.  Of course I agreed.  Because the girl is unique, no matter that she’s made it to row 4 of the project.  Anyhow, last night, we get home and she’s got all this homework (which is where the actor thing comes in, because holy moly the girl has perfected drama).  And I hear Spouseman say to her “do you have knitting homework?”.  Which made me laugh because it makes perfect sense to me to knit at 10something at night rather than do the math homework.  I get that.

And then there’s me.  I gave up knitting when the little people came into my life because it’s hard to get to the end of the row when you have little people with immediate needs and I kept forgetting which way I was going and it just was a frustrating pain in the heiney and that’s that.  But I have plenty of yarn from back in the day when I collected.  (And I still collect, but it’s for crochet which doesn’t have the end of the line issue and requires less juggling.)  I started a sweater quite a long time ago and it’s been there in my basement taunting me.  So I looked at it this weekend.  And it’s not the color I thought.  I thought it was teal and bright and it’s not.  But anyhow.  I found the receipt in the bag.  Seriously. Knitting sweaters is an expensive proposition.  The receipt is from 1993.  Oh. My. Goodness.  I may touch it some more.  On principle.  It would be a good color for Spawn.  Maybe I’ll ask her what color sweater she would like.

oh my goodness

there IS a line button

what else does this thing do?

I have done some craziness so I have to leave it just so.  And that’s ok.
I’ve decided that my new goal is learning to play the ukelele and studying up on calculus (which was incomprehensible those bazillion times I tried.)
I’ve decided that I don’t have to do anything with freaking Christmas that I don’t really want to do. 
And I don’t care what anyone says about it.
Oh, golly. LLO just finished reading Bridge to Terabithia.  That stinks. (It has a sad ending.)
I’ve decided that it is perfectly acceptable to burn stuff in my backyard. 
As long as I don’t burn down the house and I’m not sure that matters so much either.
I’ve decided that watching movies is a good thing.
I dug out a project that I started before small people.  I may actually work on it.  I may not.
I have to go help LLO make metaphors for Thanksgiving food now. 
Earlier tonight I helped Spawn translate German. 
I’m that kind of awesome.
Well.  Sort of.  Because tomorrow Spouseman is scheduled to have a birthday and I have bupkus.

Now that I’ve titled this bad boy, I don’t know where to begin.  It’s all melodrama, I think.  So maybe it doesn’t even matter where I begin. Or end.

In general, I’m in an opting out frame of mind right now.  I have somewhere to go in a little bit, and I’m not sure that I’m going to make myself.  I’m running out of excuses except that I just don’t feel like it.  I want to hide.  We bought a relative a funny t-shirt a couple years ago and I think I should own it myself.  It says, “I read your t-shirt, that’s enough social interaction for today.”

I opted in to Thanksgiving with the in-laws and out of Thanksgiving with my p’s.  I opted in for spouseman’s cousin, who I really like, and her husband, who makes me laugh,  and doing a puzzle with her (and my mother-in-law) and holding her 5 month old grandson, who is freaking adorable.  (Egads.  Grandson.  I’m not sure that she’s 40 yet.  In fact, I think she is not.)  I really think she and her entourage are the only reason.  My brother-in-law was in a mood.  The bed we sleep in there is a torture device.  And that freaking bird clock drives me crazy.  My father-in-law thinks it’s hilarious.  He puts batteries in that clock just for me.  I’m serious.  So every hour on the hour some birdsong lets me know that time is ticking (slowly).  I packed an outrageous quantity of projects and activities for those two days.

So, why on earth did I opt into their Thanksgiving and opt out of my p’s?  Because I’m desperately tired of doing double holidays, which we always do.  My mom was already irritated that we weren’t coming on Thanksgiving itself, so she didn’t care that we didn’t come at all this weekend and doesn’t seem to care if we go next Saturday either.  Or maybe that’s just my irrational feelings towards my brother who lives with them (for many and justified reasons, probably).  He’s a selfish, obnoxious prick.  There, I said it.  And my relationship with my parents is suffering for it, whether they are aware of it or not.  The last time I visited, I was there to do my mother a favor and the first hour of our visit was a full report on my brother’s job and schooling.  My brother has been in some kind of higher education for most of the past 20 years.  I actually think he’s been in nursing school since LLO was a baby.  And I don’t care.  Sorry, but I don’t.  I don’t care what his job is, because he changes jobs like most people get their hair cut.  I don’t care how far he’s driving or how hard he’s working or whatever.  Because it doesn’t appear to me that my mother cares about what’s going on with us.  She didn’t know how hard I was working.  She didn’t know how hard the beginning of middle school was for LLO.  I don’t think she knows that Spouseman has slightly migrated jobs.  She doesn’t know these things because I didn’t tell her.  But you know what?  She didn’t ask either.

This was not what I was going to whine about.  Because the other day, Spawn says to me that she feels differently about her grandparents.  She was telling me about how my crazy uncle was giving her a hard time because my kids don’t know my mom’s side of the family.  Well, we don’t see them.  And there are thousands.  OK, hundreds.  Anyhow. She had the thought that these people aren’t really her relatives because we share no genetics.  And the reason that she feels differently about her grandparents is that she is biologically related to one set and not the other.  Holy crap.  Are you kidding me?  But then I wonder if this is really true.  It doesn’t seem to me like my parents feel about me the same way that I feel about my kids and honestly I probably don’t feel the same way about them that my kids feel about me.  But is that really because of genetics?  Or is it because of who these people are?  My in-laws have been thrusting themselves on us since the grandchildren were delivered by the stork.  They drove 3 1/2 hours one way for a day trip every week when Spawn was a baby until I couldn’t stand it any more.  My parents waited for us to visit them.  My in-laws beg us to let them visit.  My parents nag that we don’t come see them. 

I remember when I was a kid, that’s how it was for us too.  We visited the grandparents, they did not come to us.  Spouseman’s grandmother lived next door to them.  You know she wasn’t waiting to be visited.  So, no, I don’t think it’s biology.  I think it’s who these people are.  They are who they are, faults and all.  Just like I am who I am: antisocial, unforgiving, tired, melodramatic.

I should stay quiet.