The Renovation that Wouldn’t Die

Yet again, I’m apologizing for disappearing on you. This time, I blame my bathrooms. I’ve been elbow deep in renovating two of our three bathrooms, and when I say “renovating,” I mean supervising others who are far more qualified than I am to do the actual work.

When we moved into our house eight years ago, we knew we’d have to redo the bathrooms sometime in the near future. Well, the near future became the far future and we’re finally hunkering down to get it done. To explain the state of our bathrooms, I’ll have to give you a little history about the house. Our home was built in 1954 by an architect for his family of ten to live in. Yes, he and his wife had eight children. It’s a really wonderful mid-century modern house that’s more than large enough for Ad Man, the monsters and me, but the thought of living in it with eight children runs shivers down my spine.

There were a number of owners between the architect and us, most notably an inept contractor who bought the house when it was listed as a teardown, did a half-assed renovation and flipped it. (Thankfully, there was one owner between the flipper and us who bore the brunt of the half-assedness.) The contractor’s clumsy work was most prominently displayed in our two upstairs bathrooms. When we moved in, the tub and girls_shower_funwall tiles in the master bath had been reglazed (poorly) and the floor was covered with nondescript, beige floor tiles. Biggie and Smalls’s bathroom, which also serves as our guest bath, had reglazed tiles, the same beige floor, and an original, extremely crappy shower we used maybe once. In fact, the girls most often used the shower as a hideout or reading nook. Here’s an old photo of Biggie and Smalls in their favorite playhouse.

pink_bathroomWhile biding our time, we painted the rooms, changed out the lighting and hung some artwork. That made the bathrooms livable for a while. As time went by, though, the reglazed tiles and tub chipped and showed their true colors…1950s Potty Pink to be precise. Don’t get me wrong, if our bathrooms looked like this one, I’d be the first one out shopping for vintage poodle accessories. Unfortunately our pink bathroom couldn’t be saved. Here are a few “before” photos of the bathrooms. Sadly, we don’t have any pictures of them in their original, mid-century glory.

  

When we started to demo the bathrooms, there were a few surprises in store for us. First, our wall tiles were glued directly to inch-thick concrete. Apparently, that’s how things were built in the ‘50s…strong enough to withstand a Soviet attack. So, what we thought was going to take two days (one per bathroom), stretched into a full week.

rubble_1115.JPG

Tub ‘o Rubble

Then, we discovered that there were beautiful, original mid-century tile floors under the ugly-ass beige tiles the evil contractor thought would be more appealing to a buyer (who is this person with a love for all things beige?). I was shocked to see what good shape the original tile was in, but it was covered in glue and filth and couldn’t be saved. It was seriously heartbreaking. I’ve been gazing longingly at my neighbor’s original tile for years without ever suspecting that a similar treasure lay just beneath my feet at home.

I’m a newbie to renovation, so this process has been quite enlightening. Essentially, it all boils down to the following series of events, just repeated over and over until the project is done…or until you kick the contractor out of your house vowing to finish the damn thing yourself.

Here’s how it’s going for me:
1) Someone asks me how I want something done.
2) I tell that person how I’d like the thing done.
3) The person tells me why it can’t be done that way and, instead, does it the way they’d already planned to do it before asking for my input.

our_bedroom_during_1115

Our bedroom, throughout the holidays. Good thing we have a guest room!

It’s maddening! Add to this the fact that the renovation is already weeks behind schedule and you’ll understand why my stress level has been through the roof. Perfect time to have a bunch of family in town for the holidays, right?…

Update #1:

Please note that the holiday I was referring to above was Thanksgiving. I set this post aside for a few weeks since there were a few things going on (holidays, Biggie’s birthday, never ending renovation…) and suddenly here we are with Christmas just days away. One might think I’d be luxuriating in my fabulous new bathroom by now, but sadly, one would be wrong.

The bathrooms still aren’t done-done. Actually, I’m convinced they may never be. We’re damn close, but there are still a few tiny problems. For instance, we can’t seem to find a faucet for the master bathroom that doesn’t leak. We’ve been through three already. And, I insisted on black fixtures, so I can’t just pop over to Home Depot whenever we need a new one. Also, when I recently attempted to give Smalls her first bath in the girls’ brand new bathtub, water came out of the back of the faucet where it attaches to the wall, not from the actual faucet itself. I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to work like that.

We have friends coming into town from Los Angeles, and staying with us, in five days. Five! I will not be sharing a bathroom with three other adults and four kids, so the upstairs baths had better be in working order by then. I don’t care if I have to pay a plumber triple overtime and hand forge a black faucet myself!

Update #2:

We’re now weeks into the new year and guess who still doesn’t have fully functional bathrooms? You’re right! It’s me…the one with the hairy legs. It seems we still have an issue with hot water, or lack thereof. The best it gets here is lukewarm. No one ever says, “I can’t wait for a nice, lukewarm shower!” And, that’s in the downstairs, unrenovated, not-at-all-beautiful, bathroom. In the new bathrooms upstairs, you have two choices of water temperature: cold or ice cold.

It’s now the middle of winter, so it’s damn cold downstairs. Alas, I’ve been taking warm showers in a freezing cold bathroom since before Thanksgiving, hence the hairy legs. I’ve taken advantage of a few unseasonably warm days here and there to shave, but the rest of the time, it’s so freaking cold, I’d shave off my goosebumps and quite possibly bleed to death if I even tried. I’m sorry if I sound bitter, it’s just that I am.

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Girls’ bathroom, in progress

The story just keeps getting better. It seems that the problem is that there’s a spot in the system where our hot and cold water lines mix, making our tankless hot water heater get all confused and serve up only water the temperature of spit. It took two plumbers and two weeks to diagnose the problem. But here’s the fun part…we are going to have to break through one of our newly built and tiled walls to fix a valve that our “contractor” apparently installed sideways. I seriously couldn’t make this up.

So, now we’re in the process of getting bids from plumbers and contractors to undo what we spent the last few months doing and then do it again, correctly. I could cry. Considering the foregoing, you’d think we wouldn’t want to renovate or do construction ever again. In my case, you’d be right. Ad Man on the other hand, wants to sell our house, buy a lot and BUILD A NEW HOUSE. He’s trying to kill me. Please send help!

mission_accomplishedI must end this tragic story to spare both of us, but I promise I’ll get back to you soon with “after” photos. The bathrooms really do look fantastic (pre-re-renovation), but I’m too superstitious to call anything finished until after I’ve taken a hot shower in my lovely and functional new master bath. Remember this? I don’t want to be that guy.

 

But wait! There’s more.

PS: Our friends did come in town for a visit after Christmas and stayed with us. It is a tribute to them, some of our oldest and best friends (K and I have known each other since fourth grade), that they didn’t complain once about their piss warm showers. I guess they were just relieved to find out we finally have three working toilets in the house.

 

 

Christmas Miracles and Everyday Madness

xmas_tree_before_1214It’s been an eventful few weeks since I posted anything fresh here for you. First, a bit of an explanation. Christmas was my mom’s favorite holiday. The tree was always up on the day after Thanksgiving and every inch of the house was covered in something that lit up, jingled or played holiday songs. More than once, I walked into the room at my parent’s house and had a motion-sensing, dancing, singing Santa scare the living shit out of me. As far as holidays go, my mom never wavered. She was all in.

Not surprisingly, since her death, the holidays kind of suck for me. Add to that an always lingering residual bit of depression, a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder and the stress that comes with planning a major holiday and a child’s birthday party at the same time, and you’ve got the perfect storm. Unfortunately, I’m terrible at writing in the midst of a storm.

Now for a little public service announcement…If you are considering getting pregnant (or knocking up your wife, significant other, or surrogate) I would highly recommend that you carefully plan the fateful insemination so as to avoid having a child born in December. Or the beginning of January, for that matter. Many moons ago, my darling Biggie was our Christmas miracle. She was born on December 12th after three years of trying to get pregnant culminating in three rounds of in vitro. But here’s the thing…we really should have timed the whole miracle thing much better.

Everyone worries about the kid when they find out he or she has a Christmastime birthday. “Oh, the poor thing! He/she really gets the shaft having his/her birthday so close to the holidays.” But, I say…remember the parents! (Or, in our case, the mother. Let’s be honest.) Ever try making candy flames while shopping online and addressing holiday cards at the same time? It’s a challenge even for the sanest parent and we all know that’s not me.

The last few weeks have been such a blur, I’ll just try to fill you in with a few main events. First, there was the aforementioned birthday party, which was another sleepover because I’m a masochist. I did put my foot down this year, though, telling Biggie she could invite only two girls from school and two girls from the neighborhood. Last year’s sleepover was significantly bigger and a bit of a debacle actually (at least for me).

campfire_cake_1214For once, Biggie liked and went along with my idea for the party theme… a camping themed, birthday slumber party. The girls slept in an eight-person tent Ad Man and I just barely managed to erect in our downstairs living room. But, before that, there was an outdoor scavenger hunt, pizza, a movie by the fireplace and a campfire birthday cake. I’ve included a photo of the cake here because I think I got more comments about it on Facebook than I’ve gotten on any cute kid or puppy post ever. Honestly, that cake was the highlight of my last few weeks. It came out so much better than I’d ever imagined. In fact, I’m considering never baking another cake for as long as I live. Why not retire at the top of my game, right?

Despite all the preparation that went into Biggie’s party, it actually turned out to be fairly easy and she was happy. Yay for me! I have to savor the little victories in parenthood because, lord knows, they can be few and far between.

Unfortunately, there have been some low points in the last few weeks as well…for example, when our Christmas tree came crashing down yesterday. I will elaborate, but I should first mention the wonderful way my day began. I was lucky enough to spend the day with a friend’s sweet, beautiful, eight week old (ish) baby boy. Oh man, is he delicious! We had a lovely day of snuggling, snoozing (him, not me), smiling (both of us) and sniffing his luscious new baby smell (Birdie and I). It was a bit of a challenge managing a puppy and a newborn at the same time, but I still found myself thinking, “See? I’m not too old for a baby. I could totally do this again!”

That is until I was attempting to calm little man who was squawking with hunger while I tried to heat up his bottle as fast as humanly possible when we heard an ungodly crash from the adjacent living room. Squawking turned to screaming, Birdie ran around like there was a squirrel in the house, and I reluctantly peeked around the corner only to find shards of glass and spilled water everywhere! The poor Christmas tree that had been so elegantly dressed just moments before, lay sadly in a bed of its own debris.

xmas_tree_after_1214I had the sense to put the the baby in his bouncy seat and unplug the tree lights before one of us was electrocuted in a pine-scented cloud of sparks. That was the last coherent thought I had, however. I looked at the mess, the hungry baby, the bottle of precious breast milk warming on the stove and the puppy threatening to run through broken glass and picked up the phone to call Ad Man. Luckily, another Christmas miracle occurred and he actually answered the phone. I said something like, “I need you! Come quick! The tree fell and there’s glass and water and I have a baby and a dog!” in not my calmest voice. Ad Man’s office is only three miles away, so after telling me to put the damn dog in her crate and doing about twelve additional things at the office, he headed home to face the destruction.

Eventually, Ad Man arrived, cleaned up the mess and we took inventory of our destroyed ornaments. By then, the baby was sleeping contentedly with a belly full of warm milk while Birdie slept off the adrenaline rush from dodging an enormous falling tree. As it was too early for a drink and I was babysitting, I got my stress relief from gazing at the perfect, peaceful face of little man. Demonstrating my remarkable skills of denial and self-delusion, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought again, “I could totally do this.”

The following day, I was again entrusted with the care and keeping of another living being, but the outcome was less successful. Birdie tends to be a pain in the ass about getting her nails clipped, so I’ve given up trying to do it myself and now take her to Petco for monthly pedicures. Because she apparently has the same short memory as her adoptive mother, she blocks out her nail terrors and is super excited to go to the pet store every single time.

Yesterday’s trip was no exception. She bounded out of the house with her tail wagging as soon as I said, “Birdie, want to go to the store?” We hopped into the car and I carefully lowered her window to a level where she could stick out her snout and enjoy the breeze, but not hang half her body out the window like a teenage boy in a limo after prom. In an abundance of caution, I hold onto her leash with a death grip the entire time she rides with me. I’d like to point out that Ad Man thinks I’m a neurotic freak (for this, and many other reasons). He just loops her leash through the seat belt and lets her hang out and gulp oxygen to her heart’s content.

Luckily, I can rarely, if ever, be convinced that his method of doing something is better than mine. And, it’s a damn good thing I stuck to my neurotic guns, because I’d just pulled into the Petco parking lot when Birdie jumped out the damn window! Of a moving automobile! Who does that?! Freaking the f*ck out, I managed to pull the car over and park all the while clinging to her leash. I’ll never forget the panicked look she gave me as she dangled outside, with just her eyeballs reaching the level of the now completely lowered window. I steeled myself for what I would see as my mind ran wild with images of her wrecked body flashing before my eyes.

Instead, I opened the passenger door and she hopped right back in, fresh as a daisy. It was as though she jumped out of a moving vehicle on a daily basis! A woman in the parking lot who had witnessed the whole scene called to me, “Is your dog OK? Are you OK?!” In a state of shocked disbelief, I told her yes. Birdie and I caught our breath and continued into the store as planned because, well, I didn’t know what else to do.

Not once did I think to wonder how the car window had gotten rolled down. That is, until we were back in the car on our way home and Birdie had her nose and paws out the 3 inches of open window I allowed her when the stupid thing rolled down again! All I could figure was that it was broken and would roll down whenever she put pressure on it. However, after we returned home and my scrambled brain started chugging back into action, I thought to myself, “You dumbass, the dog was stepping on the window button!” Erg. Anyway, this was the very difficult way I learned to always, always turn on the child safe window locks whenever doggie Evel Knievel is riding shotgun. Public service announcement #2.

Aren’t you glad you read this whole rambling post? I provided you with two nuggets of wisdom so you don’t have to learn them the hard way like I did. I also told you a couple stories that undoubtedly made you sit back and think, “Holy crap…I’m glad I’m not her!” Don’t say I never gave you anything. Have a great holiday! I’ll have lots of updates in the new year. Now, go tether that Christmas tree to the closest immovable object you can find. You’ll thank me someday.

Our Christmas Letter Is Better than Yours 2, Electric Boogaloo

clife thu Rockettes 1118_1165.JPGBefore I sit down to shop online for cheap, plastic items for Biggie’s birthday goodie bags then address 1,000 holiday cards, I thought I’d repost a piece from last year and provide a photo of my close, personal friends The Rockettes for your entertainment. Thank you so much for not mutinying against me for the stale content! I promise, when my brain returns to working condition, I’ll be all over that writing shit. xoxo

https://mommyennui.com/2013/12/23/our-christmas-letter-is-better-than-yours/

Friday Favorites: Polar Vortex Edition

Welcome to Friday Favorites, the Polar Vortex edition! I never imagined I’d be writing about the damn Polar Vortex in mid-November, but alas, here we are. So here, dear reader, are a few items to help you get through the fall-turned-dead-of-winter this year:

sweatshirtThug Life Shirts ‘I Am Freaking Cold’ sweatshirt
This sweatshirt is high on my Christmas wish list. I figure it will save me tons of time since I won’t have to spend every day of the next few months whining about how freaking cold I am!

hot_cinn_spice_tea

Harney & Sons Hot Cinnamon Spice Tea
There are many winter days when the promise of a cup of Harney & Sons’ Hot Cinnamon Spice tea is the only thing that will pry me out of my warm bed in the morning. Hot Cinnamon Spice is a blend of black tea, cinnamon bark and other spices, and orange peel. It’s so naturally sweet, it’s hard to believe there’s no sugar in it. Harney & Sons supplies tea to Caribou Coffee, so you can also find it packaged under the Caribou label.

navy_leather_Uggs

Ugg Australia – Women’s Classic Short Leather in Peacoat
Maybe it’s the former Californian in me talking, but I will give up my Uggs when someone pries them off my cold, dead feet! I don’t care if they’re uncool and I don’t care if they’re ugly. They’re just so damn cozy! My only qualm about Uggs has always been that the suede ones aren’t waterproof…not so much a problem in LA, but definitely an issue just about anywhere else in the winter. That’s why I’m giddy with excitement over this waterproof leather version. The “Peacoat” and “Oxblood” colors are particularly lovely. And, just in case anyone out there is looking for the perfect holiday gift for me, I wear a size 8.

enviro-logEnviro-Log Fire Logs
I love Enviro-Logs. They’re made from 100% waxed cardboard and burn cleaner than firewood. (They emit 30% less greenhouse gases, 80% less carbon monoxide and 86% less creosote.) Enviro-Logs light easily and the 5 lb. firelogs burn for about 3 hours. I usually buy cases of Enviro-Logs at Whole Foods, but they’re now available on Amazon and ship for free using Amazon Prime.

turquoise_hootyHooty Microwaveable Plush Owl
Hooty is one of Biggie’s and Smalls’s favorite things. This little guy is stuffed with millet grains and dried lavender and can be warmed up in the microwave or chilled in the freezer. We’ve never tried chilling it, but we warm up the girls’ owls every night before bed in the winter. Hooty is super soft, smells wonderful and stays warm for about 20 – 25 minutes. We warm our Hooties for about a minute and a half because they tend to get a little “sweaty” if warmed much more than that. (OK, that just sounded all kinds of wrong!)

20 Benefits to Catching a Stomach Virus from Your Kids

V0010485 A young Viennese woman, aged 23, depicted before and after

Things have been a little rough here at MommyEnnui headquarters since Halloween turned into a horror story. The girls were adorable in their costumes and both were in high spirits, until Smalls started complaining of a tummy ache. Being closely attuned to my child’s needs, I first suggested she lay off the candy for a while. When her stomach ache worsened, I assumed she had to poop. Smalls denied it, but the child has been known to stare me straight in the face and lie about having gone to the bathroom with pee running down her leg.

It wasn’t until she started vomiting all over the place that Ad Man and I realized we had more than a little Halloween candy-induced tummy ache on our hands. Ad Man took barf-clean-up-duty while I bathed Smalls and began a long night on bucket duty. A few days later, when Smalls was finally back to school and feeling better, Biggie came home complaining of a stomach ache, but insisted it was from reading on the bus. Oh, how I wanted to believe her!

Not surprisingly, Ad Man and I have been the most recent victims of the virus. When I woke up this morning to a migraine brought on by dehydration and caffeine withdrawal, instead of wallowing in misery for the fourth straight day, I challenged myself to come up with some benefits to having a stomach virus. Yep, I’m going to glass-half-full the shit out of this nasty bug! So, here is your list of 20 benefits to catching a stomach virus from your kids. You might want to keep this list handy. I hear it’s going around.

1.  Fewer dirty dishes

2.  Your boyfriend jeans fit like sweatpants again

3.  Good excuse to drink Gatorade instead of green smoothies

4.  No more stealing the kids’ Halloween candy

5.  Newfound appreciation for plain bagels

6.  Teaches the dog to entertain her own damn self

7.  Alcohol intake gets dialed back to zero

8.  Things that haven’t been cleaned in a while get scrubbed to a shine

9.  No judgment for wearing the same pajamas for days on end

10.  Perfect time to binge-watch a new show

11.  Teaches your children to forage for meals

12.  Lessens your attachment to material things, like white flokati rugs

13.  Running a fever makes you track down sweaters and flannel sheets before the end            of February

14.  Kick-starts your pre-holiday cleanse

15.  Housekeeping standards are significantly lowered

16.  Strengthens your resolve to never be pregnant again

17.  Your life of routine and monotony gains a renewed sense of the unexpected

18.  Can’t feel guilty for not going to work or volunteering. You are not wanted there.

19.  Gives you a chance to try out that new no-shampooing trend

20.  You get to go to the bathroom alone again!

The 15 Suckiest Things About 2013

george_and_friendsI’ve been in a bit of a post-Christmas funk lately. This happens to me pretty much every year, so it’s not unexpected. Christmas was my mom’s favorite holiday which makes me miss her even more at this time of year. There’s the typical holiday let-down after spending so much time and energy planning for something that’s over in just a day. Also, the weather is crap, which never helps.

Anyway, I thought rather than fighting my gloominess and attempting to write a hopeful, looking-forward, end-of-the-year post, I’d just go with it and make a list of all the things that really sucked about 2013. So, let’s say goodbye to all the bullshit of the last year.

The 15 Suckiest Things About 2013

  • The Boston Marathon Bombing.
  • Due to Congress’s pissing match over the U.S. budget, government employees and contractors spent two weeks in October doing yard work and growing beards when they could have been, you know, working for the government.
  • Kim Jong Un appeared to be filling his father’s notorious shoes quite nicely. 2013 was a particularly rough year, however, for his uncle and ex-girlfriend.
  • The weather continued its epic rager with tornadoes in Oklahoma and the midwest, flooding in Colorado, northern India and central Europe, a massive typhoon in the Philippines and wildfires in California and Arizona.
  • Rush Limbaugh continued to exist. Lou Reed did not.
  • #Hashtags became ubiquitous. #Annoyingashell #Deargodpleasemakethemstop
  • Florida’s “Stand Your Ground Law” forced a jury of otherwise reasonable adults to acquit admitted murderer, George Zimmerman.  Zimmerman apparently failed to learn his lesson and continued threatening loved ones at gunpoint.
  • The Syrian government used chemical weapons against its own citizens. Syria’s standoff with the United States and the UN scared the crap out of everyone.
  • Justin Bieber made his bodyguards carry him up the Great Wall of China and speculated that Anne Frank may have been a “Belieber” if she weren’t so busy hiding from the Nazis.
  • The NSA made Orwell’s 1984 seem quaint.
  • Miley Cyrus gained even more notoriety with her infamous AMA “performance” with Robin Thicke and that foam finger.
  • Mustaches became a “thing.” Kids held mustache-themed birthday parties. Huh?
  • Mass shootings continued. Gun control fizzled.
  • Lance Armstrong whined to Oprah like a little girl. No offense to little girls.
  • George W. Bush finally found his true calling as a celebrated painter of dog portraits. (Or maybe that’s one of the most awesome things of the year. It’s a tough call.)

Please join me in bidding good riddance to 2013. Here’s wishing your 2014 is crammed full of love, health, happiness, success, unicorns, rainbows, bushels full of money and adorable newborn babies in flower pots!

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Our Christmas Letter Is Better Than Yours

holiday_newsletterMommyEnnui has quite a few readers from outside of the United States, so today I thought I’d provide a little cultural lesson about a beloved American holiday tradition…the Christmas Letter. The origins of the Christmas Letter go way back. I’m pretty sure the first letter was sent by one of my Dutch ancestors, but don’t quote me on that. The purposes of the annual Christmas Letter are to update those whom you haven’t seen in a while as to your family’s many successes and occasional health issues over the past year and to give a shout-out to the Christ child. The following is a compilation of every Christmas Letter I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving. (Well, except for my friend Ed’s. His are actually pretty damn funny.) Only the names have been changed. 

Dear Friends and Family,

The time has come again for our yearly Christmas letter. First, I’d like to start by quoting the Bible extensively…[Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse…]

Last year, a few of you brought to my attention that there are people of other religions and ethnic backgrounds who also celebrate holidays at this time of year. While I strongly feel y’all are just trying to steal the spotlight from the baby Jesus, the Bible teaches us that everyone deserves love and forgiveness. So, I forgive you for your attention seeking. Anyway, I hope you enjoy lighting your Kwanzaa wreath this year.

With that said, I’d like to fill you in on all the details of our family’s busy, busy year. We are just so blessed. I can’t believe our baby, Sienna Brianna is in preschool already! We actually had a bit of a challenge finding the right school for her since, as I mentioned in last year’s letter, she had memorized the Periodic Table and was conjugating verbs in Mandarin and Latin before she was 2 years old. We didn’t want to rush her right into middle school though (where she rightfully belongs) because that would disqualify her from the Junior Miss Mensa Brains and Beauty Pageant. We’d hate to deprive her of one more first place award she could add to her college applications next year.

Kiffany Mackenzie is still reeling from the IOC’s denial of our application for an exception to the minimum age requirement so she could compete in the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi. The committee ruled that, at 12, she is just too young. We, of course, know better, but rules are rules I suppose. The good news, however, is that we’ve built a regulation Olympic-sized bobsled track on our property, just behind the pool, and a guest house for her live-in coach and tutor. So, you know she will be working hard to take across-the-board gold medals in 2018!

The twins John Thomas and Harry Willie are, not surprisingly, taking the college world by storm. While it has been an adjustment for them being at two different schools (Yale and MIT, respectively), that hasn’t stopped them from building their software company together via Skype. They got a call from Microsoft’s attorney recently, but they’ve decided to put the sale of the company on hold while they spend a year overseas on a mission to help train orphans to make microchips for minimal-to-no pay. Their dedication to helping the world’s children learn a valuable trade is just so inspiring.

Bob recently took a bit of a sabbatical from the firm after 23 years without a vacation. It was so sad always seeing our yacht just sitting in the harbor with no one to take her out for a spin. That is, except for when the boys’ high school friends tricked them into bringing those underage girls and illegal drugs onto the vessel and disappearing to Catalina for a week. We’re blessed to have such kind and trusting sons. Anyway, Bob took out the Golden Parachute and has been sailing around the Caribbean and down the coast of South America for the last six months. He is scheduled to return home just in time for Santa’s arrival!

Sadly, I could not take the time off from my extensive volunteer work in order to join Bob in his travels. After all, the Junior League doesn’t run itself! I also didn’t want to leave my tennis partner in the lurch especially since we recently took first place in the All-Star Tennis & Rackets Association’s All-Region Tournament and are on a 47 match winning streak.

We did endure a pretty terrifying health scare this year. Bob’s mom Marjorie had been feeling a little out of sorts for the last few months. She had severe diarrhea, a sallow complexion, her hair was falling out in clumps, her urine was a shocking shade of safety orange, she had one droopy eye, excessive earwax, a tweak in her neck and recurrent toe fungus. Well, she finally went in to see the doctor and received a devastating diagnosis. She is gluten-intolerant. We were all shocked, but she’s been so brave. The person who has taken the news the hardest though is our cook Winnie. She is just beside herself trying to rework our traditional holiday menu to accommodate Marjorie’s disease. Please pray for Winnie as she adjusts to this difficult change.

And so my friends, as 2013 draws to a close and we look upon the dawn of the coming year, let us all turn our hearts into pools of golden sunshine and praise the Lord for our many blessings. In closing, I would like to share the remaining portions of the Bible not quoted above…[Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse, Bible verse…]

We hope you are blessed with all the blessed blessings that we’ve been blessed with this year!

With love,
Coralee, Bob, John Thomas, Harry Willie, Kiffany Mackenzie, Sienna Brianna and Barkley (woof, woof!)

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Wishing You a Fully-Medicated Holiday

green_smocked_xmasI’m sitting in Starbucks writing and celebrating the fact that I have, once again, survived the yearly elementary school holiday program. Ad Man is somewhere in Pennsylvania attending meetings and freezing his ass off so he’s missed the holiday celebration, yet again, this year.  I know he feels terrible for missing it, but that doesn’t keep me from being bitter. (Hell, if I wasn’t bitter, what would I write about?) Year after year, I’m the lonely mom sitting in the overheated gymnasium, frazzled from getting the kids up and on the bus looking somewhat decent at 7:05 am and managing to make myself presentable–generally by spraying lots of dry shampoo on my greasy roots–so I can get to school early and stake out my spot near the front so my kid doesn’t think I’ve forgotten her and freak the fuck out.

Smalls and the rest of the kindergarteners led a celebration of Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Chinese New Year and Las Posadas.  When I was growing up, I didn’t know any Jewish people, let alone the dreidel song!  Today’s holiday program did more than just give lip service to all the many holidays though. The kids learned about the culture and traditions of the diverse groups of people who celebrate each holiday and performed a couple songs from each of them.  It really was a breath of fresh air from the vanilla-white-Christian-only suburb I was raised in outside of Chicago.

Where there is little diversity here, though, is in the way Southerners dress their children for the holidays.  We were eating breakfast this morning, Smalls in her usual uniform of skinny jeans, a paint-stained t-shirt and leopard print Vans when I realized in a panic that she needed something festive for the holiday program or I’d likely be ejected from the PTA.  So, I threw her into a red Crewcuts dress with black polkadots, black tights (miraculously without holes) and sparkly purple shoes. Close enough.

Most of the other kids were all decked out in their holiday finery.  Many siblings were dressed alike, or at least, in coordinating outfits. The typical Christmas uniform for a little girl in the South is a red, green or red-and-green plaid, smocked dress with poufy sleeves.  The smocking is usually adorned with Christmas trees, snowmen, ornaments, Santas or a combination of all of the above.  The more, the better, actually.  In the absence of Christmas iconography, the dress must be monogrammed. In fact, monogram everything!  The outfit is not complete until you add frilly white socks, patent leather mary janes and a monolithic hairbow.

The boys generally wear matching holiday sweater vests or red polo shirts with plaid or khaki pants.  A few really do it up in tiny versions of their daddy’s slacks, starched shirts, sport coats, ties and loafers.  I was just glad Smalls’s hair was kinda brushed, her face was free of chocolate and she wasn’t wearing yesterday’s underwear.

Parents vie for seats at the very front of the gym to get the best view from which to watch their darling children through an upheld iPad. Moms and dads who didn’t manage to set their alarms early in order to beat the rush, worm their way to the front regardless, where they elbow other members of the mom-and-dad-arazzi for a prime spot on the imaginary velvet rope.

There are always a few working moms and dads (but mostly dads) who stand outside, negotiating deals on cell phones while pretending to peer through the smudged gym windows at their children belting out Christmas carols and doing adorable, choreographed arm movements.  These are the ones who will later cross their fingers when they hedge their bets and tell their kid that their favorite part of the performance was “when you sang…um…Jingle Bells?”

I have a soft spot in my heart, though, for the parents who rush in after the program has begun, dressed in week-old jeans and a sweatshirt smeared with spit-up or jelly, dragging along a crying younger sibling.  You can always spot the kids that belong to those parents. They’re the ones with bedhead, rocking a football jersey, pajama bottoms and untied sneakers.  These are my people.

I’ll also accept on my team the “holy-shit-I-thought-the-performance-was-at-10!” mom who you see running down the street carrying the crucial Santa hat that is conspicuously missing from her kid’s head.  You know, as she runs, she’s hyperventilating and calculating how much therapy will be needed before her child is able to trust again.

However, I’ll most likely never be friends with the festive, but tastefully dressed, mom with the perfectly coiffed hair, impeccable nails, diamonds the size of grapes, handsome husband who never travels on important days, and five well-mannered children all in coordinated holiday ensembles.  That is, unless I happen to run into her at my psychiatrist’s office and catch her wild-eyed, clutching to her breast a bouquet of prescriptions even bigger than mine.  In that case, I’ll put an arm around her, assure her that I understand and invite her over for a mid-morning cocktail.

After all, it’s the season of goodwill to all men and women…even the crazies.

Is a Birkin Too Much to Ask?

hermes_boxes_xmasGrowing up, my Christmas lists were legendary. I truly embraced the concept of a ‘wish list.’  My mom would always have a gentle conversation with me prior to Santa’s scheduled arrival in an attempt to lower my expectations. (Ad Man has now taken up the tradition, much to my chagrin.) She explained that Santa had so many toys to make for so many children, he couldn’t possibly afford to give a Barbie Dream House and a pony to every girl who asked for them.

As I got older, I added things like diamond earrings, an Hermes Birkin bag, Johnny Depp and various luxury automobiles to my annual lists. Did I expect to receive them from my parents? Of course not. I wasn’t stupid, but a girl can dream, can’t she? To this day, I still include a few shoot-for-the-stars items on my wish list every year. Below are my humble requests for 2013. While I won’t be holding my breath, I’m still hoping for a Christmas miracle!

  • A cashmere Snuggie
  • A live-in IT guy (No, unfortunately Ad Man does not fit the bill.)
  • A French Bulldog puppy guaranteed not to chew, pee or poop on anything and never to wake me up before 8 am
  • Butt implants
  • A television that automatically mutes Christina Aguilera whenever she speaks on The Voice
  • The back and neck of a 20 year old…oh, and what the hell…throw in the boobs too while you’re at it
  • A teleportation device so I never have to spend more than 20 minutes in a car with my children ever again
  • Self-cleaning toilets
  • A self-emptying dishwasher
  • A new car just fancy enough so that I don’t continue to surprise valets when I tip them
  • Botox that never wears off…one Groupon and I’d be forehead-crease-free forever!
  • A beach house, a mountain house and someone other than me to clean them (This item is dependent on the teleportation device. I’d like the complete set or nothing, please.)
  • A cabana boy with bad eyesight who’s a good listener, gives amazing backrubs, makes a mean Dirty Martini and never, ever calls me ma’am
  • Sets of dishes, glassware and towels that all match and have no chips or stringy bits
  • If I can’t get a teleportation device, my second choice would be a high-speed rail system between Atlanta and Los Angeles
  • Some goddamn peace and quiet
  • Zero calorie wine that doesn’t taste like ass
  • A new HVAC system (Remember, I’m shooting high here.)
  • Oops!  I almost forgot…peace on Earth
  • My pre-pregnancy memory back

What are you hoping for this holiday season?

I Blame the Elf!

elf_in_captivityOK, you little shit…I know you’re hiding around here somewhere. You’re already late. It’s December 3rd and you were supposed to make your long-anticipated arrival two nights ago.  Ad Man, the official finder in this house, is on an island in the Caribbean, so not only am I already in a pissy mood, I’m also flying solo in my search for your skinny, red ass.  I have torn apart closets and dug through every Christmas decoration box.  You’re not hiding in the guest room, the utility room or the laundry room.  I even checked the doll bin in the toy room just in case. Nada!

Tomorrow, Biggie and Smalls will undoubtedly be regaled by their classmates’ tales of elves who appeared, as scheduled, this morning.  I’m sure many of them performed crazy acts of mischief that made the kids laugh and laugh.  But not my daughters because they have an unreliable elf who doesn’t turn up when expected and never does anything more mischievous than hanging upside down from the kitchen light fixture.

We’ve explained to the kids that you don’t pick your elf…your elf picks you.  And, we just happened to get one who is a serious underachiever.  You hide in a new place almost every night (except for when you’re snoring on the couch “watching TV” by 9:00 pm or when you collapse into bed exhausted because you’ve been all over town trying to locate that one toy that’s the only thing your kid wants for Christmas) but, that seems to be the extent of your commitment to providing holiday spirit around here.  You never make snow angels in powdered sugar or paint Ad Man’s toenails while he’s sleeping.  I’ve never once seen you have a rave with the Barbie dolls, “accidently” squeeze out toothpaste everywhere or spell out festive messages in mini marshmallows.  I’m beginning to suspect you never even look at the creative suggestions I send you from Pinterest.

I suppose I could just run out tomorrow and buy a new elf, but I really never wanted you here in the first place.  You were a gift from a dear friend who couldn’t possibly foresee the unrelenting stress you’d cause me from December 1st (or whenever you deign to bless us with your presence) through Christmas Eve.  As if I don’t have enough to worry about during this neverending month as it is!  Heaven forbid I buy another elf and then you decide to pop out from one of the girls’ underwear drawers. How would I explain the sudden appearance of two of you little #@$%ers?

Bad Elf

I have this eerie feeling you’re sitting in a corner somewhere being entertained by my frantic search while eyeballing me with that smug, retro smirk on your face.  You’ve probably snuck behind a long-forgotten stack of size 4 jeans assuming (correctly) that I’ll never need them again but knowing I won’t dare donate them because that would be admitting defeat.  Not cool, man.  Not cool.

I’m tempted to tell Biggie and Smalls that you went out for a cup of hot chocolate and just never came back.  They’ll forget about you soon enough.  Just wait until I pull out that Lego Friends advent calendar…you’ll be yesterday’s news.  So, I’m giving you one more chance to crawl out of whatever peppermint scented hole you’ve hidden yourself in and bring some g*dd@mn joy to these children or, I swear the next time I see you, I’ll set fire to that unflattering red and white felt jumpsuit you insist on wearing year after year!  Consider yourself warned.

And by the way, tell your friend the tooth fairy that I’ve seen the two wiggly front teeth in Small’s mouth so she’d better be prepared with some dollar coins or at least some crisp bills. That bitch is totally unreliable.  I’m not about to cover for her again with a handwritten IOU slipped under a pillow as the sun is rising and a toothless kid is stirring.  She’s got one job to do…how hard can it be?  Seriously!