Greeting cards have all been sent,

The Christmas rush is through.

But I still have one wish to make,

A special one for Thing Two...

Happy Birthday, Baby

Though you're still asleep, it's true...

.

You're eleven now and in my dreams

I always wished for a girl, just like you...

.

Growing up is NOT always joyful

Especially when something's bothering you...

.

But every day's a brighter day

When I can laugh with you...

.

The things you could be

I wish you could see

I wish it every day...

.

You're smart and very strong

Darn good at singing songs

And pretty, too...YES!...way...

.

TRUST ME...I see it everyday

But my singing...uh...can sort of suck

'Nuf said...don't press your luck...

.

[clears throat]

Happy Birthday, my Christmas Baby

You're eleven, I can't believe it's true

But, I've just one wish

On this special day

.

I wish I were more like you!

Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, there are just some things that I CANNOT get my kids to do...without a fight...or, flight...tapping into some serious negotiating skills taught in some sort of parenting class I've obviously MISSED.

Like, getting Little Man to go to the bathroom, brush his teeth or go to bed...ALONE!

"No way, Jose...'cause...it's WAY too dark [far, high, deep, quiet, loud, whatever] in there!"

[eyes rolling]

"No it's not."

[doing potty dance]

"YES, it is!"

[rubbing right temple]

"Mini-Me, can you pleeeeeeeze go with me to the potty!?!"

[shaking head]

"Nuh-uh...no way...NOT ME!"

[enter the negotiator]

"But, brother takes you to the potty...why not go with him, now!?!"

[shrugs shoulders]

"Well...'cause...I don't havta go!"

Sigh.

It's not all that bad, really - some days are worse than others - but, there are times when my head feels as if it's about to explode...like today...my oldest has finally succumbed to the creeping crud...DAMMIT!...because, there's only so much puke and phlegm a mother can take and..uh...with only THREE MORE SLEEPS 'TIL CHRISTMAS...it's about that time...when I've had just about enough...and must resort to using...well...weapons of mass destraction!

"NO, I don't want to..."

[drum roll]

"Uh-oh...would you look at that...I believe the nutcrackers are about start a war!"

[eyes go wide]

"Yep, I think it's time to let loose...THE BEAST!"

[big grin]

"Do you know where...um...I could find one...this late and soooo close to Christmas!?!?"

Enter...the dragon.

It was a long, hard battle...no, not really...for once, Little Man had a ball using his nebulizer - I even got some pretty decent pictures to send my sister-in-law, basking in the warmth that is Arizona - and no one had to get hurt!

In fact, in an expression of comfort, congeniality and fellowship - after a quick flick...and swish...and transforming the lair into a spa - even the nutcrackers were happily treated to a facial Chez Mini-Me!

Bet you didn't know a nebulizer could be so much fun, huh!?!

Next week, how vegetables are our friends and some krazy things you can do with ketchup - Happy Holidays and stay healthy, everyone!

Correct me if I'm wrong - go ahead...everyone else does - but, when a person wakes up, suddenly...say, sometime in the middle of the night...to strange sort of beastly sounds...similar with what I believe one would hear...when being chased down by a pack of wild dogs...well, I would venture to guess that most people would reach for something...say, like a shoe, nail file or clothes hanger...anything...that one could use as a make-shift weapon?

Nope, not if you've got kids - especially, if there sick - because you already know that...

[clears throat]

...THERE IS NO FIGHTING THE CREEPING CRUD!

It is a drool-drenched beastie - residing in your child's ears, nose, throat and/or respiratory system - relentless when it attacks and mostly comes out at night.

Some people, however, never learn.

Especially at this time of year, I crack open the windows (just a little) disinfect the heat vents (stupid forced-hot-air!) and hunt down the dust bunnies (you know, the clumpy-killer-kind) in a valiant effort to fend off the phlegm and avoid any and all things ending in "itis."

Then, I go and do something totally bone-headed...um...like, accept a birthday invitation to one of those party places (read: ginormous germ factories) two weeks before Christmas!?!

Oh - why are you looking so surprised - I should've known better...I know...but, it was Mini-Me's first ever "official" party invitation and she was so excited and...well, I'm a pinhead!

Okay!?!

Fast-forward to 2:00 a.m. (this morning) about the time when the dogs began to bark, the phlegm started to fly and all hell breaks loose.

[throws kid over left shoulder and runs to kitchen sink]

"That's it...don't fight it...let it out, Mini-Me...OMG!..."

[sound censored in recognition of joiners]

"...okay...good girl...I think you're all...OMG!..."

[Linda Blair would be proud]

"...phew!...glad that's over...that's a whole lot of...SON-OF-A-BITCH!..."

[Linda Blair's a wussy!]

"...um...is that all you got!?!"

Mini-Me wheezed, once or twice, before finally catching her breath. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, coughed once, placed her hands on her hips and answered less...well, dog-like.

"Phew...thanks, I needed that...what's for dinner!?!"

The creeping crud - yes, she is a BITCH - it ain't got nothin' on Mini-Me!

Today, well - having three out of four of my kids home sick and driving each other absolutely crazy with boredom - count me at a loss for finding my Christmas mojo, for sure.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be better.

In the meantime, there's still 5 more sleeps 'til Christmas, don't count us out just yet. I'm used to planning last-minute and could always put-together one heck of a canine chorus.

[spraying Lysol before passing out the jingle bells]

Bark like a dog for mommy, 'mkay!

Why...YES!...that is a whole lot of laundry I've got, there...and my family would love to go to Disney...one day...when it doesn't cost an arm...and a leg...or, perhaps selling my first born...but, that's not what this post is about.

Thing Two (pictured above with Doofus Dog) is deathly afraid of mice - all she has to hear is just a little scratching, scuffing and scraping, or the cable guy telling me:

"Yep, those wires sure do look as if they've been chewed on, all right!"

Well, it's enough to send the poor kid into hiding - dirty, stinky clothes, or not - and me screaming, "No mas," with the mice, already!

I mean, it's not like my kids have never seen them before - we do have an open fields that lead to a tiny creek behind our house - and hasn't been cold enough, or anything...but, the girls have been complaining (read: AHHHHHHH, UGHHHHHHH and EWWWWWWW!?!) about not being able to sleep, because they swear:

"There's a mouse in the house!"

[picking up empty candy wrappers and kicking aside piles of laundry]

"Well, can you blame them...look at this room...I mean...EW, can it be any messier...and...UGH, I swear it's starting to smell really bad in here...and...AH, what is your dirty underwear doing under your pillow!?!"

Honestly, are everyone else's girl's room(s) this messy???

My son - although, a total heathen at the dinner table - picks up after himself and keeps his room pretty much...you know...without his underwear hanging out all over the place.

So, when the cable guy - who was absolutely totally nice and adorable, by the way - insisted that he would indeed need to go into the girls' room to check out the what-ever-you-muh-call-it, I sucked my breath in between my teeth and let out a huge sigh.

"Dude, it is sooooo your lucky day!"

[raising eyebrows]

"Oh, really?"

[smirking]

"Uh-huh...c'mon, quick...you're NOT going to buh-leeve what I am about to show you!!!"

[hitches up toolbelt]

"Okay...I doubt that, very much...but, try me."

[eyes go wide]

"Oh...my....GAWD!"

[takes in a deep breath]

"This has GOT to be the neatest, cleanest - not to mention purplest - room I have EVER seen!"

You see, we'd already established the fact that Mr. Cutie Cable Guy was married...with child...and accustomed to dealing with troublesome calls and clientele a little less...um...entertaining.

"I mean...WOW!...four kids...and you got three of 'em...living in here...together...it must have taken you hours to clean this room!"

[smiling]

"Oh, stop it."

[winking]

"No, I swear...you wouldn't buh-leeve some of the places I have to go...and the things I've seen...I mean...it's my job and all...and they do give me ALL the crazies and wackos..."

[eyes go wide]

"...uh...I mean...not that you're like that...a little bit of a clean freak, maybe..."

I didn't give him the chance to finish, grabbed his arm and dragged him back through the house, into the kitchen, up the stairs - pointing out the fact that...YES!...that was MY bra hanging off the banister - and showed him that my room WAS an absolute frickin' mess, DAMMIT!

Later.

It seems that the chore charts I made up for the kids are working - feel free to email me, or leave a comment and I'll be happy to send you a copy of one! - but, now Mini-Me's feeling punk, Little Man's not 100%, yet and it's even warmer today...than yesterday.

So, I promised to pay them an extra dollar...EACH...if they got better...before Christmas...and another fifty-cents to mess their rooms up...just a little...especially when company comes!

Morale of today's story: Why worry about a mouse in the house, when you've got a wack-job for a mother, wiggin' in the kitchen!

It's seven sleeps 'til Christmas,

and all through the house;

The kids are all coughing,

and now we've got a freakin' mouse!

Send cookies!

What's red, white and green all over?

Why, it's my house...and her house...and his house...and perhaps even your house...as families all over the...well, planet...try and live...yes, LIVE...through the next eleven sleeps 'til Christmas.

Is it me, or does anyone else feel as if their head is slowly beginning to come apart at the seams - as fast as Little Man's school project - during the holidays!?!?

Which brings to mind the old saying, "You can't have your cake and eat it too" - when used in an incompatible way, sort of like "Happy Holidays" and perhaps even "Merry Christmas " - because I get it, now!

I mean, my children are well aware of how difficult it could be - we all wish for "world peace," or "a cure for cancer" and are truly thankful for "a warm and cozy place to sleep" - but, honestly...there'll always be someone in need, kids still get sick and darned if someone isn't fighting over something.

And I'm just talking about our house!

It's enough to make a person see red - not to mention a mom (or dad) waaaaay too cranky - when you've already expended most of your energies explaining to your children how they surely are NOT the only kids on the block who do NOT have a cell phone...Xbox...Wii...Wave...whatever...and then the creeping crud hits...and you quickly switch from the green-eyed monster...to the puke fairy...and totally forget about your migraine.

Yep - having a holly, jolly Christmas? - it's a battle.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, my son outs me...in...front...of...his...entire...2nd...grade...class:

[raising hand]

"Yes, Little Man...do you have a question?"

[smiles sheepishly]

"No...I have a comment."

[teacher grins]

"Um...okay."

[shoots quick glance my way]

"We don't seem to have much luck with such things at our house."

[raises eyebrows]

"Oh, that's okay...I'm sure your Mommy's not the only one...gingerbread houses can be a little tricky to put-together."

[shakes head]

"NO...it's not the putting-together part that's hard...it's the ants, mice and rats that ARE the problem...our house is always infested with 'em!"

[eyes go wide]

"Um, what my son means...that is to say...uh...ONCE...the frickin' ants got to it...the gingerbread house, I mean...ONE TIME!"

[sound of crickets chirping]

And if there were a hole deep enough, I would have crawled right in...after them!

What?

Did I mention that his class happens to have the largest number of P.T.O. moms, evuh...who just happened to be in attendance, yesterday!?!?!

The house?

Sorry, you see...with Mini-Me sick on Friday...helping The Man's mom and my parents do their shopping on Monday and Tuesday...helping Little Man's class and dealing with a migraine, yesterday...which, of course means I'll be slammed with my period next week...we broke into that some-bitch last night...and now the puke fairy is visiting with Thing Two today ...so, there's nothing left to share...but, the creeping crud.

[smelling of Clorox and spraying Lysol]

It seems I have very little Christmas cheer left, to boot - but, you know I can't help it - I still love this time of year and you'll always have my sympathies!

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom [dad] all year.

I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited their doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.

I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

- I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

- I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

- If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

- On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

- I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting  "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season.

Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable?

It will clear my conscience immensely.

It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.

Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always, MOM...!

P.S. - One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

[Edited to add:  Santa has asked that this gets passed on to all the mommies (and daddies) you know - feel free to edit with anything you'd like to add?!? - thanks for sending this along to me, Cheryl...I BELIEVE!]

As a stay-at-home-mom -- who happens to spend a large portion of the day in the car, btw -- if you're a parent...then you know...a vast majority of our time is spent going to and from another practice (or a meeting) and standing on yet another very looooong line because there's, "just one more stop we have to make!"

I swear.

My kids and I have become accustomed to hearing me holler two very conflicting phrases:

"Hurry up!"

...and...

"Wait!"

[see picture above]

180 out of 365, I get to stare at the same cars...ignore the "do not park" signs...and read the same old bumper stickers...twice...and if you are like me...and are prone to severe bouts of pococuRANTism...this can be a very dangerously caustic time, for me - especially at the end of the day!

"I swear...I'm soooo tired...I haven't been home all day...I mean...if I have to wait on one more loooooong line...or, hear one more person ask, "You're NOT working, right?!?" I mean...I swear...I...am...going...to...go...buh..."

And from somewhere behind me, in a very little voice, Mini-me finishes yet another one of my sentences:

"Buwshit!"

[eyes go wide]

"I mean...dat's what you would tell dem...wight, Mama!?!?"

And Thing Two - who is also prone to fits of sheer boredom - playing with my camera phone, snapped a picture of me (ignore the heavy eye baggage and stress-induced zits!) in response:

"Buh-listic...is what I meant to say!"

Don't worry, it's okay...YES, of course having a potty-mouth is a no-no...but, Mommies and Daddies are the exception to the rule...especially at Christmas...and I explained it to her:

"Yes, Mini-me...there is a Bullshit Clause!"

WHAT - didn't you know - it's in our contract!?!

Don't believe me?

You can go look it up - GO AHEAD - hurry up, I'll wait!