Summer is here and I love it.

Guys, I haven’t posted here in like crackamillion years.

Wanna know why?

I shall provide you with a neat graphic:

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Go ahead. Pin that graphic to your Pinterest boards. I dare you.

By the way, I don’t wear a bikini but I didn’t have the patience to try and draw anymore.

So, we have been busy, y’all. The calendar in the kitchen is so loaded down with stuff that I tried to add something to it the other day and it shrank away from me and started weeping. “Go away,” Calendar said, rocking back and forth. “I just want to be alone!”

On Tuesday, we were so busy that by the end of the day, after the boys were upstairs in bed, I found myself looking around in a panic, wondering where my keys were. It’s like when the cool army people jump out of planes, you see? You know… they’re all lined up, jumping out, all “Go GO GO GO!!” – that’s us. We are the army, people. We are being all that we can be.

I’m exhausted.

Ok, granted there has been pool time, and this is when I get to sit in one place for a prolonged period of minutes. I sit there, and then I slowly start to sweat into the plastic back of my chair and it imprints itself all over my white backside. So, then, of course, I go gingerly into the pool and swim around with my head above water, all old-lady paddling, and then get back out. And go sweat again. Sometimes I read. A lot of times I just stare at the blue water and try to remember where it is we are going to next.

By the way, I TOTALLY get it, Mom. You used to take us to the pool? I remember you had a leopard print one-piece swimsuit that was very Mrs. Robinson, except you weren’t really into seducing anyone. You were a good woman.* But the swimsuit still was so Anne Bancroft. ANYHOW… I totally get it. Sitting at the pool, watching your daughters prunitize themselves in the water for hours… You are a saint. We moms, we are SAINTS.

Plus that swimsuit was very cool.

Yesterday, I took Blonde and Red to the pool after some sort of thing they had (I think it was play practice? Because they are in the summer musical? I dunno anymore. I just drive them places and pick them up. I’m a Mom Uber. A MUber, if you will.)

So, we’re at the pool, and I have just head-outta-the-water paddled my sweat off, and plunked myself back down with a book. Red approaches. He’s all wet and drippy and has that peculiar wet-kid walk that is part waddle with his hands all clutched up under his chin. I don’t know why my children walk like this when they go to the pool. It’s like the water makes them all self-clutchy and I guess I should be happy they don’t clutch any other body parts. They look all wet and shrunken, like little wet rabbits, and it’s kind of cute.

ANYHOW.  (Didn’t you miss this? Momsie’s brain while writing is like watching Rocky and Bullwinkle, I tell you.)

So, Red approaches and stands by me, too close, as every seven year old must stand next to his mom, and drips all over my book. “Whatcha doin?” he asks and I bite my face off to not respond with sarcasm.

“I’m… reading. This. It’s a book.” (Ok, that did have a whiff of sarcasm but trust me, people, this was the softer, gentler version.)

Red nods and then asks, “Why aren’t you swimming? Why did you bring THAT *nods derisively towards the book* to HERE *gestures widely to the water.”

I see where he is going with this. His brain cannot understand that I am not in the water the entire time, until I get pruny.

Also, it was adult swim. This is pool-jail for little kids. And here I was NOT SWIMMING WHEN I SO COULD BE.

In other words, I was being glib. I was being all glib about the POOL. This was hard for him.

I tried to explain.

“Honey. I’m an adult. That’s what adults do. We bring books to the pool and we don’t like to get our hair wet.”

He dripped a moment, and nodded, staring off in the distance.

And that’s how my child learned that growing up is awful.

The end.

 

By the way, I took them home and fed them ice cream bars for dinner. This is because I am glib, but I am not crazy. It was necessary.

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*ARE. You ARE a good woman, Mom. The verb tense is important.

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It’s the Most Wonderful Time of Year. Until Your Calendar Chokes to Death.

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This one is for the introverts out there. You know who you are. I mean, you wouldn’t probably tell me anyhow, because introverts.

Someday, somebody is gonna come to me and ask me for advice. I am still waiting for this to happen, but I am sure of it. It could happen any time now.

And, my friends, I will be ready.

Oh heck, I’m just gonna spill it here. Prepare yourselves. This is the best unsolicited and unwanted advice you are going to get today, mainly because I’m really tired of waiting for someone to see the fat ton of wisdom that is Momsie over here:

Ready? Here it is. It’s coming. Bet you can’t wait, can you? So, here goes.

Ahem. Momsie’s Rule to Live By and the Best Advice Ever:

 LIFE IS MEANT FOR ONLY ONE THING A DAY. ONLY ONE. NO MORE. ONE IS THE LONELIEST NUMBER AND THAT’S GOOD.

Ok, before you decide that I am some sort of weirdo stuck in my house with molding boxes of Good Housekeeping  and National Geographics  and surrounded by seven cats (one for each day!) just know this: I got rid of the Good Housekeepings. You will have to tear the National Geographics from my cold, dead hands.

And, the cat thing isn’t really all that bad, right?

I have this strong conviction that we humans must only schedule one thing a day. I mean, along with normal life, like work and showering and the post office, only ONE item of social interaction must occur. For example: a friend asks you to coffee? Sure! But, if also you are set up for a church meeting that day? Then no. That’s too much. It’s just too risky.

I can only do one thing a day, people. Otherwise, my brain gets itchy and I start eyeing Pinterest boards about knitting with your cat’s fur (after he has shed it, not prior. THAT would be really weird.)

You can imagine how having children kind of blew this whole One Thing A Day plan out of the water. They have a delightful way of messing with your life, those wee ones. For example, today, we have Lego club. Then, we are going to take out a family friend out for dinner. I KNOW. THIS IS INSANITY. It only works because we do have to eat and I think the meal will involve cheesecake. I can make it through.

Also, Christmas. Christmas does not stand a chance under this One Thing Rule. There are all these gathering and parties (shudder) where people stand around and eat those little sausage thingies and do small talk.

I can’t do small talk, guys. I just can’t. It’s up there with root canals and Walmart trips on Saturday morning. It fills me with despair.

Every time I attempt small talk a tree falls in the forest and NO ONE hears it. Also, a kitten dies.

Ok. This is a bit dramatic (the lawyer was fired ages ago, but if he was here you better believe he would be rolling his eyes). This is such a horribly grim picture that I will promise, no baby animals were sacrificed during the making of this post. But, my small talk? It is just very, very bad.

Here is an example. Take a Tums, it’s a doozy.

Nice lady from husband’s work at yearly holiday party from H-E-Double you get the point: “Hi there! How are you?”

Me: “I’m here for the sausages.”

Yep. That’s all I got.

So, I guess I would like to add to my already pretty epic advice and say this:

People. Stop it with all this holiday get togethering! Just have your party in February, ok? Nobody likes February. Spread the love a bit. Stop it with the concerts and parties and making merry. It’s AWFUL! I am talked OUT! At my best, I have about ten minutes of material in me, and then you can find me skulking back to the sausages.

The sausages, they understand me.

And I’m not going to even pretend that that line isn’t going to make my husband snicker. But I’ll leave it alone. It’s not that kind of blog.

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Monday Manuscript

Screen Shot 2013-11-03 at 4.28.11 PMHere it is… December 2.

Wait, what?

Well, just so you know, I have my advent book all ready to go and we’ve been reading and discussing.  Blonde is working in a diorama…

Last night my children made an entire Nativity scene out of marshmallows and some fresh greenery.

And we have also memorized the birth of Jesus in Luke.  Not bad for a 3 and a 5 year old, eh?

Oh come on, I am completely full of tinsel.  (chortle).

We got back from our weekend of family and gluttony and in all the post gluttony haze, I realized – HOLY CHRISTMAS CANNOLI, IT’S DECEMBER ALREADY!  HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?

If you are feeling a bit wobbly from this sudden attack of December, take heart.  Relax.  Take a breath.

Celebrate Christmas with help from my author friend, Franziska Macur.  She has written a gem of an advent book for children.  It’s sweet, simple, and it has fun little activities and even (gasp) crafts that I might be able to handle (meaning:  NO GLITTER IS INVOLVED.  AT ALL. PRAISE JESUS.)

Go here to read more about Charlie and Noel.  You’ll be glad you did.  And don’t worry, you still have time to start an advent season that really is an ADVENT season, and not just a survival of December and all its overboard merriment.  I love merriment just as much as anybody, but it can get a little frenetic, this merry time of year.

Charlie and Noel will keep you grounded.  Cuddle up with your little ones and enjoy!

And, speaking of merry:

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HAPPY DECEMBER!  I GET TO LISTEN TO PANDORA CHRISTMAS MUSIC NOW!  (I have five stations all devoted to Christmas – it’s very important, to have a variety. )