You know what the problem with holiday cards are? My kids have to be in them.

This year, I got a brilliant idea. I should take a picture of my daughter kissing my son for our Christmas card, I thought. I'm an idiot. I'd clearly forgotten the Valentine's Day fiasco of 2009.

This is what I got:

You would have thought I was torturing Boyo.

Hockey and Kiddos

~
For my birthday, I wanted to go to a hockey game. And I wanted to actually watch the game, which meant my husband was in charge of watching the kids.

Boyo LOVED the game. Didn't quite get it - cheered when people were booing the refs, clapped at the end of the first period and then turned to me and said, "Home?", and was more content to watch the lights than the game. But he still had fun.


And Girlie? When I asked her if she liked the game, I got a "Talk to my hand, Momma."

I truly LOATHE whoever taught her that.

Just Like His Daddy

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My son has a fascination with buttons. Not clothing buttons -- no, actual buttons that DO things. Like reset the clock on the microwave. Or open my car doors from inside the house. Or try to order porn. (Luckily, I caught that one in time before he could hit "okay" on the remote and watch Space Alien Hotties v. 31.)

In order to channel this button loving fanaticism (and partly for the photo op), I set up a video game and gave Boyo the controller.

I'll be damned if he didn't beat Daddy's top score in 10 minutes.

Things I Never Want To Hear Again...

...

My husband call from the living room: "How much blood is too much for a head wound?" after our daughter did a swan dive from the living room couch onto the corner of the fire place.

My daughter crying in my arms: "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding! My head hurts!" as I rushed her to the car to take her to the ER.

The ER admitting nurse saying: "Well, she looks okay, so it'll be about an hour wait." I deserve a medal for not losing it and screaming at her right then and there.

The doctor saying: "It's okay, it's only going to be two staples," after cleaning out and studying her wound. Sorry, Buddy, "staples, "my daughter's head" and "okay" don't go together.

The discharge nurse saying: "Here's a staple remover. Take the staples out in 7-10 days." Uh, what?! I didn't go to medical school; you take the damn staples out. We compromised on her pediatrician doing it.

My daughter sniffling in the car on the way home, not because she was hurting, but because she realized she can milk this injury for about a month. Her daddy all ready promised her a pony.

Date Night

How can date night be awful and wonderful at the same time?

Saturday night my husband and I headed over to the Happiest Place on Earth. It took us over an hour to get inside -- and we live 10 miles away.

We went to the Blue Bayou and were told they were not taking "Walk -ins." The hostess said it disdainfully, like we were road kill. Road kill that smelled like sewage.

So we shrugged it off and decided to head over to the Golden Vine Winery in CA Adventure. On our way there, we were able to walk on to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Woohoo! I love that ride.

Space Mountain was closed. Sigh.

At the Golden Vine, we were told, "Oh, we aren't taking walk ups right now. We will be soon though."

My husband, a model of tact and decorum, respectfully said, "Great. When do you think that will be?"

The hostess smiled at us vacantly and said, "Around 11."

It was currently 7 pm.

I wanted to eat at a sit down restaurant at Disneyland as a special treat - not grabbing food from the diaper bag or a push cart, the way we normally do. So I did what any mature 30 year old would do when she found out she wasn't going to get her way: I sulked.

I was in a total funk. My husband knew to leave well enough alone, and he steered me over to California Screamin'.

After that roller coaster, I was in a much better mood. After all, how can you be angry when you have just been hurtled through the air at speeds of 60 mph?

We decided to leave Disney and go to the Olive Garden. As we left Disneyland, we heard two loud bangs. Sighing, we pulled into a parking lot to check our tires, certain we had just had a blow out.

Nope. The loud bangs we heard were the Disneyland fireworks going off (we're dumb, okay?). So we sat in the parking lot and had a front row seat for this:

And then we went to Olive Garden.

I WON!

I mentioned before that I was a Contest Queen.

Well, guess what? I WON SOMETHING!!

It came in the mail yesterday -- this is what I won:



I don't recall entering a contest to win a jar of vaseline....

Beautiful

"I'm not beautiful!"

Hearing these words, words that I've said myself numerous times, coming from my 3 year old daughter shocked me.

"Baby Girl, you're absolutely positively beautiful," I told her, stunned that she would think she wasn't.

"No, I'm not," she said adamantly. "I'm NOT beautiful!"

"Then what are you?" I asked.

"I'm like Mommy," she explained.

I'm 95% sure she didn't mean to be insulting.

But as I thought about it, it made me realize how often she hears me sigh and complain about my body or my looks. Or how she copies my "Oh well, it will have to do face," when she sees me make it as I study myself in the mirror.

I'm teaching her this, I thought in horror.

It's important to me that my daughter have high self esteem. We tell her that she is beautiful, praise her when she does well, and encourage her to keep trying when she gets frustrated. I thought I was doing everything I could to help her develop her self esteem.

Instead, I've been undermining my vocal efforts with my actions. She hears me tell her she's beautiful, but then she sees me complain about my butt. Or skin. Or whatever else is bothering me that day. And then she does it too.

If I want my daughter to have high self esteem, I need to have some too.

Sometimes, raising a girl is really really HARD.

Secrets from a Blogger

~ When you have a blog on Blogger, Google gives you all sorts of information about your blog. There are tabs for Comments, Settings, Design... But the best one is Stats. I just figured out what it was. And I'm addicted. The Stats tab tells you how many page views you get and at what time. It tells you what the most popular post is. And, best of all, it tells you where the people who are reading your blog are located. For example: Canada 57

Poland 12

Germany 6

United Kingdom 4

Denmark 3

Luxembourg 3

United Arab Emirates 1

Latvia 1

I don't know why, but I think the fact that someone in Poland read my blog is SO COOL. So if you are a reader from Poland: Dzień Dobry I hope I said that right.

Mommy CIA

~
Last week was my daughter's field trip to the Pumpkin Patch.

I had been so excited... I think I was more excited than she was.

I couldn't wait to go on a hay ride with my kids, or take them through the haunted house, or debate the best pumpkin with them.

Of course, I threw out my back the weekend before and I couldn't walk the day of the field trip.

I was crushed. CRUSHED.

My daughter didn't have a clue.

And my husband rode to rescue as my knight in shining armor... he took the day of work and took the kids to the Pumpkin Patch. The only dad among 22 moms and 34 kids.

Thursday, at my daughter's Halloween party, another mom came up to me and said, "I just want you to know that your husband did great with the kids."

"Um, thanks," I replied, but in my head I was thinking: They are his kids too... he had better have done great with them.

"I mean, I would want to know how my husband did," she continued. "So I thought I would let you know."

I smiled, but I wasn't sure if I should be thankful or indignant.

When I told my husband about it over dinner that night, he laughed. "I'm glad your Mommy CIA reported favorably on me," he said. "Are you going to have to change the name of the Mommy Club now that I figured it out?"

It's hard to say....

~
...what my favorite moment was this past Halloween.

Was it my daughter's determination to pick out the absolute BEST pumpkin? Or my son staring into his pumpkin, confused, and saying "Hello?"

Was it my son's delight upon realizing that he gets to have candy?
Or was it trick or treating with my kids?
Was it listening to my bossy 3 year old tell the big kids "Say Trick or Treat!" when passing out candy with my sister?


Or was it just getting to hang out with my kids?