Am I Really Asking a Pilgrim, “Why So Serious?”

Ah yes, the holidays are upon us. The first snow has fallen in New York, merchants have wrapped their poles with Christmas lights, holiday music pipes through the speakers of most booksellers, and coffee shops around the globe have busted out their peppermint mochas.

I had better wrap my presents soon before –

Oh wait, Thanksgiving hasn’t even happened yet.

It is not new news that Thanksgiving has become the lost holiday. Stores go straight from Halloween to Christmas. I am fairly certain that if I went to Michael’s to by a wooden cornucopia, I would have to dig to the bottom of some back bin where all the broken picture frames and torn wreaths go to die.

Why, do you ask, is this day of thanks commercially ignored?

Two words: Grouchy Pilgrims.

Let’s face it folks, it was not a great time in our American history. The weather sucked, the earth was hard and barren, and if the small pox didn’t get you, an Indian raid sure might (no offense Wampanoag people). Not a lot of jumping for joy happening.

Unfortunately, our retailers have done nothing to amend this issue. Take a look at these two wooden Pilgrims my mother in law gave me. They are actually frowning. And they are holding a TON of food. Look at the man, he is rolling his eyes. Maybe they got into a fight.

About six years ago, I bought some Pilgrims to decorate my table for Thanksgiving. Don’t look that lady pilgrim in the eye, she is about to hike up her petticoat and start a rumble. And the man? Did he just see a ghost? He looks surprised to be here. Sadly, I had to remove the Plymouth Rock folk. They were ruining the vibe.

Maybe she has a corn allergy.

I don’t understand it. Thanksgiving is a day to be thankful for the food we have, our family, our friends, and for the fact that we were not alive during the 1600s. Yet, our stores place all the focus on Christmas.

Who can blame them?

Let us briefly compare:

Main Ingredient in Christmas Food: Sugar

Main Ingredient in Thanksgiving Food: Wheat

Music of Christmas Past and Present: The glorious Deck the Halls, and the upbeat Jingle Bells.

Music of Thanksgiving Past and Present: Moaning during childbirth, and moaning on the couch after too much of Aunt Peg’s candied yams.

Christmas Decorations: Bright red elves, happy snowmen, rich green hollies.

Thanksgiving Decorations: A dead bird.

I don’t care though, I am going all out this Thanksgiving. My entire family will be in town and I have a lot to be thankful for.

So raise your spoonful of mashed potatoes with me, stick your turkey flag out on the lawn, and celebrate the day in all its grandeur.

But stay away from the turducken, it’s pretty gamey.

Am I Really Wearing a Hazmat Suit for a Paper Cut?

When your child is sick, it sucks – big time. There is really nothing a parent can do, other than treat the symptoms and try to make your child as comfortable as possible. No parent likes to see their child ill. It is a helpless feeling.

I like to take that feeling up a notch to near hysteria level. It is not just a cough, it is SARS. A runny nose could mean avian flu, and that rash is poison oak.

I also like to douse my hands in anti-bacterial gel. If I thought it was safe to swallow I would probably drink it.

Right now my husband is sick. If I could put him in a bubble I would do it. Instead, I follow him around with the Lysol bottle. A few years back he caught a terrible cold which turned into pneumonia. This spawned comments from him such as: “This is a lonely illness.” Sadly he was right. My daughter and I avoided him like the plague.

I used to be carefree and not so much of a worry wart. Both of my grandmothers had these bright orange worry beads. The beads hung on a rope and my grandmothers would carry them around and rub them between their fingers to alleviate their worries. As a child I remember thinking I would never need those beads. I never worried.

Fast forward thirty years and motherhood has made me a nervous wreck. Every time my child asks for a Band-Aid I fire off the DEFCON Level 3 sirens.

Conversely, I know plenty of parents who are not this way. I envy them. To be free from that type of anxiety must be magical. To sleep at night, or do just about anything else rather than focus on the latest food recall must be a gift. Instead, I am plagued by thoughts of the Ebola virus every time we go out to eat. Lovely, I know.

I am trying my best to loosen up a bit. I am not berating our server any more with questions such as, “Do you wash all the lettuce?” Or attacking my husband with worries of, “Is this chicken pink? I can’t see well in this lighting.” I have also stopped myself from calling my mother (a retired nurse) to inquire about appendicitis symptoms in regard to my child’s abdominal pain, when really, she just needs to poop.

Okay, well that last one is a lie, I call that poor woman every day. But I really am trying to be better.

So if you see me furiously working on a string of worry beads, tell me to take a deep breath. It’s not cyclospora, it’s just a little stomach upset.

Unless that salad I ate last night was from a bag. Then who knows……

Am I Really Dressed as a Whoopee Cushion Within a Whoopee Cushion?

Because when guys think of hot chicks, they usually think about corn.

I love Halloween. I am one of those people who drags out the giant spider and pumpkin everything on October 1^st. I am usually sweating doing so, since it is still 95 degrees here in Texas.

During my stupor of encasing every surface with cotton cobwebs and foam tombstones, I forget others may not share my zeal for this special day. It pains me to know the awesomeness they are missing. The orange and black Oreos, the watching of Hocus Pocus over and over again, and the dressing up – are you kidding me? Society has given us a day where one can dress in the scariest/bloodiest/sluttiest/creepiest/cross-dressing/insulting outfit you can find and guess what? You will not offend anyone because it is all part of the fun. Take this gift and run people!

Aside from the fun, Halloween is also a judgment day. This is the only day of the year a child will find an adult guilty of crap candy giving. Are you the cool neighbor who hands out Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, or are you the bag of pennies guy? Are you the house that has a smoke machine and sound effects with a talking skeleton, or is your porch light out at 6 p.m.?

The best neighbor is the one who hands out WHOLE candy bars, but those are a rare find. Like the Yeti or a four leaf clover.

I like to call the All Hallows Eve non-participants Grinches. Or more aptly – weenies.

There are many BS excuses…er…reasons, I’m sure for not participating in this spooky day. Maybe a person cannot decorate the house due their hip surgery. Or maybe they have just moved in, that day. Or perhaps the person is from another country, having just arrived to the US, and pumpkins remind him/her of their motherland’s great gourd famine of 1683.

But just not participating? On purpose? I don’t get it.

My sweet mother has bequeathed her holiday fanaticism to me. She decorates for every occasion. She probably has every type of bunny – wood, ceramic, fiberglass – for Easter. Halloween and Christmas, there is animatronic singing character in every room. Arbor Day? She’s probably got that covered too. She takes pride in her decorating skills.

The other day my mother commented that my sister, who is very classic in her decorating, has a bunch of fall decorations in her home. She said this with a gleam in her eye as if to say, “My work here is done people. Rochelle Out! **drops mic**”

I say Amen people! We need to jazz up our everyday existence. And if you can’t do it with fuzzy pumpkins singing the monster mash, what can you do it with?

So this Halloween, don’t be a weenie. Go get a bag of Jolly Rancher lollipops, put on a witch hat, and flip that porch light on. The neighborhood kids will thank you.

Unless you are wearing that sexy Ernie or Bert costume, then you’ll just make everyone uncomfortable.

Just don’t do it people.

Am I Really Trying to Fly a Plane and Bake a Cake while Cutting My Own Hair?

I can do it myself!

I know how to do none of the above. Well, maybe I can bake a cake – out of a box – but the rest, no.

Yet lately I have been trying to do everyone’s job and guess what, I severely suck at it. Duties might have been already taken care of, then here I come double checking, shaking things up, and pissing people off.

The workforce has terms for my behavior: not letting things fall through the cracks, or following up and confirming.

Janet Jackson had a popular 1980s song that sums up my behavior nicely:

Control.

I know, I will never make it as a Buddhist.

My control issues permeate to all aspects of my life. With my sweet child, sometimes I secretly smooth out her bed after her little seven-year-old hands make it because I think it looks neater. At the airport luggage kiosk I will grab my own Mr. T-sized bag, shooing away any kind soul trying to help me with it. I would literally rather throw out my back than ask for assistance. And if you try to “help” me by loading the dishwasher, so help me God, I will hunt you down and cane you because most likely, you will have done it the wrong way.

I also have the tendency to go bananas with group projects. I take over and do them all myself. Recently, I took over a school project because, in my opinion, it was not getting down fast enough and it was being done the wrong way. I am sure a couple of the ladies wanted to take me out by the dumpster and beat me, but oddly, I felt a sigh of relief knowing it was going to be done my way.

Here are my reasons: Things will get done, and things will get done well, or really, the right way.

Now before you all start the send that annoying b*tch to therapy fund, let’s take a look at why I, and many others, are so rigid…er…maybe need to go with the flow a bit more.

REASON #1 – It doesn’t matter the reason(s), it is most likely not going to change.

Seriously, it will not change. I can pretend these issues stem from me being the first born in my family and was asked to do a lot, but that’s a lie. I know plenty of middle children and babies of the family that act this way. Can a person learn to let things go in certain situations? Yes. Will this person every fully let go? Yes of course….on the day they die.

But control doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

We all need some modicum of regulation in our lives. Kids feel safe with rules and boundaries, adults look forward to creating a safe haven out of their homes. We need to know the little things will be done a certain way so we can get on with the big stuff. We need doers in this life, as well as Chiefs and Indians.

Some Chiefs (ahem, me) just have to learn to delegate a bit more and hope it all works out. To have faith that others will deliver a service.

So I promise to let some things roll off my back, and have faith that those cupcakes will be delivered to the school on time.

Right after I call to remind everyone about the cupcakes, and then go bake them myself.

Am I Really Losing Sleep Over Serenity Blue and Pantry Shelves?

Aaaaah, home ownership. A person’s stamp on the land when one can say, “This is mine!” It’s the American dream.

Until you need to update that dream.

Home renovations, a rite of passage. Or a form of 18^th Century Mongolian torture. My vote is for the latter.

I am not quite sure why updating one’s abode is so painful. Like menstrual cramp while sitting in traffic with a child in the back seat repeating, “I’m not doing my homework,” painful.

Is it the general disruption in family life and routine? Is it the debris and dirt? Is it the amount of time arguing with your spouse over this shade of chrome versus that shade of chrome, when in reality, IT IS JUST A FREAKING DOOR KNOB! Or is it the amount of delays in construction that leave you feeling helpless and confused?

This last one seems to be the hum dinger.

Months ago we chose a contractor. Picking a contractor is like picking a spouse: can you live with him through the good times? Can you show him your ugly demanding side? Can you give it up to faith when things are just not working out?

Our contractor is a great guy. Someone you can grab a beer with or share your bag of Twizzlers. His price is right, and more importantly, his work is phenomenal. Score for us. Good spouse choosing.

Much like a marriage, the remodel was off to a great start. Walls came down in a day, old carpeting was ripped up, and a whole host of oops, looks like we found some issues under the floor, came up.

MILESTONE #1 – Much like your first post-wedding argument, problems arose. No sweat, the crew worked through and fixed those issues and we moved on.

MILESTONE #2 – Then our contractor and his sweet wife had their second child. Hip Hip Hooray! There was a slight lull in progress, but we did not mind. It’s a new baby! We sent them a gift and wished them well. Our contractor stayed in contact with us, and work on the house resumed shortly after.

MILESTONE #3 – Then our contractor went into the hospital, with a very scary “You need to stay in the ICU for a week to ten days,” issue.

Holy crap, this poor guy.

After the shock and worry and praying for our contractor, we experienced another emotion:

Holy crap, what the f&*k is going to happen to our house? Apparently we had entered the in sickness and in health portion of our relationship.

Our contractor is a one man band. There is no right hand person to take over or help out.

Oh wait, yes there is: His dear sweet wife (now mother to a newborn and a four year old), began steering the work ship from her husband’s sick bed.

Holy crap, this poor woman.

Can you imagine? Having less than two hours of sleep a night, making sure your other child does not starve or go blind from watching too many La La Loopsy cartoons, giving orders and measurements to vendors and workmen (most likely in another language), all the while your life partner is out cold and hooked up to multiple tubes.

Only two words can sum up this situation: Shit Show.

We were at a loss. My husband and I agonized over how to give this poor family their space, send well wishes for a speedy recovery, and yet still keep our work project going.

Let’s put it this way, there is no right way to say, “Hey, I’m so sorry to hear about your colon, but do you know when the toilets are going in?” I’m pretty sure they hand out awards for that type of behavior, in A$$holelandria.

MILESTONE #4 – Keep going. We did the only thing we knew; we started doing as much as we could on our own (sans nail gun). This we figured would take some of the pressure off our contractor, yet scratch our professional itch of keeping things moving.

I am happy to report, our contractor is out of the hospital and doing much better. He does have a long road to recovery, but hopefully in the long run he will be that much better.

While worrisome and frustrating at times, we are glad we stayed with our contractor. Just like two spouses in marriage counseling, our home remodel has slowed, but will be back on track soon.

I guess that’s what they mean by in good times and in bad.

Am I Really Walking Through a Hailstorm of Cat Tee Tee?

Because it sure does feel like it.

At the risk of constantly complaining, this year has been less than stellar for me and my family. I have been in a constant state of heart palpitating stress, stomach upset, and straight up sadness. All because sometimes life wants to hand you a sh*t sandwich. And when you’re starving, you take it.

With everything going on in the world today, I feel extremely self-absorbed writing this. I am not being gassed by chemical weapons; I am not trying to reconstruct my life after a major natural disaster; and I am not laying to rest a loved one who lost their life while serving this country. With yesterday being the heart wrenching commemoration of 9-11, I am pretty thankful for my crap sandwich.

But sometimes the stress is too much in my little bubble.

At what point can I look up to the sky and say, “Okay, that’s enough now. Perhaps today nothing goes wrong. Tomorrow is negotiable”?

Based on recent scientific observations (and by “scientific” I mean sitting in a restaurant and badgering my husband with ideas while eating my third taquito), I have categorized the source of stress into two main groups:

1) Situational – Sometimes it is merely the nature of the beast that can cause life to go banana sandwich (Think: overflowing toilet destroying your child’s papier-mâché reconstruction of Iwo Jima). It sucks. Usually there are cries of, “Why is life doing this to me? Is it because I did not donate to the Leukemia Society, but I still use their return address stickers?” Depending on the severity of the situation, the amount of help you receive, and if you are a person who cries when you run out of Miracle Whip, can determine the stress level. While devastating at times, situational events allow us to pull up the boot straps and move forward.

2) People – Some people are straight up buttholes. I think I found that quote in a fortune cookie. Personally, I like most people I meet and I can play well with others.

However…..

…. I have discovered this subset of our population who walk around the earth solely to agitate and cause woe for others. I have yet to decipher what payoff these folks receive, and honestly, I don’t have the energy to do so. Some folks like to say difficult people are my cross to bear. I get it, but some of these “crosses” seem to have elephantiasis. So I do my best to “bless and release” these folks…as in releasing them to Antarctica. But don’t wish ill on others, that is just bad ju-ju.

I wish I had some stress relieving tips that I would actually use and would actually work. Meditation seems like some form of Eastern European torture. People tout the benefits of positive mantras, so I’m going to pass along the phrase my father often uses, “Keep Going.” He’s retired military, has fought in a war, and has generally seen a lot of crap. He’s still standing so I guess it works.

So if you are having a crap day, do like the General (aka, my dad) and put one foot in front of the other – just keep going.

Who knows, maybe there is a ham sandwich waiting for you on the other side of this tee tee torrent.

Am I Really Taking a Nap During my Nap?

Labor Day has just come to pass. The celebration of all those who work in this great country. The government/society gives us this one day off for busting our humps the rest of the year.

The generosity is overwhelming you. I can tell.

Here are some definitions I want to share with you. LABOR: work, esp. hard physical work; to make great effort; have difficulty in doing something despite working hard; move or proceed with trouble or difficulty; till (the ground); and of course, the process of childbirth, esp. the period from the start of uterine contractions to delivery.*

Wow – this sh*t sounds hard. Guess what, a lot of times it can be.

Enter, the lazy train.

For those of you who know me, lazy is not a word used to describe me. Ever. I am the anti-lazy.

Lately, however, I just don’t give a crap. I want to whip my bra off, keep my pjs on, and hang a Gone Fishing sign on my front door. As mentioned in an earlier post, this does not bode well for me since the school year has just started and we have a million activities happening, including going back to work.

I think this yearn-to-a**-sit-and-stare-into-space has something to do with the fact that I have not taken any type of vacation for over a year. No clearing of the mind. Oh we had grand plans to get away, but then we realized we needed new plumbing in the house, so dreams of surf and sand went right down the toilet – literally.

As a society, we pack our days to gills. Who knows why. But we do it. Some days, there are literally not enough hours in the day to get everything done. School, work, sports, activities, traffic, trying the new Dorito Chalupa at Taco Bell. Yet sometimes we really need to do nothing.

Now let me preface, I do not suggest shirking responsibilities, but a little nothing every once in a while is a good thing.

Think of it this way, you use your smart phone all the time. Close your mouth, I know you do. You probably need to plug it in and charge it up at least once a day.

Guess what? You are the same way.

Our society reveres the over-doers, and looks down upon people who take life in the slow lane. Look at how we treat our elderly. We are annoyed by their slow pace and daytime napping rituals.

I actually overheard a conversation recently. It went something like this:

Person #1: “How was your weekend?”

Person #2: “It was great. We did nothing! We actually slept in.”

Person #1: “Must be nice to live the life of Riley. I had to help my daughter with her science project, I went into work, we had three soccer games, two birthday parties, mowed the lawn, and then finished painting the bathroom.”

Person #2: Silence. (Shamefully slinks away).

Okay, this conversation is not verbatim, but pretty close. The point is this – who gives a crap? Let somebody else do nothing. It is their life and maybe they need to take a break. And guess what? Magical unicorns are not going to fly down from the sky and award you with the busiest person award, give you a pat on the back and an Eskimo Pie, and then announce to all the land that you are so wonderfully awesome for doing so much.

What you do get is this – you get to be tired.

If we are constantly doing, how can we take a moment to look around us and really see what is going on? How can we create if we are always running from one activity to the next? And how can we be the best person we can be to our family, friends, and ourselves, if we are always saying “yes” to everything and never recharging our batteries?

So give yourself a break and others around you. Get your stuff done, then sit down and watch some bad TV. Read a book. Go outside. Let yourself think. You need this time.

Then you can go gas up the car because you have to drive forty-eight kids for carpool this week.

*From the online Google search of “definition of labor” and Wikipedia.

Am I Really Busting a Roeper and Ebert on Talking Snail?

Bells are ringing, lunches are packed, and shoes are clean – for now. Yes, it is back to school time. Which means…

…You are free! You don’t have to spend eight bazillion dollars to entertain your child all day long! Most likely your child attended a camp, or ten, you took them out for ice cream, set up play dates, and of course, took them to the movies.

We are no exception. We have seen every kiddie movie possible. I can even recite all the dialogue from the upcoming trailers. And when everything costs a million dollars at the theater (When I walked by the concession stand and sneezed, I think they charged me $4.50) I want the movie to be good. Or at least entertaining.

There were some big hits and misses this summer.

I am not a film critic, at all. Not even close. I am, however, a mom on a budget. So it irks the crap out of me when I start making my grocery list in the middle of a $12 movie, because sadly, I’d rather be making my grocery list than watching the doo doo on screen.

I want to party with these guys.

Therefore, to bring some adult swagger to the land of animation, I thought I would rate each movie via a big girl cocktail. Here we go:

1) Epic – The Woo Woo Shot: It’s sweet, pretty to look at, and has a definite purpose. But you really only need one.

2) Monsters University – The Vodka Soda: This is your old “stand by” drink when you can’t think of anything else. It is not surprising, but it won’t let you down.

3) Despicable Me 2 – The Cucumber Margarita: If you have never had one of these drinks, get into your car right now and go find one. It is the perfect summer drink. It is creative, refreshing, and you don’t even know you are imbibing. With this concoction/movie, you could have forty of these things, make new friends, laugh the night away, and end up with your underwear on your head and a smile on your face. You can’t wait to do it all over again.

4) Smurfs 2 – Watermelon Flavored Beer (or any flavored beer): The first time you drank this beer at your neighbor’s hipster cookout, it tasted like ass. This second time around, you surprise yourself by actually liking it. Yet once again, you really only need one. Two in a row is just too filling.

5) Turbo – A Caipirinha Cocktail: These too are delicious. Let’s say you are at a bar and wonder, “What is this drink?” You order one because it looks good, sounds good, and you like Ryan Reynolds – oops, I mean….Anyway, you drink it and guess what? It is good! You enjoy it more than you thought you would. You order another.

6) Planes – The Jägermeister Shot: You had these in college. You don’t need to drink one again. (READ: If you saw CARS, you are all set).

7) Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2 – The Dirty Martini: I have not even had a sip yet, but I already know I love it.

So since the kiddos are back in school, sit back relax, and perhaps grab one of the above beverages.

But don’t relax too much. You need to start saving up now for the 2014 summer movies.

Am I Really Pulling Cotton Candy from My Ears?

What is going on in my brain.

I am not a forgetful person. I write everything down, I keep three calendars, and as previously mentioned, I a super organized.

Lately, however, it feels as though my brain is full of Laffy Taffy and a few scratch -n- sniff stickers. This status does nothing for me since this is the first week of school and I have volunteered for eight hundred and nine school activities this year (Burrito Breakfast anyone).

I knew I was in trouble when my daughter came up to me and said, “I don’t think these underpants fit me anymore.” She looked like a small, female plumber, wearing something akin to a Tinker Bell thong.

That’s when I remembered I was supposed to buy new underwear and socks. Like a month ago.

People like to be quippy and call this form of spaciness, “Mommy Brain.” I would like to beat the sh*t out of those people. Mommies are the few human beings who actually have it together. They are multitasking masters.

No, I am afraid I have something that is a cross between Alzheimer’s and a hangover. It is a severe case of the dum dums.

You too may have a case of the dum dums if you exhibit the following symptoms:

1) Go to the store specifically for milk and come back with scotch tape, a pencil sharpener, and five navel oranges. No milk.

2) Sit studiously at a school meeting taking notes and realize you left the dog outside.

3) Perpetually look lost. So much so that store clerks go out of their way to make sure your “find everything you need.”

4) Constantly remark how tired you are, but when asked, cannot remember what you did that day. Or week.

5) Drool.

6) Sort coupons. Put coupons in purse. Go to store. Buy stuff. Never use coupons. (This phenomenon also works for re-usable grocery bags).

7) Run around the house looking for sweater. Yell about the inability to find sweater. Blame all those in close proximity for moving sweater (dog included). Curse the day. The day is ruined. It is too cold to sit in a movie theater without a sweater. Panic for no reason. Find sweater in pile of clothing where it was left.

8) Write important notes to yourself such as: hair plugs, and recycled burrito. Both misspelled.

9) Forget what number nine was.

Instead of chastising myself for my absent-mind, I am calling it a gift. My father cannot hear in one ear, and the other ear is questionable. When all of the grandkids are yelling and screaming at a yodeler’s level, he can fall asleep. Right next to them. That’s God’s gift to him.

Lately, life has been off the chain for me and my family. I feel so beat down at times, that I forget what I am doing right in the middle of the act – allowing me to focus solely on the amount of Cheez-Its bags in the house (school lunch tomorrow?), and America’s Got Talent. Neither of which I truly partake in.

So this is my gift, to forget. Forget the crazy, forget the worry, forget the anxiety. To just float a bit.

Now could someone tell me where I put my calendar, because I have no idea where I am supposed to be right now.

Am I Really Selling My Family to the Circus?

It could be worse.

Family – the Latin word for People you can complain to while eating all of their food and walking around in your underpants. As of late, I have been spending mucho time-o with family. Ninety-nine percent of it has been awesome. My wonderful sister came into town with my niece and nephew, my mom has been working over-time to make a comfortable place for all of the grandchildren to destroy, and my in-laws have opened up their home to my little family unit so we don’t have to live at a La Quinta while we renovate our house. All good stuff.

Here’s what I know: I cannot live with family. I am far too anal and I am weird about my stuff. Seriously, I’m like Psycho/Francis Soyer in Stripes, keep your hands off my stuff (minus the sexual orientation slur).

More than the material items, it’s everyone’s living idiosyncrasies that get to me. These usually end up rubbing against one another after a couple of days – like sandpaper.

My mother-in-law calls it the fish effect – after a couple of days house guests and fish start to stink. The woman could not be more correct.

Since we are house guests, we are the stinky sea bass in this scenario.

As always, allow me illustrate:

Prior to embarking on their Thelma and Louise cross the country two month extravaganza, we co-habitated with my in-laws. We looked like the cast of Gilligan’s Island: the artist, the PhD, the techie, a really loud small person, a slightly OCD writer, and two dogs. We all thought it would only be a three hour tour, but it was much longer.

The artist needs his space – a lot of it. I’m pretty sure the Guggenheim museum in Spain could not hold all of his wares. His stuff materializes like Sea Monkeys: one minute, it’s not there, then poof! Your fishbowl is crowded.

The little person’s voice is extremely amplified in a home with stone floors. When one of the dogs chewed up her beloved toy, she screamed so loudly she woke the dead from the Civil War.

The techie has not been able to fully unwind with his belongings. His video game playing and channel surfing has massively diminished. This has caused him to come to bed early and sigh in my ear while I try to read.

Excelling in organizational skills (read: uptight), I have been scurrying around picking up things, washing them, and putting them away. This is what I do when I get antsy. I am sure everyone feels relaxed listening to me curse at my daughter’s toy cubbies because not all of her Calico Critters will fit. This emotional strain uses tuckers me out, forcing me to drink some red wine and fall asleep on the couch with my mouth open.

Even the dogs have been arguing. Namely due to the fact that our girl is getting old and going through “doggy-pause.” She pants a lot, drinks gallons of water, has gained her middle age spread, and has no time for B.S.

The PhD is about the only one keeping it together. Maybe it’s because she got her nails done and a facial. She has the right idea.

While grating on each other’s nerves at times, these are pretty silly things which create ample material for a free blog. But as the saying goes, at least we have family, so I consider us pretty lucky.

Needless to say, I look forward to the day when I am in my own space again, and relaxed. So when I move into my new home you are all invited to come over for dinner.

But not until 2015. Because seriously, I don’t want to see anybody until then.