The time has come to bid farewell...

So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. Goodbye to 2009… the last year in this decade.
On a serious note… (because isn’t that why you come to read this blog? For my seriously compelling deep thoughts? No?)

Things that I was most thankful for in 2009… (I *know* it's not Thanksgiving anymore, people, but the end of the year is a naturally good time to reflect on the happenings of the last year... yada, yada, yada. ;)

The new blinds in my breakfast room? Um, while I do love those, that’s not it.

The fact that my kids can now clean the guinea pig cage with minimal effort from me? Yes, yes… that *is* wonderful, and it does rank right up there.

But the thing that I am most thankful for this year is the same thing I’ve been thankful for for almost the last 2 decades.

Phil.

My husband… the person who has seen me through the good, the bad, and the ugly (I’m cute now, but you should see my hair when I wake up in the morning, people!) The person that forgives me when I do stupid or hurtful things… the person that I plan to buy a Winnebago with, so that when we’re old, we can drive around the country, stalking our children.

So to my main man:

-You do the dishes every single night, and you don’t complain about it. Yes, I am a messy cook, but you just follow me around, asking, ‘are you finished with this?’

-You understand that I need time to hang out with my girlfriends, and you even like most of them ;).

-You read my blog, and laugh at my writing (I mean… when it’s appropriate!). And you are a good sport when I tease you on the blog about your lack of bed-making skills.

-Even though we can go through the occasional ‘bad patch’, we come out even stronger on the other side.

-You tell me every day that you love me. You tell the kids every day that you love them.

-You let me drink out of your glass of water that you bring upstairs to bed every night, even though it drives you crazy. (I'll try to remember to bring up my own glass before bed... my resolution for the new year!)

-You let me dress you in those crazy matching family t-shirts and Halloween costumes... lucky you're so cute and can pull off just about any ensemble. Just wait until you see what I have in store for Halloween 2010!! ;)

-You love Texas Longhorn football as much as I do, and you don’t make fun of me when I cry (or bawl!) when we win a game with just seconds to spare.

-You work your butt off so that I can stay home with the ankle biters, and be at their school parties, field trips to the farm, and completely overextend myself with volunteering. (I’ll cut back in the new year, I promise!)

-Two words… you rock.

And I love you, man.

There *is* still a wreath on the front door.

So here it is. My post-Christmas beef.

We knew all that sweetness and light, all that family togetherness, all that Kumbayah crap could only last for so long. It’s now 3 days past, and I’m wondering who thought it was a good idea to have two weeks off from school for the holidays? Some sadist, I guess.

Anyway, don’t get me wrong…we had a great Christmas. I have pictures to prove it.

Pictures of the kids coming down the stairs to see what Santa had brought for them.
Pictures of the delight on their faces when they saw their new Wii.
Pictures of them unloading their jam-packed stockings.
Pictures of Santa’s bootprints, and the empty glass of milk and plate of cookies. Pictures of our traditional chocolate chip pancake breakfast.
Ones of Daddy opening presents.
Some of Uncle Rob (Phil’s brother), who had flown in on Christmas Eve to celebrate the holidays with us.
Pictures of the kids opening present… after present… after present.
Pictures of … Littlest Pet Shop, Legos, Barbies, Bakugan, army guys, a ‘Bop-it’, books, jewelry, Webkinz, movies, and more.
Pictures of Daddy and Uncle Rob boxing on the Wii.
Ones of the kids driving MarioKart.
Pictures of Davis ‘helping’ Libby drive… right over the edge of a cliff, I suspect.

And out of all of those pictures… not a single damn picture of me.

Typical.

It’s like I wasn’t even there for Christmas morning. And I have to admit. I was a little pissy about it after I uploaded all the pictures. And I have to admit… my husband heard about it.

He felt bad. He promised to do better about grabbing the camera and snapping some pictures of me with the kids. He even offered to ‘stage’ some pictures of me so that I’d have some for my scrapbook page about Christmas morning. But considering that we took down every vestige of Christmas yesterday, I wasn’t going for it. (He pointed out that there *is* still a wreath on the front door.)

It’s partly my fault. I *do* hate having my picture taken. And I have learned that I just have to hand someone the camera, and say, ‘take a picture of me with the kids. Now. Lemme check it… okay, I hate how my neck looks in that one. Take another one… and leeean over just so…’ Gee. No wonder no one offers. ;)

But honestly, having one crappy picture of myself for the scrapbook is better than looking like I ran away on Christmas Day.

Because of all the days I’ve considered running away (and there have been a few), Christmas would NOT be it.

It would more likely be some random day…just some random Tuesday after an entire weekend of dealing with my kids acting like crackheads due to their days-long sugar buzz (courtesy of their Christmas stockings), listening to them bicker over who is ‘next up’ to play bowling on Wii, and white-knuckling it, knowing that there is still a whole week left before school re-opens.

Just a random Tuesday. Any old Tuesday.

I mean, hypothetically, of course.

Of course. ;)

Merry Christmas, my friends.

I don't have time to blog today, but I just wanted to say 'Merry Christmas'!

I'm waaay too busy with family togetherness and joy and happiness, and um...



Mario Kart.



Have a beautiful and blessed day, y'all.

S

A Christmas revelation...

By now, you should have received our Christmas card, and along with it, our Christmas letter entitled, "A Year in T-shirts".

Yeah, yeah...we all know that I am a little nuts with the t-shirt thing, and especially favor matching ones for my family.

Whether we're at Disney or Six Flags, or even just a neighborhood holiday festival, I admit... I am the dork who loves for her family to wear matching t-shirts. If not matching, then at least color coordinated. I have my scrapbooks to think of, people!

But it wasn't until perusing one of my favorite websites, Awkwardfamilyphotos.com, that I realized how perilously close I am to becoming this woman...






I mean...think about it. I, too, love the movie, 'Ghostbusters' (who doesn't?!), I ain't afraid o' no ghosts, and so... I can easily see myself falling into this abyss.

I can almost superimpose my children's faces on those two teens (minus the 80's hair!) Don't they look positively enthralled to have been dragged to a photography studio (by Sandy Duncan, no less?) to capture this little moment in their family's history?

I have to admit that I gasped when I saw this. It shook me to my very core, and I realized how close I am to the verge, my friends.

So my resolution for the new year?

To give a little leash with the whole 'matching' shirt thing. To realize that while I might like for all of us to be cutesy and look like we're all on the same totally awesome team... Team Linson... it is not always necessary. *sigh

I will make more of an effort, lest I become the woman in the above photo.






Aw, who am I kidding?!








Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Team Linson! :)

Attention Phil... you can read this entry after Christmas.

I think it must just be my lucky week.

My week for my kids to embarrass the crap out of me in Walmart.

After the incident on Sunday (see last blog for evidence of mortification), there was today’s hunt for an item on my husband’s Christmas list…

An ‘Unrated’ version of the movie, ‘The Hangover’.

Funny movie? Yes. Frickin’ hilarious. Trying to explain to my kids that it’s a grown-up movie, and WHY it's a grown-up movie, and that ‘yes, the cover picture *is* very silly, and that baby does look very funny in those giant sunglasses… but no, you may not watch it when we get home.’

Well...that part is not so hilarious.

I looked for it at Target. I looked at Best Buy (and WOW, is Best Buy ever crowded three days before Christmas). And no luck.

I finally bought a regular R-rated version at Best Buy, but then when we went to Walmart, I thought it might be worth a shot to try to find the unrated version there.

So I picked up a copy of the DVD to double-check the rating on the back.

Which brings me to the moment when my 5 year old… my little precious… my sweetie… my angel who has absolutely no idea how to modulate the volume of her voice, screeches out…

“Mommy… you have *ANOTHER* hangover?!!”

*Sigh.

Tomorrow morning, my friend. I can just about guarantee it. ;)

Sharing a private moment with you...

People sometimes ask me if I make things up to write about on my blog.

And I have to say…no. No, I don’t.

Some days, though, I wish I could say, “Oh, that? That didn’t *really* happen!” Ha. Ha.

Like today, for example.

I was in Walmart, and I was standing in the aisle, getting confectioners’ sugar. You know… for the delicious, decorated sugar cookies that we always *plan* to make for the neighbors, but with three kids ‘helping’, a majority of the cookies end up burned, broken, or frosted in weird colors. Which means that we keep a lot of broken reindeer legs and angel heads to dip in glasses of milk. Which usually means that I gain about 7 pounds over Christmas break.

Anyway, all of that is just to say that I was in the baking aisle. And 5 days before Christmas, it was cram-packed with people and grocery carts. So, as you probably know, in cases like that, it’s easiest just to leave your cart parked, and dart up and down the aisle, gathering the necessary items.

And of course, it’s easiest to just leave the kids standing next to the cart, while I flit around, grabbing sugar, vanilla, and flour.

No biggie, right?

Until I hear my son’s voice, above all the clamor, shouting to me…

“Hey, Mom! Look at my privates!”

Whaaaat? You know that saying about ‘wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you’? Um… yeah.

You could have heard a pin drop on that aisle, as peoples’ heads swiveled around, looking for the unfortunate mother. I was sorely tempted to duck into another aisle, but figured that would simply result in him shouting for me even more loudly.

And then again… “Mom, check out my privates!!”

And as I sprinted back to the cart, I saw him pointing to his two little ‘army guy’ action figures that he’d had in his pockets, and how they were now standing up on the shelf, next to the corn syrup.

His ‘Privates’.

Next time, he’s only going to be allowed to bring his Colonels.

Can you picture it?

So it dawned on me (well, after I got a comment and a couple of emails from my lovely readers) that if you haven't seen my house, you probably think that *I* think that red cellophane has magical invisibility powers.

'Um, hello... Stace?! Just because you tape up red cellophane at the bottom of the stairs does NOT mean your kids can't see right through that! Duuuh...'

You know... because of yesterday's blog? And the picture? With the red cellophane? Taped... on the stairs? (voice trailing off uncertainly). Oh for heaven's sake. Go read it.

I'll wait.




Mmmmkay. Ready?


Anyway, just so you know, you cannot see into the family room from the stairs. I live in such a palatial mansion (HA!), that you actually have to go through a doorway to be in the family room. A whole doorway, people. Jealous?

The red cellophane was to prevent any kid from getting any ideas about heading out of their room, and going from the stairs into 'The Wrap Zone' (aka 'the family room'). Or as it turned out to be last night, 'The Paper Disaster Zone'.

Because they'll do that, you know. They'll come traipsing through after we've put them to bed because... 'I forgot to tell you something!' (which usually involves needing a posterboard for a class activity the next day.)

Or they had a 'bad dream'. Really? A bad dream? You fell asleep and had a nightmare in the 7 and a half minutes since we put you to bed and left your room?

Or they just want 'to get one more kiss'! Which, awwww... how can you get mad at that?! Well, let me just tell you. 16 nights in a row, and you'd be putting up red cellophane, too.

You can't hear them either, until they're right on top of you. I swear, sometimes, I feel like I should attach bells to their pajamas. They're sneaky. Cute, but sneaky.

And it always seems like they come down at the worst possible moments. Just when their dad and I are about to...




Eat the Chinese food we ordered.

Seriously, people. ;)

No Peeking!

It's not surprising... I mean, it *is* the Christmas season. The kids are bound to try to sneak a peek at their presents.

So, keeping them out of our master bedroom closet has been essential.

Waiting to wrap gifts until a little closer to Christmas (to give them less time to snoop under the tree)has been a must.

Keeping everything stored in black plastic garbage bags has been a crucial part of the plan.

And when it's finally time to wrap all those goodies... downstairs by the fire... enjoying a glass of wine... next to the Christmas tree... watching a holiday classic on television... after the kids have gone to bed...

"You've had your drink of water. You've had your bedtime story and your goodnight kiss. Do NOT get out of bed, and do NOT come downstairs."





Well, some things are just critical. ;)

I might need a Walgreen's intervention.

Because I bought these socks. At Walgreen's.



I don't know how they ended up in my basket. All I know is that I just can't resist the impulse buys there. Someday I'll have to write an entire blog about my love affair with the 'As Seen on TV' aisle they have. A 'Bumpit'? A 'Slider Station'?!! Yes, please!

Anyway, I'm not sure how these socks manage it, but they are simultaneously the cutest AND the most hideous socks I've ever owned.

They also pick up an entire tree's worth of dry leaves when I wear them into the garage. Plus, I suspect that they will have to be washed apart from anything else I have in the laundry.

But they are freaking comfy. And they keep my feet warm.

So I'm going back to Walgreen's tomorrow to see if they have them in different colors.

And I dare you to try and stop me.

If you're only as old as you feel... then, daaaamn.

Reasons I have been feeling old lately:

1. I just had a birthday, and I’m practically wedged in the butt crack of 40. I mean, I know 38 is two years away from it, but 40 is knocking at my door, trying to sell me something, and I’m cowering upstairs.

2. I am sleeping in Santa’s sleigh. Okay, it’s not *really* Santa’s sleigh, but Phil said it might as well be, considering the head of the bed is now raised up by an extra 5 inches, and it feels like we’re sleeping on a ski slope. And all of this is supposed to help my stomach issues, how?! GERD. What an ugly, ugly word.

3. The doctor mentioned that women often get GERD as they get older. So yeah, there’s that.

4. I finally figured out the texting program on my phone. I *could* text before, but it was very time intensive for me, hitting enter after each letter, and I wasn’t all that good at the lingo. You know, except for LOL. Which I did a lot. Not so much because you’re that funny, but more that I just didn’t have an hour to text you back.

5. Oh yeah… and these kids? My kids have a real knack for making me feel ancient, too. Davis told me the other day that his class got to visit their 5th grade ‘buddy class’ in their portable building.

Him: Mom, have you ever seen a portable? It’s really cool!
Me: I used to teach in a portable.
Him (dubiously): 2nd grade? Did you teach 2nd grade in a portable?
Me: Yeah, actually, I did.
Him: Wow. I wish I could have lived back in those old times.


6. Next spring will be 10 years since I have taught in a classroom, 16 years since I graduated from college, 20 years since I graduated from high school, and 24 years since I graduated from junior high. Not necessarily all that interesting, but I wanted to prove that I can still do the math.

7. Next week, I am planning on having coffee with one of my former students. Need I say more?

8. I keep forgetting things. Like to charge my cell phone. Or to call you back (sorry! I suck!) Or my passwords for various and sundry things… like websites, the garage door, and my debit card.

...Or forgetting that no one wants to hear about my GERD. Because only old people rattle off their litany of health issues and think that other people might be interested.

Sooo, I guess you don’t want to hear about my carpal tunnel syndrome?! ;)

I used to...

I used to clear off the coffee table by shoving old magazines under the couch before friends would come over, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to judge people who said ‘supposably’ instead of ‘supposedly’, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to shave my legs with Phil’s razor when I was mad at him, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to look at other people’s friend lists on Facebook to check and see if they had more ‘friends’ than me, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to go into Jack-in-the-Box to refill my Diet Coke cup so I wouldn’t have to buy another one, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to set my alarm 18 minutes ahead of when I needed to actually get up just so I could hit the Snooze button twice, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to hide upstairs and peek around the corner if someone rang my doorbell and it looked like they were selling something, but I don’t do that anymore.

I used to go to Barnes and Noble, just so my kids could play with the train table while I read a gossip magazine for free, but I don’t do that anymore.




I used to make lists of things that I ‘supposedly’ had stopped doing… but I don’t do that anymore. ;)

All I want for Christmas...

My son has learned to whistle. Say it with me… “Awww…”

And I have learned something, too.




How very much I hate the sound of whistling. It is annoying as hell.

He whistles ALL THE TIME. No joke. In his room, playing with his toys. In the shower. At the dinner table (which has consequently been declared a *No Whistling* zone.)

It would probably still drive me crazy even if he managed to actually whistle a tune. Which he can’t.

Me: Wow. You’ve really been working on that whistle of yours.

Him: I know. Isn’t it awesome?!

Me (in a pained whisper): Awesome.

My suspicions are that he’s doing it to keep himself out of trouble. As in, ‘if I just whistle all day, I won’t be able to say anything that will land me on Santa’s naughty list’. It’s tempting to tell him that a little bit of whistling is okay… but that too much whistling gives Santa a headache (“and don’t question me on how I know this.”)

Remember that song ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth…so I can whistle ‘Merry Christmas!’”

Well, I’m praying that he loses his two front teeth soon. Very soon.

Hark!

I just love the Christmas season! Okay, let me clarify… I love the Christmas season, once December hits. Before that, I’m just not ready.

Not ready to hear the music. Not ready to see the decorations. Not ready to wrap gifts or see Santa or to eat a candy cane or to see commercials for every conceivable toy manufactured in China or commercials for that one particular toy that results in Wal-Mart stampedes on Black Friday.

Not ready.

Now, though? Now, I am. It’s December, and the house is decked out with our trees, our stockings, our ‘Elf on a Shelf’, and various candles, wreaths, and Santa Claus cookie jars.

And of course, our Fisher Price Nativity set.

The kids have loved this set ever since they received it as a gift, several years ago (thank you, Aunt Megan!) They love to push the little angel perched on top of the stable, listen to the strains of ‘Away in a Manger’, and when Davis was younger, he would even carry the little baby Jesus around. We’d find that baby in some of the strangest places. Oh, and we’d find the toy, too. ;)

And now, its Libby’s turn. To move around the figures of the three wise men, to sing along to the music, and to say in her bossiest ‘angel voice’…

“Move along! Move along! Nothin' to see here!”

Ummmm… excuse me?!

Yeah. Now that I think of it, it’s probably a good thing that my own little *angel with an attitude* wasn’t the angel present at the birth of our Savior. Can you just picture it?

“Yes... while I realize that you may have traveled from afar, this baby needs his sleep. He’s got a big job ahead of him. You know… being Savior of the entire world? Move along! Oh, and if someone could get that lamb to stop eating the hay out of the baby’s manger, that would be great.”

Juuuust great.

Blogged down...

No blogs for the last couple of days… I mean, it *was* my birthday!! I gave myself the weekend off.

And after the male strippers, the private jet to Vegas, participating in that Cirque Du Soleil show, and the rounds of shots that Owen Wilson bought for me and my girlfriends, I was just exhausted.

So, yeah… ;)


(Thanks, everyone, for all the birthday wishes!! I had a lovely day. :)

S'no'w way!!

It didn't last long, and it didn't stick around... but it was really, truly SNOWING in Austin, Texas today!





I was so excited to see it. Funny to think about all the times I looked out my window in Colorado to see the same sight. Feels like eons ago...

You'll have to really look at the picture(s) to see the flakes... they were small, but they were there.

Libby thought it was pretty cool, but reminded me that we used to get snow in Texas all the time.

Me: "What?"

Libby: "It *used* to snow in Texas. I saw all those pictures of us in the scrapbook."

Me: "Which pictures?"

Libby: "The ones where we were playing in all that snow!"

Oh, right. THOSE pictures.



Of our last visit to Colorado. ;)

You can LOOK, but...

Today when I picked Libby up from preschool, I chatted with her teacher for a moment, like I usually do.

Seems that Ms. S. was writing their daily schedule on the board, and she wrote “Show and Share”, which the class has every Thursday.

I knew this, of course… Libby asks everyday if ‘today is Show and Share?’ Since she goes to school 3 mornings a week, that means 2/3 of the time, I have to disappoint her.

She loves to plan ahead and pick out little toys and other treasures (read: plastic junk) to stash in her backpack and pull out for Show & Share time.

And with her flair for the dramatic, I can just picture it… ‘For today’s Show and Share, I have brought something remarkable… something incredibly rare… something from…

A Happy Meal! Ta dah!' ;)

Anyway, Josie and Davis always called it ‘Show and Tell’ when they were in preschool, and for this reason, the terms are interchangeable around here.

So today Libby told Ms. S that she thought they should change the name, and call it ‘Show and Tell’ instead.

Ms. S: “You can call it ‘Show and Tell’ or ‘Show and Share’... either way.”

Libby: “Well, I think *I* will call it ‘Show and Tell…’

Ms. S: “Okay.”

Libby: “… because I just want to ‘tell’ about it. I don’t like the sharing part.”



Well. At least she admits it. ;)

A glimpse into the future...

It's the little things that are an instant reminder that your child is growing up.

It could be the way they turn their face 'just so', and you briefly catch a glimpse of what they'll look like when they're older.

It could be the way they run to the swings at the park, clamber onto the seat of the swing without your help, and start to push off with their little legs.

It could be the way they clutch their crayon, tongue sticking out in determination, as they form the letters of their name.



And it could be the way they walk through the kitchen, singing Beyonce's 'Single Ladies'.

It's the little things. ;)

Knock, Knock! Happy birthday, Libs!

Today my baby is five years old. *sniff



I just can’t believe it.

Last night as we were getting ready for bed, brushing teeth, telling ‘knock knock’ jokes (Libby’s new favorite pasttime), we were also doing a lot of… “Libby, today’s your last day to be four! It will be the last time you eat dinner as a four year old! Tonight, you’ll go to bed, and you will wake up five years old!”

Josie: “Mommy, that’s the last time you’ll ever hug a four year old!”

Me: “Not necessarily. I might hug another four year old at some point. Libby just won’t be four anymore!”

Libby: “Knock, knock!"

Me: “Okay, last ‘knock knock’ joke of the night, Libs…Who’s there?”

Libby: “Banana!”

Josie: “Well, I mean, I guess if you have another baby.”

Me: “We're not having another baby. Banana who?”

Libby: “Knock, Knock!”

Me: “I just meant I could hug someone else’s kid that is four! Who’s there, Libby?”

Libby: “Banana!”

Davis: “We *could* have another baby.”

(Um… no. No, we could not. Unless Dr. Chop did not do his job correctly. And yes, if you did not know, there *is* a urologist in Austin named Richard Chop. Google him. He’s practically an Austin institution.)

Me: “Sweetie, Mommy and Daddy are not having more kids. You guys are it! Banana, who, Libby?”

Libby: “Knock, Knock!”

Josie and Davis: “WHO’S THERE?!!”

Libby: “Orange!”

Me: “Orange who?”

Davis: "Why can't we have another baby?"

Libby: “Orange you glad I didn’t say BANANA!!”

Davis: “How does a baby get in your tummy anyway?”


(Silence)


Me: “Um... knock, knock?”