It's the End of the Year as We Know It

I have a lot to be thankful for this year. The fact that I've made it through another year of motherhood without losing my mind (although this is questionable) is a chief accomplishment.

I have a gaggle of great girlfriends. Last month I saw the name of a new show called The Cashmere Mafia. I think I'd like to adopt that. No idea what the show is about and I don't care, but I like to think we're all at a place in our lives and in out friendships where this term sorta applies.

Know what I hate about he end of the year, though? Those "who died this year" retrospectives. I would like a random listing of who was born. While none of my friends gave birth this year, an astounding number of them are due to do just that in the nest 8 months. So next year, I'll be looking at the "who was born" list.

Also - and this is purely and randomly tangential - what is up with ice cream at the grocery store? I really don't know anyone who puts ice cream on heir shopping list (outside of birthday parties). But there it is - an entire isle in the frozen food section just for the ice cream and the ice cream derivatives. Let me make it clear that this is not a complaint.

So, to sum up. I am thankful for not losing my mind, mostly thanks to my frinds and ice cream. Happy New Year! :)

It Isn't Christmas Without an Altercation

Wow, we don't even put the FUN in dysfunctional anymore. I believe everyone the world over knows of my dislike for my brother's girlfriend Anna. I use the term "waste of space" affectionately with her. But at least I keep those feelings to myself at Christmas.

Not The Drama Queen.

My sister was determined to start something this holiday season, so the night baby Jesus was born is just as good a time as any. She started with her speech on gratitude, telling John that Anna and the girls has better show some this year. John said he would talk to Anna and the girls about it.

(Now, I was the one who had the beef with that last year. The fact that they stayed with us for a few nights, we went out of out way to accommodate them and got the girls - whom we had never met before - some pretty good loot was cool, until none of them uttered a word of thanks. That irked me, which is why the whole lot of them were in a hotel this year.)

Oh, but this was not enough for Hurricane Melissa.

When John and Anna went out for a smoke, Anna's youngest girl got into a tad of mischief (nothing horrendous) and Melissa took it upon herself to take John to task on the fact that one of them should be in the house at all times to watch the kids. This sent john over the edge. John over the edge is NOT a pretty thing. He is like my dad. Slooooooowwwww burn then KABOOM!

Needless to say, John and Melissa wouldn't be in the same room for the next hour, which put ME over the edge. I delivered a speech to everyone in the house that went something like this "It is Christmas, dammit. I don't care what was said or to whom. Get your shit together and be merry, goddammit. Now, you have five minutes to collect your thoughts, get your asses upstairs and have a merry Christmas. I am done having Christmas ruined."

I believe this is the point where mom and dad decided a) to go home a day early and b) to go to Florida next year for Christmas.

Fine by me. I plan on converting to Judaism by then. When the rabbi asks me why now, I'll just tell him Christmas put me over the edge this year.

Hope all of yours was better.

Ho ho ho, dammit.

For Christmas, We got THE MEASLES

Isn't that fantastic? Jack certainly looks festive. He actually has Roseola, which is a "form of the measles." I have no idea what the fuck that means, since I was stuck with the doctor on call last night, who had all the personality of a rabid raccoon. Doctor Patrella. I don;t recommend him.

J was running a fever on Thursday of 103.9 and was very lethargic. His fever came down but he still wasn't himself on Friday, so we went to see the doctor. She was looking for a rash, but it hadn't yet appeared. Cue Saturday afternoon (after doctors' hours, of course) when his cheeks became rosy and the rash started on his belly. By evening it was on his back, too. Roseola was the diagnosis, so I am on my way to search the web to see if this means we are done with measles for good.

He apparently isn't contagious as long as the fever is gone (it is) so we don't have to cancel Christmas. But I AM glad we canceled Friday's play date - aren't you? I am seriously considering pulling him out of daycare. Enough is enough with the biting and infectious diseases already.

Oh. My. God.

Well, I hope all of you are prepared to make good on promises that you said you would come through on when hell froze over. Because, friends, let me tell you, Satan himself has opened a 7-11 and the Slurpees are flowing freely.

Today Sara - she of bringing her own food to my reception, among other near relationship-ending misdeeds - apologized for everything. She said she felt terrible about how our relationship started, that it should have never been that way and that she was sorry. Let us just take a moment to absorb this new information.

This is all I have ever said I wanted. And so, I am just done being angry with her. I now have to find a new hobby. I have gobs of time on my hands that I can fill with knitting, scrapbooking, or simply channeling my venom towards Naomi's bonehead soon (but not soon enough) to be ex-husband.

I am shocked, relieved and have an overwhelming sense of peace about the entire thing, really.

Thoughts?

Just Venting

In our house, it seems as if only one of us can parent at a time. And when I say "one of us", I mean ME. When I am in the room, Daddy just tunes out. Unless, of course, he believes I should be administering discipline that I am clearly not. Last time I checked, we were both listing on the f-ing birth certificate.

I'm pretty sure that Osi believes himself to be up for father of the year this weekend because he stayed with Jack for 5 whole hours on Saturday while I went to go hand-craft his Christmas present AND he let me sleep in all the way to 9 am this morning. Oh, the life of a put-upon father.

I can only imagine what his life would be like if he attempted to get all of his daily work done with a toddler strapped to him. Somehow, though, he just thinks this should be no big deal for me. My job. Silly Chris. I thought we both applied. I am apparently also in charge of social coordination (if we leave the house EVER, it is because I have scheduled something), present procurement, meal provision and clean underwear.

Seriously, I think I might run away from home soon.

Done venting now.

The Toddler is Kicking My Ass

My 2-year-old is kicking my ass. Both literally and figuratively. He is in the midst of that existential crisis known as the Terrible Twos. And he, admittedly, is a very spoiled two.

Having decided from the word "go" that he was going to be our one and only, the child has wanted for nothing. Not toys, love, attention or Laurie Berkner videos. As a result, he has become my own personal Veruca Salt. "He wants the world. He wants the WHOLE world..." Oh, and he wants it NOW. And God help the poor bastard that doesn't give it to him immediately. They get the crap beat out of them.

Mostly, that is me.

I have tried holding his hands firmly, looking him in the eyes and saying a firm, loud, "NO." I have tried time out. I have tried yelling and I have even tried hitting back in a moment of weakness and desperation. None of this is working.

Daycare says he isn't a hitter there. Just me, Osi and the poor dog, Frannie. I guess the saying "We always hurt the ones we love the most" is true, unless, of course, this is his way of saying he would like a new family because he hates his current one. Fine with me, kiddo, I'm not so keen on you these days, either.

It is frustrating and demoralizing to be smacked dead in the face repeatedly by someone you would stand in front of a bullet for a million times over. I am at my wits' end and am out of ideas. You've seen what I've tried. What are your thoughts? Any ideas?