SAHM - Holiday Edition

Every Monday night, for an hour and a half, the kids are at piano lessons. More accurately, the boys and I sit in a small room while Zoe spends half-an-hour learning all about middle-C and half-steps vs. whole-steps, and then I get to leave with the girl while the boys split the next hour. This means that each boy spends a total of one hour sitting on his ass.

Since I'm not a big fan of wasting time and am trying to teach my kids the importance of time-management, I've attempted to enforce a no texting/gaming/zoning out/acting like a moron policy during this hour. Instead, I have told them to use this time to either get some homework done, study for upcoming tests, or (gasp!) read something for fun.

While waiting for Zoe's lesson a few weeks ago, I noticed Charlie sitting on the couch, focusing intently on some crap that had accumulated under his thumb nail. He sat there for a full three minutes, staring at that shit like it was going to burst out and chew his face off if he so much as diverted his gaze for one second. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I said don't you have any homework to do? And if not, did you bring a book? And what about your other thumbnail? Isn't it going to feel neglected after you've showered the other thumb with so much attention?

He looked at me with an expression that was like what? Who are you? Why are you sitting there? What planet am I on? After he blinked a few times and his brain caught up with the current time, day, setting and my mood, he said no, no homework. None homework. Well, except for this one piece of homework, but you can't do it. I have to ask dad. Cuz dad has a job. It's about a job. Like a real job. I have to ask questions about a job, and you don't have a, well, you know, like, a...

And this is when things got precarious, and I have to admit that I kind of enjoyed watching him sit there, squirming, trying to figure out a way to describe what I do that wouldn't result in him getting pummeled over the head.

"A job. Right? Is that what you're trying to say? You need to ask dad because he gets in a car that doesn't contain a booster seat or have sliding doors and drives to a place other than the grocery store or Target and gets to hang out in a place where everyone is over five feet tall?"

"Well, yeah," he said.

Turns out that his assignment required him to interview an adult who works at a job supporting him/herself and/or a family, and ask this adult about his or her experience in the world of work. And since I didn't think that this was the best time to break into a "oh my fucking hell do you have any idea what I do for you kids all day" rant and demand that he fill in the blanks with responses like "I get to boil noodles and call it dinner. I am real good at cleaning me some pee off the toilet bowls every day and that sure does help support that there family a whole lot" I decided to not take his mom doesn't have a job stance too personally, and instead answered the questions for him as if I were his father. After all, he had the questionnaire with him and had all that extra time to kill, might as well not waste it staring at a thumbnail!

Now that the holidays are quickly approaching (Did you know the holidays are almost here? From what I've been told, I think that Christmas is just days away!), I've been thinking about Charlie's assignment, and the fact that the title SAHM goes through a major modification between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. In fact, I'll bet if I completed his questionnaire it would be pretty interesting! So I decided to do his assignment again, and maybe he can turn it in as extra credit.

CAREER INTERVIEW

What is your career/occupation/job? SAHM - Holiday Edition

What is your current job title and what exactly do you do? Holiday meal planner, which means trying to come up with several meals that are unique, festive and non-weird, but that don't require me to spend dozens of hours in the kitchen preparing something that half of the family won't eat. I am also the gift buyer, home decorator, outdoor lighting expert, excitement creator and wardrobe manager. Which means that I shop, wrap, clean, festoon, iron, shop some more, address envelopes, wait in lines and reign in aggression. Oh, and I also still do all of my other, very glamorous duties, like clean toilet bowls, which is really a suspense-filled activity this time of year because after all, some of that holiday food is kind of rich.

How many jobs have you had in your life? Five

What were they? They were those five other jobs that I had in my life before I became a SAHM.

Has changing technology affected your work life? Well, let's just say that if it weren't for being able to shop online, there would either be fewer presents under the tree or more strangers with black eyes. And being able to order my groceries online and arrange to have them delivered the day before a major holiday is pretty much on the same happiness level as Santa bringing me a truckload of vodka.

Has the economic recession affected your work life? Duh.

Why did you choose this job? Because it's so satisfying and fun -- to make fun of other people. Watching them tromp in and out of stores, stalk each other for parking spots, debate about which piece of hideous jewelry to buy for the teacher gift, scream at their overheated/overstimulated kids, wait in line for Santa, expect perfection -- it doesn't get any better than that.

What do you enjoy most about your work? Finding cool gifts for everyone is actually pretty enjoyable, but at the end of it all, throwing away the leftover cookies, sending the kids back to school and putting the Christmas tree away kicks ass. And not having to hear the word "Doorbuster" or see a Lexus with a big red bow on it for the next eleven months: euphoria.

Why is your job important to you? Because it makes my family happy, and I get to be a control freak.

What are some rewards, besides money, that you get from your job? I get to see some of the best behavior of the year come from my youngest kid because, after all, 'tis the season for bribery and the Santa card.

What new things have you had to learn to do your job? How to gift wrap a large stuffed dolphin, how to simultaneously attend a tennis lesson and a choir concert, how to find a gift that a kid asked Santa for but is no longer available domestically, how to find energy and generosity at the end of a day when all you want to do is sit down with a glass of whiskey and tell everyone else to go away already, and 5,000 other things.

How long does it take for you to get to work? Luckily for me, I live where I work. Although, this time of year it feels like I might as well be working part-time at the grocery store since it seems like I know more about their inventory than their employees do.

On average, how many hours do you work per week? On average, how many hours are there in a week? 168? Yeah, that sounds about right. Because as all parents know, even when you're sleeping there is always one ear on alert, waiting for the sound of an illness hitting a kid. And everyone knows, if an illness is going to hit a kid, it's going to happen in the middle of the night. Two days before Christmas.

What part does the computer and other technology play in your work? In addition to the obvious - online shopping, Facebook, this blog (aka therapy) - it allows me to monitor the kids' grades and most recent test scores. And depending on what I find, the amount of online shopping that I need to get done can go through a drastic reduction.

The Christmas Countdown

I know I'm not alone here (right, Nancy!?) when I say...enough with the countdowns. I'm tired of hearing "Are you done with your Christmas shopping? Did you get your cards out yet? What are your plans for winter break?" and "Only a few more days to get it all done!" Every time I see a festive sweater or hear yet another version of Rudolph or the words "Doorbuster, Santariffic" or "Wrap the Holidays in Fun," it doesn't make me want to go a'caroling or a'wassailing or a'shopping. It does, however, put me in the mood to go a'drinking and a'swearing while I a'watch a little a'football.

The good news is that yes, I am done with the shopping, the wrapping, the mailing and, despite wanting to skip this year, I even sent out Christmas cards. The fake tree is decorated, the Santa gifts are hidden and each kid has a bag of crap that's just waiting to be jammed into their always-too-small stocking. But, sadly, I'm not done. Not even close.

According to my calendar, what I've been told, and what I overheard while eavesdropping on those two women at Target, these are a few of the statistics:

• There is one week left until Christmas.
• Two weeks left until we say adios to 2010.
• Three school days before winter break.
• Or for some kids, zero days until winter break.
• Three trips to the grocery store that need to be made.
• Actually, it's six trips if you count the two different stores because it wouldn't make sense for one store to carry everything that I need.
• Two trips to the liquor store.
• Or, for the insane, zero trips to the liquor store.
• Or, if you're me, five trips.
• $250 of express shipping fees that someone (but not me) needs to spend because a couple out-of-town recipients were "forgotten."
• $0 of shipping fees because I paid attention when I got an email that said "Perfect gift for the mother-in-law" and "FREE SHIPPING!"
• Twenty dozen cookies that will be baked in the next 36 hours.
• Which sounds almost as nauseating as saying "three pounds of butter."
• Seven days left to play the Santa card.
• Eight gifts that "might" be returned to the store before Christmas if someone doesn't change their attitude NOW!
• Two parents that had the nerve to plan a kid's birthday party the week before Christmas.
• One more choir concert to get through.
• One piano recital to get through. And oh how I hope that woman that has a Bump-It permanently implanted in her skull sits in front of me again.
• Two more tennis lessons. Oh, and two tournaments before 2011.
• Four more trips to the junior high, which will bring the number of trips in one week to a grand total of Ee-Lev-En.
• Three bags of ice that I'm planning on purchasing in the next week.
• Four bags if things go well.
• Six bags if things go really well.
• Oh wait, I forgot about New Year's weekend. So then, let's just say a lot of bags of ice.
• Two classes that a kid missed last Friday, but it's okay because it was a planned absence and I was assured that the kid had everything turned in.
• Four things that weren't turned in, completed, accounted for or were just forgotten about.
• Ten minutes that I yelled about those four things.
• Four limbs on a kid that resembled a dried up reptile because, after all, there are only three different things of lotion in the bathroom to choose from so how could I be so unrealistic as to expect the lotion to actually be applied to the scaly skin?
• Really, though, how could I expect him to use lotion? After all, I've only reminded him 472 times.
• Three times within fifteen minutes that I said "You need to get up at 6."
• Which explains why, within one minute, a kid asked "So what time should I get up?"
• Ten minutes that I yelled about that.
• Twelve minutes that I wasted, standing in line at the self-service kiosk at the post office, waiting for the technologically retarded (I know that term isn't politically correct, but I think that in this case she was sort of retarded) woman to figure out how to ship a manila envelope to St. Louis and also purchase one sheet of Forever stamps, all within one transaction. She failed. Miserably. Instead of one transaction, it was actually more like seven. Seriously. The machine would not stop beeping at her.
• Zero inches of snow in the weather forecast for the next two weeks. You hear that, bitch-face Mother Nature? I want ZERO!
• Six scaly spots on Zoe's face that need to heal so that people can stop asking me "What's on her face? What's wrong with your daughter? Does she have the chicken pox?" and I have to repeatedly say: No, she doesn't have a disease. It's because they had Clifford (you know, the big red sweetly retarded {sorry} dog) day at school a few days ago and they used face paint to put these black dots on my kid's face. But unfortunately they used some funky face paint that contained arsenic and lye and cyanide and was probably made in Tanzania and had been recalled in 1983, which left these angry red spots on my daughter's cheeks. No, she doesn't have chicken pox because even though I'm anal and organized, I don't have the power to make sure that chicken-pox-induced red sores appear perfectly symmetrical and in only one highly visible location. And if you think the spots look freaky now, you should have seen her right after I washed the face paint off:

Oh, and yesterday she got a haircut and her bangs are so cute. But they're really short which, for some reason, accentuates the fact that there is also a scaly spot on the end of her nose. Cuz, ya know, Clifford's nose is black.

Now, where is that first bag of ice?

Save Your Money

Now that Christmas is officially less than two weeks away, one of my favorite questions to ask my kids' friends is "What are you hoping to get for Christmas?" With almost frightening accuracy, I can almost always predict which kids will say "I don't really know, because there's nothing I really need" and which ones, without hesitation, say "Money, another Xbox, cash, a new cell phone, a car, a ski trip in Colorado with my friends, gift cards, maybe some more money, and did I mention money?"

This year, my kids haven't asked for much. A video game here, a board game there, maybe a few pieces of plastic weaponry, but fortunately nothing that will force us to eat ramen for the next few months. That gift list belongs to me (new refrigerator anyone?), which is why when anyone asks me what I want for Christmas, my response is always "Nothing. Really, nothing. Unless you're prepared to spend $20,000." to which they respond "Okay, then. No problem. Nothing it is." But then there's always those people that insist on getting you something because after all, 'tis the season for giving crappy gifts (like the ones on this list).

One thing about the Sunday paper this time of year is that it weighs about 12 pounds, 11.5 of which is ads for doorbuster sales. Buried in these ads, and in the barrage of catalogs that have been arriving in my mailbox since September, are some products that truly leave me wondering -- who in the hell would ever buy any of this stuff for someone and expect to hear "Kick ass! I always wanted me one of these! You knew exactly what I needed!"

This craptastic bedding set is appropriately called "Mossy Oak," and can be yours for the low price of $120. Maybe it would be good for parents to have, though, because when the kids wander in at midnight, they won't be able to find mom or dad.

I think this is a back massager, but considering the shape and varying lengths of the "massage tips," something tells me it could probably be used for other things as well.

No, it's not an alien or even a Rocky Mountain bighorn ram with unusually large horns. It's a uterus pillow. Just what every girl wants, and what every guy wants to see propped up on the couch.

If you wear this thing for just ten minutes a day, you will notice a 72% reduction in sagging, a 42% reduction in wrinkles, a noticeable improvement in skin tone and color, and a 100% reduction in the number of friends you have. Because now they all think you're insane.

When I bring my daughter to the pool, I like for her to be able to swim, kick, jump and stand in the pool, not to mention be able to walk (not run) on the pool deck. Notice, "wave legs around like a moron mermaid" and "fall flat on face because her feet are stuck together" are not on this list.

The funny thing is, I know someone that would think this is a pretty cool gift. I, however, don't need one because I see something frighteningly similar every day. It's called a "neighbor."

These "instant flattery" pinstripe slacks may very well make the legs look long and lean, but they also make the ass look all squishy and fat, especially when one bends over.

I know there are families out there that buy new pajamas every Christmas, and some of these families go so far as to buy matching pj's. But come on, matching pajamas for the dog? That's going too far.

And just so you know, if I were to ever buy green striped pajamas for my husband, I would never see him wearing them on Christmas morning. Because dead people can't see.

Too. Many. Jokes. Can't. Think. Clearly.

hahahahahahahahahaha! Seriously? Anyone who has been married for more than two minutes knows that when the husband is out of town, the wife is all HOLY SHIT THIS IS AWESOME! I HAVE THE WHOLE BED TO MYSELF WITHOUT ANYONE ELSE'S BODY PARTS TAKING UP SPACE!

Honestly, how creepy would it be to sleep with a fucking arm? Who knows, though. Maybe you can insert four "D" batteries and the hand does a gentle squeezing motion. That would explain why she put the hand on her boob.

I Swear, This Is The Last Trip To Target

"Your hair looks nice today. You're just in time for happy hour. Would you like this free chicken pot pie?" These are phrases that I love to hear. I don't even hate it when a kid says: "Hey mom. Are you going to the store anytime soon? Because I need _____ by tomorrow." The exception is when I hear that question at 9:00 PM, after I've turned my brain off and changed into pajamas pants. At that point, it's pretty much the equivalent of jamming an ice pick into my nail bed. A couple nights ago, I was jabbed by Zach.

After determining the last possible moment that the required item could arrive at school, I decided I could put off the trip to Target until the next day. I'm not sure that this was a good thing, though, since it would put me in the home of the red bullseye one week before Christmas. You can see, and hear, the desperation as people race the quickly-approaching deadline. Everyone is crabby, no one is able to use common sense, the bright red reindeer towels suddenly seem like the perfect gift for the mother-in-law, and holiday cheer is in short supply. It's a little like watching a Stupid-Off, where the person with the worst attitude and least amount of Christmas spirit is the winner.

I overheard one stressed out mom bitching at her kid: "Get off my case and cut momma just a little bit of slack already. Quit telling me about the things I don't do. I'm not perfect, okay? Now, should I get Aunt Julie an XL or XXL sleepshirt? Either way I'm sure I'll be wrong!" I glanced over to see a woman holding up two giant pieces of pink fleece, and a kid that was probably six months shy of two-years-old sitting in the cart. Did this woman really want someone in diapers to "cut her some slack?" I'm thinking that instead of stressing out about buying Aunt Julie a sleep shirt that resembled a ginormous bottle of Pepto Bismol, maybe Aunt Julie should be the one cutting this woman some slack.

As I wandered through the mayhem, I passed another woman that was pissed off because there weren't any Zhu Zhu Pets, a grandma that was disappointed with the selection of iPod cases, three kids having meltdowns in the toy department, one guy touching all of the red lace bras, a lady that was so freakishly loud I'm sure she must have had a megaphone implanted in her larynx, a display of eggnog ice cream that made me nauseous, and a little girl whining: "But I want the Hello Kitty lip gloss now! I'm tired of waiting for Santa!"

After I encountered two more kids having tantrums in the candy aisle, I grabbed the item I needed (a bag of 300 Dum Dum suckers for a fundraiser), and got the hell out. Thankfully, I am done shopping and wrapping, and except for one last trip to the grocery store, I will not have to put so much as my big toe inside any stores until after Christmas. This is probably a good thing, since it's still a little sore after I got nailed by that ice pick.

Volunteering. Need I Say More?

Yesterday, I tried to get some Christmas shopping done before volunteering at school. Unfortunately, since the amount of time I had was even shorter than usual, I felt a little rushed and didn't have very much fun. I was so disoriented at one point that I found myself staring at The Cake Bakery for a full two minutes before regaining enough common sense to walk away from the end cap. At least I knew that Zoe's appreciation for my appearance at the Kindergarten Fall Festival would compensate for the fact that I was going to spend an hour surrounded by sticky kindergartners instead of shopping. Plus, it could even be fun since I was volunteering with a friend.

After having my I.D. verified for the three M-rated games I was buying for the boys and stopping at home to drop off milk, I headed to school a few minutes early. My strategy was to get there before anyone else so that I would be able to pick the party game that required the least amount of involvement. I believe in putting a lot of effort into playing sports, cleaning a house, or slamming a beer. But "The Corn Kernel Race?" Not so much.

I scanned the list of games and everything seemed to require a lot of smiling and exuberance: "Strut Like a Turkey," "Bowling," "Pumpkin Relay," and "Musical Chairs." All of them except one: "Hang Hat On The Scarecrow." I grabbed the bag of materials and waited for my friend to show up, somehow managing to avoid Fanny as she rushed around trying to organize everyone.

The game turned out to be a variation of "Pin The Tail On The Donkey." But instead of tacks we had masking tape. And instead of birthday party attendees dressed in festive clothes, there was a girl wearing the shortest miniskirt I've ever seen and boys dressed in sweats that smelled like fried Spam. Oh, and since we didn't have a blindfold, we had to say, "Shut your eyes tight! No peeking!" before we spun them around three times. I wasn't looking for an explanation as to why we didn't have a blindfold, but when the teacher said, "We aren't allowed to use a blindfold anymore because of lice," I decided that the kids could probably handle spinning around all by themselves without my having to touch them.

Towards the end of the party, one little boy started telling me about his pet turtle, or about his upcoming trip to grandma's house, or how he really likes anchovies on his pizza. I really have no idea what he was talking about because I was so distracted by the gumdrop-size green booger embedded in his left nostril. All I could think about was grabbing a crowbar and prying that sucker out of there. Too bad I didn't notice him a few weeks ago at the Halloween parade, because then I could have borrowed Zoe's.