The best that I could get before it all went south…
I’m never going to get a Christmas card out.

First, get a little sleep, and more importantly, let Mama sleep in.  Watch as many videos as you can, sweethearts.

Step 2, take all premade items out of Costco box.

Step 3, create, create, create!  (And part of “create” is “eat”).

 

Timmy Whitefoot has a good game plan for a Saturday afternoon, too.

Before (Single Pane, ill fitting, aluminum frame):

 

After (The antithesis of previous windows…possibly with a price tag to match):

 

Much, much, much cozier!

So I’ve had a few (justified) rants about children, and by children, you know I mostly mean Wesley. 

I did a few things to readjust my sanity. First, I put a lock on the secret hiding place to keep them from breaking more things.

 

Then patched and repainted the bathroom wall, and did NOT rehang the towel rack.

 

Piper finished cleaning her room and Wesley (yes, Wes!) vacuumed it.  The Shark was a good investment.

 

And I packed up a lot of toys that are now in the Value Village box.  The smaller the toy, the more quickly I tossed it.

The kids were a little happier…

 

or, better yet, sleeping.

Unlike Dwayne’s, my swearing days are scheduled more frequently than once a year.

Like, when Wesley takes the scarf I am knitting for him off the needles.  Three times.  I thought his bottom wouldn’t handle a third time but he was up for the challenge.  He also cut the yarn.  The final time, I ripped up his scarf myself as I am.  Done. With. Him.

Or when Kyla puts her tea in the refrigerator at a precarious tilt and it spills all over the shelves when I get the milk out. 

Or when the sturdy wood towel rack in the downstairs bathroom is found on the ground with large holes left in the wall and Wesley and Piper blame each other.

Don’t forget when Wesley locked a kitten in the cat carrier again after several warnings, threats, and corrections forr doing this several times previously.  Again, I must move this item out of his reach instead of relying on his obedience to a very clear rule.  I. Am. So. Done. With. Wesley.  And I am running out of spaces in the house that he truly cannot reach.

Or when Piper takes 2 days to clean her room, and still doesn’t finish it and then whines and promises to do better with one more chance when I take away her CD player, to be returned when she really, truly has cleaned her bedroom.

Or, after stating several times that there would not be powdered sugar for their French toast, still hearing in a super-whiney voice, “but I want powered sugar”.

Or every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 12:20 I say, “Put on your shoes and coats and get in the car—we’re going to preschool!” and Piper and Wesley still don’t put on their shoes, coats, or get in the car.  F0ur months, my friends.

And every single one of these things happened just today. 

And by “periods”, they mean “children”. 

 

[Mom, dementors are the ghost-like magical creatures that literally suck the joy and happiness out of a person until s/he is either comatose or dead.  You’d know this if you’d read past the first chapter of Harry Potter. Seriously, what do you do with your time?  Just stand in your kitchen doing the happy-dance to celebrate not having young children anymore?  Because someday, I want to join you.  And I am sincerely sorry for every annoying or destructive thing I did from the time I was 18 months to 18 years.]

Usually, National Swear Day coincides with the day after Thanksgiving.  Due to calendar adjustments, it came late this year.

Last night, you would have heard this conversation in our house.

Me:  Hey, Babe, it’s National Swear Day tomorrow.

Dwayne:  So we’re going to get a tree?

Me:  Yep.

Perhaps because most things in our household that cause frustration can be traced back to Wesley, the boy fell asleep right before we got to the tree farm and stayed asleep until Dwayne tapped on the window and pointed to the tree-equivalent of a 38-point buck he had bagged with the girls.  It was too big to be baled so the elves just strapped it to the minivan with twine.  It didn’t take us more than a mile down the road to seriously question…well, just about everything.  And by that, you know I mean that I questioned my husband’s sanity, wisdom, common sense, and vision acuity.  I believe Dwayne began questioning those as well as we tried to shove it through the front door.

How exactly is this Wesley’s fault?  Well, usually I am the one who wants a tall tree, and we always come home with a tall tree.  However, as I am the one who puts on all the lights and helps the kids decorate it (and then reverses the whole process a month later), I manage to exercise a little restraint.  And usually I can count on Dwayne being the voice of reason because he’s the one who has to get the tree in the house and standing upright.  (This is where the swearing usually comes in.)  But Dwayne and I didn’t use our team magic to pick out this tree.  I was knitting in the car while Wesley snored and Dwayne was thinking that this little 7-footer wouldn’t grow another 5 feet in the distance between the field and our living room. 

To give you some perspective, at its tallest point, our ceiling is 14’.  I realized that I moved the tree a few inches away from the apex and now the angel is touching the ceiling.   It took the Little Giant ladder a lot of work to get the lights on all around.  It took Dwayne a trip to Target to buy me enough lights to light the thing up.  As we were trying to stand it upright, it started to tip and I could barely keep it from crashing to the floor, but I did because I knew it could crush the children underfoot.

As I type this, I realize that the tree must have a name.  I’ll give it a big name until Piper comes up with something else.  So ladies and gentlemen, I give you….

Sasquatch.

 

Dear Mom, Dad, other beloved friends and family,

We are forced to uninvite you for Christmas.  We can either fit all of you….or the tree.  And the tree ain’t moving.

Love,

Denise

Sure, it’s from the South Whidbey Record, but Piper and I got our picture in the paper.  I’m singing, if you are wondering why I look like that.  You say warbling, I say singing.

Tree lights up holiday season in Langley

Denise N. dances with daughter Piper during a Christmas song at the Langley Tree Lighting on Saturday, Nov. 30 at Langley Park. They were joined by other dancing children, including Rose Hess, far left, Elleanor Hamblen, Vivian Hamblen, and about 100 other merrymakers. The Langley Chamber of Commerce event included holiday and Christmas music led by four performers, a short recital from the upcoming “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown” play at WICA and a visit from Santa and his alpaca-deers — alpacas with faux felt antlers — named Kaiser and Silverado. Langley’s holiday tree at the park on Second Street and Anthes Avenue is lit with soft blue lights. Other events are scheduled, including a holiday parade through downtown Langley on Saturday, Dec. 7.

— image credit: Ben Watanabe / The Record

I should have known it was coming, because Wesley has been amazingly pleasant, cheerful, cooperative, and helpful for 24 hours. 

So when Dwayne, on his first sick day in almost four years (hint: vasectomy after Wesley was born), picked Wesley and Piper up from afternoon preschool, I should not have found this so shocking. [I certainly shouldn’t have found it funny.]

Me: What happened in preschool today, Wesley?

Wesley: I was really sad for a little while.

Me:  You were sad?  What happened?

Wes: A boy looked at my work.

Me: A boy looked at your work?  Then what happened?

Wes: A boy looked at my work and he said I did it wrong.

Me: And then what?

Dwayne: [coming up the stairs] He stabbed him.

[Awkward pause while I vacillate between laughing and wondering  what the punch line will be.]

Dwayne: And then Wesley punched him.

[Deciding on laughter, because even Wesley wouldn’t stab a kid and then punch him.  Right?]

Then I realized that Dwayne wasn’t kidding.  A kid had looked at his work, told him he was doing it wrong, so Wesley took the  paper “poker” and stabbed this kid’s hand. And then hit him.  I actually can’t quite picture it without doing a weird Ally McBeal thing where I superimpose Wesley’s head on Nikita doing jujitsu.  Then Wesley made it worse for himself by not apologizing.  He spent a really, really long time in time out. 

I  believe that of  the last four years of preschool, this may have been the first time I’ve not been there for pick up.  This was the perfect day to miss.  Thanks, Fates!

 

 

PS “Calvin” was on my short list to name Baby Omega. 

…because he was at the craft fair as well. It was a horrible craft fair—the worst combination of homemade and poor taste.  They will never be able to sell that many coffee cozies.  But they had a really good soup for lunch, face painting, a friendly Santa, and hay rides for kids.

Clearly, Wesley has a thing against Santa.  He will investigate from safe place, decide he wants a candy cane, go up to Santa, hide his head against my leg but reach out behind him fully expecting Santa to put a candy cane in his outstretched palm.    All that to say, I haven’t gotten any Santa pictures with all three kids.

 

All the kids were delighted with their face painting, but Kyla needs a new word.  Elated?  Ecstatic? Ecstatickelated?

The island has an [over] abundance of deer and rabbits, and the kids came back from the hayride having counted 17 bunnies on the trip.

How was fair, kids?  Did you enjoy it?

 

Really?  That good?  Oh, even better!