Give It Up!

Got a phone call from the hubs last night before I left work giving me the low down on E's position regarding Lent.  She had an opinion as to what Wes should give up and she had put a great deal of thought into her sacrifice.  Wanting to know her take on yours truly, I quizzed her about it in the car on the way to gymnastics:

Me:  So, I hear you're giving up sleeping with Lily* for Lent.

E:  Yeah, I'm six.  I mean I like sleeping with her, but I shouldn't NEED to sleep with her.

Me:  So what's Daddy giving up?

E:  Ketchup.  Have you seen how much of it he eats.  Its a lot.

Me:  That makes sense.  How about Harry.

E:  Daddy said he should give up pooping in his pants, but I don't think that's going to happen.

Me:  Me either.  What about me?

E:  Hmmm, what do you like the most?  Oh, I know, your electric blanket.

Me:  No.

E:  Ok, spaghetti.  You eat way too much of it.  You make us eat way too much of it.  You should give that up.

Me:  D'oh.  Ummm, ok, spaghetti, well, we can have it on Sundays, right, that's feast day, that will work, right, I mean, right?

E:  Not every Sunday.  We need fried chicken every now and then.

Me:  Ok.  Fair enough.  I should give up pasta (gulp).

Me:  (Thinking this would be a fun game) What should Aunt Mamie give up?

E:  Wine.  Hey, maybe that would be good for you too and Miss Carrie, y'all should all give up wine.

Me:  No, I'm going to stick to pasta.  I mean, there's sacrifice and then there's masochism.

E:  Well Mamie should definitely give it up.

Me:  I agree.

First off, she pretty much gets this Lent concept.  Secondly, what a little totalitarian.  So I text Amy who is in the lovely Show Me State this week.  Here's the exchange:

Touché Aunt Mamie,

Touché

*Lily is her beloved liger that her dad picked up for her in Vegas a few years back.  While she looks remarkably like a white tiger (and came from the Siegfried and Roy display, so...) Bob Bob, the dreadlocked lion we've had for 5 years, is her purported father, so we're going with liger.

At Least His Vocabulary is Improving

So...maybe we let Harry watch a little too much T.V.

Suck Up

All day long folks in the office ask "what are you doing for Valentine's Day?"  I debate whether I should respond "on a date with my secret lover Jackie Anglin (the girls have gymnastics- so that's a joke, kind of)" or "deciding which child to sacrifice to the Valentine's Day god, we're leaning towards the boy, more meaty, but the girl, she's got that innocent thing going for her." 

Instead I tell them what I believed to be the truth.  I say "oh, nothing, we're not much into Valentine's."

It's a made up holiday!  It's an excuse to sell red roses at four times the market value, Victoria's Secret underwear at 3,272 times the cost of the raw materials and to allow Waffle House to enter the reservation business (I'm not making that up).  It also means I'm going to have to spend approximately 82 more minutes on the elliptical than I planned this evening because you people keep laying out fat lawyer traps all over the office (i.e. chocolate covered EVERYTHING). 

So, thanks Wes.  Mere minutes after my final Valentine's Day Bah Humbug rant of the day, the copy room guy brings me these:

AND copy guy had heard my rant and gave me that smug grin that only copy room guys can muster.  Yeah, I know, Wes is awesome.  Jeez.  Can't decide what to get him.  Maybe a Snuggie from Walgreen's.  Way to destroy my street cred.

Damn You, Pinterest

I was seriously ok with buying cutesy Valentine cards from the local gift store for the kids to pass out to their classmates.  They usually had a craft attached.  They'd become finger puppets or monster mobiles or paper dolls.  They were pricey, well made and, so I thought, unique and creative. 

So why did I just spend 5 hours making this crap:

I'll tell you why.  Because Pinterest told me to.  Pinterest told me all the cool moms were MAKING their kids' Valentines.  You're not trying hard enough if you're not crafting your way through every major freaking holiday.  Want to throw the perfect birthday party?  Better find a set of 100 printables on Pinterest.  Otherwise, you're just a store bought mama.  Hosting an Easter brunch?  Well there's this blog with 14 different egg wreaths, a flower vase stuffed with Peeps (ok, that may be the only legitimate purpose for Peeps) and 17 different Spring inspired recipes to ensure your get together is just the bee's knees.

Therefore, after 9 hours at work dealing with other peoples' problems I rush home to snip, cut, curl and tie my children's way to Valentine perfection.  And it's not just kids' stuff.  I made a freaking magnetic chalkboard wall in my kitchen.  Umm, psst, don't know if you've heard but THEY SELL MAGNETIC CHALKBOARDS AT TARGET!

Don't even get me started about the recipes.  I've got like 300 pinned on my "Food" board.  It's become an obsession.  The thing is, I know I don't have time for this crap. You know you don't have time for this crap.  So why do we continue to do it?  Do you honestly think Susie that sits at the end of the pew from you at church is packing all those ridiculously adorable lunches where everything is cut out in the shape of a seahorse for her kids everday?  Yeah, she did it once, then she lost the damn cookie cutter.  Back to Lunchables. 

You know what?  I'm done.  I'm swearing off Pinterest.  Anything they say I can make, I know I can buy (and for less time, effort, and I'm seriously not kidding, less money-these crafts cost a freaking fortune).  I'm going to go disable my account, right freaking now.  Well, after I find a couple of upholstered headboard tutorials.  We really need a headboard.

All Aboard the Oreo Express!

Update:

Orient Express visit was fabulous.  Mostly because our chef/hibachi master was high as a kite.  He threw so much rice at us he needed another bowl.  But...fried rice and hibachi shrimp were had.  Cupcakes were consumed.  Candles we blown out.  A good time was had by all (especially our chef, who spoke Spanish as well.  Multicultural awesomeness).

Ready:

Set:

Wish!:

Yeah, she and Aunt Mamie are demons.  Woot Woot Oreo Express!  Now onto the magical world of the Harry Potter Pizza Party.


Six years ago today I was starving and cursing my husband and sister as they chowed down on McDonald's biscuits.  Apparently, the Labor and Delivery staff at Northside frown on people in active labor eating during the process.  Horrible rule.  The consequences could be dire.

That means, of course, that I have a six year old.  I do not know how this happened.  I, me, this one over here, the anti-crier, sobbed after kissing her goodnight.  Her last night of being five.  What is it about six?  It's like she went from being my little secret to being a citizen of the wide world.  My heart is about to burst from resigned sadness and ridiculous pride.  So, we celebrate!

This morning she got her first real big girl bike...doesn't even come with training wheels.

Tonight we will join up with the gang (us, Mamie, Mr. Brian and Miss Carrie) and be dazzled by the Hibachi chef at the Oreo Express (that's the Orient Express for those of you who don't speak Ellie).  But, it's not the Oreo Express anymore.  Because, as she told me this morning, six year olds know its not the Oreo Express.  That's what silly little kids say.  Sigh.