Have had some complaints about the blog-less-ness. Sorry! Am so overwhelmed by the holidays! Am overwhelmed to the point of paralysis though, kwim?! Sigh.
So, last week, the kids’ school had what they call ‘the Christmas Prayer’…it’s not like a concert or a pageant or anything. It’s basically just in the church, kids singing, not on stage or anything. One hour max. Very low key. Perfect. Seriously. Even *I* cannot bitch and moan about it. I actually have nothing mean or sarcastic to say! It’s a Christmas Miracle! LOL I sit there and just soak in everything that is right about the holidays! All kids dressed up, cleaned up nice and pretty…singing their hearts out (except for the 6th grade — all mumbling and self conscious already?! Btw, this is my Garrett’s grade, so I can make the comment freely!) and just so sweet. They end with Silent Night…lights dimmed, candles flickering, me crying. Every.Damn.Time. Each year I say “I will NOT cry” and yet I cry! Why?! Maybe I have a heart after all? Maybe there’s hope for me?
Earlier that day, I showed my true colors. The Evil was out in full force. Mornings are tough around here. My firstborn and I are so alike, in all the worst ways. I think that God definitely has a mean sense of humor, giving me myself in male form…Sarcastic, sloppy, procrastinators. Garrett and I should just not speak to one another until noon. He and I are Not-Morning.People. We are tired and grumpy and should be left alone. The Frug and Peter bounce out of bed, happy, chatty, ready to start the day. I hate them. Anyway, this particular morning, we were running a bit late. I have to light a fire under Garrett, who wants to just stay in bed and moan loudly about how unfair life is. I *try* to stay pleasant, which goes against my very nature. Come ‘on, out of bed…time for breakfast…Peter is already up, dressed, fed, and has brushed his teeth. G finally gets up and eats, bitching about which cereal I have selected. OMG, MOM! I hate this kind! Never ever buy this again! We glare at each other. He stumbles up stairs, literally. It’s now 7:30am and we should be in the car. I have to start with the Let’s GO! Hurry UP! I mutter some minor expletives under my breath. He’s in there, gelling his hair. He is 11. He uses that God-Awful AXE body wash and deodorant spray and extra firm hair gel to spike his bangs up just so. OMG, MOM! My hair is SO UGLY! And now I have toothpaste on my shirt! AAAHHHH I can’t go to school!!!!!!! And then he throws himself back into his bed. Screaming about being too ugly. HE.IS.A BOY. I end up shouting something like ‘Get the ()$&%%#* out of your bed RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!’ (insert which ever expletive you want…you won’t be too far off)
Yep, Best Mom Ever. Hope the Frug has some $$ put aside for therapy for his Mommy Issues. Sigh.
Finally, despite my best efforts over the last few months, I still look like an Old Whore. I *do* have stellar eyelashes…but Old Whore with great lashes is still an Old Whore. If I have the energy, I shall post later about the miracle that is Latisse, my current hair color, the state of my uterus, and the haggardness that is my face.
Merry Christmas. Grumble.