Okay, I couldn't help myself- Its 11:30pm on Christmas and I'm laying here next to my snoring husband, laughing hysterically at these images of my four children and one cat, doing the Charleston, JibJab style.

Thanks to my pal F.T. for the inspiration. Enjoy.

Sorry for the rather punchy title- I couldn't help myself, as I'm belatedly delirious over the present we bestowed on ourselves, as a family, today...this utopia of technology, forcing those of us semi-couch spuds into action, our most competitive spirits come alive in a frenzy unlike anything we've experienced before.

I have had a lot of mixed feelings over bringing this gaming system into my home- having loved so much the creativity with which my children have, thus far, broached life- the vigor with which they run, free as birds, sword-fighting, playing tag,riding bikes, climbing trees...the thought of some plastic box robbing us of those hours, making what was once so active suddenly passive and unaware sends chills down my spine. But the reality of our life is this- we live six miles South of the city of Pittsburgh, where we spend five months out of the year in weather I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy- frigid,gray,rainy, dreary, muck- those times of being free as birds become days where we can barely see the end, where the act of simply passing the time seems so burdensome you could just drown in a puddle of boredom. REALLY. It's THAT bad... So, I caved, like I did about cable T.V. two years ago, and we bought a Wii and this game to play on it called Outdoor Challenge. Let me tell you, folks, I may not walk tomorrow, as I lay here feeling the soreness of muscles I thought had evaporated years ago...five of the six of us (Seth just stared at me- confused by my leap from "normal mommy behavior") jogging, running, swaying, rowing, laughing, crying, peeing (well, that was me- such terrible bladder control...)off and on all day (we did do other things- read, put together and play with robots, eyeclops, digital microscopes, hockey sticks, balls...) The best part about it was that no one abandoned ship and fled to the basement to watch mindless television or any of the other more isolating activities that may go on around here in the cold- we hung out and played, as a family, and probably had more fun than we've had, during the winter time, since we moved here three years ago (well, except for sledding, which is a sport practiced year around in my backyard, summer and winter, in dirt or snow). And my husband nearly wept, he was cackling so hard watching me attempt to wii-bowl alongside my children- really, I almost called 911- he was doubled-over on the floor, hysterical. He thanked me many times today- exclaiming he'd never had a funnier Christmas experience in his life. What can I say people....I'll take that complement and run with it. No regrets- this was a spectacular gift.

I hope you too felt glee on this day of all days...other than the spirit of love and giving, there is no greater way to celebrate the birth of Christ than to bring happiness to those whose lives enrich yours throughout the year.

Benjamin and I spent some time this morning tracking Santa. You can find him HERE

I stumbled upon this terrific post from the blog "Women Not Dabbling In Normal." If you need a last minute gift for a wayward neighborhood kid or an activity for the dreary winter days, there are several dough recipes here sure to delight even the weirdest child you know.

Merry Christmas-EVE Everyone!

I decided that, once and for all, I was going to conquer that inner-slacker and get the gifts wrapped BEFORE 11:59 Christmas Eve...so I trudged upstairs tonight, after an evening of frivolity with our kids and their friends, to cover what was left of the pile of presents I had purchased. I had promised myself, and my husband, that we would be relaxed and focused on more of the deeper meaning of this holiday- that we wouldn't be consumed by the stress of "getting it together" and I'm relieved to say- I made it.

But I have to share, dear readers, that the very act of wrapping multiple presents, late at night, can really make you CRAZY....my ADD brain gets all a-fluster, trying to remember, after each gift, where I put the scissors, the labels, the pen...at one point, I spent fifteen frustrating minutes scouring the surface of my bed, the floor, under the bed, wracking my brain for the location of the tape- and just as I was ready to call it a night and throw the unfinished items in a bag, I found it!!- laying underneath the package I had to wrap! Can we all say together-
D-I-N-G-B-A-T!!!

Every year, on the Saturday before Christmas, our neighbors (and the parents of Molly, Ben's "wife" from his wedding of earlier this year), the Merricks , host a gingerbread house building party for all of the families in our cul-de-sac. I never feel more like I love my Pittsburgh home than on this night when each of my children gets their very own house, baked with love by Susie Merrick, to decorate at will for hours. Leading up to six pm yesterday, I felt way too exhausted to show my face at this most joyous event, but forced myself to attend anyway and was glad I did in the end. Amidst yummy dishes like buffalo chicken dip (from the Wells) and strawberries with Amaretto cream, we dined and wined (well, I just dined- being the designated parent for the night while Tom tripped the life fantastic)and duded up some glorious candy-covered cottages (Ben has never showed an attention span the likes of that and Liam even finished his creation and snuggled with me to help cover mine). At around 11pm, we trotted back to our house with more sugar than our stomachs could tolerate and lots of Christmas glee. Ode to joy!

Liam, my talented architectural assistant

Teens and little-ones alike are invited and enthusiastically participate in the evening's building soiree, giving me ample hope for our future generation.




Carlton "Pudge" Gbur a/k/a Ben's best-friend ever.

Lily concentrating on her masterpiece, appropriately modeling the oh-so-fashionable poinsettia bud in hair trend.


Ben fervently displaying his work of art for the camera, and miraculously staying seated for a good two hours. Maybe we should build houses out of candy everyday!


My "OCD" bungalow, as my friend Haley termed it, whose roof I meticulously layered with butter mints, then ran out of steam and gave over to my eight year-old, who donned it, more whimsically, with a variety of candy tiles and windows..

The Sombar Family has been on the slowboat to nowhere with getting prepared for Christmas. I'm one of those women who envy people, like some of you, who have their cards mailed and their houses decked out with boughs of holly by the first of the month. At this point, I'd even take the middle of the month, seeing as how this year has backfired on us completely and we're scurrying around like the mice in Cinderella to git-er-done. EVERY YEAR, without fail, I resolve to set aside my rampant ADD and tendency toward procrastination and keep up with the Joneses....And here we are on the 21st of December...

Yesterday, we FINALLY went to get our tree. Tighter than tight in the financial department (due to a year of hospitalization nightmares and lots of missed paychecks-the Family Medical Leave Act only guarantees your job not your pay), I made the executive decision to forgo the fancy nursery tree (you know the ones- you drive up and feel like you've really made it in life because you can tie the prettiest tree you've ever seen to the roof of your car in exchange for a crisp Benjamin Franklin)and go the "super center ghetto route".

Lily, Benjamin, Quinn, Liam and Clark (Tom and Seth in the background)

Since we were watching Liam's buds Clark and Quinn, we piled all six kids in the van and hauled it to our local Home Depot, which offered us zero customer service, but an affordable pile of evergreen. And it is pittiful, people. Just a step above a Charlie (Brown) but Liam picked it out and he and the other boys carried it shoulder-to-shoulder off the lot, which automatically means, in the manual of "The Good Mommy," that I have to love it.

So today, amidst major dysfunction (children playing an angry game of tug-o-war with the lights which escalated quickly into violent displays of sibling rivalry and parental outbursts) we dressed our tree, which looked fairly decent until we piled it full with 50% of our ornaments- now it looks like a seventy-five year-old woman with too much make-up on.
I can't deny the joy, however, in my children's eyes as they discovered, anew, the boxes of decor, bearing their names or photographs, or our annual ornaments, which I purchase every year, showing the gradual progression of our offspring (the '97,'98,'99 ornaments with one child, the '00,'01','02 with two, the '03,'04','05' with three and the '07, and now '08 with four -I forgot '06 so I need to get one to fill that void). I remember,as a child, how excited I would be to break into our Christmas boxes- seeing my mom's creativity spring forth-the log cabin she made of toothpicks, the pipe-cleaner cowboy and cowgirl, the hand-sewn winnie-the-pooh, the ordinary colored balls covered in cut-out shapes and letters. Despite not ever having many store-bought fancies, she knew how to make every branch special, and these are more priceless to me than any heirlooms our family may possess.

We are so blessed to have the opportunity to celebrate this season in the traditional ways- I often think of the family who lived across from us, when we were in our first house, who teetered on the edge of poverty at all times,whose presents came from a church donation site and whose nourishment was provided by the food bank. I remember walking into their home, Christmas Eve, with a loaf of pumpkin bread I had baked, to find, not the standard display of yuletide pine, but a length of garland, scotch-taped to the walls in the shape of a tree, with lights strewn all around it. Though, at the time, I harbored nothing but ill feelings toward that single-dad, whose fits of rage would echo through the court and into my livingroom, I can appreciate, now, the effort he put into giving his two young children something normal, a memory of this magical holiday, which, in its imperfection, was so special to them that night.

As I sit here, by the fire, gazing at our lopsided, needle bare, Douglas fir, I feel nothing but serene- even if we are a bit behind.


Sethy passing the time playing a solitary game of Connect Four, after pilfering the bottom boughs of our tree of the aptly placed plastic ornaments.

I am happy to report my return to the functional/happy side of myself- with sleep and support from my dear hubby and S-L-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-P......

Last night I stopped by a friend's house, where Liam was spending the night. I hadn't seen him all day and I wanted to slobber on him a little (to his outward chagrin). Well, two hours later, I was still there, belting out tunes from the eighties, in a rousing duet, on the PlayStation version of "SingStar." We don't currently own a game system (ahem....cough cough...Santa is coming...cough cough) so I had no idea the fun I was apprently missing out on. At certain points I felt sure Liam wished I would just go home- really, people, no self-respecting boy wants their mother crashing in on time with their buds, then going the extra embarassing mile of dancing around the livingroom in some frenzy, while attempting to rock to the music of Blondie. But, I felt at once, like my old self- totally revived. Sorry son- a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

As if things weren't bad enough already- feeling increasingly overwhelmed, around noon, I broke-down, took a shower and went upstairs to change, leaving my eighteen month-old on the other side of the gate, downstairs. The pillows on my bed too tempting, I laid down for a few minutes to try and gather some strength to keep going. Unbeknownst to me, Seth had found a bottle of almond extract in one of my baking cupboards, broke it on the tile floor, cut several of his fingers, and drank a fraction of the contents. I arrived to find his hands covered in blood and my older kids attempting to clean-up his evidence of his escapade. All of which did nothing but help me to feel like an even bigger loser-mom. I called poison-control, knowing that he'd consumed straight alcohol. They had me give him juice and monitor him closely for signs of drunkenness (my 18mo is already a drunk- go figure). So instead of taking a nice long nap this afternoon, I held Seth to be sure he didn't asphyxiate.

Here's the truth, people. The truth is that, as I took my second shower tonight, I pondered how "normal" would be defined and what parts of the stress I feel right now are "normal?" I know that good friends of mine find parenting half as many kids very difficult, but I also know that there are plenty of moms around the globe with more charges than I, who aren't experiencing any form of trauma on challenging days such as these...But, in a nutshell, I feel done. I feel done with the what-ifs and flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants while my husband travels about the east coast every other week. There's just too much at stake here, too many variables to contend with- to depend on, when its just me here to parent the kids 24hrs. a day. When I get a full-night's sleep, I parent sufficiently, and sometimes well. When I get two hours sleep, as I did last night, I sink into a vat of despair, where everything about my normal life is painful and overwhelming and impossible. And I don't know how to solve this dilemma. I just don't want to be left to feel this way anymore. It endangers my health and well-being. It alters, forever, the way I view my ability to parent my children. It damages my self-esteem in ways unmatched by words. And I deserve more. Period.

I decided to go ahead and try to post something this morning- things aren't going too well here today. Tom's away on a trip, which automatically makes life quite a bit more challenging for me. I held pretty close to schedule last night, which makes the evening run smoother, and, with the exception of Lily not feeling good and Benjamin having a serious outburst ("i hate you mommy- i want to punch you in the head mommy") when I asked him to get in the tub, I mothered my children okay. Then the nightmare began at 1am, with both Seth and Benjamin awake, coughing, restless, and laying in my bed. I alternated from trying to go back to sleep to wanting to jump out a window- rocking Seth down only to have Ben throw a huge tantrum and wake him up again. I got back to sleep, five hours later, at 6am, for an hour. All four kids are home today, Lily,Liam, and Seth are sick and Ben not due for kindergarten until this afternoon. I'd like to say that we're doing something creative and cozy, like building a nest and watching movies together but, frankly, I haven't the energy or the desire to be that nice. Everytime I turn around, there seems to be a disaster awaiting me- like Seth licking the toilet-bowl brush (can we all just puke now?) or Seth having diarrhea that shoots up to his shoulders before I catch it. Coping until tonight, when Tom should be home, seems utterly impossible, the minutes ticking by slower than ever....

Today was a weird compilation of tripping and falling then getting up and sailing through my day. In true Bonnie Dougherty fashion, and in honor of her most entertaining Christmas letter, I bring you my day in numbers:

2-number of times I read "The Gingerbread Boy" to classes at Southminster Nursery School, between 9:15 and 9:35
1- number of classes I stood up, by accident, and will have to bribe with extra good storytelling tomorrow
463- number of times I wanted to pummel Benjamin while I was faking a big smile and reading to preschoolers (he chose to run through the room, drop balls into a wooden Foosball table, then hang upside down looking completely bored as his way of setting an example for the younger kids around him)(he's staying home with Daddy when I read, from now on...period!)
1-number of sewer trucks parked in front of my house, when I got home at 10am, with bumper stickers that said "stoolbus"
150-number of dollars we shelled out this morning to have our sewer pipes cleaned of...something...probably non-sewage related like action-figures or McDonald's happy meal toys.
2-number of "sewer specialists" left to care for my one year-old while my husband fled the house to fetch his dry-cleaning (yes, people, I am married to a blithering idiot, who, at times, makes very poor judgements. his defense, for this momentary loss of sanity, as Sethy stood at the front door screaming "da-da" was that he saw me pulling up in the car and figured that counted for me being home....hmph)
2-number of malls I went to today, ALONE, to look for furry crocs for my five year-old for Christmas
0-number of furry crocs I found
90-number of dollars I spent at the toy-store, fed up with looking for crocs, and figuring that Ben really needs a lot of energy-sucking items, like hockey sticks and plastic-ball-tossing-and-catching-thingys anyway
80-average age of the group of ladies seated next to me at lunch. I ate a yummy spinach salad while eaves-dropping enviously on their cool gift exchange, which, sorrowfully, only yielded things like napkin rings and cheese plates. I silently amused myself with thinking how their luncheon would've gone up a notch with some strip poker cards and a Frank Sinatra blow-up doll in the mix. Oh, well.
25- number of minutes I spent pondering whether or not Tom Cruise is gay, while reading the latest issue of People magazine and having my hair cut. I am so desperate for good gossip- people.
1-number of mothers I called today to make sure their MRI didn't reveal any hidden brain tumors. Shocked, though, I was, to find out that my old lady's brain is perfectly in-tact, given the number of times I chide her about being a certified ding-bat. love you mom.
3-number of hours I spent at Borders this afternoon, reading (can you tell I'm gearing up for some hard days ahead? ah, the lonely life of a business trip widow).
12-number of times Tom called to ask "what's up?" "Coming home soon babe?" "are you reading any books on submitting to your husband?"
0-number of books I read about submitting to my husband
1-number of memoirs about a stripper, that I read, in their entirety, while lounging by the fireplace in Borders.
1-number of babies I flirted with while reading the book about a good-girl turned stripper, turned suburban mom, by the fireplace in Borders. This kid was so adorable. Usually when I get the chance to flee the coop, I don't want anyone under 25 anywhere near me. I couldn't resist this one, though- he just smiled behind his pacifier, and hung out, sauntering back and forth in front of my chair, giggling to himself. My mommy instincts totally kicked in and I totally wanted to pick him up and snuggle. Of course, his father, like some other wayward dads I know, left him to wander the back of the first floor while he read some titillating novel in an aisle about 50 feet away (actually, I think he was in the spiritual section flipping through Bibles, but the other idea sounded funnier).
3-number of kids awake in my house when I arrived home at 8pm
0-number of parents paying attention to those kids when I arrived home at 8pm
1-number of papers I helped to edit on the circulatory system by 8:15
infinite-number of times I thought to myself how lucky I am today.

I found myself silently amused today, while standing in a very long line at Target- In front of me stood a big and burly,forty-something gentleman, patiently waiting his turn behind about five toy-crazed grandmothers. He was carrying his lone item in his armpit- one of those fur toilet lid covers that i'm certain is exclusive to American culture. I kept thinking to myself, in between the stray ganders I was taking at the various tabloids alongside me, "did he really have to have a furry thing for his potty, on this cold day in December? Was it really worth braving the nutjobs out shopping for Hannah Montana barbie dolls, talking dinosaurs, and Guitar Hero to get that mysterious piece of decor, left-over from some wayward seventies trend? Or was it the only thing needed to complete his wife's bathroom makeover and he wasn't going to be able to watch the Steelers game in peace if he didn't go get it?" Either way, it was strangely funny to me and definitely fodder for my slightly frustrated mind.

Benjamin is my five year-old who has been the subject of many a frustrated rant here in the blogosphere. I am exhausted to the core by parenting him but he is teaching me a lot about my true self- the one who lurks in my soul-the extremely independent little girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and is prone to tantrums from time to time.

The Christmas season has us bustling, Ben and I. We've spent most mornings this week shuffling between the grocery store and Target- but really just keeping busy- which is how I am parenting him these days. So we chug-along, singing "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" about one hundred times in a row (this is his favorite song- mostly, I think, because he believes that old St. Nick is keeping an eye on his behavior and he's a little worried about the outcome...) Our worst moments come when there is a lull in the day and he feels listless and bored. While my other kids are content with watching T.V., reading, building with legos or even baking, Benjamin cannot seem to function under those parameters, and will begin abusing everyone around him or taking his life into his own hands by writing on the furniture or the walls with a Sharpie. He has an extremely high need for activity and I struggle to provide that, along with caring for his one year-old brother, and his older siblings, when they are home from school.

Today he nearly exploded in Costco, begging me to buy him a snow shovel. Reluctantly, I caved-in to this request, knowing that we probably needed another one anyway. Donning his usual Power Rangers costume, he proudly carried it out of the store, neglecting to bonk anyone on the head or butt in the process (whew!). And ya know what- he shoveled our entire walk-way and sidewalk before kindergarten! And loved every minute of it.


I have begged God to provide me with an instruction book on how to raise this son of mine, but I think the answers exist in places I am often not looking. Ben needs tasks that involve exerting his whole being- this isn't convenient for me as his mother, but this is who he is right now and our harmony is dependent on me respecting even the parts of him I that I feel I don't have the energy for.

Benjamin and I on a warmer day, last August.

Sunday Nights are performance evenings in our house- where each of us is given the "floor" to show-off what we've practiced during the week before.


My pores have been oozing music since the moment I was born and I share this love with all of my children daily. As I have mentioned previously here, Liam and I are both taking guitar lessons on Monday nights. Liam has this terrific teacher named Jasper who gives him hand-written lessons composed of the melodies for a variety of infamous rock n' roll songs. It has been fun watching Liam's confidence build as he masters each tune, particularly "Smoke On The Water," which he plays with particular fervor.

A couple of weeks ago Jasper assigned Liam the notes to "Iron Man," which at first I assumed was the theme song for the movie that debuted in theaters this year (and which my sons loved). But after listening hard to Liam attempting the song, I realized that it was, in fact, the Black Sabbath hit of the early seventies. I've never been a fan of that group, nor of Ozzy Ozbourne, growing up in an era where there was a lot of speculation and accusation of devil-worship amongst the hardest of the metal rockers, but I recognized, after watching their performance at LiveAid in 1985, that these were musicians with a lot of talent and the tunes were actually quite catchy. So last night, as on Sunday night, the kids and I took a gander on YouTube for some old "Iron Man" footage, along with what I consider the best of metal bands- Metallica, and the ever-talented, not metal, Freddie Mercury and Queen.

Watching Liam exude the passion for music that I felt as a kid, and still feel now, tickles me and provides us a way to bond with one another. Though I would prefer his tastes follow that of the less-vile genres in rock, I'm glad to see him come alive and understand the beauty that lies within this timeless expression.

Yummy pancakes- a regular Wednesday-Night Cuisine for the Sombar Family




Tonight, as it has been every week for some time now, is what I call "Wacky Wednesday" in our house. Basically, I fix dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner (though Tom got the big kids up and out the door this morning while I slumbered with Benjamin and Seth- so I have a feeling that he wasn't as creative with the first meal of the day). Usually I will make pancakes and sausage or bacon, with eggs. We all love the comfort of hotcakes with syrup and it turns out to be one of those dinners you can whip up without too much thought in advance.

Themed dinners have saved my ADD brain this year. I try to fix things which correspond to a particular culture for its respective day of the week. For example, Mondays are Mexican nights here so I'll prepare chicken enchiladas, tacos, chips/salsa. Tuesdays are Italian- we have spaghetti with both vegetarian and meat sauce (if Tom fixes it) and garlic bread, Thursday is Thanksgiving-Once-A-Week so we'll have chicken breast with herbs, stuffing, cranberry sauce, pumpkin muffins. Friday is pizza night, and if I'm good, I'll make the pizza (otherwise, we have it delivered). Saturday and Sunday we do sandwiches and chili-sometimes pot roast. Without this "schedule" of sorts, I fall into the ditch of despair at about 5pm when I open the fridge and find 5lbs of organic carrots and a bag of cheese staring me in the face and I haven't a clue how to feed my family. Then we end up throwing our money down the drain on take-out, or worse, fast food- which always makes me feel like a loser-mom.

Here's what's on the table this evening, in case you care to be inspired:

French Toast Casserole (with syrup and whipped cream as a treat!)
Hash Brown Heaven
Bacon/Sausage
Apple Sauce

Shawndra is a friend of a friend whose blog I was alerted to tonight. She is a 31 year-old mother, diagnosed with a rare form of colon cancer and battling for her life this evening. Her family is seeking prayers for peace and deliverance. You can gather more information on her life and journey toward healing here.

I love the idea of Christmas- stockings hung over our crackling fireplace, homemade ornaments of years gone by completing the wonder of our fresh cut tree. I love baking cookies (and eating them). I treasure my nativity scene collection, which details the handiwork of five continents, and which I add to every year from the Ten Thousand Villages Store at Bethany Beach. I adore watching the excitement in my children, on Christmas eve, as they thoughtfully create a plate of goodies to nourish Santa, and the glow in their eyes, in the morning, when their father escorts them, blindfolded, to the livingroom where their gifts await them.

But, I must also admit, that I'm becoming more and more dismayed by the reality of this season- the rushing around, the crowds and lines at stores, the purchase of meaningless gifts for people who we barely know or keep in touch with during the year, the debt.....I have thought many times that the secular holiday, which Christmas has become, should be made separate, somehow, from the celebration of Christ's birth- an association I can hardly identify with anymore for all of the commercialism we have succombed to.

We are, as in year's past, attempting to help our children understand the wealth of the lives they lead, as compared to others, by having them shop for and donate to a local agency which serves underprivelaged families. Today, after school, we'll be delivering items we purchased, along with those we solicited from Lily's Girl Scout Troop, to the South Hills Interfaith Ministry, an organization which allows parents to shop at low cost, from a room full of toys, for their kids, restoring in them the dignity of buying and giving the gifts to their loved ones themselves. But I feel, somehow, that we need to do more-that our participation in giving needs to be a greater gift of our time and efforts, rather than money. And for my children, as with most, there is still so much "me me me- i want, want, want," (which is normal) and not a lot of appreciation for what they have or for the basic needs of others who have so little. As a family, we truly have everything we need, and alot of what we want, and, because of this, Lily, Liam, and Benjamin have a harder time grasping the concept that they are the exception to the rule in this world, and that their time on this earth needs to be filled with serving more than getting.

The church I love (and from whom I've been delinquent too long now), The Church of the Open Door Pittsburgh, referenced this site- the Advent Conspiracy, in their newsletter. I will be pondering the ideas within its pages this weekend and thought you might find it interesting as well.

I'm wondering if any of you are feeling the same and what, if anything, you are changing about your traditions, to make Christmas a simpler yet spirit-filled holiday?

yesterday evening, at the dinner table, my daughter very kindly declared that she didn't know why I was tired because her father had fixed the meal- steam pouring from every orifice of my bod, i tried my best not to punch her while breathing in and out a hundred times. the truth is, people, that i had stood in front of the stove for forty minutes, flipping our weekly pancakes, and my husband, fresh home from his three day business trip, simply took care of the sausage while i soothed my weary head on the couch. and she couldn't understand why i was bitter...."what's wrong mommy? why are you looking at me like thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

but i am bitter. bitter and tired. while tom relaxed at National Airport yesterday, for hours, reading John Grisham's new novel, in its entirety, i was helping kids with homework, vacuuming like a fiend, picking up random toys and books from the living room floor, rescuing the various pieces of my nativity scene from about five rooms in my house, making fresh juice for Seth, making snacks and homemade popcorn for the kids, and trying to use the potty by myself (God forbid). and no one cares- no one appreciates these mundane days of mine or the livelihood I lack. and this morning, my darling husband decided that assisting me with the care of our male offspring while I ran Lily into the city for her yearly check-up was unimportant, trivial, "not worth taking time off"- so i drove into the deep hood of the burgh listening to my five year-old sing, over and over and over and over "banana phone- wah wah wah- banana phone- wah wah wah" while Lily complained of starvation and Seth made plans for how he will be paining his mother over the course of the next eighteen years. Then, my seething continued as the Dr. forced me to ponder the option of vaccinating Lily against the Human Papillomavirus (genital warts?!!!) "because we'll want her protected once she begins having intimate behaviors." "INTIMATE BEHAVIORS?!!!" "INTIMATE BEHAVIORS" "TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? THE DR. THINKS LILY NEEDS A VACCINE FOR HER BOODY.....IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU, YOU BIG BUTT-HEAD!!!" well Dr. H might as well have suggested that we sell her into slavery because i could hardly believe my ears... SHE'S NOT HAVING INTIMATE BEHAVIORS- SHE'S ELEVEN!!! AND BELIEVE ME, SHE WON'T HAVE HAD ANY INTIMATE BEHAVIORS BY NEXT YEAR WHEN WE RETURN EITHER, OR THE NEXT YEAR, OR THE NEXT. SO NO!! I DON'T WANT THAT DUMB VACCINE!!") while I was peeling Seth out of the bio-hazard filled trash can and listening to Ben utter continued nonsense and catapulting himself onto the exam table. Why must I function like this people- why is this even remotely okay? And Tom has the nerve to tell me that after his morning conference call, he spent a few hours doing some research on the net about our upcoming vacations.....Huh?!!!

So, today I've been throwing proverbial daggers at my loving hubby- in the form of demands that i return to a dignified career path, trying to force him into understanding my plight, he exclaims- "baby- you don't really want to get a paying job- that isn't really what you want...the kids need you here- they are better off because you're home- we just need to get you some more breaks!" breaks? breaks!!? yeah, right, people. maybe just making it so i don't have to be mauling two of my children in front of their pediatrician while contemplating the future sexual escapades of my first born child (emphasis on child), would be sufficient- ...and yes, i do want a REAL job- and as long as it doesn't involve constant neck-breaking work for zero pay- i will be a lot better off.

there- that's my tantrum for today. take it or leave it, friends- but its my life and I'm not sorry i said it.


And, oh, by the way, here are some links to the risks associated with the aforementioned HPV vaccine- Gardisil, in case you find yourself having a similar conversation with your child's pediatrician:

Gardisil and the link with Guillain-Barre syndrome

National Vaccine Information Center- Gardisil

I have found that most doctors are not well-versed on this information, though we make the aggravating trek to visit Dr. H because he is willing to have what are sometimes lengthy, but always educated discussions with me on the issues surrounding vaccinating my kids. It is well-worth the effort to scour the planet for physicians who will treat you, as a parent, with respect, not like a paranoid bubble-brained idiot- they exist but may not be easy to find at first.

Linda had been telling me for months that I needed to read "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls- she'd even hunted for it for me, quite feverishly, at our local library's book sale (shamefully, the next day, I realized I actually had bought the book a while back and had misplaced it somewhere in the gluttonous pile of literature I harbour in my bedroom- totally pathetic!). Finally, about a week ago, in my futile attempt to abandon my nighttime decorating porn habit, I picked up this memoir and whew, people, I was immediately hooked! I finished it yesterday, reading the last chapter aloud to Seth, who woke up early from his nap....

I always feel like I'm saying good-bye to a best friend when I read the last words of a treasured book- then it takes me a while to get into another one because I feel haunted by the voice of the previous author, and, for a time, nothing seems able to compare.

Growing up in economically challenging situations, as Jeannette Walls chronicles so magnificently, I think your stories are more colorful- you come to adulthood faster and more furiously- and you have strengths that others may not relate to or posses. You are also a more well-rounded person, one who is capable of empathizing and understanding the vast inequalities in the human experience. I come from an extra-large extended family, all of us, as children, treading the line of lower-middle-class life, at one end of the spectrum or another. Of the cousins that I feel closest to, Debbie and Shawnda,I know that we could all swap tales of hardships and triumphs, joys and heartaches, that our own children, with great relief, will never understand. Our parents were siblings who had survived the rigors of poverty with enough dignity and intelligence to create, in their offspring, a determination which has gotten us all a better life. I am thankful for that today- for my parents' good intentions, and their expectations of me to succeed, no matter what- the difference between children who rise above and those who don't, can be boiled down, very simply, to this, I believe- to having parents, or caring adults in one's life, who demand from you your very best, and who define greatness in terms that they may never have experienced themselves.


Shawnda and I- September '08- on our girl's weekend in D.C.,

Our family will take a moment today to remember all those, around the globe, who are currently fighting this horrible disease, as well as the millions of orphans on the continent of Africa, who desperately need our prayers and support.