All I Want For Christmas...Is For Someone Else to do my Christmas Shopping...

As THE Holiday draws nearer, I find myself in a panic (I find myself in this state more and more, these days) trying to figure out what to buy for everybody in my family.

For instance: What do you purchase for a mother-in-law, who is about as close to being a living saint as someone can get? To give you an idea of her worthiness of sainthood, let me tell you about the time that she won the baking contest for me. Not just "won the baking contest", but "won the baking contest for me".

I am a horrible cook. Really. I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to prompt you to say "no you're not" or "oh, you do just fine": I have no skill in the kitchen, whatsoever. Just ask poor MacG what he had for dinner last night. To make it worse, my sister-in-law is a professional chef. A really good chef, too!

I acknowledge my lack of kitchen mojo with equal parts shame and exasperation - with myself. So, when my Mother's Group was having a baking contest I panicked ( I told you!). I decided to ask my mother-in-law to teach me how to make her failsafe, delicious, (excuse the pun here) cannot fudge up recipe for fudge.

Let's just say that I can fail even the failsafe recipe, when it comes to standing anywhere in the vicinity of stove or oven. Or a spatula. I have some success with the microwave, but even that isn't always a given. The first batch was gritty and inedible. So, looking at me with pity (because I was perhaps the only person she had ever seen who screwed up the fudge recipe - or maybe it was all in my imagination. I doubt it) my MIL offered to help me with another batch.

We both looked skeptically at batch #2 and decided to let it sit overnight, as if the Fudge Fairy was planning on making an appearance and BAM! turning the lumpy, bumpy, mass of chocolate into something fabulous.



I did not hear from my baking tutor the next morning. The baking contest was scheduled for just after dinner. At around three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang and who did I find on my porch? Why, it was Saint MIL: holding a large tray of the most beautiful Peanut Butter Blossoms that you've ever seen. You know: the cookies with the Hershey's Kiss pressed artfully into the center?

I won the baking contest with those cookies. It was a contest where you put in $5 and get to take the pot if your dessert is selected as the King of Desserts - so I made around $50.

I felt guilty afterwards and told them that I was not the artist who created the beautiful blossoms. In all honesty, they knew me, so they should have realized that such a fantastic creation couldn't have emerged from my impossibly unskilled fingers. They were forgiving and sweet and told me to take Saint MIL out to lunch. I think I did, I can't remember.

I sure hope I did.

SEE? How do you find a Christmas gift for someone like that?

One year, I was so stumped about what to get my grandfather that I got him a rock.

Yep, a rock.

It wasn't just any rock, though. I actually had to get military clearance to remove this rock from a U.S. Army Base.

My grandfather found The Rock when he was stationed as a Major on the base, in the 1960's. He found it at a nearby rocky mountain just had to have it, so he and one of his fellow army dudes loaded it onto their jeep and dumped in in a field near the officer's quarters. He loved the darn thing, because it had a white circle on the top of it, with a little river of white spilling down the side.

He thought it looked like God, Himself, had set a big white paint can on it while painting the clouds.

Fast forward 40 years and The Rock was still where he had left it, but was now a part of the landscaping in the parking lot for the base Post Exchange.

My grandfather used to take us to visit The Rock. He would make us salute it.

I'm not joking.

I managed to get clearance from the Commanding Officer of the base (wow, did I feel rad and all Army-like writing that!) through a long string of emails and phone calls, to remove The Rock. However, it literally weighed a ton and had been sinking into the dirt for four decades.

The Commanding Officer arranged for us to have a tractor and a tractor driver, too. They met Me, MacG and Sis on sunrise, three days before Christmas - and pulled our gift out of the PX parking lot island. It dropped into the bed of MacG's truck and almost blew a hole right through it.

On Christmas Eve, my brother met us at grandfather's house and we snuck (as much as people can sneak a monolith through the bushes at midnight) it into the front yard, using brute strength and a wheel dolly. Thus completed Operation Rock Rescue.

You have never seen a reaction like his, when we led our grandfather out the front door in the morning. Tears streaming down his well worn face, he yelled "My ROCK! My ROCK!" He wrote a song about it later. He also wrote a poem.

And that, my friends, was the perfect gift for a man who already had everything...



So, uh, what am I supposed to get everyone this year?

Eureka

I'm pretty sure that the people who hand out Halloween whistles in lieu of treats don't have a 6 and 8 year-old musical team living in their homes.

So far, two of them have -uhm, mysteriously- disappeared from my house.

I meant the whistles, not the children.

I keep saying, "I don't think this is a good time/place (it switches back and forth with great regularity) to blow that thing." But honestly, when is it a good time to make noise with an off-key pumpkin? Bean had one in his hand when he was getting out of the car for Sunday School, last weekend. Good time for it? Nope. Peanut picked one up at 6:45 on Tuesday morning. Another not-so-great time for the darn thing.

I found one in my purse, while I was at the gas station this morning. This one was a purple ghost with a mouthpiece up his heinie.

It accidentally fell into the trash, when I was operating the pump. That's okay: I think I have another one in my kitchen.

While I was looking for my wallet, I found a few other strange things in my bag:

A camping headlamp
Nine green Army men
An Easter egg eraser
A Lego Tonton
My Brighton earring, which matches the one that Peanut lost
A receipt for some pants that I bought in July. Of 2009. The purse was a Christmas gift from last year.
Taco Bell Mild Sauce (thank goodness I found that before it decided to explode)
A flip flop

Yes, you read that last one correctly: I had a shoe in my purse. The bag has a zip-up compartment in the middle of it - perfect for storing one tote-along shoe. Peanut brought the flip flop somewhere for some reason (I almost wrote "thong", but the idea of writing about my 8 year-old daughter's thong made me totally cringe). Just one. Hey: when I say that my little girl is an original thinker, I'm not exaggerating.

No wonder my shoulder hurts all the time.

OK: I heard that! Whether you were thinking, "Sounds like it's time to clean out your purse!" to hurt my feelings, sound humorous - or if you were offering genuine, helpful advice- I heard it.

I'll do it. Besides, I might find some really cool stuff in there that I haven't seen for a while.

Maybe I'll find MacG's plaid Banana Republic pants that poofed into thin air, when we were moving three and a half years ago(that really was a mystery - not a "mystery"), or my Great America season tickets that we never found in 1995.

Or maybe I'll just have a lighter purse.

Thinking Outside of the Box - Doh! I Meant "Inside"

We were headed to a halloween party at our church and, unlike some of you perfect parents out there, I haven't purchased the pieces for the kids' "real" costumes, yet. Since Peanut and Bean have enough costumes to transform every child within a two mile radius, I felt confident that they would find something fantastic in the Ikea bins, upstairs.

Before I continue, let me mention that after a lifetime of being involved in theater - I have a true love for costumes. Seeing people turned into a plant, animal, or mythical creature is akin to some kind of crazy magic. I, myself, have been hired to design and/or costume children's theater productions for many years (okay- OKAY! Those who really know me will want me to mention-in full disclosure- that a lot of those costumes were sewn with a glue gun. In all fairness, it's really hard to sew foam!).

MacG and I were sitting on the couch, when we heard, "We're ready for the costume party!" My daughter's sweet little munchkin voice was proceeded by her appearance, as Elphaba - that's the Wicked Witch of the West, for those of you who haven't been acquainted with the musical, "Wicked".

"You have to paint me green!" She cackled. I agreed.

Then came Bean. We could hear him thumping uncertainly down the stairs and craned our necks to see what fabulous character he had chosen.

My son had decided to attend the church costume party, as a Cardboard Box.

Peanut had "designed" the getup. It had a large box with armholes for the suit and a smaller box with eyeholes for the mask. She had drawn a mustache on the front of it.

A Cardboard Box?!

I am ashamed to admit the next part:

I said, "Wow, guys. Really...uh...creative. You couldn't find a real costume to wear?"

*Ouch* I feel awful for having said that. Thank goodness Peanut responded with:

"This IS a real costume, Mom. I worked really hard on it." Bean nodded his square head.

Well, okay, then.

I painted Peanut's face (and the inside of her ears and back of her neck: it had to be right. It was really hard to remove.) green and off we went. My children had been thinking outside of the box, while creating this recycled facade. My son was now, literally, thinking inside of the box - and I had to deliver him to the party in his new, square state.


Bean was disturbed that people kept mistaking him for a robot. "I. AmaBOX!" He would correct them.

After some spooky fizzy punch and carnival games, came the costume parade. Ian donned his mask - it's pretty difficult walking around with a box on your head - and joined the circle.

The kids walked around in circles and a microphone voice called, "And now, the judges will tell you what they've decided."

You mean the costumes were being judged? *Sigh*

"For funniest costume: The Box!"


Bean went to accept his award and I was flooded with pride (and guilt for having tried to talk him out of wearing it). Peanut spent the remainder of the evening bitterly telling anyone who would listen, that the concept was hers, dammit (all right, she didn't say "dammit" - she's only eight - but you could hear it in her voice)! Bean agreed to share the chocolate bar that he had won and all was well.

This was my latest lesson on not trying to stop my kids from being creative and unique. Sometimes it's a hard lesson to learn...

Luckily, my children are very persistent and persuasive.

And creative and unique.

An Hour Drive That Lasted Three and a Half Hours. Three Hours and Forty-Two Minutes, to be Exact

Have I ever told you that I have a paralyzing fear of heights?

I'm not talking about "climbing up the ladder" heights. I'm talking about "driving on a on-way dirt road looking over the ocean/a steep canyon/a severe drop into sharp conifer trees" heights. Whenever I know that there is going to be a road like that in my future over which I absolutely must travel, I make MacG drive. I close my eyes, hold onto the door handle with a force that turns my knuckles a bluish white, and say really bad words under my breath. I don't open my eyes until he tells me we've survived. Unfortunately, we live in a state, which is home to many, many beautiful mountains and we find ourselves traveling on these awful, quaint roads too often for my liking.

I got to drive myself across three such roads, this week. Well, okay, two such roads: I was hopelessly lost and went over one of them twice.

Peanut (she's eight) was going on a school camping trip to one of our state parks, with two 3rd/4th grade classes. Yes, that's forty-seven eight through ten year-olds. I volunteered to go with them. I was in charge of all the food for the kids and around fifteen adults - and I had forgotten the peanut butter. I figured that the odds of someone in this particular group needing peanut butter for making their lunch sandwich the following day was pretty high, so I stopped at the grocery store on the way out of town. I would only be ten or fifteen minutes behind the rest of the caravan, I figured.

Big mistake.

Really big.

I should have brought another parent with me to navigate, but every seat in my little (totally not-a-mom) car was completely filled with food. Along with my duffel bag, the front seat had several condiments lined across the seat and piled up on the floor. Do you know how much ketchup this age group eats? The back seat was covered with twelve watermelons. And they were heavy! I could feel my car accelerating quite a bit slower than usual. The trunk looked like a fruit cart: 90+ Gala apples, three bags of oranges, enough grapes to feed... well around 70 people. There wasn't any room in that car for someone to hold the map. Barely enough room for the map!

So I ended up on the wrong side of the coast. On a one-lane, dirt road. Overlooking the ocean. Twice.

The drive started out quite wonderfully: I had moon roof open, windows down all around. I had my favorite teen vampire soundtrack on superloud. There was a Cherry Coke Zero in my drink holder. Since I don't normally go on solo road trips, I was relishing the breeze and the music.

I had used an online map service, which had given me the direction to travel up the coast, find this nightmarish road and turn left onto a street - which hasn't existed for around 40 years. Apparently, it would have brought me into the back entrance to my destination. Forty. Years. Ago.

I had become desperate enough to ask an old man on a motorcycle for some guidance. He had a giant handlebar mustache, which bounced when he said, "I don't know what- in- the- hell you are talking about. I've lived here for half of my life and I've never heard of that road." He was yelling through my window: "You are at least fifty miles away from where you want to be."


Since I was in charge of cooking and it was almost time for our little campers to eat dinner - I began to panic. Just a little. As I headed back down the highway, I noticed that the fog was closing in on my little silver car, making it look like I was driving on a thoroughfare in the middle of the ocean. It was so awesome.

You realize that I'm being facetious, right?

I was sick to death of teen vampire music, at this point. I had listened to all three movies (don't hate) and I was done. My own racing heart accompanied the raucous bouncing of melons on the backseat, setting a rhythm for my trek across the coast.

I stopped at the first McDonald's that I could find and bought a giant Coke, so I didn't feel like a dork being there. But not one person who worked there "ever knew that we even had state parks". They referred me to an

extremely

slow

talking

man,

who had a crumb of something McFried on his lip. He told me to goheregothereandturnleft (only much slower than that). It turns out that he really meant to turn right, because when I next stopped at Burger King (I interrupted a domestic dispute to ask for directions) they sent sent me back the way I came. I bought a cup of coffee before I left.

On my way out the door, a much younger motorcyclist than the first one said, "Listen. I'll tell you how you can get where you're going. For real, this time." And he did.

I made it to our campsite by 5:01pm. The school camping schedule had stated that we would begin to cook at five. "You're late!" One of the kids said, beginning to unload the watermelons.

He had no idea...

Tenth Anniversary of the Tasty Titanic

My wedding cake was ugly.

It wasn't tacky or cutesy, or anything like that - the caterer dropped a case of soda on the "real" one on the morning of my Big Day, so they tried to make another one realquick and frosted it while it was still hot.

It looked sort of like the Titanic: Listing to the side, as if it had recently collided with a gnarly ice burg. The little bride and groom were up to their knees in white liquid sugar and roses looked like they were melting down the sides. It cost us hundreds of dollars, but my mom made sure that she got a refund.

When we arrived at the reception, my mother blocked my way to the door. The following conversation is the best recollection that my memory can serve:

MOM: Uhm, we have a problem. It's the cake. It's, well, you might have to see it for yourself...
ME/BRIDE: *GASP* What happened to it?
MOM: It...It looks like it is a little bit squashed, it-
ME/BRIDE: Squashed? What do you mean squashed?
MOM: They ruined the first one, so-
ME/BRIDE: You mean the ugly cake is the second cake?
MOM: Yes.

I looked at my new husband and decided that a sinking cake wasn't going to ruin our special day. We burst into laughter and my mom gave a huge sigh of relief. MacG and I made our grand entrance to "Groove is in the Heart" and we sailed by the disgraceful dessert as we crossed to our table.

Although it had the appearance of being slowly sucked into the Bermuda Triangle, and by the time we cut it it had turned from a three- tiered cake into a lumpy one-tiered cake, we had no option other than to serve it to our two- hundred- and- some- odd guests.

It was delicious.

Life is like that sometimes, isn't it? My mother once told me this: "Life is not beautiful. You have to make it beautiful." I believe her. How many times have things gone terribly wrong, but the way you handled the situation made it even better than it could have been, otherwise? It happens to me all the time... Some of my favorite trips, friends, and purchases have become my most beloved, due to some sort of unplanned calamity.

We had a fantastic reception. It was ten years ago, this month. Looking back, I wouldn't have changed a thing - except that some of the people that I now hold near and dear would have been there. But, at the time I didn't know that they existed. I guess you can't have everything.

However: You can have your ugly cake.

And you can eat it, too.

The Haunted Hospital

I could say that I'm surprised to see that the Halloween stuff has taken over the shelves at most stores in our area - but if I did I'd be lying. I saw some at the local dollar store in July. It made my brain feel a little funny, to see the red white and blue "You're a Grand Ol' Flag" banners next to the Frankenstein Paint-a-Piggybanks.

My six year old son, Bean, has a reputation for being terrified of pretty much anything which signifies the orange and black holiday. Last year, MacG brought our daughter into the Spirit Halloween Store to look for a costume. We all went on this little trip, because we decided to visit the Bounce House Patch after - to see if they might actually have some pumpkins there. Bean refused to enter the store. I couldn't blame him: Once you walk in, every terrifying animatronic/robotic statue in existence begins to gyrate, scream, shake and moan once the motion sensors have been activated.

The boy and I sat on the curb eating a bag of chocolate from the Sees shop, next door. Peanut left the Spirit store with a big bag of bloody gauze - she planned to use it to make her own costume.

Bean wouldn't allow the gory purchase to sit on the seat between them. He requested that it be locked in the trunk. I'm going to guess that out of the two children, he will not be my future horror movie-watching buddy. There is definitely hope for Peanut.

Although the things in the store are pretty scary, the only truly frightening place that I've ever been is the hospital. Now, I don't want to sound like your old Aunt Marge, who constantly complains about her various ailments. I know that with me, eventually my thoughts always returns to my wonky back. But this time it really does have something to do with the story!

I want to tell you about my time in The Haunted Hospital.

So, my spine surgeon is a talented guy. He builds things out of titanium and plants them in your body and you're able to walk, when once you might have had a lot of trouble getting around. But, he wanted to do my most recent surgery in a hospital that was about to shut down and change hands. In fact, I was the last living patient in the entire facility.

Okay, there was one Other Guy - but his family was just waiting for the doors to close, so that they could unplug him. I'm not being funny: This was actually the case.

The surgery was scheduled to be completed by mid-morning and I was supposed to be able to leave before dinner.

Didn't happen that way.

I ended up staying for FIVE DAYS.

The place was completely deserted. There was yellow Caution tape criss-crossed over the doors of the offices and rooms that had already been cleaned and sanitized. There weren't any doctors there, except one that was under contract to watch over me and the Other Guy. My own Doctor had left the country on vacation with his family, because he hadn't expected me to be hanging out there for so long.

The hallways were always dark, except directly in front of the room in which I was enjoying my stay. The same three nurses were always somewhere nearby and two physical therapists would visit daily and make me hobble around the eerie, shadowed halls with my walker.

The only people who visited were the Other Guy's wife, my family and our pastor. Everyone always looked very uncomfortable to be paying a visit, during my time at Casa de Creepy.

The night before I was able to leave, I had to sleep in a different room - because they were scheduled to renovate my room.

In the morning, there was yellow tape over my former door. Needless to say, I was thrilled to be given my walking papers. As I walked toward the exit, I passed the Other Guy's room. His family was saying goodbye.

If that hospital wasn't haunted when I got there, it surely is now...

October 17, 1985

On Tuesday it seemed like my house was haunted. We go to the front door and you can hear the television. when I opened the door I saw a flash and it was off. We herd footsteps and someone sliding on the loose carpet in the hall so we ran out to E's house. We got to her house and I said "let me lock the door". because I left it unlocked when we ran out, so we went back and it was locked!

Sounds like someone had been reading too much Stephen King...

Whoomp There it is

Because driving around in my car listening to Raffi is about as much fun as hanging out with Yours Truly after a week without thyroid medication, I decided to liven things up a bit with a mix tape. Wait - did I actually just say "mix tape"? What decade is this? What I meant was mix CD: which is probably just as bad, because I really should have moved on to an iPod by now. Right?

Anyway, I sat down with my good friend, iTunes, and decided to begin with a theme. Themes can be dangerous - just ask MacG. I made him a mix tape many years ago (that really was a tape), because he was going on a road trip with a touring punk band. I decided the theme should be any song that had travel words in the title: street, road, etc. Ask him how hard-core he felt, when the Disneyland Electric Light Parade song came up next in the queue. I hid that little gem somewhere between "Stepping Stone" and "Fascination Street".

So my theme for this week's mix is "weird songs". I thought the kids would enjoy hearing things that were a little off-beat.

Among songs that I included are:

Dead Man's Party (Oingo Boingo)

Turning Japanese (The Vapors)

Thriller (Michael Jackson, of course)

Dig That Groove Baby (Toy Dolls)

Yeah, I already know that my list gives away my age big time.

The last song that I picked was "Tootsie Roll" by 69Boyz (and yes, I did feel like a big dorky mom, writing that title/group name just now). I found it in our iTunes library and realized that I hadn't heard it in a while. Well, it turns out that I haven't listened to it in a long while.

A very. Long. While.

Did you know that that piece of musical genius starts out with:

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh 1994..."?

NINETEEN NINETY- FOUR??? That means it was from SIXTEEN years ago! How the heck did that happen? All I remembered about it was "to the left, to the left, to the right, to the right,to the front, to the front, to the back, to the back, now slide...".

NINETEEN NINETY-FOUR.

I was probably wearing a half-shirt and jeans with a cinched waist, the last time I heard that song! I think I was past the gigantic hair/bangs phase, but surely my belt was above my belly-button. I am certain that there was a pager somewhere in that glorious ensemble - I had to be able to send MacG a pre-texting era text, to find out the"4-1-1" for that evening's plans. Maybe watching a little "Life Goes On" to see what Corky was up to, or "Beverly Hills 90210" to check in with Brenda and Brandon?

Nineteen Ninety-Four.

Whoomp - there it is...

October 10, 1985

Today we told about our parents childhood. I told that when my father was little if something was neat they'd say twitchen! The fads were wide belts and beattle cloths. and the singers that were popular were the beattles and the beach boys. also gum costed five cent's and a candy bar costed ten cents. When my mom was young fishnet stockings, go-go boots, and psycadelic was in style, and everybody had had a skateboard. The singers they would listen to were the beattles and the beach boys and Twiggi the model was in style and gum costed one cent and candy bars costed five cents. also when she was camping with grampy and uncle paul a big bull came out bhind a rock and followed them when they were walking untill they got into their car and drove away. I bet they had an interesting childhood! They had fun it sounds like. I've heard them say other things they did.