Stranger Than Fiction

Sarah at Slouching Past 40 challenged her readers to write a story in 100 words. This is my submission and my true story:


It was a Sunday night and she’d opted not to stay at her fiancé’s house but head back to her place to start off the week.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, the house simply “felt funny.” Still, she saw nothing unusual in the semi-darkness. Flipping lights as she went, she walked toward the bedroom.

As she reached for the closet door, he stepped out.

“Please don’t,” he asked as she backed away, reaching for the phone. For a moment she almost stopped. If he just left, it would be okay.

Then, “No. Never again.” She dialed the police.

Anatomy of a Guy Friendship

Last week, after school, HRH caught sight of some kids playing ball and decided to join them. I was pleased as HRH has recently given up most forms of outdoor play, preferring Legos, TV, Wii, Homework, pretty much anything to outdoor exercise. I was also pleased because he insinuated himself into a group in which he knew no one and just waited his turn until it became clear he was indeed included.

The game proceeded for the better part of an hour while I chatted pleasantly with some other mommies over by the play structure. Suddenly, a loud scream rent the air and we all turned to see the victim. It was HRH, running toward me, crying, clutching his crotch! Oh...crap.

As we sat, me cradling HRH, him cradling his package, we managed to piece together what had transpired:

Another boy had been 'fake punching' HRH to make him flinch, then calling him a scardy cat (aside: strange word to spell, funnier that kids still use it). HRH in turn pulled a fist up to the the bully's face and told him he'd "show him scared". I'm actually perfectly okay with HRH's actions and truthfully quite proud of him for standing up for himself in the face of an older (2nd grade) kid. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't as impressed and instead kicked HRH squarely between the legs!

We were able to identify which child and his appropriately horrified mother dragged him away for some serious talking-to. After everyone had calmed down, the mother brought her little hooligan son to HRH to offer an apology. The boy seemed genuinely contrite and HRH accepted graciously.

Since that day, he and HRH have been seeking each other out to play; ball, tag, whatever. His name is Gabe.

And I'm pretty sure he's going to be an usher at HRH's wedding.

Nearly Wordless Wednesday - Frightful

Heading into the drop-off line at HRH's school.

Please Stand for Our National Anthem

God bless my barista
Man that I love
Stand in line here
Get mine here

Day or night
Venti's right
Chai I love

From the drive thru
To the Target
Back to Starbucks
Light, no foam

God bless my barista
Live in
My home

**Originally posted last year, around this time. I unconsciously sing it almost every (day) time I head there. I'm thinking about the second verse. Any ideas??

Do You Believe in Magic?

I could never have planned it this perfectly. It started completely innocently, with my sister dialing her pediatrician, who happens to share our area code and exchange, and accidentally calling us. HRH answered the phone and ended up chatting with my five-year-old nephew on speaker (HRH talks to everyone on speaker). Josh's first question was "Did you make a bed for your elf?", which was met with a resounding "huh?" from both boys.

Now our Elf on the Shelf has been residing in my glove compartment since I purchased him at Barnes and Noble last week. At first, I was trying to figure out how to introduce him, perhaps a letter? should he just show up? did the book seem a little cloying? Then, quite honestly, I simply forgot about him. But this? Kid-to-kid rumor transmission? Flawless! Auntie and I finally wrestled the phone away from the young 'uns and - still on speaker - we asked her a series of questions regarding the Elf's mythology:

The magic Elf is on recon, sent by Santa to monitor the behavior of boys and girls and report his findings back to The Big Man and Mrs. Claus.

Rule 1: You must prepare a bed for the Elf
Rule 2: Children must never touch the Elf
Rule 3: Children may speak to the Elf but only grown ups can hear him talk back
Rule 4: You adopt your Elf by naming him
Rule 5: The Elf returns to the North Pole each night to provide intel.
Rule 6: Each morning, you will most likely have to search for the Elf, who likes to hide, the little trickster.

We had just bought Gremlin a new pair of sneakers today and have a brand new, cozy shoe box that seems like a perfect Elf bed to me. Step One? Check! Next, we went up to the linen closet to find a nice, soft hand towel for a blanket. The first one I pulled out? Red with green piping and a big Santa appliqued on the front. Step Two? SCORE! We were so on our way!

Lastly, some concern has been expressed about Santa knowing that it was time to deploy the Elf. Through a follow-up phone call to Auntie, we learned that while she did indeed already have her Christmas tree, she felt sure that Santa, seeing the Christmas lights on our house would know we were preparing for Christmas, regardless of our tree status.

In addition to the bed, the boys have set aside cookies and a juice box, and queued up a movie - A Christmas Story - should the Elf wish to watch it. And just in case, instructions for operating the DVD player have been yelled out the back door. In a little less than an hour, Daddy will arrive home to find an Elf sitting on our stairs and will bring him inside, to meet the family.

I can hardly wait!!

Quick Takes Friday - Post Thanksgiving Edition

1. Sung before meals at our preschool:

I'm thankful for my friends
And my family
I'm thankful for the food I eat
I'm happy to be me

I think it sums things up rather nicely.

2. This Thanksgiving, we went over the (Cape Cod) canal and through the traffic to Andy's sister's house on The Cape. His brother's family came up from Tennessee. My other two BILs were also in attendance. I understand so well the look of contentment on my MIL's face at having all her children and grandchildren together under one roof. True cause for giving thanks.

3. After staying at the table for a very civilized amount of time, HRH went up to his Auntie Sally and asked to be excused. When my BIL's parents were leaving, Gremlin shook hands with Mr. H and gave Mrs. H a hug. This is me, beaming with pride.

4. The problem with eating Thanksgiving away from home is the decided lack of leftovers. I will be remedying this situation by cooking a turkey tomorrow.

5. This afternoon, we've been sitting in front of the fire, watching Christmas movies (and Star Wars), eating popcorn and drinking hot cocoa. Not a bad way to spend the day.

6. One of the movies was a recently acquired DVD of Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol. One of Andy's very favorites.

7. Daisy spent the night alone at our house with my siblings coming by for company and pee breaks. Maddie never spent a night alone or in a kennel in her entire life. Day-Z is definitely headed for second child syndrome.

I hope you all enjoyed your holiday and were able to spend it with friends and loved ones. Having you as my friends is one of the many things for which I am grateful.

When Sally Met Forty

Harry Burns: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally Albright: Which one am I?
Harry Burns: You're the worst kind; you're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
Sally Albright: I don't see that.

Andy drives a 2005 Saab 93. He picked it up, brand-spanking-new, the day Gremlin was born. After Gremlin was born (we'll talk later). It's already got over 100,000 miles on it thanks to his 110-mile-a-day commute. It's never been in an accident but it's had the windshield replaced, the little Saab medallions on the hood and trunk have lost their paint, we need to get yet another set of tires, and it seems to go through headlights at at unusually high rate. Now, it's got some issue with the front struts, which is going to be pricey. It still looks pretty good and it drives like the wind.

The thing is? In these past (14) few months, somewhere between turning 40 and now? Much like the Saab, I've become high maintenance. I was taking an assessment the other day;

• I still need to lose those last (20) 10 pounds.
• I was trying to decide whether I was in more dire need of a hair cut or color. The answer was both.
• My eyebrows were about to connect with my eyelashes.
• Doing my makeup used to entail a little eyeliner and mascara. It now involves both concealer as well as foundation before we even get to the actual "make up" portion.
• I won't delve too deep into specifics but lets just say there's tweezing and plucking over which I must keep strict vigilance.
• Shorts Capri season is over so leg-shaving is definitely taking a back seat. Sexxay.
• My nails are snapping off at an alarming rate due to my obsessive compulsive hand washing.

From my heels to my hair, I can't think of an area of my body that doesn't require some kind of ongoing upkeep. I watch my husband get ready in the morning. Shower, shave, dress, leave.

Is it time to trade in for a newer model? Nah. Do I still clean up pretty well? Sure. But damn. All this maintenance is time-consuming and costly. Just like driving the Saab.

How are you holding up?