Christmas Magic

The office Christmas party?  Dull, but no one showed their girdle. Big boss had walked in the office with a big smile on his face the day before and I had just cut him a look (not the right thing to do at all, but I had just drawn my hands out of a stranger’s commode.  My rubber glove had torn, so the toilet water had touched my hand and by the time stupid boss guy flashed his giant grin, I was in no mood to pretend “it’s all good”.).  I thought I could sort of tell he and his wife were treating me differently, but whatever.  I can only re-iterate that we aren’t really friends(I have spent more time with the tellers at my bank this year).  He feels there has to be a party and we feel compelled to attend.  Fortunately, the other partner hosted with her new husband.  The food was great, they had a gift for each household (beyond the ornament exchange)and Mickey and I brought home the gag gift, per usual.  On the way there, we realized we had forgotten to pay the mortgage, so I never really entered in, anyway.

Anyway.

Yeah, still procrastinating on the Santa thing with the boy.  He is keeping his mouth shut after his sister who cares not about anyone else’s feelings hollered, “There’s no Santa,” at him. I think he thinks she is wrong.  He and I need to discuss it.  We were out the other day and there was an instrumental recording playing and Mickey asked me what the song was… It was ” I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”.  He got a look on his face like “Eeew, how completely inappropriate.”

In the meantime, I am beginning to doubt my stance.  Occasionally, that little inner voice has whispered, “You hate fun,” since I posted in September about my kids making their own fun, then about not Trick or Treating; I have more an more often seen myself from the outside looking in.  It looks like we haven’t had much fun with the kids or each other or anything else.

In spite of all this, Christmas is coming anyway.

Somehow, friends have come alongside.  We could not have done anything without their help.  There will be presents under the tree.  We are total charity cases this year, but God has reminded me that He sees.  His people are His hands and His feet.  It is irritating to be humbled.  It is humbling finding out who cares most about you and who either doesn’t care enough to know or knows and doesn’t care enough to just squeeze a hand.

By His grace:
-bills are current.
-there will be something under the tree.
-stockings will be filled.
-Mickey is still employed. (They haven’t done the holiday firing. Yet.)
-friends have gathered around to encourage us.
-there is plenty of food in the kitchen.

Amongst all the emotion and the fight for fun…  I realized that last week marked the anniversary of Mickey’s mother’s death, 2 years ago.  6 years ago, this week, my grandma and great-grandma passed away within 27 hours.  Gah, no wonder we struggle to enjoy the season.  So that is filed away.

This afternoon, we are going to “Market Square” to the Holiday Ice Skating place and a friend and I will visit while our children skate.  See.  I am fun.

The girls got to go Swing Dancing with college friends on Monday night.  See? Fun!!! Right?

I don’t know what tomorrow holds.  But I can’t prove that Santa didn’t put me back in front of Jesus again this year.

I Prefer to Think of It as Applied Psychology.

Pass the Zantec and the Xanax.  It is not getting through to them, that I am unable to go with them every place they go.  I am unable to stamp the foreheads of the people they will meet with “safe” or “toxic”.  I can’t use their common sense for them.  I am more than willing to clarify whatever their conscience alludes to…

BUT UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD I EVER AGAIN FIND MYSELF IN DANGER OF LOSING ONE OF MY FRIENDSHIPS BECAUSE YOU ARE AFRAID TO STAND UP FOR WHAT IS RIGHT.

Modern Psychology would have me think that my teens cannot make moral judgements.  Neurologically, they are changing so fast that blah, blah, blah.

If this were true, and it is  not, how do you explain people who just simply never ever get into these situations.

I didn’t.

It seems that the pattern is that my children make extraordinarily dumb moves and somehow, some way, there is always another child nearby who is responsible but not them.

*sigh*

Really?

Last night, I will admit.  I yelled.  I wasn’t going to yell.  I was going to keep my own counsel and let these little operators reap what they sowed.  But one said, “What’s wrong with you?”  Not to be left out of the impending nuclear holocaust, her sister followed with, “What are you mad about?”

I told them I wasn’t going to talk about it.

They are still pretty young, America.  It did not occur to them to think, “Good for me.”  Instead, they seem to have thought, “We need to help mom realize she has no reason to be mad. After all, we are perfect as far as she knows, that should make her life nirvana.”

A comment slipped out.

The perceptive one who usually gets when to keep a low profile, blurted out, “Oh the [Friend’s Name] thing.”

As distinct from what other things I don’t know about yet?

“I apologized.”

So?

Well, at this point her sister had some other minimizing comment and I saw red.

Suffice to say, I lost my voice last night.

Ugly as hell sin.

While I yelled, I made the Monday evening spaghetti sauce that I am way too proud of.  I got down in startled faces, and ran back into the kitchen to arrange pepperoni on top of the simmering skillet and topped the whole mess with shredded mozzerella and a domed lid.  I made garlic toast on bakery sandwich rolls. (And Type A got it, that even though I am chewing your ass rear right on off, I love you and want to bless you.  Ya little beast.)

While my daughters tried to finneagle a reason that the problem is mine.  Not theirs.

The.  Hell.  It.  Is.

They are big enough and “neurologically able” to know when they are taking the side of wrong.  They chose the mean girl over the nice girl, watched the mean girl twist the knife, and hoped to get to the grave without me finding out.

What they have is misplaced fear.  We all fear something.  The Bible says the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.  In this case, they preferred to fear the small bitch with the big mouth.  Rather than God, me, or that this little girl WOULD hurt them the way she hurt their friend.

I have been checking around with moms, and uniformly, they admit they were afraid of the repercussions if their parent should find out they had misbehaved at school.  We were afraid of the principal of the school, our parents and God.  In that order.  As far as my peers were concerned, I took an “every man for himself” approach.

After deep analysis, one of the girls came to the point of getting what the problem was.  Maybe.

One of the girls slipped out the house and went to “Bible Study”.  She came home with tales of cute boys and greetings from their old buddy Nate.  She is currently giving me the “perky good student” massage. She is living on borrowed time.

I, on the other hand, talked to a mom this morning who told me she has seen so much growth in my girls since school started.  Puh.  Yeah.  Because we are going to the mat every several days on NO-THE-CRAP-YOU-AREN’T-GOING-TO-BEHAVE-LIKE-THIS-IS-A-REAL-LIFE-PRODUCATION-OF-LORD-OF-THE-FRACKING-FLIES!!!!  They are maturing because they have no choice.

I had been silently, well, and in one case openly, freaking out a little that the “drama with boys” was taking up so much of my thought life.  These boys are going to go off to college and see thrifty-whillion gals and forget there was ever any such thing as the Type A and Her Sister.  And I am old.

*cold chill*

How I would like to return to the halcyon days of last week.  Where all I had on my mind was keeping Joe Friday away from my daughters for another 21 months.*

Today, we are down to the real life business of growing up and choosing yourself over the evil business of allowing a mean bitch girl to hurt others.  And themselves.  They haven’t told me what was in it for them.  Every time they are together (I find out now), she says nasty things about adoption and me and *wonders* if the girls want to search for their birth parents.

The Divas are required stay away from her and don’t give me the excuse that she came over to them.

I think it is pretty clear, at this point, but I thought that when we covered texting boys with my phone.  And I also thought it was clear when I covered texting boys with other people’s phones, writing what that person tells you until the number gets blocked and then she says it was you.  That what they need to see before their eyes when they need to make a decision is not WWJD?  But WHWMFO?  What Happens When Mama Finds Out?

Embarrassment?  You should have thought of that before you took your stand on the side of wrong.

I prefer to think of it as applied psychology.


 *Til he goes off to college. Rumor is he’s playing Type A per the warnings. He sang “Baby” to her Friday.  She said, “{Name}stop it.  I hate Justin Bieber.”  I can’t believe how perfectly she played it.  Senior girl said that everyone else has giggled and batted their eyes. (And he has sung it to everyone else) Shame he’s an amateur ‘playa’ and will ‘play’ hell heck getting anywhere near my daughter next semester. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Mickey at the concert.  He’s still bitching. Oh, God.  Totally another post.

WW: One of These Days

Just a few weeks ago, my daughters were invited by a group of friends to go to a Masquerade Ball.  Without going into the long part of the story, I’ll just say, I took this…

and this…

Devoted nearly all of my Saturday to this…

and this…


and this is who went to the dance…


Yes, like fairy tale princesses.  Just little girls, really.  Perhaps that is why I didn’t realize the group wasn’t a group together (why would I think anything like that?).

One of these days, ‘boy’, you will realize the princess stood right there and you missed your one chance to ask her to dance while you danced with every other girl in the room.

One of these days, ‘boy’, you will learn that beauty isn’t who looks good with your costume.  Some princesses are not blonds.

One of these days, ‘boy’ your little princess will come home from the ball…

and you will know how I feel right now.

This post is being linked up with Wordful Wednesday; for more photo fun hop over to:

parenting BY dummies

         





Argh…Is That How You Spell It?

…Life has become…how shall I say?  Hmm.  Let’s let pain in the neck suffice for now.

First of all.  Twitter.  I get what is going on over there, but what is it really?  And, oh, I don’t have the cellular phone for it. Anyway.

Second, How come I hear that the economy is bad and money is hard to come by. But when money is hard to come by for us, we get treated like we are up by the pool eating exotic fruit and having my nails done by someone else.  Like we really have it, but we are just investing it in some other more entertaining endeavor.  I think I need to contribute to the household income, but a doula job puts me out of commission for a couple of days afterward.   I have tried reducing expenses, but I am alone in that.

And another thing.  I already went through Middle School, and I don’t want to go back.  I don’t think it’s a good idea for parents to get too involved in their kids everyday friendships.  It’s just weird.  But so help me God.  I am sick to death of these kids my girls want to hang out with.  They look like the “in crowd”.  But for my life, I can’t communicate to my girls that these kids are not worth their time.

Fourth and by no means less important, I am a W*ight W*tchers lifetime member.  I know how to track (hate it so much; I don’t eat so I won’t have to write it down).  I know about emotional triggers and not setting myself up by having the wrong foods around the house.  I AM HUNGRY ALL THE TIME.  Like I have a tape worm.

Finally, maybe.  It looks like their is some crazy stuff going on in the news today.  But I don’t have time to sit down and find out what is going on. Is there any of this I need to know?  Maybe if I had a better phone I could get on Twitter.

%d bloggers like this: