Awaiting Punishment...

Because I want to start the New Year with a clean slate and a clean conscience, I have decided to apologize for all the stupid and annoying things I have done all year (well the ones I can remember anyways). I will try to offer explanations for my poor behavior whenever possible:

To the stray cat that I fed the provolone to: I'm sorry - I didn't know about cats and cheese.

To the hairdresser who I told I was a lesbian going to med school and that I used to model for Guess before the "accident": I'm sorry - I was really bored.

To my husband who always eats whatever I cook even if it tastes a little odd: I'm sorry - I was very angry.

To the kids next door who keep trespassing in my yard and then got locked in by accident and yelled for help for over 1/2 hour until I came outside to release them: I'm sorry - I can be a *little* hard of hearing.

To the mother of the parking officer who gave me a ticket: I'm sorry - it wasn't personal, though you should have spanked your son more as a child.

To the short little childless man who criticized my child-rearing skills: I'm sorry - ok, I'm NOT sorry! Afterall, I've said nothing that years of therapy and a little medication can't fix.

To the makers of Playdoh and Crayola crayons: I'm sorry - I understand that your products were not meant to be used in that way.

To my blog readers who read my stuff: I'm sorry - though I really get my jollies out of making you wonder about the details...

There you have it. Some may forgive me, and some may not. But you might want to stay on my good side because when I am rich, I can help you pay for any therapy and/or gastrointestinal surgery that I may be (mostly) responsible for. Cheers!

The Flight After Christmas

Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the house
Not a toy was still working, all the batteries worn out.
The stockings were thrown on the floor without care
While paper and packaging were stuck in my hair.
The children weren't nestled all snug in their beds,
So hyped up from sugar their eyeballs were red.
And I with these children fighting in my lap
Could not settle down for a well-deserved nap.
When out on the street there arose such a clatter
I waded through the mess to see what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But my husband in a limo with a kegger of cheer.
"On sweetie, On darling, On lovie, On honey,
I went to the casino and won us some money!
I'll whisk you away, no more kids, no more mall!
Let's dash away, dash away dash away all!
A tropical island is where we will head,
I've made the arrangements, there's nothing to dread!"
When done with those words he went straight to his work:
He brought out 3 nannies, a maid and a cook.
Then laying his hands on my body and waist,
I was carried to the limo (with x-rated haste.)
He sat down beside me, poured champagne in a glass,
He snapped at the driver and then we hauled ass!
But they heard us exclaim as we tore out of sight
"Merry Christmas to all and to us a good flight!"

Nutshell

I started the tradition of writing a personal Year in Review when I was a teenager. So much angst, so much cheesiness. (Eg: 'Oh my god, my brother's friend/guy in shopclass/nerdy kid/religion class partner/English teacher likes me I think! Well, of course he does! Doesn't he? Ooh, we're SO gonna get married. I hate my mom.') Now, having neither the fickleness with boys nor the turbulent mother/teenage daughter relationship, I see no need to get wordy. I present my most concise ever "Year in Review" for 2005.

January: Still reeling...how did I end up with so many children?

February: Too many birthdays. So sick of cake.

March: Frigging snow...

April: Frigging snow...

May: Frigging rain.

June: My birthday featuring the thing with the cops. Pass the Tylenol.

July: Hubby's on strike! Up with the workers! Down with the corporation!

August: Broke. Corporation, may we please have hubby's job back?

September: Really broke. Umm, corporation, may I offer you a bj for my hubby's job back?

October: Got a job myself. Fuck the corporation. (figuratively)

November: Frigging cold.

December: Yay! Christmas! Joy, peace & love! Frigging snow though...

Blue Light Special

My neighbor has those neon blue Christmas lights that x-ray your soul and probably give you a brain tumor. You know the ones I am talking about. I still see them burned onto my corneas when I close my eyes.

***

This week my hubby and I will be doing our yearly charity stint as Santa and Mrs. Claus. I am a little concerned about the quality of this year's "performance" though. First of all, I haven't played any songs without swears and/or suggestive content in 363 days, and if I don't get my act together, we might end up with this:

"Ok kids, time to rock with Rudolph the Fucking Angry Anti-Establishment Reindeer featuring a little help from my friends Greeeeeeeen Dayyyyyyy!!!"

Secondly, Santa (my hubby) might not be what the children expected either. He mentioned to me today that this was the worst year for him ever and he couldn't wait for it to end. He's been downtrodden, run down, unjustly persecuted and overworked, leaving him more than a little depressed these days. I worry that the "jolly old man" may come across a little "off":

"Ho ho ho kids. Look, it's time ya'll grow up so let me tell you a bit about life - they hit ya when you're down, then they hit ya again. The corporations suck your blood. We're all gonna die. And I'm not really Santa. There is no SANTA!"

See? Not a good show.

Luckily there's something about his red velvet suit and my red velvet dress (with the faux fur!)that changes who you are and how you feel. In that minute it takes to dress, you are transformed, and become whoever you want to be. And there's nothing more appealing to two bi-polar manically depressed people in love than that.

Office Party

Most people hate office Christmas parties. I did too. Until tonight.

The booze was a-flowin'. I have been here only 2 months, so everyone wanted to meet the new girl. I was at this party for less than 2 hours and I found people were volunteering information to me about themselves as we chatted quietly over hors d'ouvres. Here's the sum of what I now know about my coworkers (using pseudonyms of course):

#1. "Dinah" can really hold her liquor and once drunk her supervisor under the table and then got fired.

#2. "Betty" in another department had a nervous breakdown at work and went catatonic until the ambulance came.

#3. "Gwen" is married but NOT to the man she is living with. He is married too, but not to her.

#4. "Mandy's" teenage son made a lot of money trafficing marijuana. Apparently it was just a "phase".

#5. "Jill" has some scandalous theories about how/why "Gertrude" had broken her wrist 3x in 6 months.

#6. "Lynne" likes my boss. A lot.

#7. "Maureen" hopes her ex-husband dies before she retires so that she won't have to share her pension 50/50. She also encourages him to smoke more.

#8. Everyone thinks I am wide-eyed and innocent enough to be harmless with their deep dark secrets. They also thought I would remember nothing because I was drinking too. (I was not.)

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la, la la.

A Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

They say that if you're really good you get lots of presents. I regret to inform you that the North Pole will have to declare bankruptcy because I have been SO good this year. For your convenience, I have itemized all of my major gift requests according to what I have done to earn them:

1. For not selling my children to the gypsies when my son peed on the floor in Fortinos and my other son rolled around laughing in the puddle while my toddler daughter shoplifted in the next aisle, I would like an all expense paid cruise to Hawaii (first class suite by the way).

2. For decorating our Chrismas tree without committing any felonies while my 3 kids were screaming and crying and fighting my husband was ranting up and down about the broken/tangled/mismatched Christmas lights, I would like THREE male masseuses, young, good-looking, and drunk enough to think I am still hot.

3. For changing 1,587 diapers (and counting), losing 590 hours of sleep, being puked on 14 times, and trading my hot little teal Sunbird for a gigantic filthy minivan, I would like a unicorn. A flying unicorn please.

4. For honouring my marriage vows in spite of many other offers (ok, ONE other offer, and he was fat and bald and perverted, but STILL) and not changing the locks on my husband when I had SO much reason to, I would like bigger boobs. Gimme some big old backbreakin' knockers - and make 'em permanently perky too. (I told you this would be expensive.)

5. For eating nothing but leftovers and food my children refused to eat, I would like a personal chef. If he's hot/young/drunk that would be okay too. Oh, get me Jamie Oliver!

6. For cheerily going without showers, baths, makeup, haircuts and clothes that fit properly, I would like my own 1/4 acre natural hotspring Roman Bath with dolphin shaped fountains and several hot/young/drunk men in togas to bathe me. (You can purchase the neighbor's property to construct this on.)

7. For not exacting the brutal revenge upon mine enemies like I had planned, I would like a year's supply of low-fat psychotropic brownies (with walnuts and icing if possible).

If you can't come through on all of these requests that's ok. I will take the cash substitutions instead. Thank you Santa and Merry Christmas!

Your friend,

Franny

Career Criminals

"Behind every great fortune there is a crime." - Honore de Balzac

We were scribbling with crayons the other day when one went missing. And then another one. Puzzled, I searched under the book, the couches, everywhere. No luck. Two days later, I find the stub of a green crayon in my toddler's mouth. And the rest in his diaper. Three days later, the same, but with orange this time. Turns out my not-yet-2-yr-old son Nicky was hiding the crayons so he could eat them at a later date. I now know that my sweetheart with the most delicate innocent angel babyface is a thief (and a good one too)! Kinda like an "Ocean's Eleven" kind of thief - you know he's bad but he's so good at being bad you can't stop luvvin the boy.

My preschooler Joey, on the other hand, would make a terrible criminal. Too passionate that one. He's the kind of person that, when faced with the overwhelming evidence in court, would jump up and yell "OK ALREADY! WE ALL KNOW I ROBBED THE DAMN CASINO, NOW YOU'RE JUST PISSING ME OFF!" He's a DA's dream come true.

Now about my daughter Natalie...just a toddler, she's all shining and happy and charming and loveable. But what is the little lady capable of when I'm not around? I know she pushes her bigger brothers around. I know she throws herself on the ground to act victimized when I come running. Yes, she's the brains of the outfit. Of all of them, she'll come away smelling like roses when the heist goes foul. She'll keep away from the action enough to not go down with the pack, but have planned the whole thing so that she can bust the boys out of jail with the stolen cash.

And the boys will never rat her out because they fear her wrath.

And at the end of the day, doesn't every mom just want her kids to work together?