Ok, I know it is incredibly silly… but I am so excited! Today is the day they are breaking ground on the new house. This is the first step to our new home on Starlight Drive. (I am so in love with that street name!)

In a fit of anticipation and too much caffeine I was out at the site right after dropping the kids off at school this morning. I plan on photographing every stage of this production! When I arrived out there this morning shortly before 9am I found a guy measuring and laying out where the trenches should be. Then I noticed sometime between late yesterday afternoon and 9am this morning… a large stack of lumber had been delivered!!

Not wanting to look like a stalker (as if my driving by every day for the past two months has avoided suspicion) I paused a distance from the lot and snapped this picture:

I’ve been told that the house should be finished by the end of March!

My desperate plea is that the Powers That Be render me capable of truly, vividly remembering what it is like to be a teenager in love. I’m trying to recall the angst, raging hormones, and gut wrenching drama.

I just didn’t expect to go through this with a boy because most of the boys I recall at that age were giant pains in the ass and didn’t appear to have any of the worries or concerns that we girls had.

Or they just hid it really well.

What I remember of teenage boys is not what I am experiencing here at home with my own son.

I don’t know how much longer I can deal with the constant suspense and anticipation of every phone call, email and instant message.

She called earlier this evening shortly after someone had left a message on our machine. Before he could answer, the machine picked up and she promptly hung up. When he tried to call her back (instantly, of course) her cell phone was off. This was a tragedy of Titanic proportions, you would have thought that some sort of black out had occurred rendering all future telephone communications extinct.

I thought only girls were this bad… I seem to recall being this bad… but… oh good grief, what I must have put my mother through. (That’s right Mom, I’m sorta apologizing here… stop smirking and wipe that damn grin off your face now, please!)

Oh, sorrow of sorrows, now a dark cloud has rolled in and positioned itself just above our house, it is as if the Grim Reaper himself has darkened our doorstep… the boy is in a nasty, black mood.

Ahhh… wonder of wonders, the clouds have parted, rainbows and sunshine are peeking through…

What light through yonder window breaks?

She is now im’ing him and I am going to have to get off my OWN computer so that communications may continue. Far be it for me to stand in the way of true love.

Don’t try this at home kids…

It was one of those evenings when the stars and planets aligned, Maggie went to bed early… in her own bed, and a romantic mood settled over the house. Finally, it looked like we might actually enjoy a little alone time.

Before things could get out of hand, I leaned over to my nightstand to get something and he hopped out of bed to brush his teeth. As I leaned over I misjudged the distance or something between myself and the nightstand and with one arm on the night stand and the rest of me on the bed I oh-so-gracefully fell out of bed, twisting in mid-air and landing with the one arm still up on the nightstand. Somewhere between the mid-air gymnastics and the final landing I heard a pop and felt a very uncomfortable tweak in my shoulder.

Sitting on the floor with my arm still up over my head I thought to myself, “Oh $#@* did I just break my arm?!?!” my next thought was, “there is no way he didn’t hear the thud of my butt hitting the floor… why isn’t he asking me if I am ok? What a jackass!”

How exactly does one inform one’s husband that alone time will not be happening because wifey just broke her arm or dislocated her shoulder or something…

But, I was a professional with a job to do and the show must go one. Not to mention, it had been too long since I had enjoyed any alone time with my husband. I struggled to hop up gracefully before he could see me with my arm above my head and my legs still up on the bed sprawled in such a ladylike fashion. Fortunately, the show did go on.

The next morning my shoulder was stiff and even now, two days later, it’s still a little sore.

Oh well… it was a small price to pay for some peace, quiet and alone time.

Besides it could have been a lot worse. What if I had broken my arm… I’m afraid I might have tried to continue on with my charted course even with a bone or two protruding through my skin somewhere. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures.

We are still waiting for them to break ground on the new house (hopefully by next week). In preperation for the big move the kids and I have been cleaning out areas of the house that we haven’t touched in years. I’ve gotten rid of bags of things that I had forgotten about and had no real use for anyway.

We completely cleaned out the laundry room and most of the living room. The family room is next. As I go through the house straightening up I am becoming more and more aware of the things that I don’t really need or want anymore. Then there are those things that I find and instantly remember how I acquired them.

I was going through the kitchen earlier today and moved some cookbooks. Behind them, tucked into the corner was a little, blue, glass votive candle holder. To the ordinary eye it might seem insignificant. But I instantly remembered the very first time I saw a candle flickering inside of it.

Several years ago, my husband was a bachelor. He lived alone in a very neat, tidy and extremely clean studio apartment. Back then he wasn’t my husband (obviously) he was just a frugal, single guy with a good job making not-too-bad money, a used Ford Bronco II and a canary yellow vintage Harley that he had rebuilt himself from the ground up. I turned him down the first several times he asked me out because he threatened to pick me up for our date on his Harley.

At that time I was a very different person and I didn’t know my husband as well as I do now. I imagined the horror on my mother’s face if she found out I was dating some “biker” who was nearly 12 years older than me. If she only knew that it wasn’t Mike who was the “biker” but his father who was every bit the raving, hard-partying biker dude. (eeeeeeeeek! - a story for another time)

On one of our earliest dates Mike made me dinner at his apartment. I arrived to find that he had purchased several small glass votive candle holders in blue (my favorite color) and had them lit and placed in strategic places around the room. It was a very masculine attempt at romance, very sweet and very romantic.

Today only one of the blue candle holders has survived, dusty, forgotten and tucked behind the collection of cookbooks we have acquired over the years. The others were lost to moves and children.

I don’t suppose I’ll be getting rid of this one anytime soon.

The Scene:

Ethan is vaccuuming in the livingroom and pauses a moment to listen to the episode of “Dora The Explorer” Maggie is watching in the den.

“I really want an ice cream, Dora!” says Boots, the monkey, Dora’s little side-kick (for those who are unfamiliar with this show that is all the rage with the pre-school set).

“Boots, an ice cream costs 8 coins.”

Ethan:

(in his Dora voice) 8 coins! Guess you are buying the ice creams, Boots.

(in his Boots voice) How much money do you think a monkey makes?!?!

This is yet another session of Ethan making fun of poor little Dora. Previous sessions have included a new version of the “I’m the Map” song, oh so cleverly titled, “I’m On Crack.”

I never said I was proud of his sense of humor… just that I occasionally find it very amusing.

It’s that time of year when we all start teasing each other about the “Nunyas” hidden around the house. As in, “What are you getting me for Christmas?” and the standard reply would be, “Oh, I’m getting you a big, beautiful NUNYA, all wrapped with a big, red bow!”

Nunya… as in NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!!

I’ve been around people who are absolutely annoying with the “I know what you’re getting for Christmas” thing and we aren’t like that about it. It’s all good natured with lots of not-so-subtle hints.

Last night we were hanging out watching “Supernatural” and I told Katie about the conversation I had with her Dad earlier that day (he was sitting right there). I had called him to chat for a minute and told him that I missed him (silly, mushy conversation… don’t puke please) to which he responded, “You too.”

I told him that I would tolerate the “you too” thing 99% of the time EXCEPT for the day after I had spent a weekend finishing up all of his Christmas shopping making sure to get him all kinds of bright and shiny nunyas.

After I told all of this to Kate without skipping a beat she looked over at her dad with a truly mischevious glint in her eye and said, “You know, Dad, if you aren’t manly enough to tell your wife you miss her… then you aren’t a man at all.”

It’s official… my finding humor in all the comedic endeavors that take ruthless aim at the poor sap working the drive-thru window is now OVER!

Seriously… no more laughing at the stupid jokes, no more laughing at the “would you like fries with that?” quips.

I’m done with it as of yesterday afternoon.

But, but WHY? You might be asking yourself or me… or whatever…

Yesterday I took the kids to Sonic…

Since I have no idea if there are Sonics all over the place or what, let me pause to explain that it is a fast food chain with a drive-thru and car-hop service, they serve all the old-fashioned basics from vanilla or cherry cokes to milkshakes, burgers, etc. etc. Blah blah blah - commercials used to feature Frankie Avalon… yada yada yada… jingle goes, “No One Hops Like Sonic” and no, the banana splits NEVER come out looking like they do in the picture on the menu.

Back at the Sonic Drive-Thru, we placed our order, pulled up to the window and waited to be handed the grub, preferably in a bag and NOT dripping. While we waited a woman pulled up to the speaker to order and, wait for it, she asked if they had MILKSHAKES.

Now, one thing Sonic has FOR CERTAIN and advertises in LARGE, FULL COLOR POSTERS on the sides of the building and ALL OVER the FREAKING MENU… are their milkshakes.

It’s a thing… they make all sorts of milkshakes and will custom make whatever sort of flavor your possibly strange tastebuds can concoct… peanut butter banana? Not a problem. Strawberry Banana? Can do. Chocolate Cream Pie? Coconut Cream Pie? Banana Cream Pie? That’s a big 10-4 little buddy.

So, you can imagine the look on my face and that of the poor girl handling the drive thru orders. In fact, I think it might have caught her off-guard because instead of the usual smile and polite, “Of course we do.” She uttered a very exasperated, “are you freaking serious?”

At first I thought she had said this over the speaker, but apparently not, as she then pushed a button and said, “Yes we do.”

The woman (looked to be in her 40’s) said, “I’d like a LARGE VANILLA MILKSHAKE and that’s IT!”

I felt pretty bad for the girl at the window.

I never thought it could happen… really.

But, it did. Almost as if by magic.

Yes, indeedy… my Christmas shopping is 100% COMPLETE!

Done… Done… DONE!!!!!!

It took me the last 4 days to finish, but I can now say with smug satisfaction that,

“As God is my witness, I will NOT step a single foot in to Toys R Us this year.”

Not a single, solitary step.

Better yet, I’ve managed to do 99.5% of my Christmas shopping online. Now, all I have to do is sit back and wait for the boxes to arrive.

Which brings me to my complaint for the day…

Now, I know the post office has gotten a bad rap in the past several years. I’m not employed by them but I do admit to “going postal” every once in a while myself. Still, I have to say that I was extremely disappointed when we switched from the mailbox at the front door to the neighborhood mail box system around the corner. With the new system I get to see neighbors that I like (and most that I don’t) almost daily as they trudge down to the mailbox to pick up their mail, with the old system I got to see the mail lady that I had grown to really like and even occasionally chat with.

The old mail lady knew my dog (and had a chaweiner herself) and my dog actually liked her (and I thought it was standard for dogs to hate mail people). The old mail lady wore a uniform and wished you a Merry Christmas and one year when my kids were REALLY excited about Christmas they wrote up their lists put them in envelopes appropriately addressed to the North Pole and stuck them into the mail box without postage. I found out just as our mail lady was picking up the mail and stopped her in time to explain the situation when I was informed that it is the US Post Office’s policy to take ALL mail addressed to Santa Claus and “deliver” it with or withOUT postage. As silly as it sounds - that was a serious lift to my Christmas spirit that year.

My mail lady has been replaced with a nameless, faceless person who hops out of the mail truck wearing jeans or *gasp* floral board shorts and FLIP FLOPS, I kid you not. In fact, my mom’s nameless, faceless person who stuffs mail into the individual boxes occasionally resembles Sammy Hagar.

No more crisp gray-blue uniforms with matching visors or caps. No more big mail bag slung over one shoulder. Nope, in fact, the mail carrier has now been replaced by the faceless, speeding mail guy from “Funny Farm.”

So as my holiday packages arrive they will be stuffed into the parcel compartment of the neighborhood mailbox box… er… station or whatever it is they call it. I’ll have to fish through my bills, catalogs and junkmail to retrieve the special key that opens the parcel compartment. If the parcel is too big than the faceless mail delivery person will drop it on my door step, wedged between the door and the screen. I’ll either trip over it on my way out to get the kids or I’ll be alerted to its’ arrival by the non-stop neurotic barking of the afore mentioned chaweiner. Either way, by the time I open the front door the faceless delivery person will be long gone, no “Merry Christmas” or “How’s the little man?” in reference to the neurotic chaweiner.

Bah-Freaking-Humbug.

I’ve noticed a few blogs around where, for the most part, the writer seems almost completely anonymous. Talk about true liberation. The ability to say whatever, whenever and never worry about the consequences. That sounds like a little piece of heaven to me.

It’s not that I’d like the ability to say nasty things about people without getting “caught.” After all, anyone who read the series on my sister knows I’m probably not too worried about her reading it. It’s not even that I have nasty things to say about people specifically (shut up, Mom!) sometimes it’s just certain situations that I might have… opinions on. Still, there are times when things happen that I’d like to be able to vent or simply complain about them without the subject getting his/her feelings hurt and yet, still be able to reap the reward of witty comments from Bonanza, Zube, tj, and my other friends from the blog world.

No, I’ve probably made a mistake in letting friends and relatives in on my enjoyment of blogging. I have seen the error of my ways. Or maybe I’m letting my ego run away with itself… maybe my friends and family don’t really keep up with my blog anyway. (Other than you, Mom… and no, I wouldn’t want to complain about you anyway!)

Or… maybe I need to be one of these people who say, “Damn the torpedos, full steam ahead” or some other sort of overused cliche like “I’m just calling a spade a spade” and go on and let fly with whatever opinion I feel the need to get off my chest. I just don’t know that I see myself as being one of those people that people like or respect for their “candid honesty.”

Oh sure, I’ve fantasized about starting another blog anonymously and then I could make snarky comments and observations without the possibility of someone getting their feelings hurt or being offended. But, I don’t know if I really have that many snarky comments to warrant their own blog. Don’t get me wrong, I can be just as snarky as the next gal… I’m not without the occasional snark. But, enough snarks to post about daily? I’m not that confident I can find a daily snark.

I am confident that I could give it a decent try though…

Well, glad that’s all out of the way. Now we can get on to the good stuff… the Happy Holiday Season!

This is one of my most favorite movies… ever!

Yes, yes, I know, we haven’t even gotten past Thanksgiving yet. I do love Thanksgiving… it’s great, who doesn’t love that kind of food, right? I love Thanksgiving weekend too… because right after Thanksgiving I pull out all of the Christmas decorations and go to work! This year will be a little bittersweet because it will be our last Christmas in this house. But, I’ll get over it. ;o)

Halloween is wonderful and all, lots of fun, sure… but I quickly grew tired of the same old conversation:

Me: Ohhh, Maggie look at the pumpkin!

Maggie: It’s a BALL!!!!

Me: No, it’s a pretty, orange pumpkin, Maggie.

Maggie: No, Mom! It’s a BALL!!!!

Me: *sigh*

Yesterday I ran by Target to pick up some candy (for US) to munch on last night after our pizza. I was shocked to find that the employees were running around taking down all of the Halloween stuff and putting up all of the Christmas candy. Sure, they have had Christmas cards, lights, some decorations, stockings, etc. on the shelves for the past few weeks - but I was seriously surprised to see them putting away all of the Halloween stuff ON Halloween. I don’t know why… it just seemed strange. Why not wait until today to put it away? Or late last night after the store closed? Oh well.

This is my favorite time of year. I love the weather, the atmosphere, the lights, the decorations, the smells, the food… it’s the best! Today the kids and I drove to school listening to The Bryan Setzer Orchestra Christmas CD. I absolutely love his version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with Ann Margaret… it is SO COOL!