Gunnar's Kick-Ass Birthday/Halloween Party!

So we had a full house here Sunday for Gunnar's birthday party. We did a Halloween theme and everyone came in costumes, it was awesome! As you can see, I was the Corpse Bride, complete with gruesome scars, a barbed-wire tiara, black veil, purple-spiderweb fingerless gloves, and my adorable black peep-toe wedges, of course! The kids came up with a back-story for me: At the altar, I was stolen by an evil werewolf (the slash marks) and when my groom tried to shoot it, he got me instead (the bullet hole on my temple, my stupid hair covered it the entire night). He was so distraught, he tried to bring me back to life (open-heart surgery scar and stitches on forehead), but I came back EVIL! Muahahaha!

The kids played games like Stick the Wart on the Witch with chewing gum, Gunnar got spoiled rotten with presents and money, and we all ate till our costumes were bursting at the seams.

I did learn a few things though. Let me pass along my new-found wisdom:

1. Always budget yourself enough time for applying costume makeup. What you think will only take a few minutes, ten at the most, may actually take an hour, putting you behind schedule for other things, such as cutting the veggies and sausage and cheese. In which case, you will still be doing that when the guests arrive and they will have to stand around feeling helpless while you frantically finish getting the food ready.


2. Get the present-opening out of the way early on. If you leave it too late, most of the guests will have gone home before you remember and you'll feel like an ass.


3. Same goes for the cake.


4. If you get the cake from the freezer section of the store, it does not necessarily mean that it is a frozen icecream cake and so should be put right back in the freezer once you get it home. ALWAYS check this, its important. Otherwise, you'll be trying to laugh off the fact that you are serving people frozen regular cake that has the texture of rock-hard sponge. Oh yeah, and putting the pieces of cake in the microwave to 'soften' them up, DOES NOT WORK. Blond Joanne (there were 2 Joanne's there) was nice enough to tell me, "It still tastes good! Really, it does! Don't worry, no one's noticing!" Yeah right Joanne. I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing about this for the REST OF MY DAMN LIFE! (As evidenced by Levi's comment in a prior post)


5. Before the party, designate at least two people to be picture-takers, and have them email you the pics later. Thank God Fred and my mom were snapping pics left and right, because where was my camera, you ask? Oh, on the counter in its case, completely charged and ready to go. But did I remember even once to get it out? Of course not!


6. Do as much food prep as you can before the party starts; if it involves cooking, get it all done the day before so everything can just be reheated or set out as is. I did this with the meatballs, devilled eggs and coleslaw and it was such a relief to know those time-consuming things were done. Obviously I didn't do the food prep beforehand for the veggie platter and the nibbles tray, which was so stressful (see number 1).


7. Not everyone likes homemade punch and spiced apple cider. Its good to have water bottles and some sort of canned pop on hand for those party poopers.


8. One thing I REALLY really wish I would have done at the party is to take one big huge group photo of everyone in their costumes. How cool would that have been? Doh!


9. If you have pets, lock them in your bedroom (no one will dare go in there) so they will be safe from bratty kids. Put their food and water in with them, and lay out some newspaper, and they'll be fine (and wayyyy less stressed out). Wish I would have thought of that before the cats were tortured and traumatized.


10. I had the inspired idea to do a different version of caramel apples, with apple slices instead. Spent like an hour peeling the wrappers off ONE HUNDRED tiny caramels, then another hour waiting for them to melt in the pot, suspended precariously over a pot of boiling water. Almost went into a mindless stupor after coring and cutting the apples into like a billion slices. Dipped them in the caramel mixture, layed them on waxed paper, and put them in the fridge downstairs, just like the directions said to. Of course, these directions were for making whole caramel apples. I didn't take into account that the moist apple flesh might somehow screw up the caramel-hardening process. Left them in the fridge overnight. An hour before the party, I went downstairs to get them, only to discover a huge, gooey, sludgey mess. The caramel had completely slipped off the apple slices. ARRGHHH! What a frickin' waste of my precious time. I could have had a damn nap!

Anyway, despite all this knowledge-learned-the-hard-way, the party was a great success and we all had a blast! Everyone now thinks I am an amazing party-planner (*bowing* thank you, thank you) and that I keep an amazingly clean house (what's amazing is how great it is to have three able-bodied "slaves", as they were calling themselves, muahahaha). I'm just glad everyone had a great time and I can finally throw out all my lists, and the MASTER list with the list of all my lists. Heh.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

What was your best Halloween costume?

It could be from when you were a kid, or the one you wore last year; it could be a hand-made costume or a store-bought one.

I think the best costume I ever wore was one that I made ALL BY MYSELF, when I was 17. Our grad committee was doing a fundraiser at the community center for Halloween. You know, with a haunted house on the stage and the two bathrooms, games for the kids, etc. I was on the team that was doing the haunted house, and I was to be the dead girl rising from the coffin to scare the bejeebus out of the little ones. Hahaha!

I had this beautiful old dress that used to be my gramma Alyce's. It was powder-blue, to the floor, long-sleeved, with lacy panels that had embroidered daisies. I decided to modernize it, change it up a little. Cut off the sleeves, removed the lacy panel, and reworked it so the embroidered daisies were on a thin band of lace that ran under the bust, empire-style. It was pretty cool-looking when I was all finished. Of course, I could barely squeeze my huge chest into the bodice but I'm sure all the guys appreciated it. LOL!

Once I had the dress on, I back-combed my hair until it was a wild tangled mess, then added leaves and branches and small plastic spiders, and stuck a small tiara in there. Did my makeup so my skin was pale but with bluish shadows under the eyes and cheekbones, heavy smeared eye makeup, dark red lipstick. I was the undead prom queen! It was awesome.

Me no Betsy: Pt. 2, Tangled Thread & Brain Dead

So with seams ripped and hems let out, I was ready to start sewing. Got out the machine, set out all my supplies, ripped open the package of bobbins and... sat there. Dumbfounded. Stupefied. How do I do this again? I know mom showed me how to thread a bobbin but I couldn't remember all the steps. Put the spool of thread on the spindle, looped the thread through the thingy, ran it through the hole on the bobbin, sat the bobbin on its tiny spindle, then hit the pedal. Nothing. The machine hummed like something was going on inside, but the bobbin just sat there, no movement, no spinning. Arrghh! I fiddled around with dials and controls for a while, then took everything off and went through the steps again, thinking maybe I missed something. Nope. Finally, in a tizzy of rage, I phoned my mom for help, got her voicemail (of course, lol) and left a message liberally peppered with the f-word and 'stupid bobbin'.

At a complete loss of what to do next, I stood up and decided to look down on the machine, like a birds eye view, to see if something was maybe stuck in the bobbin spindle. Oh, well, what do you know? There was a little space by the bobbin, why was that, maybe if I moved the spindle over... click! Wtf? Oh! Oh, yeah, now I remembered my mom saying the bobbin has to be locked into position. Oh well, geez, now I felt like an idiot. Called my mom's voicemail again and left another message, this one with lots of embarrassed laughter and "I'm an idiot"s. So there, I mastered the bobbin, filled that sucker with thread and was ready to get going on those pants.

Filled with triumph, I decided to get revenge on the black sweatpants and do them first. I whipped through that first seam, the stitches were nice and even and tight, and I was elated! Yes, I could handle this, easy as pie! Flipped the hem over to inspect the other side and... WTF?!? The ENTIRE seam was a messy, knotted tangle of thread!! Frick! Got out the damn seamripper, tore it all out, and sewed it again. (Thinking I must have pedalled too fast or something that first time, maybe if I went nice and slow both seams would be okay.) Nope. Tangled knots again. Hmmm, obviously the bobbin thread was loose or something. Fiddled with the little dial numbered 0-12 (it was set at 6), sewing short lengths at varying settings, checking each time to see if it made a difference in the tightness. No. Of course not. Why would I think it would be that easy? Then I thought that maybe it was because the pants material was soft and thin. Maybe if I did a pair of jeans it would be better!

Hopeful, but not wanting to expect too much, I did a hem on Gunnar's jeans. Turned the pants over and... well, not perfection, but the stitches were a bit tighter, and in my mind that was just fine. Still, the perfectionist in me couldn't abide the thought of Gunnar's friends, or worse -- his teachers! -- seeing the slightly sloppy stitches, I ripped them all out and decided to flip the material over when I sewed it. So the perfectly even, tight stitches would be on the outside and the slightly sloppy ones would be on the inside. There, fine, great! One pair down, a billion more to go.

On to the khakis. Slightly thinner material than denim, but still much thicker than the sweatpants, so everything should be fine, right? *SIGH* :( Why, God, why?! (Oops, I mean Jehovah, haha). This time I didn't have just a tangled mess of thread on my hands, oh no. This time, the bobbin-threaded side wasn't even attached to the material! Oh, it looked like it was, but as soon as I picked at the thread, it all unraveled. Grrrr! Utterly enraged, frustrated, I threw the pants across the room and decided to try again later. Um, yeah. Can you guess what happened an hour later when I tried again?

What the hell is wrong with me, I thought. Why isn't this working? I decided to inspect the machine, maybe try re-threading it, maybe I'd missed a step. And wouldn't you know, just like with the frickin' bobbin, sure enough I HAD missed a step. When I'd looped the thread through the dial, I hadn't pulled it all the way through so it 'caught' on the little wire hoop. Ah HAH! Eureka! Did my little dance of joy (kids looked at me like I was crazy) and filled with glee, hope, and a tiny bit of trepidation (Oh God, what if it didn't work? What would I do?), I sewed the hem once again. Turned it over, and... YES! Oh sweet mother, it worked! Damn right, I AM Betsy Ross! Take THAT, pants! You lose! Your days of embarrassing my sons are over!

So with the khakis now done, I went back to the ole sweatpants. And.... yeah. I take it all back. I am NOT Betsy Ross, I am a dumb stupid idiot who should not be allowed anywhere near a sewing machine. Something about me causes bobbin thread to constantly tangle and knot up. So, I've given up for the moment. My sewing machine and the unfinished pile of pants sit there, taunting me, calling me names every time I walk by while I glare threats back. Some day in the near future, when the boys are tired of wearing jeans and khakis every day and long for the return of soft, comfy, warm sweats, I will try again. Some day.

Betsy Ross, I am not: Pt.1, Ripped Seams & Sacrificed Dreams

(I googled 'famous seamstresses' and she was the one name that popped up. She's the one who created the American flag.)

The other day I noticed that Gunnar was wearing his blue sweatpants to school, again. What's up with that, I asked. "Mom, didn't you notice that all my pants are way too short? These are the only ones that don't make me look like a dork!" I asked Ardan if his pants were also too short, and he said the same thing. But how could that be? I just bought the boys like six new pairs of pants each for the new school year, and mom and I had measured and hemmed the bottoms ourselves. Those little brats must have shot up a couple of inches since September! Well, no problem I thought, I have a sewing machine, all I have to do is let out the seams and rehem them. Easy, right?

So I gathered up all their short pants, sorted them into piles, Gunnar's here, Ardan's there, pants that'll need black thread, brown thread, etc. Got out my handy sewing kit, started rooting around for my seam ripper. Arrghh, where is that darn thing! "Um, Mommy?" Lena tapped on my shoulder. "Maybe I accidentally broke it?" Oh, GREAT! Packed up the kids to go to the loonie store, good thing I remembered I also didn't have any bobbins for the sewing machine. $2 for the sewing supplies and $5 for a toy for Lena later, and I was ready to go.

(Of course, shopping for the $5 toy with a three year old is at least a 30 min process, right? Its so hard to decide! Little Lena agonizes over what she can get with her money. Finally, finally, a tiny dolly in a tiny bassinet wins. Hands down, that tiny toy just captured her heart - "so tiny!". Her tiniest one yet! Hahahaha.)

I estimated about five minutes per pair of pants, for ripping out the seams. Uh, yeah. Five minutes? More like five minutes PER STITCH. I soon realized that using black thread on black sweatpant material, when each stitch is about a millimeter in length is absolutely retarded! (Sorry for using the r-word mom.) I had to jab myself with the extremely sharp seamripper right underneath my nails about four times before I figured out to point the ripper away from me. Fantasies of ripping open the seams with my bare hands, ala old school Hulk Hogan with the shirt, kept me sane as the hours passed, with me hunched over, straining to see the microscopic stitches. Woe be to any man or child who even THOUGHT to say "I'm hungry" or "When are you going to be done?" It took me three days to rip those GD seams out, 20 minutes here while the baby plays with toys, an hour or so while the kids nap.

It killed me to give up that precious hour I get every day (some times 2 hours!) from around 2:30-4, when both Lena and Ryder are napping and the boys are still at school. If I'm lucky I grab a quick nap, sometimes I blog, rarely I clean (lol). No, that hour is me-time. ;)

But it was all worth it when I finished the last one and gazed triumphant over the heap of pants. Ha HAH pants, I won! Now, to start hemming...

Doh!

I'm at Winks tonight doing a DP & smokes run (diet pepsi, for those unaware of my addiction) and I get asked for ID.

*grinning* "Gee, thanks, that just made my night!"

"Well, you don't look over 40."

I deflated like a popped balloon. Apparently, they now ID anyone who looks under 40, not 18.

Guess the old saying is right - "don't judge a book by its cover"

Okay, now I feel bad for bitching about Jehovah's Witnesses in a prior post.

About a week ago, there was a knock on the door. It was two ladies and as soon as I saw them, bibles in hand, I thought, "Oh no, religious nuts come to preach at me!" One lady introduced herself as Gwen, and the other older woman was her mother. Well, I can't be rude to someone if they're with their mother! So I spoke with them for a bit and learned that she had been to our house before (I wasn't home) and spoke with Tyler, who told them he was just on his way out the door but to come back again because his wife would love to visit with them. !!!!!!!!!! Gee thanks hon, you sold me out to save your own skin.

Anyway, today was the day Gwen and I had arranged our "visit". She's actually a very nice person, soft-spoken, slim, dark-haired, just a lovely, truly kind person. I discovered we have a lot in common - she also has 4 kids, so we commiserated about that (lol), and during our chitchat I found out that she also is having problems with Ashley Furniture (damn delivery guys!). So that made it easier to relate to her, even though she's obviously religious and I'm, well, not. I believe in God, don't get me wrong, and I feel that He's worked his mysterious ways in my life. There's been certain things I've experienced that I could definitely say have been "divine intervention".

So yeah, we had a lovely 20 minute visit, she didn't try to push anything on me, and I really did learn some new things (who knew God had an actual name?). She's coming over next week with her mom, and its kind of weird that I'm actually looking forward to it. Ya, I know, me the heathen with my potty mouth and obsession with racy books. But hey, its end of days people, couldn't hurt to have Jehovah on my side, right? Now don't get all hyper and think I'm converting or that I'll be knocking on your door anytime soon, haha. Its just nice to have a visit with other adults, other women, to have a real conversation that doesn't include the words bah-bah, poopy, NO!, and of course, AAARRRGHHH!!!

This quote is my new motto

Came across this quote just now and its perfectly apt for the day I've had.

“Patience serves as a protection against wrongs as clothes do against cold. For if you put on more clothes as the cold increases, it will have no power to hurt you. So in like manner you must grow in patience when you meet with great wrongs, and they will then be powerless to vex your mind.”
Leonardo da Vinci

I've been struggling lately with this concept, patience. Sometimes during a moment of stress its easier to just give in to the burst of temper and impatience. But then I remember two things, two important events really, that have influenced who I am as a parent, and I can draw a deep breath and talk in a soft voice and handle it calmly and most importantly, lovingly.

These two events are from my childhood, and they really show the kind of parents I had.

One time, I was in the kitchen with my mom, I think helping her make supper, and I went to grab the glass cylinder container we kept the spaghetti in. Fumbled it... broken. My mom was clearly devastated, as that had been her grandmother's. I cringed, feeling so bad for breaking it but knowing I deserved the yelling that was sure to follow. Instead, my mom turned urgent and asked, "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did the glass cut you?" I clearly remember thinking that I had the best, most loving, most caring mother ever, that she would be more worried about if I got a cut than upset about her sentimental heirloom.

The second event occurred with my dad and brothers. I witnessed it on videotape, as an adult viewing ancient home movies, and it just struck such a chord in me, as a parent, and as a daughter watching her dad and feeling blessed anew. In the videotape, Dad and my two little brothers, Trapper and Levi, were in the kitchen. They must have been around 2 & 4, maybe a bit older. Dad is videotaping the two boys as they sit at the table and drink chocolate milk. Dad is narrating, as usual, in his melodious deep voice, making little jokes that go right over the boys' heads but he knows the viewer will catch. Suddenly, angelic little 2 yr old Levi, with his big dark eyes, blond ringlets and pink cheeks, spills his chocolate milk. It spreads across the table and drips on the floor. Both boys freeze, their eyes shoot to my dad. Nothing, no reaction. Dad keeps talking in his soft-spoken voice, doesn't mention the milk. The boys look at each other, back to dad. Finally, Dad says "Did you spill your milk Levi?" nod "That's okay, Daddy's got it." Doesn't clean up the milk, just leaves it, and keeps talking to the boys about maybe going for a jeep ride later, etc. The look of total adoration in Levi's eyes makes me tear up just remembering it.

Throughout my ten-year span of being a parent, I've taken those lessons learned to heart and practiced them with my own kids. When one of the kids falls or breaks something or anything like that, the first words out of my mouth are always, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" (Yeah, sure at first I had to really remind myself to say this, when all I was thinking was that was brand new!) But make that your priority every time and soon its instinctive; their safety and well-being is bottom line, so anything else is secondary. And when they see that that is your first response, worry and care for them... it is a special moment between parent and child. Or it can be. Same with if something is accidentally spilled, its not the end of the world. Blowing up over something so trivial is wasted emotion. A simple reassurance that its okay, just a spill, just an accident and suddenly their shoulders are a little straighter, heads lifted, awed by your patience and grace. (That's what I tell myself, that I have patience and grace, lol.)

Its funny how some small thing, some action, can have such a huge impact on someone's life.

Just call me Mud (you know what that is spelled backwards, right?)

Remind me again why I signed on for this whole stay-at-home-mom thing? After having a mother of a day, I am seriously considering self-medicating.

Two sick kids (No.1 - home from school - and No.4), a bratty 3 year old who had a Chernobyl because I wouldn't let her do "gluing" while I was in the bath, an almost-one year old who's discovered that puking gets attention (and the four extra loads of laundry that creates every day), cats that fill the litter box to bursting every damn day, Jehovah's Witnesses that don't take a hint, hairy legs that I didn't get a chance to shave because of the "gluing" situation, sweating like a pig because the house is roasting so the sickies don't get the shivers....

PASS THE TEQUILA, MAMA'S GETTING PLASTERED!!
*sigh* I wish....

No, whenever it gets to be too much for me I put the baby in his crib with a bottle and toys, sit my daughter in front of the tv, then lock myself in the bathroom and chain smoke for 10 minutes, while retreating to the magical world of my imagination, in which I am a 5'10 gorgeous blonde with legs up to here and boobs out to there, puttering around my immaculate showhome-clean house while my perfectly silent kids do math equations or some such educational crap, making pies and setting them on the windowsill to cool, chatting with the envious neighborhood ladies, elegantly sipping a martini while wearing a cute little apron and nothing else...

In case you don't believe me about what I deal with around here, here's a nice little story about something that happened to me yesterday morning.

First of all, completely forgot it was Garbage Day until the kids had 10 minutes left before they had to leave for the bus. So I'm throwing the bags off the deck while Gunnar's outside hauling them to the bins. Fine, good, that's done, Gunnar takes off for the bus, I head downstairs to do laundry. Only to realize upon walking past the litterbox that it desperately needs to be changed and that should go out to the bins, too. Fine, okay, done with a minimal of fuss and only a couple gags (lots of swearing though). Time to take it outside. Great, good, almost to the bin, give it a good swing to get some momentum going, only the handle of the bin catches the bag and.... RIIIIIIPPPPP! Like a cat litter explosion of gravel and shit chunks all over me, in my hair, down my shirt (actually I was just wearing my tight little nightie top with a pair of shorts pulled on) so it was all over my boobs. Before I actually thought about it, I'd grabbed the bag to prevent more spillage, plunging my hand into the litter in the process. So there I am, outside in the -5 weather looking like a slut covered in cat shit litter, screaming at the top of my lungs for Lena to throw a garbage bag off the deck so I could rebag it. Oh, and did I mention the hairy legs?

I got tagged!

My new e-friend and fellow blogger Missy from Just Another Stupid Blog tagged me for a book meme.

Here are the rules: Grab the nearest book. Open the book to page 56. Find the fifth sentence. Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your journal/blog along with these instructions. Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST. Tag five other people to do the same.

Okay, so the closest book to me right now is Gunnar's new library book Inkspell by Cornelia Funke. Here's the book meme: "The honey did burn your mouth like red-hot coals, but the pain passed away -- and if you bore it long enough, then afterward you could speak to fire, even with a mere human tongue. The effect of a tiny piece lasted for five or six months, sometimes almost a year. Just a soft whisper in the language of the flames, a snap of your fingers, and sparks would leap crackling from dry wood, damp wood, even stone."

Here's my five people I'm tagging (post your book meme in the comments for this post):

Mom
Christine
Levi
Amber
Kelly

What IS that smell?

So, today I decided to catch a few zzzzs while Ryder was down for his mid-morning nap. Tyler had the day off so he was up with the kids, and I thought I would take advantage. Layed down in my soft, snuggly nest of blankets, utterly exhausted from having been up four times during the night with the baby. But I could NOT get to sleep because there was this smell. It was horrible! It seared the lining of my nose until it felt like I could taste it (ewwww). And for some disgusting, horrifying reason it smelled... familiar, like I should be able to recognize what it smelled like, but I just couldn't place it. I checked my blankets but didn't see anything. Eventually, the demands of my exhausted body took over and I fell asleep.

Flash forward to tonight... It was around 8:30, I'd just gotten back from Thanksgiving dinner at Deanna's, put all the leftovers away, tidied up a little, and went into my room to collapse on the bed for a quick break. I reached for a book from the headboard's built-in bookshelf (might as well have a little read) and that smell hit me again. This time, I decided to investigate a little more. There's a little 'nook' area in the headboard that I've filled with decorative pillows, and nestled in amid all those brown pillows was a fat pile of huge brown CAT TURDS!! OMFG!! My head was laying less than a foot away from that pile of hell all during my nap! What if I'd decided to shift up higher in the bed? What if I'd thrown my arm up over my head? I can't believe I layed there for an hour with my head right next to a big ole pile of cat shit and I never even thought to investigate where the smell was coming from!!! (well, besides the half-hearted look in the blankets)

One of the cats must have been locked in our room this morning and decided to leave us a nice little present in retaliation. Not naming any names or blaming one cat in particular, but Punkin, you're a little bitch. You now owe me three new decorative pillows.

Why did the turkey cross the road...?

....Because he wanted to be poultry in motion!

Everyone who's excited about Thanksgiving this year, put up the hand... ME! (Simcoes, you'd better be sitting there reading this with your hands in the air, I don't care if you're at work, lol)

I love this time of year, it seems kind of exciting, like you're gearing up before winter and rushing around doing stuff. Whether its trying to coordinate two hockey schedules, parent-teacher interviews, family get-togethers, or just enjoy the outdoors... seems like our days are jam-packed with endless activity, and its great!

Plus, who doesn't love the beautiful fall colors, the trees all gold and red (I HAVE to take the kids out leaf-strolling), that wonderful uniquely-Autumn smell in the air of... burning leaves? What the...? I was driving home past Norglenwold and noticed smoke coming from the trees, slowed down as I passed, peering, but it was just a guy burning leaves in his backyard. He noticed me staring at him and that was a bit embarrassing, but hey. I was fully prepared to call 911 on the cell and report the huge forest fire I imagined happening. I was going to be a hero, darn it! LOL

We're going to two Thanksgivings this year, as we usually do, one at my grandma's, one at Tyler's sisters. We are going.. to.. FEAST! Haha. I can't wait for all that turkey and stuffing, yummm. Lena has discovered that she loves stuffing. One day last week I decided to try something different for lunch and make box stuffing, and she ate like three bowls! Which is amazing because she normally doesn't finish one plate of lunch. So she will pig out for sure this weekend.

The best thing about Thanksgiving, though, is getting to visit and spend time with everyone. I'm pretty lucky that I get to do that on a regular basis with my side of the family as we have weekly Family Dinners, but its been a while since I've seen everyone on Tyler's side of the family. My kids are friggin' ECSTATIC that they'll get to visit with their five boy cousins all day long. I'm sure I'll only see them when they surface long enough to stuff their faces with spetzla. (That's a unique family food tradition on Ty's side, its sort of like eggy noodles - homemade - that's eaten with gravy poured on). I never really got on the spetzla bandwagon but my kids love it. Tyler used to eat plates and plates of it, until he discovered his wheat/gluten allergy. Poor Ty. Now he gazes wistfully at anyone eating it, and forlornly picks at his plate. Awww.....

So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, here are a few things I'm thankful for this year:

• having happy, loving, sweet kids that are healthy and smart
• getting to watch Ryder this past year grow into a little person with such a huge personality; appreciating every milestone and "first" because I know he's the last baby (OH YES HE IS, Simcoes, shut up! I've figured out what's causing it at last)
• seeing Gunnar's determination and spirit during hockey tryouts
• Ardan's newfound sense of self-esteem from discovering he's "a natural" at hockey (his coach's words)
• watching Milena grow and mature before my very eyes, savoring the sound of her sweet little voice as she talks non-stop, laughing hilariously at the funny things she says or else finding myself tearing up when she says or does something unbearably sweet and precious
• having a husband who understands my quirks, tolerates my bossiness, appreciates my humor, and loves me to pieces
• that my brothers have become mature, responsible men who have embraced 'adulthood', but they still know how to have a good time and they can make me laugh so hard I have to change my pants (well, maybe I'm not so thankful for that, lol)
• my mom seems more at peace with herself, her life
• that I have awesome friends (Christine, Carol, and Kelly, this means you) that I can chat with for hours, whether its on the phone or in person; I know I can tell them anything and they will understand, sympathize, offer helpful advice, make me laugh, or just lend a shoulder to cry on
• and lastly, I'm thankful for the fact that, at almost 30, I am finally becoming comfortable with myself and confident in who I am as a person. I've accepted the fact that some things about myself will never change nor would I want them to, but that some things I am capable of changing, it only requires will, determination and optimism. I am no longer afraid to speak my mind for fear of rocking the boat (though it is nice having someone talk me down before I blast that boat to bits, lol, thanks Trapper). I will not hesitate to stand up for myself, my kids, my husband, anyone or anything I feel strongly about. But also, with age I've learned (somewhat, lol) to temper my reactions, to be more considerate of others' feelings and opinions, and to take a moment to think before speaking. Most of the time.

Here's a little something to make you laugh:
10 things that sound dirty on Thanksgiving!

Down with Mantrums!

Life would be so much easier if husbands came with mute buttons, don't you agree?

If I have to listen to another mantrum about stupid drivers, the cost of gas, work 'politics', broken parts in the motorhome, dinged-up walls, milk that goes bad after less than a week, misplaced keys... ARGH!