May 312011
 

Well, I’m enjoying yet another Mid-Atlantic Sprummer where we seemed to have skipped over the moderate and median temperatures associated with Spring, and have gone from our frigid winter weather right into sweltering heat and oppressive humidity.  In fact, as I sit here in my living room with the blinds closed, a tall glass of tropical punch Kool Aid (yeah, I said it), and as close as humanly possible to the nearest vent constantly blowing cool air, the heat outdoors is well into the 90′s with the heat index simmering around 102 degrees.

Over the holiday weekend the temperatures at the beach were not quite as unbearable, however, no one would argue that it was anything other than hot with heat indexes into the 90′s.  The occasional gust of wind felt like someone’s hot breath hitting your body, so there was little alternative to cooling off other than taking a dip in the pool, bay or ocean.  Having a cool beverage was also a must, and I was alternating sips of my bottled water and pressing the chilled bottle against my face, neck and chest.

Despite my best efforts the heat and humidity left me with a beach afro, flushed skin and the inability to stop sweating.  If I had a bikini I would have worn it just in the hopes that less clothing would equate to a cooler body temperature. As we sat roasting on the beach, I was trying to come up with some new ways to stay cool…like an air conditioned bathing suit.  Thanks to Google I found the next best thing.  It’s the Cooling Water Bikini:

Photo thanks to Oh Gizmo!

Apparently with the Cooling Water Bikini you can enhance your bust and quench your thirst when you fill it with cool water (or wine?).  I’m not exactly sure of the mechanics, but I think you’d just need to be conscious of how much fluid you’re drinking from each cup. The last thing you want is to end up lopsided boobs at the neighborhood pool…awkward!

What are your tips on beating the heat this summer?  Leave me a comment before I order one of these!

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To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this letter somewhere in the mountains of northern Maryland or maybe south western Pennsylvania. Geographically speaking there is little to no visible difference as far as the landscape is concerned. I am accompanied on this trip by my husband of eight years and my three children who this July will turn 6, 4, and 2 respectively. It’s hard to say how long we’ve been in this steel cage on wheels. Days? Weeks? Months? My husband assures me it’s been a mere three hours, but I think he’s gone mad. I’m certain my mind is going too. These may be my last coherent words before my mind is totally lost.

I’m sitting in the middle row positioned behind the passenger’s seat, and it is my job to keep the children happy while my husband drives. My children don’t like being confined and/or restrained in one spot for more than a few minutes as often is the case will little children. I knew, however, that this trip was going to go poorly when twenty minutes into the drive the oldest called out, “Are we there yet??”

I think we actually may have traveled through some sort of worm hole or time warp, or perhaps I’ve died and gone straight to hell. The stubble on my legs proves either we’ve been in the car for an extremely long period of time or I forgot my weekly shave. Either way, this is just terrible.

I prepared as much as anyone could for a thing like this. Aside from everything we’ll need if we ever reach our final destination, the car is stocked with as many distractions as possible for the 6+ hour trip. We even made some new purchases: The dual dvd player we bought (plays one dvd on two screens) has proved a blessing and a curse. Sure it’s a distraction, but when have you ever seen three kids agree on any one movie selection regardless of age and gender. I packed some new movies, films which I’m sure are terrible, but at least I haven’t seen them 6,937 times like the other selections hand picked by the children themselves. As of right now, I’ve been subjected to the second half of Toy Story 3 (for the third time in two days), Despicable Me, Happiness is a Warm Blanket Charlie Brown, and now we’re onto Cars (a real classic in heavy rotation since 2006). Given our current course and the speed at which we are traveling, we’re due to hit downtown Pittsburgh at rush hour, so I highly anticipate at least one more movie selection after the current 116 minutes of highly stimulating animation concludes.

We’ve had several near meltdowns, and even though the children just ate before leaving, the constant barrage of questioning regarding when they will eat next and what food will be served, is speeding me towards a meltdown of motherly proportions. Of course there are also smaller grumblings and back talking from “he won’t stop looking at me” to “I’m hot” and “Yeah, well, I’m cold” and my favorite “he’s breathing loud at me!”

The baby is also three hours past nap time and she.is.pissed. If I don’t make it out of this SUV that God forgot it may well be because my almost-toddler murdered me. Randomly and without cause she’ll cry out.  As I scramble to determine the nature of her distress handing her juice cups, pacifiers or a toy, she’ll scrunch her face, yell and throw whatever I hand to her. The last time she screamed, I tried passing a pacifier to her which almost immediately came whizzing past my face at a velocity I never would have dreamed possible from a 22 month old. Thank God it hit the handle of the door becuase I’m certain had it hit the glass, it would have shattered. Upon further inspection, I’m sure it bent the metal frame of the door.

As I indicated before I may already be dead. It may have been from a physical assault from my toddler, or perhaps my brain just exploded from listening to the nonsense constantly being spewed behind me from the boys. Although, it could very well be from some of these world class drivers we’ve seen since around Baltimore. We’ve witnessed cars that passed two lanes of vehicles weaving in and out and one point even passed on the shoulder. There was an ice cream truck going 32 mph on the interstate, quadruple lane changes with no blinker and/or other discernible warning, a thousand or so people who were not utilizing the left lane for passing (although Marylanders do this in Delaware too, so I’m beginning to suspect it’s backwards here- slower traffic keeps left, not right), and my personal favorite, “Twinzies.”

Twinzies was coined when a car in the lane next to us would speed up and slow down to match our exact speed. No matter what, this car (van in this case actually) did, they wanted to be just like us. A ridiculous conversation between my husband and I ensued where we imagined the other car saying things like “Hey, how fast do you want to go? Oh, yeah? Me too!! Twinzies!!!” Then we imagined the family occupying the car rearragning their seats and changing clothes to match us exactly. Then they would pull along side us, honk and point and mouth the words “Twinzies!!” at us. This conversation went on for a solid thirty minutes (just about the time it took us to lose our car twinzie), and it was then I realized my husband was nuts. I guess I’ve lost it too since I coined the term. Initially Joe just called them “a bunch of real friggin assholes.”

Anyway, as I sit here and ramble on as I drive through this unending stretch of road taking me up one mountain and down the next, I feel full of emotion. I want you, dear reader, to know that even though I’m sure I’ll not survive, or may already be dead, that you meant so much to me. No matter my situation, whether it be my boys emptying a giant pack of tampons out and throwing them at each other in the front yard, or someone getting poop every where, or even the time they let a stray dog in the house, you…you were always there for me. Sometimes with a relate-able tale to help me feel less alone, or an occasional experience you would share that would trump my own, but no matter what, I felt like you were there with me. You lifted my spirits, helped me laugh through some (funny yet) traumatizing parental moments. No matter what situation I was in, I was not alone.

So as I sit here facing an eternity of driving hell with three now hostile almost animal like little creatures with a husband who has lost his mind, I feel comforted knowing somehow, someway you’re here with me. Perhaps even though I am crippled with despair in this very moment, one day you and I will laugh together and say it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps we’ll sip our wine and say “Hey remember that time you took 3 kids under six on a 6+ hour car trip?” And we’ll laugh and laugh…I hold onto that tightly now as I sit now with tears in my eyes knowing that this trip has not even started and in just a couple days we’ll be in the car doing it all over again. In the case that this is hell and I’m already dead, I guess I should get used to repetition. Either way, pray for me, dear friend. Pray.for.me.

Your friend always,

Susan

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Curb your kid

 Posted by Domestic Diva at 8:06 pm  Uncategorized
Apr 142011
 

Monday we hit 80 degrees and the kids and I enjoyed a plethora of outdoor fun.  They played in their sand box and on their swing set, rode their bikes and colored on the sidewalk while I worked in the garden and started on my fabulous farmer’s tan.

Then Tuesday came in like a lion with colder temperatures, wind, rain and we were forced to stay indoors.  For some reason, my younger two kids think I control the weather.  After such a fantastic day Monday, being stuck indoors again was the last thing they (or I wanted).  I tried my best to keep them entertained, but by Wednesday morning with even colder air, windier and wetter conditions they were absolutely miserable.

The whining probably started about 9:30am Tuesday and by Wednesday at 1pm it had escalated to a point where  I was ready to lose my mind. We had colored, painted, read books, played computer games, played with Play Doh, built blocks, had a tea party, played hide and seek and played some board games.  Yet still the whining continued….”Moooooooom! I want to go out…I want to play….I want to go for a walk…I want it to be Spring!!!”

So I did search the internet for more fun crafts to try? Did I drive 50 miles to the closest museum to break the rainy whiney blues?

Hell, no.

I put on DVD after DVD.  When they were done with DVD’s we watched a half dozen Backyardian’s episodes, ate junk food, played Wii, and then watched some more TV.  We dined on a gourmet style dinner of mac & cheese and hotdogs.  We finished off the evening with ice cream.

I went to bed Wednesday night vowing to not to leave that spot between my sheets until the sun made an appearance.  Lucky for me, Thursday came and the sun was shining, birds were chirping and the temperatures were climbing.  The kids and I moved slowly at first, almost hungover from the previous day’s bad parenting.

I felt like I was going to need to make up for the mind melting activities of yesterday afternoon and evening. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling kind of guilty about my short temper, turning my kid’s attention over to the television, and my poor nutritional choices.

So we had our fill of the gorgeous weather.  We played in the sandbox, I pushed them on the swings, they “helped” me in the garden, and just cause I felt so bad, I decided to squeeze in an extra walk in the stroller.

The kids were pretty quiet now due to all the running around, and I was feel reborn as a parent. The kids would point out the occasional dog, say “hello” to the other neighbors who had the same great idea that we did, and seemed to be just happy.  I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and I smiled as Cecilia repeated the sound.  What a perfect Spring day…for some.

As we came headed down the next street, now just two blocks from home, I saw an empty stroller on the curb.  It sat half in the overgrown grass of the vacant (still waiting to be built on) lot, and a woman, dog and small boy were about 6ft into the tall grass and weeds.  “Maybe there’s a frog or something in there,” I pondered to myself as we came closer.  Although, I’d never let my kids walk in there, frog or no frog, because there are ticks and snakes and other undesirables calling these 20 or so un-built home sites, home.

The dog was pulling wildly at the leash on the woman’s wrist and she was uncensored as she released a string of curse words in the canine’s direction.  The dog didn’t pause and continued to leap and now bark as we approached. I was still trying to figure out this odd scene.  The boy seemed to be bent over forward in front of the woman who I assumed was his mother.  She had her back to us and didn’t seem, until this moment, to have noticed us, and now half turned to see who was approaching.

The woman’s left arm jerked around and she pulled hard at the un-obedient dog.  Her sunglasses held some of her hair from her face, but I could see she was visibly sweating.   She too was bent over and suddenly, as she half turned, and our eyes met, I knew exactly what this poor woman was doing.

As this woman worked to restrain her dog, she also worked to balance her son who was sort of squatting, bare assed in front of her. She held in her right hand a white plastic bag that she was desperately trying to grab with her left hand as well.  The bag, I’m sure was initially intended for the dog.  At this moment, however, the bag was being used as a toilet for her 2-3 year old boy.

“There’s more coming out, Mom!” he yelled.

My eyes locked with this woman’s.  At first neither of us said a word.  She didn’t need to say anything, her eyes, filling with tears and her cheeks a scarlet red, said it all.

How did I end up here?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“This is not what I expected from parenthood or life in general”

“I told this little jerk to go to the potty seven times before we left”

“I am standing in an overgrown lot up to my knees in grass, weeds, bugs, and toddler shit.”

My mouth opened and no sound came out.  I wasn’t so much shocked at what I saw, but more surprised that it was happening to someone other than me.  This is the life I live and yet there she was.  I knew my mere presence was making her life even more unbearable at the moment, but I hoped that she saw in my eyes that I’ve been there before too (not literally in a grassy area holding human poop in a bag, but close).

I asked as kindly as I could if there was anything I could do?  Hold the dog perhaps? And just as the woman was about to turn me down the boy stood up, half pulled up his underwear, and announced he was “all done.”

At this point my kids were pointing and questioning why they couldn’t go into the grass, so seeing that the situation was under control, I continued forward with a sympathetic glance.  She did say thank you, and I just waved and continued home.

It was in that last block and a half that I really felt just terrible for her.  Here I was feeling redeemed, feeling like a great Mom, and then I bore witness to another parent having an as-bad-as-it-gets kind of moment.  Half of me just ached for her and the other half felt thankful.  Thank you to the gods of parenting that wasn’t me, not today.  Not after the last two days…maybe her misfortune was the universe trying to show me on those worst of the worst days, or in the most embarrassing moments of motherhood, I’m not alone…

I had never seen the woman before, but I wish I knew where she lived…I’d bring her a bottle of wine.

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Green with envy

 Posted by Domestic Diva at 2:51 pm  Uncategorized
Mar 302011
 

When you become someone’s mother your entire world changes.  You feel things you never thought possible and you do things you never dreamed that you would do before…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Have I ever told you that green is one of my favorite colors?  Well, it’s one of them. My two favorites being red and green even though I have an borderline obsession with wearing black and white. Anyway, green is everywhere this time of year.

It’s in the grass….

 

It’s in the trees…

 

In the animals who slowly awake from their winter’s slumber…

 

So when Joey called me to come “look at the green,”  my mind was focused on the color of the season.  Did he draw a Spring Landscape?  Was he admiring the greening grass?  Perhaps our tree buds had burst open into leaves?

As I skipped, with a “spring” in my step, and rounded the corner, all hopes of a desirable Spring scene were shattered as I saw Joey, not peering out the window or coloring in his room, but standing bare-assed in the bathroom grinning at the toilet.  I sighed a terrible sigh and swiftly made my way towards the boy.

“Are you sick, Joey? Do you feel okay? Do you have diarrhea?” I quickly question.

“No, Mom. I’m totally fine. It’s just a regular poop, buuuuuut look, Mom! Look how green it is!  It looks like a group of green snakes sleeping in the toilet.” Joey giggled.

Almost afraid to look, I peered cautiously over the bowl and saw the greenest bunch of turds ever.  Think neon green…

Actual green snakes

You didn’t think I’d post poop pictures did you?  Come on! Give me a little credit!

Anyway, this is when I share one of those motherhood lessons I’ve learned that not too many people know.  When I saw Joey’s otherwise normal turds,(and here’s where you do things as a Mom you never dreamed of doing) and saw the bright green neon color I didn’t panic.  In fact, I told Joey to wipe, flush and wash his hands.  The I went down stairs and finished some emails.  Did I do that because I’m a bad Mom?  Because I don’t care about my child’s health?

The simple answer is I’ve seen it before…panicked once before….called the doctor once before….and knew we had the same situation as before.  You see, Joey had recently celebrated a friend’s birthday.  In honor of the celebration they ate cake.  Delicious chocolate and vanilla cake with blue icing (at least the Batman part of the cake).  So Joey joyfully celebrated, ate and digested the birthday cake with blue icing.  The blue icing, once it goes through the digestive system, actually comes out green. Really, really green.

So, Mamas, if your child ever poops a neon green poop that glows ominously at you from the toilet, and as your heart thumps anxiously and your mind races through different ailments to reach a diagnosis, try to think of any blue or purple food coloring/dye they may have consumed.  It just might save you a panic attack, and don’t worry, they most like are not radioactive.

You’re welcome.

(And because some people actually need me to write this: This post and my opinion about your child’s crap is not a substitute for real medical advice. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a licensed physician.  Sometimes poopy problems can be attributed to viruses, digestive conditions, allergies and more things I am not qualified to talk to you about. If you child has a poop which concerns you, please contact your pediatrician to discuss your shitty situation.)

But before you call your child’s pediatrician, take a moment to vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs.  Just click the link below to cast an automatic vote for me:

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Feb 132011
 

I’m not a doctor by medical standards…and I suppose technically, I’m not a doctor by anyone’s standards, however, I feel like I have a basic understanding of the human body.  As an out-of-the-closet germaphobe, you might assume I’m always at the doctor’s office whenever I, or one of my offspring, have a sniffle.  That couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, I hate the doctor’s office, medical aide unit, and hospital.  Going to one of these places is like walking into the lion’s den. Tons of sick people congregating in one place, leaving germs all over, is a place I try to avoid.  Anyway, my point here is that I’m not one to rush to a doctor’s office just for your standard cold.

So after my son Jake, who is three, had a mild cold for 10 days and developed a fever, I called for an appointment.  I was slightly annoyed Tuesday that calling at 10:30am was too late for an appointment that day, so I took Jake in Wednesday.  The doctor did a throat culture (which was negative), checked his ears (which were clear), and listened for a long time to his chest and back.  Having a thick nasty cough, fever, chills, vomiting, and more thick green snot I than ever thought possible for a human child of his size, the doctor told me he needed a chest Xray.  Poor, Jake.  I admit, he was really sick and as much as I didn’t want him to have another Xray (the kid had one in December when he had walking pneumonia), I wanted to rule out anything serious.  Thankfully, it was clear, but I was surprised that the nurse who called with the report Wednesday afternoon said the doctor thought it was viral.  I think the initial 10 days of illness were, but the last three days of fever seemed like a secondary infection.  I argued that he was getting worse with higher temperatures coming closer together and that this was only the third sick visit this kid had ever had.  Furthermore, he’s only been on an antibiotic twice.  What about a sinus infection?  Long story short, no dice.  “Call back if he gets worse or has a fever Friday.”

So Wednesday night was bad, Thursday was worse, and Friday morning I called again.  They took a message and I got a call back from another nurse saying the doctor would see him again BUT he still thinks it’s viral.  WTF?  Then, the nurse starts with the slow talking.  I hate slow talking.  “Now, I understand that you are concerned about Jake, but a virus can cause a fever, “  The nurse condescendingly advised me.  She continued, “you can bring him back in, but when a child has a viral illness an antibiotic won’t help.”

“Duhhhhh! Doooooy!!! Errrrr!!!”  I began making these ‘idiot’ noises in my head.  Was this nurses fucking kidding me?  If she was saying this to my face I would have kicked her in the vagina.  I slow talk to my little kids all the time, “Now, Jake. Please don’t stand on the toilet and jump in the tub when I go get your towel. You could break your leg.” OR “Joey, if we let wild, dirty animals in the house it could cause a huge mess, dear.Plus Mommy doesn’t want to have to kill a dog.“  I slow talk to my kids because they may act like idiots, but they are just kids (and usually don’t know any better). Plus it helps me not scream and/or curse at them. Here’s an example of slow talking to one of my kids (true story) : Slow talking example. In general, slow talking, at least in my experience, is meant to be condescending. It really chaps my ass when someone talks to me like this.

I am not arguing that I’m a medical professional, but based on my own experience, research, and previous experience with my kids (who have been prescribed antibiotics a total of 6 times between the three of them) I didn’t see the harm in trying something for this potential bacterial infection.  So I slow talked back. “I do know that a virus can cause a fever.  I have three kids.  Two of them spent time in daycare, have gone through preschool, and my oldest is now in Kindergarten.  We have had our share of viruses.  Many of those viruses have caused fevers.  I also know that bacteria can cause infections too. Bacteria can also cause fevers. Antibiotics can kill bacteria and make you feel aaaallllllll better.”

She wasn’t amused.  I was not amused either.  Long story short, I told the office I would take him to an Urgent Care facility that I was confident would give him an antibiotic and not waste the time and another co-pay on a diagnosis they were not willing to change.  I planned on taking Jake Saturday morning when his fever broke.  He still sounds like a TB patient, but at least the fever is gone.  And now, because this is what happens with a house full of children, Cecilia has a fever and thick nasty cough after 11 days of mild cold symptoms.

So now, because my doctor wouldn’t give me the blood of a unicorn to cure my son…. oh wait, I wasn’t asking for something crazy like the blood of a unicorn, I was just looking for a simple antibiotic, so now I’m going to look for a new pediatrician. Hopefully, Cecilia’s fever and cough will be better by tomorrow or she’ll be visiting Urgent Care too.  Sounds like the way one of my Mondays would go…

The blood of a unicorn has magical healing powers. It seems more likely I'd be able to get this from my pediatrician than an antibiotic.

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I have a few things I’d love to post, but my brain is not functioning properly due to sleep deprivation. Hopefully I’ll be able to share some of them soon.  Right now I’ve got 2.5 sick kids and I’m still fighting a funk myself, so I’ll do a quick list of things that are only okay to say and do since I’m a Mom. Just some basic observations if you will.   In other situations, if you saw or heard someone saying/doing these things, without small children,  it might be a bit socially awkward (to say the least):

1. Saying, “Please get your finger out of his/her nose!”

2. Saying, “Please get your finger out of my nose!”

3. Catching someone’s vomit in your hands.

4.  Sniffing someone’s ass to see if they pooped

5.  Trying to explain to a person that burping and farting loudly in public isn’t okay just because you say “excuse me” afterward

6.  Instructing someone to “Call me when you’re done pooping, so I can help you wipe.”

7.  Advising someone “stop walking around holding your crotch and just go to the bathroom already!”

8.  Questioning “What are you eating now?” and then instructing “spit it in my hand now!” then sticking your fingers in someone’s mouth to remove said foreign object.

9.  Asking someone if they feel okay and what “kind” of poop they just had.

10. Having to repeat any basic question 58 times in order to get a response.

Reading over this there’s a lot of poop. Even though I think it comes with the territory,  I’ll generally apologize. I think it’s cause my week has literally been shitty too.  I’m still bitter about picking up that “raisin.”  Either way, you can’t get away with saying or doing this list with adults….well, most adults.

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Where’s Mommy?

 Posted by Domestic Diva at 3:04 pm  Uncategorized
Jan 232011
 

“Mom? Where are you? Mom, hellooooo? Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Jake called without taking a breath.  I held mine.

“Don’t even breathe, Susan…just be still,”  I cautioned myself knowing my serenity was hanging by a string.  I wondered what they wanted already.  I had only enjoyed a quick check of my email, a half a glass of wine and maybe three potato chips before they came calling.  “Ask your friggin father!” I silently commanded.

As their footsteps became more distant, I thought perhaps I was safe.  I smiled victoriously to myself, took another sip of wine and bit into one of my delicious potato chips.  It was the loudest potato chip ever.

“Ah-ha!”  My husband yelled. “I found her, boys!  She’s in here.”

“You’re an ass,” I said.

“You’re terrible at hiding.  I already used this spot yesterday,” my husband replied.

I thought that I had found a great hiding place in my kid’s tee-pee , and while they were playing Wii, I was sitting enjoying some peace and quiet.  However, since my husband gave up my location my Mommy-timeout was short lived.  With my bathroom door lock broken, my tee-pee hideout discovered, I’ll be scouting out my next quiet spot.  If it wasn’t 14 degrees I’d try the garage or attic, but in the meantime, it’s going to have to have heat.

Mommy timeout

"If you tell those damn kids where I am, I swear I'll kick your..."

Shhhhhhh!

Got any tips for me? Where’s your favorite hiding spot? I promise I won’t tell…leave me a comment! I’d love to hear from you!

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A number of years ago, my cousin, Joanna,  attended a gift exchange at work with a group of rather demented coworkers.  As she examined a table full of gifts, she believed she was making a safe choice by selecting a gift that was shaped like a DVD.  Upon opening said gift, she actually found herself the proud new owner of a pair of men’s extra large thong underwear.  Not wanting to keep such a wonderful treasure all to herself, she and her brother chose a random bag at our family Christmas party (which by the way is usually 30-35 people) and secretly dropped it inside.  Needless to say, my Aunt Terry was quite surprised to be the recipient of such a gift from her godson (my brother), Michael.  The thong then found its way in February out to my cousin, Bob at Stanford in California for his birthday, and back to Delaware that summer when Bob gave my husband and I a lovely housewarming gift (he even put the package inside a larger box with rocks in the bottom to throw us off-which worked by the way).

I ran into a snag with the men’s extra large thong underwear once in my possession, however. No, not because my husband wanted to wear them, but because my dogs ate the box.  We  found ourselves with a loose pair of men’s extra large thong underwear, so I devised a plan to get them back to my cousin for her 30th birthday.

No great idea is without some sort of sacrifice. I went through some unimaginable visual horrors after Googling ” male blow up doll” to find a male doll that was not anatomically correct, and who would be the perfect model for the underwear.

But after some eye washing, hypnotherapy, and perseverance, I found the perfect doll.  So in the middle of Joanna’s 30th birthday party, she opened a giant box with a blow up doll, named Ramon, sporting the underwear.  Sadly, Ramon only survived a few years, but don’t be sorrowful, he lived a full life.  Joanna made sure to capture many of their adventures on film, and here’s one of her Christmas cards (which are highly anticipated each year by the way):

Joanna and Ramon with a mall Santa. Yes, she took him to the mall and had to ask Santa, in front of all the children, if she and her blow up doll could have a photo with him. Obviously, Santa has a sense of humor.

Even sadder, the thong underwear have fallen into the hands of someone not willing to re-gift (long story), but our family has recently started another holiday tradition in which many people can enjoy thoughtful, unique gifts.  For decades we used to all pick a name for a Secret Santa at Thanksgiving and then exchange gifts at Christmas.  Although it was a long and wonderful tradition, we tried something new last year.  Each family member is to bring a wrapped gift with no tag, and each family member picks a number.  We then each select a gift in order based on the number drawn.  The next person can choose to select an unwrapped gift or steal a gift from one of the previous opened ones (oh, and a gift can only be stolen 3 times- the third person is the final owner).  The higher the number, the better off you are going to be.  We’ve done this for two years on my Dad’s side, and once last year on my Mom’s side of the family.  I can honestly say that by the end of the gift exchange my sides are usually hurting from laughter.  There is typically a pretty even split between “good” gifts and funny (awful) gifts.  Here are some of last year’s treasures:

My brother gave the "holiday five pack" opened by my Uncle.

I found a lovely Shot-Gun Santa Doll which was actually stolen three times and ended up with my Brother.

Bob, secure in his manhood, proudly displays his new pink Snuggie.

My Dad wouldn't have to worry about his hands being cold with his new "Hander-pants" (aka underwear for your hands)

My cousn Amy, in her new hat, kisses her son, Steven, who is sporting the authentic Indian headdress I purchased.

Mom with another Snuggie. There were lots of Snuggies.

So as the Holiday shopping swings into full gear this week, I know many of you will be in search of the “perfect’ gift …and so will I.  Our definitions of perfect may just be a little different.  My family, on both sides, really puts the “Funk” in dysfunctional if you know what I mean, so I’ve never stood much chance of being “normal.”  Maybe you can all help me out though…I need some terrible gift ideas.  What’s the worst holiday gift you’ve ever received? Or do you have any different traditions?  Do share!  I’m really looking forward to this year’s gift exchange and cannot wait to see the treasures given this Christmas!

This post is in memory of Ramon. Photographed here as Joanna's date for my cousin Christine's wedding. We miss his especially around the holidays, but he is with us always. RIP Ramon 2003-2007.

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