oh, by gosh, by golly, it's time for mistletoe & holly...

...and making out with my youngest son.

OK, not really, but wow, for the past month of so, my sweet boy has been laying the love down on me like the only virgin in his graduating class (His college graduating class. Fingers crossed!).

To be fair, I get a bit of the love from this child on a regular basis; however, there are many times when I have to barter for a kiss or make promises I can't weasel out of for a hug (a lesson he's no doubt picked up on via the documentary that plays out daily in the living room between his father and me). From approximately February to mid-October, if our house were to go up in a blaze, my sons would be all, "Grab the man who buys us things and lets us ride in his truck! Forgo the woman who incubated us in her belly and nurtured us from her bosom! Rapido! To the mailbox, where we agree to meet in the event of emergency!"

But when the holiday season rolls around, as my youngest boy begins to realize the impact his moderate disregard for me at any time other than when I'm tempting him with ice cream or narcotics (kidding) might have on his naughty or nice scale, he turns into a little love machine. Don't be surprised if you walked into my house and heard Barry White, Sade or the soundtrack to High School Musical 3 caressing the air and my little Lothario giving me the "How you doin'?'" eyes (which, were this my husband, would involve him jiggling his glass at me in the universal sign to get him a refill, but for my son, it means beckoning me over with a little finger wag. Alas, it's his middle finger. We're still working on that).

Every day, at any time, I'm showered with kisses and squeezed as tightly as tiny arms can squeeze. Admittedly, I love it. I relish the gleam in his eye when I ask him who loves him and he says "Mama where, at any other time of the year, his answer is always "Dad!" Not to take sides, I do complement my query by asking who else loves him, so he will respond by saying his father does, too, but I must admit I'm soaking up the first place love after being an "also ran" who only crosses the finish line after a lot of begging and perhaps some fake tears.

You could say I'm simply coaxing the love out of him by always asking him who loves him. I'd argue that I'm just preparing him for the psychological warfare women will unleash upon him one day and perhaps administer for the rest of his life. Toughening him up for the inevitable with these wicked games we play. But the kid can be a wonderful softy once December arrives in full force. These days, he walks around professing his love for me like some woebegone Romeo.

"I love you, Mama."
"Mama, I love!"
"Have I told you lately that I love you, Mommy?"
"My love, sweet Mama, 'tis greater than the mountains and farther reaching than the stars!"

Who wouldn't love that? I'd like to get me some of that in July, when gifts and stockings and heeds of "Santa's watching you!" didn't have to be used as warfare.

So for now, I'll take what I can get, and the delivery of hugs and kisses has been staggering. To store up on what I fear will drift off again by December 26th, I will ask for kisses at every opportunity. Waiting at the meat counter at the grocery store Monday evening for our pork chops to be wrapped, we counted how many times we could share kisses until our order was complete. At my oldest son's basketball game this past weekend, I'd snag a peck for every pick. God bless this child for not being too ashamed to plant a pucker on his mother in public. At least for now.

However the love gets doled out, whether it's sincere (and yes, I believe it is, and I believe in Santa Claus - at least a little bit! - too) or whether it's fleeting, I'm hoarding it like someone who snags all the perfect presents on their holiday wishes and looks forward to giving them to someone they love.

Because the kid is a charmer. And because I know when the answer returns to always being "Dad!" that within that response he means me, too. And because I have to hold onto the hope that he'd actually not leave me if our house was burning. Because for now, it's burning with love.

in case you were wondering...

I haven't been stolen away by a marauding band of renegade Bigfoot.

Or Bigfeet, since there would have to be more than one to form a band. Bigfeet just doesn't sound quite as evil.

Of course, there's also the chance I actually was nabbed, and they are standing behind me right this second, making me write this so as to buy more time to drag me deeper into their forest haunts. It's really up to you to decide, I think.

Anyway, I just thought you would want to know. Of course, if you didn't want to know, you're going to feel really, really bad when you turn on the news in a few days and the top story is about a gang of scary Sasquatch.

Assuming I was stolen away, that is.

further proof that feeds my theory that one day, this song will likely be our national anthem

My kids aren't that interested in popular music, which is a bit of a shame, really, for their refusal to rebel against authority by storming up to their bedrooms, slamming the doors and cranking the volume on their non-existent stereos up to 11 denies me one of life's most time-honored traditions of sighing loudly and lamenting about kids today and their pesky rock and roll.

Oh, sure, my oldest son is vaguely aware of Top 40 pop acts because girls in middle school are apparently gaga for Lady Gaga (sorry...I had to go with that)(and seriously, I can't blame them because, though I'm no middle school girl, damn if I can't stop listening to Bad Romance), and my youngest might not turn the channel if Miley Cyrus is wailing about enjoying American social gatherings or some such thing, but for the most part, they couldn't care less what's on the radio.

So it was a surprise to me tonight when my youngest raced into the kitchen, stood directly behind me as I was at the stove prepping dinner, and announced his intent to perform a musical number for my enjoyment. Before I could turn around, he launched into the most spot-on and amazing rendition of Beyonce's Single Ladies I'd ever heard, and I'm not just saying that because he's my kid and well, wow, can my kid smack his own butt and do that whole 'Look at me! I'm a horse jockey!' dance move!

I also don't know why in the world I'm surprised he'd know that song because that song will never, ever go away, and I firmly believe that one day, we all will be forced to either dance to it or sing it for our very salvation. What I AM surprised by is that when I turned around to commend his performance, I noticed he was waving five one dollar bills in the air as he spun and sang, and I wasn't sure if I should be thrilled that he seems to be really latching onto the concept of money he's currently learning in second grade - one dollar bills are singles, after all - or concerned about how he one day plans to make his money. I've always said this kid was born to be on the stage. I've just always been hopeful there wouldn't be a pole of any kind in the middle of it.

hooray, hooray! it's my birthday today!

Well, it's my birthday today for about three more hours. Depending on when you read this, it could just be plain old Wednesday. Understandable. It sometimes takes me a few days to get to your blogs, too.

Also, no offense to anyone who has a birthday on Wednesday. Happy birthday to you!

I spent my birthday as I do each November 15th - snorting cocaine from the small of a male model's back and sipping Cristal from the sexy pair of Crocs I bought online a few weeks ago. I can afford the good stuff because I used a coupon code for 10 percent off the sale price of those sexy and sensible shoes and huzzah! No sales tax OR shipping fee! That's just how I roll. Isn't that what the kids say these days? I have no idea because I turned 42 today, and apparently I'm not a kid anymore. Thanks, crazy old lady knee for reminding me of that every morning as I try to get out of bed! Kudos to you!

(and to sweet Ali Martell for calling me both hot AND 25 - though not in that order - on Facebook today. Oh, I remember 25. It was back when I thought 42 seemed like a lifetime away!)

There was also cake to be had today! Hooray! Cake is so much better than cocaine and Cristal, neither of which I've actually had. That previous paragraph is what's called 'a creative license' or some such thing. I'm writing this strung out on a big old hunk of that triple chocolate creation up there, which my Mom graciously volunteered to make by saying, "If I made you, the least I can do is make you a birthday cake." It made a lot of sense once I got past that whole ooky thought of my parents once having sex, which, yes, is still quite ooky even though I am now 42.

It also makes sense because my husband wasn't around much this weekend to toss a few eggs in a bowl to do me the honor. Good times.

Where was I? Oh, so seriously, I'm a little shaky on the cake thing. And on the fact that my boys referred to it as a butt cake. Because it's a bundt cake. Get it? Yeah. Classy. They also wanted to put 42 candles in it and burn our house down, but I begged them not to, even though I'd have appreciated the warmth that sugary inferno would have put off. It's chilly in here. Or maybe I'm just going through menopause and my hormones are all out of whack. That might explain the brief crying jag I had in the shower this morning, but nope, I'm pretty sure all this is still open for business. What's that got to do with lighting my cake up Bon Jovi-style (in a blaze of glory...get it? hilarious!)? Nothing. I just didn't want it to join the Great Wall of China as the only man-made (or in this case, mom-made) object visible from space.

So how did I spend my birthday? Brace yourself for the excitement I'm about to throw down on you! Ready? OK. I caught up on episodes of Cougar Town on hulu. Because given my age and my fondness for young male celebrities, it seemed appropriate. After about three episodes, I began to think the man who does the pre-show advertising voice-overs was imagining me naked because he seems very, very smarmy. Go! Check out a couple shows and then come back and tell me I'm not imagining things!

...waiting...waiting...waiting...waiting...waiting...waiting...waiting...waiting...

See what I mean?! But do you want to know what's worse? When he told me "The following is brought to you with limited commercial interruption by Tide (implied Rawr!!)" I was all, "So...how you doin'?" to my laptop. Yeah. Would a woman going through menopause be trying to hit on a faceless man inside her computer? I didn't think so. Instead, I saved my sexy come on for my Health Choice Cafe Steamer (poor name, poorer taste) that I warmed up for lunch. No, my basil chicken didn't speak to me first. I didn't give it the chance. I dove right in as soon as I pulled it out of the microwave and saw the two measly bites of pale chicken nestled next to a lone broccoli floret and a sad slice of red pepper and cried "Oh, yeah, Healthy Choice, you just try to tempt me with your massive zucchini chunks and intoxicating half-frozen glaze of indistinguishable flavor!"

Yeah, I think someone needs to stay home a bit more and bake me some cake, if he knows what's good for him...

But since he doesn't read my blog, I'll just have to tell him. Anyway...

Oh, I also bought a Food Saver vacuum packaging system online today after talking to my sister on the phone about how we don't have any money. I know. Talk about impulse! She told me she'd bought one a few weeks ago, and because I've always wanted what she has (mostly that just entails her naturally curly hair and the extra six inches of height she has on me, but still), I whipped out my handy dandy golden ticket - a Kohls 30 percent off coupon - and got a steal on it (not really). Then I called her back and told her how much less I paid for the same thing and she responded by yelling "You suck!!" and I said "First, that's no way to speak to your elders and second, I think you mean this awesome food vacuum that I'll probably only use to reseal our bags of generic corn chips sucks because that's what it's made to do and if you ask some people here if I am made to do the same way, they would say no, I am not, but that person didn't bake me a birthday cake today, so there."

Or something like that. I'm just excited to get it so I can freeze the half a butt cake we have left and spend days preserving 5-pound bags of chicken breasts.

Because I figure if mine are getting older, at least the ones we eat don't have to.

i'm all over your internet today!

Guess what I get to go do today?

Give up? I get to renew my driver's license! Hooray! I had six years to achieve my goals so that when I reached November 2009, I'd be the person I lied and said I was when I last visited the DMV. Six years! Apparently I'm not one to jump on a goal. Oh, how I look forward to the uproarious laughter of the clerk when I try to slip the weight thing in when they ask about changes.

As soon as I post this, I'm going to jump through the shower, curl up my hair, slap some make-up on and work out a few modeling poses in the mirror. Basically, I'm going to be doing what I do every morning. Except this time, I'm going to get all this (picture my hands running up and down myself like a game show hostess displaying the curves on a Ford F-250) captured for the ages in a washed out tiny license photo. Stand back, modeling agents. I have toilets to scrub and school fundraiser items to pick up! There's two boys who need shuttled around town for basketball games all day Saturday! I can can't be jetting off to exotic locales for magazine covers and ritzy parties!

While I'm suffering the indignities of the DMV, I thought why not share some insight into who I am with all of you! To do this, I emailed my friend DC Urban Dad and said "Listen, I think you should come up with five questions and have me answer them and then post them on your blog and people will read my answers and they will either fall in love with me or perhaps shake their heads and say things like 'tsk, tsk...poor disillusioned girl...'" and he totally fell for it!

Except in reality, he kindly emailed me, asked if I'd answer a few questions (which, thankfully, didn't involve him having to read me my Miranda rights), and I gladly complied. A day later. Because I had to shower, curl my hair and put make-up on so I looked nice while doing it. I'd love if you visited DC Urban Dad's blog and leave us a comment!

When you're done there, why don't you hop on over to Polite Fictions and read the various ways all the contributing writers are wrapping up our first story. We're in the director's cut chapter of our tale and each of us are crafting an ending to the story. Mine is up today. Be kind. Enjoy a donut.

Finally, there's that post down there (look down...I'm used to it) that I wrote yesterday. Adorable things courtesy of my adorable boys. Has anyone gotten on that time-freezing machine yet? I would like to buy one.

So I think that's about it. I must now go spend some time crafting the perfect liar's face so I don't cave when giving my info the DMV. It looks a little like Blue Steel, which is also the look I want in mhy license photo. Something that screams sexy AND law abiding! Perfect!

they might have also thanked 16 vestal virgins, too

"We had an assembly for the veterinarians today," shared my oldest son during dinner Wednesday night.

"Oh, yeah?" I responded. "Just for veterinarians?"

"Yep"

"Was it career day today at school?"

"What? No. They were there to talk about their time in the military and serving our country."

"I think you mean veterans, honey."

"That would make more sense."

Later that same evening...

"Today in school, we wrote letters to the vegans," shared my youngest son while he and I ran an errand.

"The vegans?" I asked. "Really?"

"Yeah. We thanked them for all the things they've done for us and for protecting our freedoms."

"While I respect their decisions, what freedoms, exactly, have vegans protected us from?"

"Fighting in wars and stuff,"

"I think you mean veterans, honey."

"Oh...maybe..."

"Yeah...Where were you during dinner?"

in honor of maddie

I don't think there are too many people reading this who didn't have their heart broken on April 7th of this year. That's the day we learned that Madeline Alice Spohr, whom we all knew as Maddie from The Spohrs Are Multiplying, was suddenly taken from her parents, Heather and Mike, when a respiratory infection coupled with a collapsed lung was more than her 17-month-old body could fight. Thousands of people across the country mourned with Heather and Mike, and thousands came to their support by donating to the March of Dimes in Maddie's memory.

Since then, the Spohrs, along with family and friends, have created Friends of Maddie , a fund dedicated to supporting families of critically ill or prematurely-born infants during their stay in the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) with supplies, help finding temporary lodging (because the NICU isn't always within commuting distance of home) and by creating a network of support. Friends of Maddie uses your donation to put together support packs for families who find themselves overwhelmed with the care of an at-risk newborn. The packs include items such as reusable water bottles, snack bars, tissues, mints, and most importantly, a tri-fold binder with a note pad and accordion file to keep track of paperwork. "We're hopeful it will make it at a little easier for parents to keep track of everything," Heather says."You get SO many papers, business cards, etc., every day, and it's hard to keep track of everything."

She should know, she lived the experience. Maddie's sixty-eight-day stay in the NICU is chronicled on Heather's blog and her husband Mike's blog as well. Readers across the country followed every setback and every victory. What message would she like to pass on to parents in the same situation? "Patience. Take things a day at a time and live in the moment. Don't look down the road or things will get REALLY scary and overwhelming," shared Heather. The reaction to the packs has been terrific, according to Heather. "We've been getting a FANTASTIC response from everyone! We weren't expecting such a big response so we are really behind in getting back to everyone, but it's a good problem to have!" By now, you are all wondering how you can help, right? I knew it. You people rock. Your options:

• Donate! I know, the economy is bad right now, but every little bit helps!
• Let your local NICU know about Friends of Maddie.
• Do you work for a company that might bring a valuable service to NICU parents? Contact Friends of Maddie.
• Just spread the word! Write a blog post! Send out a tweet! You all know how this works!
  

Mike and Heather's loss is unimaginable. In spite of their grief, they have found a way to pay forward all the love poured out from thousands of hearts across the Internet. Tell your friends about Friends of Maddie!