One of the best things about offering myself up for public humiliation and criticism on my blog nearly every day is your comments. Goodnight you people make me laugh! I keep a file called Best of Comments and then at the end of the year, I like to publish them out of context just to amuse myself. I’m kind of like a cat with a piece of string — easily amused.

However, this year was a tragic year for my Best of Comments file because, in July my computer died a sudden death, not only leaving me stranded but allowing Antique Daddy to say “I told you so” in reference to this thing called “backing up your files”? I don’t know what that means.

Anyway, then the next day I bought a new computer and Vista which nearly caused me to pull all my hair out (and I got a lot of hair people) and made me want to drink myself dizzy.  Bald and sloshed –  just like Britney!  

Then later, Antique Daddy magically resurrected the first computer with some little gizmo he bought off the internet which kept me computering along for several months.  Then finally he bought me a second not-quite-new computer which I am using now. And it seems to be surviving this aura I have around me that destroys electronics, so it must be good.   

All that to say, with all the coming and goings of computers around here, my files are who knows where. I don’t. So my Best of Comments file is a little thin, unlike me.

 Nonetheless I shall present to you what remains of the 2007 Best of Comments file, taken totally out of context because it’s my blog and I can do what I want.  I will add the others back in when/if I find them.  I’ll go check Antique Daddy’s sock drawer for them right now.

* * * 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling the whole situation beautifully. If you try to force the issue, he’ll just end up all strung out on scotch tape with poop in his pants.”   ~ Big Mama

“The truth is you DO know better. I don’t care if it’s only a drip. Toilet paper should be used by all people regardless of gender. Thank you and have a nice day.”   ~ Daring Young Mom

“Good grief, woman, didn’t your mama ever tell you not to believe everything you see on TV? It’s all done with mirrors. They didn’t show you the part where she’s mainlining caffeine and weeping into her valium pills and sweeping little piles of cheerios down the heating vents.”   ~ Planet Nomad

“Men can also only see eight colors. Off-white, bone, ecru, ivory and eggshell are all white. Also salmon is a food and not a color.”   ~ Will

“…whenever I find myself rifling through the garbage I think of you.”   ~ Fiddlededee

“I just bought 6 ears at Wal-Mart today….”   ~ Jen

“I have to agree, I am not a butt user.”  ~ Janelle

“We all end up in diapers eventually. But manners…. they stick around!”  ~ Bee

“When I start talking to my shampoo, it generally means I need a little nap.”  ~ Beck

“If God wants you to know what’s wrong with you he’ll fire up one of the bushes in your flower bed and speak through it.”  ~ Jeana

MotherPie asked me what I was still doing around here. So here goes:

Still amazed: at the miracle that is my little boy, how delightful and funny and bright he is, that God saw fit to make ME?! his mother.

Still getting used to: a post mid-40s face (and backside)

Still loving: my iPod

Still proud of:  graduating summa cum laude with a degree in art and theater which I completed at 38.7-years-old proving that endurance trumps brains.

Still not proud of: past relationships left in need of repair.

Still hoping: to go back and complete a masters degree, to get published, to lose 7 pounds.

Still worried: about the condition of humanity, the cultural direction of our country.

Still never going to: wear mom jeans or a t-shirt with Sean’s picture on the front, still never going to have a tattoo.

Still pretending: that I’ll get in great shape again.

Still reading: Your blog!

Still wanting to read: a real book, from front to end, in one sitting without interruption.

Still interested in: studio arts and interior design

Still not interested in: Britney Spears or anyone living in Hollywood

Still looking forward to: hiking in Yosemite with Antique Daddy and Sean.

Still not looking forward to: my yearly colonoscopy.

Still failing: to work up any interest in our family finances…..zzzzzzz

Still grateful for: every single day of life.

Still praying: to get to see my little boy grow up and be happily married with a family of his own.

Still not believing in: diets of any kind.

Still believing in: Jesus

What are YOU still doing?

* * *

Be still and know that I am God ~ Psalm 46:10

Sometime before Christmas, as I was getting into my car, I noticed something stuck between the seat and the console. So I bravely stuck my hand into that deep dark black hole where loose change, French fries and Goldfish go to die. And lo and behold it was a credit card! It was Antique Daddy’s credit card.

At least once a week, Antique Daddy loses his money/credit cards/keys and I freak out and turn the house upside down looking for them. And while I’m busy freaking out and digging through the trash, he’s busy helping me freak out by watching the news or eating a bowl of cereal. And then later, I usually find the lost item in a coat pocket or some other unlikely place. And so then I lecture him on the benefits of being OCD and how that when you obsessively and compulsively check your wallet for your credit card four or five times before you leave a store or a restaurant you rarely lose those kind of things and clearly, it’s a better way to live. And then I invite him to sign up for a free trial.

So when I found his credit card along with an earring and a petrified tootsie roll (at least I think it was a tootsie roll), I decided I would teach him a lesson. I would stash his credit card somewhere for a while and let him freak out while I ate a bowl of cereal. So I did. I wrote a clever little note telling him exactly when and where I found his credit card and then I put it in his sock drawer. But then Christmas came and apparently he never wore socks in December and I not only forgot that I found the credit card, I forgot that I had hidden it, let alone where I had hidden it.

So then.

Earlier this week when Antique Daddy reported that he couldn’t find his credit card, I once again freaked out and turned the house upside down and dug through the trash looking for it. And I guess you probably know by now that I didn’t find it. Yes indeed, these blonde roots go clear down to the brain where they tangle up and choke the intelligence out of the logic/thinking/recalling lobe.

As I’m bent over the trash can and digging through it for the third time, Antique Daddy shows me the credit card and my oh-so-clever note that he found in his sock drawer.

Perhaps it was the coffee grounds under my fingernails or the stench of things therein that, truly, you do not want to know, but somehow the note wasn’t nearly as clever as I remembered. And the spousal object lesson wasn’t nearly as gratifying as I’d imagined either.

 Originally published January 2007

The morning of Christmas Eve, Sean and I were at Wal-Mart gathering up a few last minute things for my mother-in-law’s birthday, which is Christmas Eve.

Sean was really into the concept of celebrating Memaw’s birthday. He wanted to bake a birthday cake for her, so we bought cake mix and icing and sparkly sugar. He wanted to put flowers on the table so I paid $9 for semi-slimy flowers from the Isle of Misfit Flowers. He wanted to buy her a present so he picked out the most hideous rug in the universe from the holiday housewares clearance row. It was the last of its kind and looked as though it might have even been stepped on or run over by a cart a few times.

I tried my best to talk him out of it. I tried to convince him that maybe she would prefer something less rug-like, but his heart was set on this $2 kitchen rug featuring hideously happy little cartoon birds in happy little cartoon birdhouses, the kind of rug that would be perfect for your house – if you have a sofa and/or a toilet in your front yard. So I threw it in the cart. Along with some maraschino cherries that caught his eye and a Lightning McQueen shirt two sizes too small for him and a few other things which I had no intention of buying. And the hearts of all the people in the land swelled with happiness and contentment.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t invent this mothering trick and I’m also pretty sure many of you will think that I’m a pretty rotten mother for wholly embracing this mothering trick, yet I also know that many of you do it yourselves (and you’re the ones I want to party with) —  But! A lot of times when Sean and I are shopping, I let him put stuff in the cart which I have no intention of buying. And then when he is distracted at the checkout with the M&Ms and Britney’s bald head, I take these things out of the cart and put them in the cart of either the lady behind or in front of me. No, not really. I don’t do that other than just that one time with the Pokemon cards.

In an ideal cooperative world, I would put my “heck-no-I’m-not-buying-this” item in the cart of the lady behind me, who would then put it in the cart of the lady behind her, where there would be stationed a permanent Antique Mommy Memorial HNINBT Cart, sponsored by the Antique Mommy Psychiatric Memorial Endowment Fund for frazzled mothers everywhere.

So then, when Sean was busy rehearsing his closing arguments for the large package of M&Ms, I put the rug in an empty cart that was strategically placed behind a big bin of holiday DVDs. Into the stragically placed cart, no doubt put there by another mother, I also put the maraschino cherries and the other HNINBT items.

As I was sliding my credit card, Sean cried out, “Mommy! Where is the rug for Memaw? Where is that beautiful rug!!?”

The young gal behind me in line, who saw me offload the beautiful rug – a young child-free gal wearing makeup, nice clothes and heels, a gal clutching a basket and not a cart, a gal who no doubt had not yet been to the maternal warzone or had her metal tested by a child, gave me a judgmental “I can’t believe you did that” look with the slight raise of an eyebrow. Judgment – it resides in the eyebrows, did you know that?

Luckily for me, I don’t really care what strangers in Wal-Mart think, so I told Sean that it must have fallen off the cart and that we would go shopping later and get her another one. What a shame about that beautiful rug.

So yes. I won’t lie about Santa but I will lie about an ugly rug. And salt. I will definitely lie about salt. And maybe a few other things that are ugly or messy. Or noisy. I will only lie only about things that are ugly, messy or noisy. I have my morals and standards and whatnot. Stop judging me people.  I have more than enough judgment for myself.

Prologue: Later that same day, I went back to Wal-Mart, found the hideous rug and bought it. Sean was thrilled. When Memaw unwrapped it, she pretended to be thrilled.

And the hearts of all the people in the land swelled with happiness and contentment. And a little lot of judgment.

This evening, Sean put in a call to Aunt Jean to wish her a Merry Christmas.  I didn’t hear her side of the conversation, but I did hear this expressed in a rather derisive tone:

 ”Well, I got a pirate boat and a scooter, but I didn’t get the whistle that I ordered.”

Just now, I am making a mental note to flog fire whomever processed his order. 

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby,

Hark! The herald angels sing

keeping watch over their flocks at night

Glory to the newborn king

An angel of the Lord appeared to them

Peace on earth and mercy mild

and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

God and sinners reconcile

But the angel said to them, Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.

Joyful, all ye nations rise

Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.

Join the triumph of the skies

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.

With the angelic host proclaim

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel

Christ is born in Bethlehem!

praising God and saying Glory to God in the highest!

Hark! The herald angels sing

And on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.

Glory to the newborn King!

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.

Luke 2:8-15

Antique Daddy and I made the decision early early on that we would present Santa Claus as someone who is not real, but as a character from a story, like Lightning McQueen or Builder Bob.  The reason behind our thinking is that Sean is a bright little boy and it was going to take entirely too much verbal tap dancing to keep up the ruse for very long and we are tapped out.

Nonetheless, there is just something about a 4-year-old that wants to, and mabye even needs to, believe in Santa Claus. And this year, I think he is trying to reconcile what he would like to be true versus what he knows is true.

The day after our visit to Santa, on our way to school, we had this conversation in the car:

Sean: Some of the kids at school think Santa is real, but we don’t believe in Santa Claus, do we mom?

AM:  No, but we do believe in the things that Santa Claus represents like love and…

Sean: And presents.

AM:  kindness and… 

Sean:  Presents.

AM:  looking after those in need and…

Sean: Presents.

AM: Yes Sean, we believe in presents.

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Dude, you’re a man in a red suit and my parents are making me do this.

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Oh! Did you say presents Mr. Claus!? I’ve been verrrry good!  What kind of cookies do you want to go with that milk?

Antique Daddy and I were invited to a Christmas party this past weekend.

I’ll be honest with you. We don’t get out much. Our party circuit is not even one lap these days.

So we got spiffed up for the party. We seem to be running low on spiff around here. Truthfully, our spiffwear no longer fits, so actually we were not all that spiffed up, mainly just cleaned up. I wore the exact same thing I wore to this party two years ago. No one noticed.

After the babysitter arrived, off we went to mix and a’mingle and do the jingle bell rock in a house full of people roughly as tall as we are. I would say here that it was an opportunity to enjoy grown-up conversation, but hanging out with Sean all day, I get enough of that already. The food was fabulous and spirits of all variety were served. Probably even Bacardi. But I don’t know; Bacardi is not my thing.

Later that week, I began to rethink my stance on Bacardi.

Antique Daddy and I were lying in bed watching a little late night TV when a Bacardi commercial comes on. The scene shows great looking people, wearing beautiful well-fitting fashionable clothes at a fabulously fun party where everyone is cool. No one has food on them or spinach in their teeth. Everyone at the party can hear over the music because they are laughing and exchanging witty repartee and smoldering glances and not thinking about if their kid will like the pirate boat they just bought for Christmas. Everyone is spiffy and cool.

“You know,” I tell AD, “If we drink Bacardi, then we would get invited to cool parties, we would automatically become great looking, wear fabulous clothes, partake in witty repartee and glance smolderingly.”

Like Cinderella, I paused here to review our situation – we are lying in bed at 9:30pm amongst matchbox cars and stuffed animals, we are wearing flannel jammie bottoms, sweatshirts and mismatched athletic socks.

“I guess we’d have to drink a lot of it,” I concede.

“Yup. So would everyone at the party,” he adds.

My spiff has gone missing and not even Bacardi can bring it back.

Last year, for Christmas, Sean wanted a Peemo boat. I searched high and low and consulted the internets and soothsayers, but nay – no Peemo boat was to be found in all the land.  To this day we still have no idea what a Peemo boat is.

This year I wised up.  I gave up on my powers of subtle discernment and the day after Thanksgiving, I just handed him the circulars from Toys R Us and Target and told him to circle what he wanted.  He flipped through the pages indifferently.  Nothing seemed right. Occasionally he would say something like, “Oh that’s nice” or “That might be okay” but there was no jumping up and down or hyperventilating as I would have done had my mother handed ME the ads and said circle what you want.

Then one day recently, we were in Sam’s Club and he saw the toy of his dreams.  He gasped. He clutched his heart for dramatic effect. He hyperventilated.  His bottom lip quivered as he pointed to a gigantic, hideous hunk of plastic in the form of a pirate boat and announced that that was it!! THAT! Was what he wanted for Christmas! And he jumped out of the cart and affixed his eyes to it like a Golden Retriever and he may have even panted and drooled.

I was relieved to know what he wanted and where I had to go to get it. I was not relieved at the thought of spending $70 for 4×4 hunk of plastic that would occupy substantial square footage in my den, especially since my den is not done in pirate or plastic.

So I spent the rest of the week scouring the internets for other kinds of less hideous, less large, less plastic, less expensive pirate boats — lesser pirate boats in all regard, pirate boats that would go better with my den, maybe a gay pirate boat done tastefully in warm woods tones and damasks.

I ultimately ended up with a Fisher-Price model that I found at Toys R Us for about $24. Yes, it is plastic and hideously colored, but small, not 4×4.  And that was the end of my Christmas shopping, yay for me!

Later that week, I asked Sean what he wanted for Christmas, secretly looking forward to already knowing the answer, to knowing that I had already scored a pirate boat and that it was at that very moment stashed away in the garage awaiting his glee and delight.

He cocked his head and gave it a minute of consideration before reciting a lengthy list.

“I want a scooter, and some ice skates, a Lightening McQueen set, a whistle….”

“And a pirate boat? How about a pirate boat?”

“Um, no not really.”

“Really? I thought you wanted a pirate boat.  You’ve been talking about a pirate boat.”

“Well, I changed my mind.”

I think Christmas is as good a time as any to learn about disappointment, don’t you?

If you are like me and feeling a little tipsy from all the Christmas glitter, then you should read this from Planet Nomad.  Her worldview perspective always blesses me and sometimes sobers me.