A Christmas Revelation
I tend not to like shows like "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?," that crazy show that used to be on where girls would like up and wear dresses and people would try to win money, and the latest craze, "Minute to Win It." The contestants are always way too happy. They display too much PDA (public display of affection), and they usually seem like robots. . . happy, weird little robots.
On Sunday night, the NFL decided to cancel the Eagles game and when football coverage ended a little after 8 p.m., "Minute to Win It" came on. Although I can't stand these shows, it is very easy to get sucked in to them. Sometimes it's almost impossible to look away.
The first contestants were just disgusting. They were an entirely too perfect couple. They wore semi-matching sweaters and used entirely too much hair gel. They also jumped up and down a lot. Way too much. Sometimes, when they were really happy after one of those silly challenges, they would jump, embrace and then the guy would take the girls hands, pull them up over his head, and then run his hands down her back. It was entirely over the top and I had to refrain from gagging. Then, when you didn't think it could get any worse, the perfect hair guy got down on his knee, started crying and proposed. From then on out, they should have just named the show "Minute to Make Out" because it was just ridiculous.
They ended up losing a bunch of money and only went home with like $50K, of which the government will probably take all but $2K. The jumping sort of stopped then. I was glad because I was starting to worry the girl would knock herself out with her chest.
The show ended and we were all relieved until another episode came on. The contestants this time were two sisters, wearing coordinated flannel shirts and matching cami tanks underneath. The oldest sister (definitely in her 30's), wore low pigtails. Two of them. If you had been drinking enough eggnog that night, you would have thought you time warped back to the days of Benny Hill. They also jumped a lot. And, instead of PDA, they displayed uncanny crying abilities. Anytime Guy would ask them why they wanted the money, they would turn on the waterworks and point at their mother, make horrible contortions of their faces and just cry and wax poetic about how much their Mom has done for them.
Maybe I spent too much time with my family in the last week, but gag me with a spoon already. They were sickening sweet and clearly not human because no two women, mothers of about six kids combined could have facial skin like that. It looks like someone transplanted the skin of a baby's butt directly onto their faces (Yeah, I'm a little jealous if we're being perfectly honest here).
It was after one of their sob sessions and ponytail bouncing that I realized something. One of the challenges had been called "Deck the Balls" and had the contestants using two wrapping paper tubes. One person had to use the tube to suck a ball ornament to the end of it, transfer it to the other partner who was also creating suction in order to keep the ball stuck to the end of it, before transferring it to a hanging position.
Another challenge had the girls stacking mulitple balls in a martini glass. Another challenge had them fanning balls across the stage. Yet another challenge had them acting as a human conveyor belt as they hung balls and then rotated them around before finally hanging them up. This one was called "Hung with Care." We won't even discuss the games called "Jingle in the Trunk," "The Nutstacker," or "Lollipop." A revelation popped out of my mouth, without me even realizing it:
"This show is sick. Everything revolves around blowing, sucking and balls! This is practically pornographic!" My entire family lost it, and then we realized something else. Whenever people were doing the "ball" challenges, they would keep the audience "hanging" by going to commercial. The innuendo was just too much. Family friendly programming, my butt.
I just couldn't imagine myself on that show, being asked to do those challenges, and being able to take it seriously. I think I would die laughing on the stage. There is no way I could put my game face on and pretend that sucking ornament balls and passing them around the stage is serious business the way those crazy robot contestants do. Where do they dig these people up? How and why are they so insanely happy? Do they not have an ounce of cynicism in them? Do I have too much? (Don't answer that!) And what kind of skin cream are they using anyway?
No, for real. Where are they getting that skin cream?
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An Amy Winehouse Fairy Tale
I had an absolute blast this Halloween. While many of my friends were creating fantastic family themes for themselves, their husbands and children, Mr. BBM and I just didn't have it in us to create a wholesome family costume theme this year. We got an idea and we just thought it would be best if the girls did their own thing. . .
I present to you, an Amy Winehouse Halloween Fairy Tale Photo Book (with thoughtful interruptions from BBM)…
You didn't realize Amy Winehouse was the mother of Hermione and Minney Mouse, did you?
(What was I going to do? Make Sassy my microphone and Big I my travel bottle of liquor? Obviously, this wasn't going to work as a family theme. . . but it could work as a couples theme. . . )
Amy was thirsty.
Just in case the previous pictures are too small to see, you wouldn't want to miss this part of Amy. . .
(I am normally sporting a non-hockey-player-like smile. Not tonight. . . )
We arrived at the party and most children were afraid of Amy. Who wouldn't be afraid of a beehive wearing British talking girl wearing crazy borrowed shoes that made her about 6'4"? Who could really blame them?
After getting a bite to eat and sampling some "witches brew," some people decided that it was time for an Amy Winehouse intervention…
Amy was grateful for the entire sack of coffee. She wasn't really expecting Juan Valdez to sober her up, but he was there too. He is a super good dancer as is his coffee. You'll also notice Amy's close encounter with the grim reaper. He was scary dude, and the point really hit home for Amy. . .
She quickly discovered religion.
And then she found a good dentist.
The End.
A Dash of Elf Magic
For the past week, for whatever reason, Lil C has been a total bear. The normal bedtime routine went from being simple to a two hour marathon. She wasn't feeling well, but it was getting a little ridiculous. Then, she got into my make-up after she got into her own play make-up that she smeared all over the new bathroom towels. She also took my Silk-n-Shine lip stuff, climbed into my bed, mushed it all up in her fingers and then smeared it all over Mr. BBM's nightstand and our comforter. Grease like that doesn't come out. On top of the purple pen marks that were already there, it looks fantastic.
Yesterday we went to the grocery store and as I was loading bottles of shampoo and conditioner into our cart, I heard her click one of the bottles open. I turned around, pointed at her and told her to close it and leave it alone. I heard it click. She was riding in the back of the cart and besides having to tell her to sit every fourth aisle or so, she was being an angel. When I got to check out I found out why.
Because I had my reuseable bags and purse in the top part of the cart, I didn't have a good view of what was happening below and I was in a hurry. I unloaded about half of the groceries and Lil C was helping me. Suddenly she stopped and stared at her hands. It was at the exact same moment that I picked up my Hershey's Cocoa and realized it was all white and greasy.
Conditioner.
Squeezed all over the rest of my groceries. Thankfully I had avoided self check-out that day and I had a wonderful cashier who whipped out the paper towels and started helping me clean everything up, including Lil C and the bottom of the cart. It looked as if she had flipped the cap up, and squeezed it with all her might until it exploded like a volcano.
It was then that I recalled almost wiping out in one of the back aisles, which seemed strange to me at the time because there was no bottle nearby. She must have squeezed it, scared herself half to death, and then shoved it under all the groceries where it dripped onto the floor.
Frustrated and fried didn't even begin to describe me. The cashier smiled and said, "I bet your other one is an angel." She's right. Big I never would have done anything like that. Never.
Last night, we had a neighborhood girls night complete with drinks, snacks and chair massages for nine of us. Some of the Mom's were talking about their "elf on the shelf." I decided it was time to call for some reinforcements.
Today, Lil C and I went to Borders where we picked up "The Elf on the Shelf." We got to the car and I opened up the box, revealing our own little elf. I read her the story book and her face looked amused and concerned all at the same time.
We arrived home and Lil C got busy eating her lunch. When Big I came home from school, Lil C started telling Big I about the elf and how he's magical and you can't touch him and every night he flys to Santa to give a report. Big I wanted to see him, so I helped her open the box.
The elf was gone.
Both girls started running through possibilities of where he could have gone. Lil C thought that maybe he was already flying to the north pole to give a report. Big I thought that maybe he had escaped and was hiding out somewhere in the house.
Two minutes later, our elf, Elliott was found, sitting on top of a mirror in our family room. Big I told me she swears he just smiled a little more at her when she stood there and smiled at me. Lil C told me she just heard him burp. Both girls are on their best behavior. Lil C ate all her lunch; Big I is currently cleaning her bedroom.
How I love Elliott. . . how I love Christmas magic.
Hit and Run Thanksgiving
It happens every holiday: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. . .
My Mom or I slave in the kitchen and then people arrive, usually late. They grab a plate, eat, and within two hours tops, they are gone. The majority of the clean-up is left behind. My sister and her boyfriend have to hit both families and my sister's boyfriend was also on call and forgot his digital password thing at home. They were there for an hour. My grandparents never make it to dessert. My Pop-Pop doesn't like to drive in the dark and he doesn't like to go to the bathroom at other people's houses. Sometimes, if they come to my kids' birthday parties, they ask me for a piece of cake before the girls even blow out the candles. I started making cupcakes for that very reason.
Yesterday was absolute insanity. Dinner was supposed to be at 2 p.m. Because Mr. BBM and I were, once again, in IKEA-putting-something-together-yet-again hell, we didn't arrive until 1:30. We thought we would be last but we were first. Next, my grandparents arrived. An hour later, my sister and her boyfriend walked in.
My sister started making some brown butter sage sauce for lobster ravioli she brought and splattered stuff all over my Mom's stove. My Mom is like a absolute perfectionist when it comes to her stove. When I lived there, she didn't even want me to clean it. It is probably the cleanest surface in the entire house. I could tell she was stressed.
Then my sister's boyfriend started making horrible noises. Apparently he has serious sinus congestion and I'm not quite sure he knows how to blow his nose. I volunteered to sit in the kitchen with the girls to eat. I didn't think my stomach could take listening to someone snort and eat their own mucus. Little did I know that he would come running out to the bathroom, right off the kitchen, only to make horrible barfing noises in there. My Mom and I just looked at each other with horror. She was also at the kids table. I asked her to please pass the wine. We both refilled our glasses.
By 4 p.m. my Mom was cutting desserts "to go" for people and they were out the door; my sister forgot her cake on the table so Lil C ate it.
I helped my Mom clean up the plates and the kitchen. She still hadn't even eaten her salad.
I think that when I host Christmas this year, I'm going to tell people to come in the morning and refuse to feed them until 7 p.m. Christmas is even worse. It's like a tornado hit my family room with gift wrap and ribbon everywhere. It's exhausting.
So last night, we stayed at my Mom's house until almost midnight. We played games, picked on my Dad, as is the status quo at any holiday, and we ended up having a great time despite the flurry that was from 2-4 p.m.
When I was a little girl, the actual holiday days seemed to go so slowly. I have such good memories of them. I hope that when my girls grow up, they don't remember the holidays as the hit and run they have become.
A Halloween Riddle
For Halloween, the girls were both Ariel, the little mermaid. We had some definite issues with them both being the same thing. Lil C kept telling Big I, "My dress is prettier. I look more like a mermaid." And Big I kept trying to steal Lil C's wig; Lil C had kept hers in much better shape leading up to Halloween. I'll post pictures when Mr. BBM eventually sends them to me. They're living on his camera right now.
We had a neighborhood pre-trick-or-treating party to go to on Saturday. It was nice to have dinner provided and not have to worry about it after having done a good hour of mermaid-like make-up. I happened to be having a really bad hair day myself, so I asked Big I if I could borrow her witch hat.
Immediately the girls were thrilled that I was going to dress up a bit. They kept going in my closet and picking out black dresses for me to wear. It was miserable outside, super rainy, so a dress was out. However, I put on a shirt, a black cape-like shawl I have and some black boots. I also pumped up the volume on some smoky eye shadow and put the hat on my head. The girls were upset that I pulled on a pair of jeans.
There they were standing in my bathroom, giving me a hard time and telling me I needed to shove extra pants in my waistband so I looked like I had eight legs, more like Ursula from The Little Mermaid movie. And then I had an idea.
I went downstairs, found a piece of construction paper and cut out a big letter "C." I threaded a black corded necklace through the top of it and wore the big "C" around my neck. Combined with the witch hat, I felt it was pretty obvious what I was, but I was wrong.
At the party, one of my friends came up to me and said, "So what's with the "C"?" I asked him "What's the letter?" and he said "C." Then I pointed at my witch hat. "C Hat?" he asked curiously.
Not exactly. Can you figure out what I was supposed to be?
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