Merry Christmas!

Did you read Mrs. Broccoli Guy, yet?  I'm going to say "Ditto" to everything she said.  Good post, Mrs. B!

I'm doing my usual last-minute scramble to get ready for Christmas, so this will probably be my only chance to say "Merry Christmas" to you. 

I'm trying to get the cookies done today, then wrapping gifts this afternoon and tonight, then I'll start my traditional Christmas morning cinnamon rolls and sticky buns tomorrow, while finishing the wrapping...  Then the 25th will arrive and I will finally get my chance to have my annual breakdown (what I like to think of as my Most Festive Collapse of the Year), when I will cover myself with cookie frosting and sprinkles and tell everyone to eat m... No, wait.  That's not nice.  I will most likely finish Christmas morning with a full-on crying jag all alone in the bathtub, after the gifts have been opened and the rolls have been eaten.  It's been a whole month in the making, so it will be Outstanding.  With the big, loud sobs and the sniffling.  And that funny, overly-dramatic breathing thing that little kids do when they cry...  The whole bit.  I'm really planning a big, beautiful production this year.  I've put a lot of effort into this particular breakdown, so I'm hoping for a good one.  Once I get the tears to dry, I'll probably watch "It's a Wonderful Life" with the kids.  Something seems a little funny about that, but I don't have time to find a joke in there anywhere. 

And then, before I know it, the 1st of January will be here, when I will resolve to do a better job next year of making Christmas a joyous, Spirit-filled, relaxing, wonderful time for myself and my family, where we truly remember the reason for the season.  Just as I did last year. 

Actually, the 1st will bring a whole new round of stress, since we're having a huge family dinner for those who can't be here with us on Christmas Day- complete with more gifts and cookies and probably the tears in the bathtub, afterwards.  So, maybe I'll make my resolutions after my secondary breakdown.

However, my wish for you is to do as I say and not as I do- I wish you a stress-free and joyful time with family and friends!  I hope you all have a very merry and blessed Christmas.  God bless you and your families! 

Come back after the holidays- I'll try to get some pictures of the kiddos put up for you!

Much Ado About Nothing

You know how you're always sitting around thinking, "I wonder what Michelle thinks is funny..."?  Well, my dear friends, wonder no more.  I think this guy is pretty darn funny.  Maybe not slap yourself hilarious, but funny.  You sorta have to know the songs he's doing, or it won't be amusing- just stupid and confusing.  And, like me, you have to appreciate Words...

Many of my blogging friends are able to convey their thoughts in such a clear, concise manner. That's awesome.  You people are Real Writers.  Your writing is tight- well thought-out and easily understood- not all rambly, like some other bloggers. And, since I'm pretty sure I have ADD, that style of writing is ideal for me- you reel me in and hold my attention (until I see a flash of something shiny out of the corner of my eye).

Um...  I forgot what I was saying...  OH!  I was getting ready to explain that you clear and concise people may not see the humor in the following video the way I do.  It's more for those of us who wonder why anyone would use four words when nineteen will do- and live by the Bible verse that says "Blessed are the verbose, for they shall loveth the sound of their own voices." (that is in the Bible, right?).  To us, this is- as I said- pretty darn funny.

(You see what I did up there? How I stttrrrretched out the intro to this video waaay longer than necessary and was overly wordy, while talking about being overly wordy?  Isn't that ironic?  No?  How about mildly amusing?  Not funny at all, huh?  Oh.Kay.  A swing and a miss.  What can I tell ya?  It's Saturday.  I don't have to be fully functional on a Saturday.  I'm fully functional on Tuesdays, unless it's a voting Tuesday.  Then I'm distracted.  I'm funny on Thursdays.  Ironic on Wednesdays.  There is a tiny window around Midnight on Wednesdays when I am both ironic and funny at the same time, so, uh... try to catch me then.  Saturdays are for making cookies.  I'm acrimonious on Mondays.  Perverse on Fridays.  Sundays are the Lord's days, of course, when I attempt to repent for my Fridays.  This is why the laundry is never done.  As you can see, there's just no time.  And now I have that song, "Ironic" stuck in my head-  "...It's like ray-eee-aaain on your wedd-dinng day..."  Um, rain on your wedding day is not the true meaning of irony, by the way.  It's just weather.  But again I digress...)

Guys, I pledge right now that my return to blogging will not be about the posting of one stupid YouTube video after another.  In fact, the next post in the hopper promises to be deeply significant on many levels- social, political, theological- and possibly even historically important, if I do say so myself.  And we'll get to that right after just one more video.  Promise.

Is anyone even gonna click this dumb thing now after all that?  Please click it, you guys.


(Oh, one more thing. You did know that whole thing about me posting something significant and historically important *snort* was a slight distortion of the facts, right? The next post will most likely be a continuation of family updates, so... you know... kind of the opposite of significant and historically important.)

Updates, Pt 2

Since ending the blog about a year ago, the family has gone through lots of changes.  For one, we're all about a year older.  Two of my boys have moved out, which just about killed me at first, but I adjusted pretty quickly.  Translation: If they have to move back in, I may tear my hair out at the roots (Love you, boys!! : D ). 

Alex (my oldest- 20 yrs) is living about two hours away and is working and hoping to go back to school soon.  He did the typical "fresh out of high school and ready to be done with education" thing.  He went to about a semester of college and decided it wasn't for him.  It would be so much better to just get a job and start earning money right now, while he figures out what he really wants to do, he thought.  Sooooo, he figured out that what he really wants to do is get a college education...  Go figure.  He also just broke up with the girl of my dreams.  The Mama ain't happy about that decision, either.  But, you know...  Who cares?  It's not about me, right?  She is an absolute diamond, though, this girl.  She loves all of us, as we are (so, you know, that makes her a keeper, right there) and we all adore her.  I was really starting to have little daydreams about Someday...  Maybe, just maybe, she'd be part of our family.  But she still is a part of our family, as far as we're concerned.  Which means: God help the next girl Alex dates! Seriously.  I won't like her, bless her little heart.  Bwaaaahahahaha (that's supposed to sound all maniacal and scary/psycho).

The next one to fly the coop was Mike (almost 19 yrs.), who is absolutely, positively certain that college is not for him.  He wanted to plunge right into being a Real Adult- living on his own (he still lives close to home, though, sharing a rented house with a buddy of his here in town), making his own rules, supporting himself...  You know, all the fun, "no one can tell me what to do" stuff?  So...  He got a full-time job and works like a dog for peanuts.  I rarely see him because he's always at work.  And guess what, you guys?  He hates it!  Isn't that just flippin' hilarious?  How you don't listen to your mom, and then you wind up unhappy and have to lie (lie? lay? lie?) in the bed you made?  Because now you have rent and bills to pay and can't really change your situation?  Oh, yeah.  Just hysterically funny.   Welcome to being a Real Adult. Your wish has been granted.  And?  It blows.  He is now considering the Army.  That is a whole 'nother post for another day (It just occurs to me that maybe I should not be blathering on so much about the personal lives of my adult (chronologically speaking) children.  But then it also occurs to me, that they don't read my blog.  And I'm still the mom, so I say what I want).

I don't mean to be so flippant about my kids' current situations.  I certainly don't feel that way- and I'm not making fun of my boys' choices.  I love my kids with all my heart, and I'm proud of who they are- I'd just like to remove my shoe and give them a good thwunking with it every once in a while.  I don't mean in the scary, abusive way.  Of course not.  As with any other parent with grown/growing children, it makes me sad and a little sick to my stomach when I try and try to steer them in the "right" direction (and my idea of  "right" is, of course, THE right direction); to warn them of troubles ahead if they proceed with a chosen path, and they go ahead and make a choice that I know, down the road, they will regret.  You just wish so badly they would listen and realize you really do know what you're talking about, but...  they don't. 

However, I do get that college is not for everyone and I'm okay with that, if the kid has a goal and a game plan.  Speaking of that, let's give an update on Evan, shall we? 

Evan is a Jr. in public high school.  He hates it.  But in his case, I understand why.  He is pretty much a grouchy, 50 yr. old man inside a 17 yr old body, and always has been.  So I can see why high school life may not feel like the best fit for someone like him.   He's not into all the "OMG! Rah-rah!" crap that goes along with high school.  He's crazy-smart, very quick and witty, with a scathingly sarcastic sense of humor.  He has the best deadpan expression that I've ever seen, making his humor even funnier (At least to me. To some of his teachers?  Maybe not so much).  Anyhoo...  Evan's goal for the past few years has been to join the Marines.  I have some pretty strong feelings about that, too- and I'm sure you can guess that I have made those feelings clear.  But, I will say this for him- he hasn't wavered at all about his decision.  He feels it's what he's supposed to do.  He wants our consent to sign up at 17, which is less than a month away.  I promised to go and listen to what the recruiter has to say, but that's all I'm promising for now. 

(I want to be clear that I'm all for the military.  Really, I am.  I consider myself to be a patriotic person.  I have the utmost respect for those who serve/ have served our country.  I'm deeply grateful for what they do for us.  But that doesn't mean I want my boys to do it.  Here's the thing...  I've never had any "luck" at all.  I don't win contests.  I don't get picked for door prizes at parties.  If luck exists (which I really do not believe it does, but I'm trying to paint a picture here, so work with me), I do not possess it.   In other words, if two brand new soldiers are coming home in body bags, I fear they will be mine.  See?  That scares me just to type it.  I know it's morbid to think it, and ridiculously neurotic to worry about it before they've even enlisted, but I can't be one of those moms.  I can't be strong in the face of tragedy- I don't have it in me.  I FLIP OUT when I find out there are no more bagels in the house!  Bagels, people!  You see what I'm saying?  Anyway, I'm beginning to stray into that post that's supposed to be for another day, so...)

That leaves us with Tucker, Olivia, Bri, Darrell, Darrell's oldest three kids, Buddy the Dog, and Mom the Cat and me.  I'll save those for next time.  Although...  Just in case Mom the Cat drops dead before the next post, I want to give her some props and mention that she is 20 years old.  What is that in cat years?  Does anyone know?  It's got to be like 99, or something.  That deserves some major respect- maybe even a round of applause.  But then she loses control of her bladder in my fruit bowl, and I think...  Applause? Ummmm, Nah. 

 

Okay- I'm sure you've had enough.  Bless your heart.  This has probably felt, for you, like one of those slide shows of your Aunt Mary's vacation to Ithaca. 

I'm hurt, people... Deeply hurt

Apparently, this video has been out there for a couple years now.  I'd like to know why nobody told me about it.  Why am I just now finding out about this?  I thought you people were my friends!  Maybe you kept it from me to protect me?  Because you knew this chick would scare the %$*# out of me?  Is that it?  You knew she would stalk my nightmares?  Okay.  In that case...  Thanks.  But the damage is done.  I can't unsee it now.  Geez, Louise.  The posing.  The stroking.  The gloves.  And again with the stroking.  What's wrong with her, you guys?  Seriously.  What?

Updates, Pt 1

Okay, so it turns out I didn't need much coaxing.  However, before I begin, we need to have a brief refresher on the rules.  If you've never been here before, these are the things you need to know in order for us to get along. 

Rule #1: Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, compare me to, or ask if I'm trying to be like...  Angelina Jolie.  The only similarity there is the large, trans-racial family.  I don't like or respect anything about her, so you diss me greatly when you put her name in with mine.  I don't even think she's all that good-lookin', so don't try to butter me up with all your, "Oh, Michelle, you even look like her."  It. Just. Won't. Fly.
Rule #2:  This is not a classroom, so we do not pick my grammar apart here.  When we feel almost ready to pick apart my grammar, we remember that I live in Redneck Central, and I write like I talk (and like I hear ever-one else 'round here talk).  College was years (and years) ago.  So we cut me some slack.  My participles are danglin' just as bad as the rest of me, and my sentences almost always end with a proposition preposition.  I will not be using the word "Whom" anytime soon, unless of course, I'm feeling a little snooty.  I will lay, lain or lie however I dang well please.  I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to know I ain't gotta use flashy words and all them seminal colons and whatnot to let my smarts shine. They shine good enough on there own. 
Rule #3:  I love comments!  I welcome comments!  I treasure comments!  As long as they do not violate Rules #1 or 2, and are always positive, uplifting, and supportive in nature.  In other words, as long as you agree with me, we're fine.  The mean, crappy comments, must be referred to: kiss_it@mymail.com
Rule #4: You have to at least attempt to have a sense of humor to hang out here and to participate.  I don't like people with sticks protruding from their gluteal clefts. 

Thank you.  On with the show...



I guess the best place to begin again is with Mr. Sam.  He was the reason this blog started, so it makes sense that the first "official" post upon my return would be about him (and it really is "official."  I have a very official-looking document propped up next to me, welcoming me back to blogging.  I feel so honored and special as I gaze upon the fancy writing and the big words I barely understand.  It has a raised seal on it and everything, so...  That pretty much says it all, right there.  I can show you how to make one for yourself, if you want). 

Sam is doing great!  He turned two in November and is a shrimpy (but healthy) little dude.  He weighs in at a hefty 21 pounds and is 32 inches tall.  That puts him in the -3rd (yes, that is a negative) percentile for weight and the 10th percentile for height.  Again, I must say SHRIMPY.  His doctor laughed when he finally made it onto the chart at all.  Of course, she also laughed when Darrell used a politically incorrect and widely frowned-upon (everything about my hub is politically incorrect and widely frowned-upon) term to ask her if Sam might possibly be a, um, Little Person.  He's not.  You have to remember that he was only 4.9 pounds when he was born, and the Marshallese aren't known for height.  But...  what he lacks in size, he makes up for in personality. 

Right now, he sits next to me, taking tissues out of the box one by one, pretending to blow his nose into each one, then wadding them up and putting them back into the box.  He "blows his nose" by spitting and huffing air through his mouth.  So next time I need to blow my nose "for real" I will grab a crumpled tissue of dried-up Sammy Spit.  I love this kid.

Sam loves, loves, loves anything musical.  He sings, he dances, and does it all with gusto.  His favorite song right now is "Whip My Hair."  But he prefers the Jimmy Fallon as Neil Young, with Bruce Springsteen version to Willow Smith's (sorry, Willow.  He likes yours, too).  We (Sammy and I- not the entire family), honest-to-goodness, I kid you not, must watch this video at least three times a day.  He is riveted.  Huge Springsteen fan.  He also likes to sing "You Are My Sunshine," the "ABC Song," and "Say Hey (I Love You)," which is a song that gets on my nerves so intensely, that the fact I will listen to it and at least try not to vomit, proves how much I love my son.  I blame Sam's love for that annoying song completely on his dad.  He does things on purpose to irritate me, and everyone knows it, but that is a post for another day.

He detests his crib.  It is an abomination as far as he's concerned.  He has never once spent an entire night in the dumb thing.  He sleeps either in his portable crib, or in bed with me.  Since he didn't seem to give a flip when I would say, "That crib cost almost 300 bucks!  By gosh, one of us is going to use it," and I wasn't actually prepared to make good on my threat to sleep in it myself, I decided to give up on the crib for now, just wait til he's ready for a toddler bed, and try again.  Honestly, I don't mind having him in my bed.  He's a snuggly little guy, and those moments are so precious to me.  If I've learned anything from having 7 children, it's that it all goes by much, much too quickly.  I hope I've learned to treasure those sweet moments as the gifts they really are.  But, someday I'd like to learn how to sleep without someone snoring into my armpit, too.

As any other mother, I'm convinced of Sam's incredible brilliance.  But I'm right.  He is smart.  Sorry.  That's obnoxious.  But he is.  He recognizes/identifies all the letters of the alphabet and can count to around Uhlebben or 12 before he gets bored and wants to do something else.  He knows most of his colors.  He's so-so on shapes.  He knows circles, for sure.  And "sunshine" shapes -which, loosely translated, means anything sort of star-shaped.  He can recite the entire Constitution and will gladly call you a Poop, if you say his mama is a liar (okay, so one of those might be an exaggeration.  It's your problem to figure out which one).  

He still has the entire family wrapped around his little finger, which shows he's no dummy (Well, almost the entire family.  Bri?  Not so much.  There have been a few jealousy issues, but again- that is a post for another day).  It still melts my heart to see my big, manly boys scoop my sweet baby into their arms and love on him.

I have a whole household of people to update you on, but it can wait.  Don't want to overwhelm anyone my first time back.  I'm hard to take in large amounts.  Oh, and speaking of large amounts, I'm still fat!  More on that some other time.

Feels good to be back.  Thanks for your comments and emails yesterday.  What a mood lifter!  I've really missed you guys!

HellooOOoo Out There!

Um, hi...  I'm Michelle.  How ya doin?  I used to blog here.  I'm contemplating my long-awaited, much-anticipated (in my own mind, at least) return to blogging, but wondered if anyone is still out there who would read my long-awaited, much-anticipated posts.  I'm going to need a little encouragement here, people; a little coaxing.  It will probably take somewhere in the neighborhood of, ohhhh... ten one... comments to solidify my decision to come back.  So...  Is anyone still out there? 

Just to entice you a little bit, here's a glimpse of what you'll get if you take me back: