So okay then. Here we are. Again. Us and all that awkward distance between posts. Lets just pretend it never happened, and deal with it in therapy later. See? Now isn’t that easier?
I made the mistake of showing that holiday slide show to the kids, and do you know how many times I had to watch that stupid thing? DO YOU? Like 15. Even when I tried escaping to another room, I could still hear the soundtrack. I may never be able to hear those three songs again. Like, ever. I have decided that I need a special vault wherein I can deposit all the music, books and videos that I have been subjected to endure on endless repeating loops. First would be Mama Mia (she ruined it for me forever), that dorky Tootle the Train book (the story doesn’t even make sense!), and let’s not forget the deliciously annoying Wonderpets Save the Effing Nutcracker. What is it about kids and their borderline inhuman ability to enjoy something just as much the 347th time as they did the first?
As payback we started throwing away all their toys. Ok, not really. But sort of. As we began the yearly holiday toy assimilation process it became increasingly clear that our inaction on ever doing a substantial toy purge was impeding our ability to reclaim our own living space. We did a roundup of clothes, toys and other miscellaneous unused items and donated to Porter’s school, the local thrift store, the local animal rescue shelter and I will shortly be shipping off a gargantuan stockpile of stuffed animals (we actually kept as many as we are giving away) to a contact in the Army Corps of Engineers deployed in Iraq who – with a couple of others – is distributing them to the children there.
It was unexpectedly easy to bring the kids on-board with our plan, considering that – for completely different reasons – this type of activity is not their strong suit. Stella’s inability to effectively process any and all feelings of nostalgia are always a source of contention between us. The conversation is usually one-sided and sounds a little like this: “But Mooommmmm! I love this broken plastic dog cup that I got at that fast food place when I was three years old and remember it was raining and remember we saw that rainbow and remember then we all laughed and hugged. Don’t you remember? How could you ever make me throw this away? I need to sleep with it every night.” This, the toy that has been buried in the bottom of a tote bin for the better part of the last two years.
On the other side of the conversation is Porter. He throws a fit because that is line item number one in his current job description. Porter is going through one of those stages right now where CONTRARY DOESN’T EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE IT. I could offer him a bowl of ice cream and he would refuse it simply on principle. What principle? I HAVE NO IDEA. To further complicate matters, Steve is his unequivocal favorite. Why do I know that? BECAUSE HE TELLS ME. I am not even exaggerating. True story: we were standing in the kitchen last night and Porter comes strolling by Steve and I. As he passes us he nonchalantly tosses out an ‘I love you daddy’ and keeps on walking. I look at Steve, then at him and offer, “I love you Porter” His answer? “No. I like Daddy.” And this happens ALL THE TIME. He won’t let me read to him before bed, he won’t let me put him to bed, and in the middle of the night when he is screaming for someone to come get him because he hates his bed, who do you think ends up dragging in there to rescue him? ME, that’s who – only to be greeted with, “Nooo! I want Daddy!”
New Year’s resolution #1: Win back the love of my son. Use bribery if necessary.
New Year’s resolution #1.a: Devise plan to undermine husband’s appealing nature.
New Year’s resolution #2: Buy a vault.
New Year’s resolution #3: Get more massages.
New Year’s resolution #4: Master the Wii ski jump.
New Year’s resolution #5: Use the Caps Lock key less.
