Paging Heather...

Last night, Mark and I were watching a very funny show about attention deficit disorder. (No, really!)

Mark didn't want to watch at first, especially when they discussed ADD in kids. But he perked up a bit when they started describing ADD in adults.

"Yeah, Mom," he sneered. "Let's talk about adults--like YOU!"

"I don't have ADD," I answered confidently.

"Adults with ADD have learned to cope with it," the narrator started. I was really interested in this, so I grabbed my leopard-print Snuggie to wrap up in and listen.

"When you deal with adults, usually they don't lose things anymore. They lose time looking for their things," the narrator explained. I turned a bit red when they used a constantly lost wallet as an example.

"I don't even look for his lost wallet anymore," one woman said, echoing what my friend Vic always says about my own wallet. "I know eventually it will turn up."

I realized my arms were cold, so I turned my Snuggie around, but I couldn't find the sleeves. I turned it over and over again with no luck.

"Hyperactive talking," the T.V. said. "They interrupt frequently or--"

"Where are the dang sleeves?" I shouted, still turning my stupid Snuggie around.

"People with ADD are working their hearts out just to get through the day," said the T.V. "They do the same thing over and over again, and they just keep trying, and trying, and trying."

"Why can't I find the--Hey, I found the sleeves!" I yelled triumphantly. I smiled proudly, then realized Mark was looking at me intently and cracking up.

"What are you laughing about?" I asked. Mark pointed at the T.V., where the narrator had just finished talking about how ADD adults keep trying, and trying and trying. Pretty much exactly what I'd just been doing at that very same moment.

"OK, fine," I admitted. "Maybe I have ADD...but just a little bit."

Yes, and maybe you can be just a little bit pregnant.

Didn't even know that was a holiday...

I was flipping through a notebook, looking for a piece of paper, when I came across this gem. Apparently, it was the beginning of a class essay on Mark's favorite holiday.

I always thought that was a no-brainer--it's Christmas. Because what do kids like better than getting presents? Well, according to Mark, they like decorating (or, in his case, "decrading").

But I was surprised to see he'd changed his mind, and I was even more surprised to see the holiday he chose instead.



Who knew???

Tree time

This weekend provided my favorite holiday tradition--getting our Christmas tree.

My friend Lori was in town, and excited to help. I was amazed at how much faster the process went with another adult instead of a not-so-helpful kid. Lori never once ran wild through the lot, nor did she whine about lugging the tree out to the car. She didn't push any trees onto me and laugh, or poke me with any stray branches off the ground. And when I left her in the trunk-cutting line so I could pay for the tree, she simply said "OK," and did it.

I think Mark may be out of a job next year.

But this year, he did all right. He was thrilled to have Lori around because he said she's fun, but he was just glad he didn't have to carry the tree.

Most of the trees were tightly bound with string. Lori held an untied tree up for inspection and asked, "How about this one?" It looked pretty good, but I'm not one for picking the first tree I see. I had to look around a bit.

Lori and I unwrapped a second tree, spinning it carefully like a top while the string unwound. Meanwhile, Mark flung trees to the ground all around me, intent on finding the tree at the bottom of the pile. He was not happy when I ordered him to stop, and couldn't fathom why I was unhappy dodging trees. ("But they're CHRISTMAS trees," he said, as though that made it okay.)

After unwrapping the tree and looking over a couple others, I decided the first one was, indeed, the best. Mark disagreed, but only because he wanted to keep chucking trees.



We dragged the tree to have the trunk trimmed off. The guy made a quick cut, hoisted the tree up, and tossed it through a net. I'm not sure what the net is for; the tree remained the same bushy size, and it shed needles just as much as before.

And then came my favorite part of it all--getting the tree home. I've never let the size of my car dictate the size of my tree, which is unfortunate, since I have a small car. Last year, we didn't untie the tree--we simply tossed it in the backseat and let it hang out the window.

This year, it was a bit puffier untied. I also forgot that we had three people in the car, not two like last year. So instead of sitting up front like last year, Mark became close friends with the tree on the way home.



Our tree is now lit up and decorated, and everyone is enjoying it. Including the cats--Frankie loves his new water dish (the tree stand) although the pine needles obviously did not agree with him, since he hacked them up all over our bathroom floor.

Ahhh, I love the holidays...

While visions of strawberries danced in his head

Mark keeps telling me what he wants for Christmas, so I suggested he put together a list.

"Oh!" he said, as though he'd never heard of such a thing. "That's a great idea!"

I was impressed at his list, not only by its length, but also by its detail. Next to each item, he helpfully added the price and where I could buy it.

"A $100 yo-yo at yoyoexpert.com," I read, then stopped. "A hundred-dollar yo-yo--are you serious?"

He nodded. Cute, delusional little guy.

I read the next item. "Grind Machine yo-yo, $35, yoyoguy.com. You want all yo-yos?" I asked.

He nodded again. Delusional and hyperfocused when he wants to be.

I was afraid the list was all yo-yos, but there, at spot number five, was an iPod Touch, listed for $200 at Target.

"Santa makes toys, not electronics," I told him, and he gave me the stink eye.

"Aren't you Santa?" he asked suspiciously, and I thought, Not if he's giving out iPod Touches!

Sensing he was about to lose me, Mark tried a different tact--sucking up. He flipped through a catalog in search of my gift, and suddenly shouted, "Yes!!! And it's free!"

"What's free?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I can't tell you what I'm getting you for Christmas!"

I knew it had to be good if it was in a catalog and free.

What he could do was show me a glossy photo of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Would you like these for Christmas?" he asked.

"Sure!" I answered. "They look good!"

"Well, you'd have to share them, you know."

I gave him the side-eye and he explained, "Hey, I shared my Christmas presents last year. I let Grant use my toys."

"Well, then Grant has to share with you," I said. "I don't."

"So is this something you want?" he asked again, exasperated.

"I think the better question is, is this something you want?"

"Sure!" he answered immediately, smiling. And suddenly all pretense that I may get a Christmas gift disappeared, as Mark envisioned biting into those strawberries.

And now I can't wait for Christmas morning. I'm sure I will love my gifts--be they strawberries, yo-yos or the new spinning tops that are all the rage with the fifth graders.

Or, I might get super lucky and get the new CD from the Black-Eyed Peas, Mark's favorite band. He swears I love them too, since I oohed and ahhed over the CD he gave me a couple years back for my birthday. The CD he promptly claimed as his own, and I never saw again.

I wonder what I will (momentarily) get for Christmas this year...

Scout's honor

This weekend was a hub of activity, and I'm sad to say, not much of it centered around me. Instead, it was focused on Mark, and his journey to manhood.

Or rather, to Scouthood. On Sunday, he spent his last weekend in front of a table hawking mistletoe (the pack's big fundraiser for the year). As always, it proved highly entertaining.

Mark was joined by four other Scouts from his den. Although the table was on a low-traffic part of the street, they still managed to reel in every person walking by.

"Mistletoe!" they shouted to the potential customers standing one foot away from them. "Get your mistletoe for only one dollar!"




As proof that people really are good and just, almost everyone stopped. They looked into the earnest eyes of those young scouts and purchased a bag of mistletoe.

The boys worked as a team to draw people in.

Jonah yelled, "Buy 200 bags, get 1 free!" Surprisingly, there were no takers.

Daniel expertly called out to passersby, and drew in quite a few. After one laughing couple left, he came over to ask if the boys were allowed to joke with customers, and his mom assured him they were.

Sebastian kept the table well-stocked with merchandise. And Mark did his part as well, giving customers the sad little puppy dog eyes we'd practiced in the car on the way over.

"Would you like to buy some mistletoe?" he asked one man passing by. The man kind of shook his head, but before he could take another step, Mark said in his saddest, most-innocent voice, "Please?" Sold!

There were moments of squirelly-ness, since our salesmen were only ten years old. A bout of the ninja game erupted, and the salesmen were instructed to stop karate-chopping each other, which almost never happens at other sales venues. They also tried stomping on each other's toes quite a bit.

One person bought multiple bags, which pleased the boys immensely. "That was our most profitable sale yet!" they told the lady.

Another lady bought a bag and held it above her head. "Does it work?" she asked, and five boys immediately scooted back, horrified that she might actually try it on them. Her boyfriend loved that, and asked them very seriously, "What do you do with this?"

The boys stammered and giggled nervously, shoving each other to the forefront to explain. They hemmed and hawed, refusing to answer or say the word "kiss." The man pressed on, until finally one boy said, "That's all I'm gonna say about that!" and the other boys nodded silently in agreement. It was hilarious!

But that wasn't all the fun for the day. Mark will move up to Boy Scouts soon, so he attended his first Boy Scout meeting as well. I learned that the troop is very active, and will, quite possibly, give me a heart attack. The boys will go camping, hiking, rock-climbing and even white-water rafting.

Our little boys practiced by rappelling down from the gym ceiling. They were harnessed in tightly, which they quickly realized limited their mobility. Watching them try (and fail) to run while hobbled was priceless, and my friend Liz immediately said she was going to buy some harnesses for our boys.

There were two Boy Scouts helping strap them in, and the first asked how tightly they were supposed to cinch the harnesses.

"Until it hurts," said the second Scout, and I realized that being in the Boy Scouts for Mark will be like having 70 big brothers. I fell in love with the troop right then.




So stay tuned...Mark may be aging out of the Cub Scouts and all the fun stories that go with it, but never fear, here come the Boy Scouts. And after watching last night's activities, I know the funny stories will continue...

I am grateful for...

Thanksgiving is a time for families to come together, share food, drinks, and memories. It is a day of holding hands in prayer, giving thanks, embracing family, and eating rich food together around a warm, inviting table. Everyone dresses nicely, smiles and uses their best manners.

That is the Hallmark version of it, anyway. In my reality, Thanksgiving is a little different. A little more...chaotic.

It's filled with mobs of children running willy-nilly through the house, parents yelling at them to go play outside, children grousing that they are bored outside, competing chefs who want to take control of the kitchen and make dinner THEIR way, and grumbly family members who, egos bruised, retire to the TV room in protest, vowing not to help at all. It's a good time.

I managed to come out unscathed, although other family members were not so lucky. No one lets me cook, so I volunteered my services wherever else they were needed--making dip, washing glasses, setting the table. I fed the hungry child-mob snacks when they were hungry, shepherding them outside and out of Chef Grandma's way. I kept their hungry dogs at bay, and their littlest cousin under control, so they all walked away from the snack sated, but not full.

Our meal was fabulous, one of the best my mom has ever served! My nephew Johnny requested gravy on his turkey, then cried because he immediately regretted that decision. He refused to eat anything until all foods containing or touching the offensive gravy were removed from his plate.



My niece Nathalie (aka Nathalie the Carnivore) scarfed down at least three or four servings of turkey. I don't know where she puts it, but every time I turned around, she was handing me her plate for more.

My nephew Grant couldn't stop praising the meal, proclaiming it was the best chicken he's ever had. We laughed at that, and reminded him it was actually turkey, so he amended his statement to, "This turkey is CRAZY GOOD!" He was hilarious.

My other niece, Gabi, spends her days dreaming of hot chicken wings. So she was thrilled when my mom presented her with the ultimate hot wing--a turkey wing! She was in heaven with her wing and bottle of Red Hot.



Mark enjoyed his meal, too. He announced the yams were his favorite, although he was more partial to the melted marshmallows on top. He also changed his vote to pie once dessert was served, tossing aside any pretense of including a vegetable as his favorite dish.



The adults were pretty happy, too. We savored the food, laughed at the kids, and joked with each other until my mom made us stop. (Apparently, our idea of appropriate differs vastly from hers.)

Gabi then regaled us with Thanksgiving Day trivia. We learned that one woman petitioned multiple U.S. Presidents for more than 30 years to make Thanksgiving a national holiday. I was impressed, and asked what her name was, but Gabi answered, "I don't know." So Nathalie named her Brenda, and we thanked Brenda in absentia.



We'd used my mom's best dishes, which she deemed okay for the children to eat from, but not to clear from the table. The kids were thrilled to be relieved of their duty, and ran off to play.

I was in the biggest tryptophan stupor a while later, fading into a turkey coma, when I yawned. It was cold and dark outside, and I was ready for bed. Until...I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 5:48. Not even 6 o'clock and I was ready to turn in. Now THAT'S the sign of a good meal!

It turned out to be a pretty good day for everyone but my poor, exhausted mom, who worked so hard. She ended her night with a pie plate in hand, marching off to her room, announcing that she hates the holidays.

Which doesn't bode well for Christmas...looks like we might have pizza for dinner this year if she has anything to say about it...