There’s 30 More Days of the School Year Left

When the alarm buzzed this morning the first thing that came to my mind was “Thank God it’s Chicken Nugget Day.”

Well that and “I’m going to kill that damn dove.”

Admittedly, I’m not at my best this time of the year.

I’ve never been a morning person and it’s always been a struggle to rally the troops for school in the early A.M. But with just a few weeks until summer, I’ve lost my steam. And so have the kids.

Friends say – pack their lunches and get their clothes ready the night before….but there doesn’t seem to be any time then either. After scout meetings, end-of-year gatherings, soccer and swim team practices and  baseball double-headers that get us home after 10:00 p.m. – we all kinda just drop where we stop when we get home.

Then we wipe the drool from our faces the next morning and go at it again. It’s the same drill every spring. And it ain’t pretty.

And this year Annie doesn’t seem to own a pair of pants, skirt or shorts that are “comfortable” – making it difficult to get her up to the public school dress code that is quite clear about it’s requirements for garments worn below the waist.

But today is Chicken nugget day at school so I don’t have to worry about packing lunches with food I didn’t have time to get at the grocery store the day before. That’s a good thing and I’m hanging on to it like a lifeline.

But then there’s that damn dove.

You all know how I hate doves. They infest my neighborhood every year by the millions, make poo that gets all over my vehicles and coo…

All.

Day.

Long.

Which can be torture for a writer with writer’s block.

This particular dove has found his home right outside my bedroom window and has made it his rooster-like mission in life to get me out of bed each morning. (More about that later.)

As a work-at-home mom summer is different then the school year (for the better) because I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn and get two kids out the door. Of course, once we all do get up and there’s work to be done, it’s a little hard to have kids complaining of boredom…but that’s another story.

So right now I’m chanting, (along with my kids), summer….summer….summer.

And looking forward to pizza day on Friday.

 

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Just Like Stevie Nicks

Like the white winged dove…Sings a song…
Sounds like she’s singing…
Whoo… whoo… whoo… Fleetwood Mac

I’m a bad mom.

This post SHOULD be all about my sweet, 6-year-old daughter’s first piano recital where she played Annie’s Song by John Denver with her little feet dangling off the bench because she couldn’t reach the floor.

Look. How. Cute. She. Is.

When she played her selection on stage, I cried with pride and then I clapped and cheered wildly and hugged the guts out of her because I was so stinkn’ proud of her.

And she was proud too.

And it was a great night.

But that’s not what this post is about.

The theme of Annie’s piano recital was rock and roll and every student played a piece from a different decade. Each student also dressed according to the decade of their selection (thus Annie’s flower power dress). Part of the evening’s festivities included a parent costume contest (parents were asked to dress up in their best rock and roll outfits).

And I won for my Stevie Nicks costume. Which would have been great.

If I had been wearing a costume.

As they called my name, I told my son to hush when he pulled at my sleeve and said, “Mom, but those are your REAL clothes!”

I accepted my 2 inch, plastic trophy from Oriental Trading Company with pride. Because I am THAT competative. And I held on to it tightly for the rest of the night, like the dad in A Christmas Story carassing his leg lamp.

It was my MAJOR AWARD.

Even though I didn’t earn it because I didn’t look a thing like Stevie Nicks.

I’ll show you.

Stevie Nicks

Me (later that night - photo taken by Annie!)

I mean, right? Nothing like her. Now had I tried, I could have totally brought Stevie Nicks on. Some white high heeled boots and Ba-bam.

Or Annie’s Hannah Montana wig, black gloves and a red shawl. Pow.

 

 

But I won none-the-less.

Which I think made the mom who intentionally dressed up as a rocker chick and came in second place a little upset.

But I take these moments of glory as they come. I mean, sometimes I try my best at something and it doesn’t work out, other times I wear regular clothes to my daughter’s piano recital and end up winning first place in the costume contest as the lead singer in Fleetwood Mac.

Life in the suburbs of Houston is weird like that.

P.S. Stevie Nicks is awesome and I’m a huge fan. And also, I haven’t been able to stop singing Landslide since the recital.

 

 

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It’s Time to Be Alarmed

Last night we were all going through the motions of winding down on a weeknight.

Baths.

Homework.

Dinner dishes piled in the sink to be washed sometime in the unforseeable future.

Then an ear piercing screeching sound interrupted our otherwise peaceful routine.

This is the time when a well-oiled machine of a family with an emergency plan in place shines. Every member grabbing their assigned item like the family pet or the fire safe box with birth certificates and other important papers in it and in a single file procession (quickly but not dangerously) exiting the home, making their way to their their pre-designated meeting place outside without uttering a word.

Here’s what happened in our house.

First all of us kind of stopped what we were doing and just looked at each other with the same “what the hell is that?” look on our faces. Then Annie started screaming, “we’re all gonna die” and Jackson ran out of the shower and ran around in circles…naked and wet. Ed said, “where is that sound even coming from?” and I answered, “I don’t know, but make it stop, it’s giving me a headache.”

We had a alarm service installed when we moved in six years ago but to be honest, none of us were really sure what plan we signed up for.

“Is it a fire alarm?” Ed said as he started fanning imaginary smoke away from an alarm in the hallway.

“Maybe it’s the intruder alarm,” I said. “Everyone stop moving. Maybe we set off the motion detectors,” I suggested.

“Didn’t we get the carbon monoxcide alarm, too?” asked Ed – sniffing into the air. “Does anyone smell anything weird?”

“Well this is just great (Alarm is still screeching, by the way),” I said. “We don’t even know what we are supposed to be alarmed ABOUT! An intruder, a fire, chemicals, our nation’s healthcare system….it would be easier if we just knew what the crisis was!”

(Now we are downstairs staring dumbly at the alarm control panel)

“I think we are supposed to enter a code,” said Ed. “What’s our code?”

“Oh I’m so sure I remember that,” I yelled (not because I was mad, but because he couldn’t hear me over the alarm anymore.) “Just start pressing buttons.”

“Do you think the police are on their way,” he asked.

“No – definitely not. I forgot to file the alarm permit with the city last year.”

“Finally some good news,” he said.

“Call the alarm company,” I scribbled onto a notepad….because we were all deaf now.

“Who are we signed up with?,” he asked.

“Well it was one company, but they got bought out by another company and then merged with another company.”

After finding the number and being placed on hold for 15 minutes (um, really – this is supposed to be an emergency!) we had someone on the line.

“Sounds like your alarm is going off….what’s your code word,” said the representative.

After rattling off 15 or so probable words with some kind of significance to us – we hit the jackpot.

“Well – we aren’t getting any kind of alert that you’re alarm is going off here,” said the rep.

“Oh yea,” said Ed. “I unplugged the alarm from the phone line during the last hurricane.”

“That was years ago!”

“Yeah…oops.”

“We’ve been paying for an alarm system for three years that hasn’t even been plugged in?!”

About 30 minutes later we had the system back on line, properly armed and code words committed to memory. And in the spirit of being prepared….we also set up a family meeting place. Call us well oiled.

 

 

 

 

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Fashion Minded Children or What My Kids Wore Today

circa 2005

Both my kids have a unique sense of style. In pre-school, Jackson alternated his wardrobe each day between spider-man and super-man PJs… both with detachable capes. He single-handedly got “costumes” banned from that school.

When he was a little older (and at another preschool) his go-to outfit was a Buzz Lightyear costume with mer-man googles and cowboy boots.

There was no doubt the child dressed himself and so I didn’t have any problem letting him express himself.

Annie’s different. She chooses clothes that could kind of go together if you squinted one eye and tilted your head to the left. A purple skirt with different color purple top. Long sleeves in the hot, Houston weather. Spaghetti straps in the dead of winter. When she expresses herself it looks as if her mother (me) doesn’t have a sense of style (or a firm grasp on the weather du’jour).

Annie’s now five and Jackson is almost 10 and today we went to the dentist to have their teeth cleaned and checked. Jackson was wearing X-box PJ bottoms (what is WITH him and PJ’s?!!) and a blue and green tie-dye shirt he made himself. Annie had on a floral top with an entirely different floral pattern skirt. Both wore crocs that seemed to have seen their better days.

In the chair our dentist (LOVE her) said, “wow. you look…..comfortable” to Jackson and “look at you, sweetie….those are really….pink? crocs” to Annie.

I made a mental note to start doing a wardrobe check before we leave the house.

And the cold-hard truth is…summer break is almost over and they’ll be going back to school before I know it. That means we have some SERIOUS work to do.

I’m going to have to go through dresser drawers and closets to get rid of what doesn’t fit or doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in Houston to “pass” the newly instituted AM wardrobe checks.

I’m going to have to host a series of mini-seminars  for Annie entitled “Make florals your friends…pick one bouquet type and STOP” and “You can love all colors and not wear them all at once” and “Weather and sleeve types…make them match”.

And Jackson and I are going to have a sit down, man-to-mama talk about PJ’s.

I want them to still be able to express their own personal style…just with a few….er perimeters. I fully realize I’ll have to compromise during the process. I have a feeling Annie is going to put a halt on anything “gingham” or “smocked” or (this is tearing my heart out as I type it) “monogrammed”. She’s five, after-all and starting kindergarten in September. She’s had her own sense of style before she could talk and she’s never liked any of the cutie-patootie outfits that I picked out for her. But I will stand my ground on matching. And coordination. And sleeve appropriateness.

And mid-fall I will walk the elementary school halls proudly to parent/teacher conferences to find out what changes have been made to the school’s dress code in the name of my children’s style and comfort.

I wrote this blog post while participating in the SocialMoms and jcpenney blogging program, for a gift card worth $50. For more information on how you can participate, click here.

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The Griswold Family Goes to the Hill Country

The Griswold family truckster...at the Houston Art Car parade.

We felt like Clark and the fam heading out to Wally World a couple of weeks ago. Except we didn’t tie Aunt Edna to the roof or our dog to the bumper of the station wagon.

Mainly because we don’t have an Aunt Edna and we left our dog, Sadie, with my in-laws.

Sometimes vacations just don’t go as we plan.

We decided to head out of Houston for a couple days to visit Schlitterbahn in New Braunfels. Halfway there our trusty 2002 mini van started revving up, Ed lost control and smoke came billowing out from under the hood.

“I’m sure its ok,” I said without an ounce of reassurance and to no one in particular as Ed tried to steer the van to the side of I10 and our kids started freaking out in epic purportions.

“What’s that burning smell,” Jackson asked as I opened the door and smoke came pouring into the van.

Yeah, things were definitely NOT ok.

We called our insurance company to help us arrange a tow truck to take us to the next town down the road. Which was Luling, Texas. And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Jackson after about an hour.

“Ok, pick a tree,” I said.

“WHAT?!” he screamed.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Jackson. We don’t have any other options.”

Jackson is very modest….so Ed, Annie and I formed a human shield to prevent vehicals passing by to witness the horror of what was happening just a few feet from a major freeway.

And then our tow truck drove up….

And took us….

Here.

“And they were never heard from again,” I said a little louder than I meant to.

After some animal crackers and water and a brief inspection of the situation, we determined that it was transmission problems and our van would take a couple days to fix. Instead of throwing in the towel and heading back home, we decided to press on, handed over our keys and our credit card to the owner and arranged for a rental car from the nearest place in another town 20 miles away.

And made our next unplanned, financially draining pit stop…in Lockhart.

For the third time during the day we repacked our belongings into another vehicle and headed out.

And while we worried about our van and the accruing charges the entire time…we made it to Wally World…er…Schlitterbahn and didn’t even have to hold anyone at gunpoint to get on the rides. All-in-all, not too bad.

What have you been up to this summer?

 

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Is There Blue Cotton Candy in Heaven?

photo courtesy of flickr: mel_rowling

The other day my family and I were driving to get some dinner. I was wiped out from a week of work and kid’s activities. (Plus, you know, it takes a lot of effort to walk OVER the mounds of laundry yet to be done.) We were just driving along when Annie, my spirited five-year-old, declared…

“Mommy – God is bigger than anything.”

Proud of her grasp on how God’s love surrounds us and happy that I decided to send her to VBS the previous week (it was obviously soaking in…I’m such a great parent) I said, “Yes, sweetie. He is.”

“Bigger than a tree?”

Oh – I guess she means literally BIG. Maybe she’s not as philosophical as I thought.

(Me) “Yes – much bigger.”
(Annie) “Bigger than a house?”
(Me) “You bet, honey. Bigger than we can imagine.”
(Annie) “Bigger than a hotel?”

I paused. Was she talking a Motel 6 or more like that ginormous, all-inclusive resort in Cancun that was featured on Groupon last week? The one that I wanted to go to but Ed said no. That place was massive.

“Yes, bigger than a hotel, Annie.”

“Bigger than a….”

I stopped her short. I knew where this was going. Annie could play this game all night.

(Me) “Annie, God is not so much BIG as He is everywhere…so in a sense, he is bigger than life. You know?”

Ed looked over at me and smiled. He was enjoying my inability to satisfy her questions and was clearly letting me fly solo. Yet she seemed pacified and moved on.

“Are there toys in heaven?”

Oh no.

(Me) “No sweetie, no toys. We don’t need them in heaven.”
(Annie) ”Then what do you do all day?”
(Me) “Well – you are just surrounded by the love around you. You don’t need things.”

Now Ed decides to add his two cents. “Sounds like some kind of hippy heaven.”

Very funny.

(Annie) “Do they have bedrooms in Heaven?”
(Me) “No. I don’t think so.”

So here’s the deal. I don’t really have a grasp on Heaven myself. Heaven is better than you can imagine, right? But what is it exactly? It’s hard for me to get my arms around it and I’m forty. How can I explain it to a five-year-old?

(Annie)”Will there be people I know there?”
(Me)”Yes.”
(Annie)”Motorcycles”
(Me) “No.”
(Annie) “Fire?”
(Me) “No.”
(Ed) “Well then how do they make S’mores?”

I’m going to have words with Ed later.

(Annie) “Well how about blue cotton candy?”

Now I’m laughing hysterically because I’m so tired physically and emotionally from this conversation and I’m picturing God standing in front of a cotton candy maker with a white stick twirling it around with blue and pink cotton candy in his hair.

“Annie, do you LOVE blue cotton candy?”
“Yes – I LOVE it!”
“Then, yes…there is blue cotton candy in Heaven.”

Annie sat back in her seat and smiled and we were through.

I can’t wait for the “Where did I come from?” conversation.

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Easter Is Coming…Say Cheese!

Me (in the pink coat) and my sister in matching Easter outfits – circa 1970′s

Easter is coming and I’m excited. Sure there’s the candy, and the egg hunt and the candy and the Easter basket and the candy and the ham dinner at noon (which, by the way, is the same time the “crash and burn” period occurs following the 8:00 a.m. consumption of the entire 2-foot solid chocolate bunny.) I should specify here. It’s my crash and burn I speak of – not the kids. They can go all day on a sugar bender. To be young again. Sigh.
It’s all good.

But the best thing about the hoopla surrounding what is first and foremost a wonderful celebration in the Christian religion is my uncontrollable urge to dress my kids in matching outfits.

My five-year-old daughter, Annie, is ok with it.
My nine-year-old son…Jackson, not so much.

I feel like I’m a pretty easy-going mom regarding clothing choices. I let Jackson wear his superman pjs with detachable cape and his buzz lightyear costume with cowboy boots and mer-man goggles to preschool when he wanted. And if Annie thinks pink, red and orange go together – well then, God Bless her. I don’t get bent out of shape.

Except on Easter.

I’m a sucker for anything smocked, seersuckerd or monogrammed. And I think I have royal blood because I go coo-coo for white gloves, wide brimmed hats and patent leather shoes.

I’ve already purchased this year’s wardrobe and I feel like I’ve been considerate of the fact that Jackson is getting up there in age. Annie will have a blue and navy dress with full on tulle petticoat while Jackson will done a simple yet elegant matching pair of Bermuda shorts and polo shirt. I mean, if they get separated at church – strangers will know that they “go together” but I don’t think there will be any long-lasting emotional scars to speak of 10 to 15 years down the road.

Besides, I think I’ve earned one good sibling portrait a year where both kids look decent and color coordinate. Just one photo where Jackson isn’t wearing a “I’m the coolest person I know” t-shirt with camouflage pants and Annie doesn’t have on a Dora floral shirt and Minnie Mouse striped shorts.

I just want to see my kids looking clean and pressed and proper.

Or maybe it’s because my mom made me and my sister wear matching sailor dresses on Easter until I was 15.

My sister: “How many more years do we have to wear matching outfits on Easter?”
Me: “Forever. But we’ll have our own kids one day and revenge will be ours!”

I don’t know.

I wrote this blog post while participating in the SocialMoms and Hop blogging program, for a gift card worth $25. For more information on how you can participate, click here.

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Here We Go

So on Saturday I was thinking it would be a good idea to go Christmas shopping. With the kids. At an outlet mall. Two weeks before Christmas.

Seriously.

Sometimes I think I’ve got some kind of brain condition that makes it impossible for me to make a good decision when it comes to shopping.

After bribing the kids on multiple occasions with Yu-gi-oh cards and rides on the mechanical horses and cars, we did kinda, sorta ok.

Until we got to Osh Gosh Bygosh. Or was it Carters? I don’t even freakin’ know because by the time we got there I had spent $25 on vending machine food and drinks and couldn’t feel my left hand because I didn’t have the use of my right arm to carry all of my purchases (remember – rotator cuff surgery? Keep up with me.)

I was supposed to meet my friend in Gymboree (I had taken my son to Vans because he really “NEEDS” another pair of sneakers). When she wasn’t in Gymboree I naturally assumed she’d be in one of the other toddler type clothing stores nearby. I found her in the dressing room with one of my kids (sadly, I hadn’t even noticed my four-year-old wasn’t with me, but no harm, no foul). Annie (my daughter) was trying on a matching outfit with Molly (her daughter – same age) and they were giddy with excitement at the thought of being all blingy and cute and matchy-matchy.

Being a girl and a shopper myself, I totally got that.

But what unfolded next was chaos that no four-year-old could have mustered. It took the 40 years of mis-guided shopping techniques and unresolved spending problems of their mommies.

Jenn – “Since Molly and Annie will have matching outfits, should we call Marci to see if her daughter Lauren (their friend) wants one, too”

Julie – “Good idea, and if we call Marci we better call Natalie so her daughter Maddie doesn’t feel left out.”

Then Julie leaves me in line to go look at matching shoes. MATCHING SHOES? I’ve got several kids (I mean, who can count at this point), many packages, a couple outfits and I’m on my cell phone without the use of one arm. Luckily the line was about 20 people long so I had time to discuss the particulars with Marci but couldn’t get in touch with Natalie.

Julie comes back with pink shoes that would clearly look darling with the outfits.

Jenn: “Dave Ramsey is going to be VERY disappointed with us, Julie”

Jenn (to a lady in line that I don’t know): “Do you think I should get these?”

What? I’m consulting strangers on my purchases now?

We finally got up to the front and in attempt to save money (parish the thought of actually putting back the shoes) I beg the cashier to honor the extra coupon I had somewhere back home in a messy stack of papers. She does and after ringing us up…together because we got an extra $10 coupon if we combined the purchase – never mind the chaos of sorting everything out later…Natalie calls us back!

Of course she wants a matching outfit – do they have her size?

Now I’m running to the rack and shouting across the store to anybody that will listen, “Does this shirt come in any other sizes?!”

After we find out what they have and what Maddie could get away with wearing (we are no longer concerned with getting exact sizes at this point-matching is our only desire). We go on to discuss the extra expense of the shoes. Natalie is going back and forth like a yo-yo (we are all taking the Dave Ramsey course and convinced that Dave himself with show up in Carters or where ever we are and have a come to Jesus with us).

Remember – we are AT the cashier at this point. With a line behind us.

Walking out with shirts, shoes and skirts of all sizes and shapes 15 minutes later – we aren’t quite sure what happened. My nine-year-old son reminds me that at some point during the chaos I promised him a pony or a car or something high dollar like that.

But lookey, lookey. Aren’t they cute?!!

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I came, I saw, I conquered – Black Friday

Ah, Thanksgiving…turkey cooking in the oven. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on TV. The kids fighting in the family room. And mom – pouring over the Black Friday Ads in search of the ultimate deal.
Really – the pouring has been going on for days….just on the Internet. Pretty much all the ads were released online ahead of time and I already had my game plan. Which included….you guessed it – Zhu Zhu pets.

Toys R Us, which opened at midnight, promised the first 100 people a Zhu Zhu pet. I thought I’d get over to the closest one by 10 ish and be there in plenty of time to make the cut. My friend, Julie, and I were riding together and meeting our other friend, Marci and her sister, Liz. We were in it to win it.

My family and I went to the Uptown Tree Lighting Ceremony from 5:00 p.m. to about 7:30 p.m. ish. We had a great time and as the time crept along I became more and more giddy about the purchase I was about to make.

We got home at about 8:30 ish. Believing I had at least an hour to get ready – I puttered about thinking of things to bring…a book maybe, a chair definitely – the paper? Probably. And the phone rang. It was Marci.

“Liz and I are already here and there’s about 30 people ahead of us – get down here NOW.”

Shit!

I went into panic mode. I tried to reach Julie at home and on her cell. No answer. After multiple attempts I had to make a do or die decision. I would have to leave without her.

“I gotta go!” I screamed to my husband.

“I thought you weren’t leav….”

“Plans changed…line long….no time,” I panted as I ran around the house like that kid in Home Alone with my arms flying above my head.

“Calm down,” Ed said. “It’s just a Zh…..”

The look I gave him was enough to stop even Santa Claus in his tracks. It was the mother of all don’t go there looks and he heard me loud and clear.

“I’ll get a lawn chair – grab a couple blankets,” he said. It was good to have him on board.

I didn’t have time to grab food, drinks or anything to do. Heck – I don’t think I even kissed the kids good-bye.

I was able to reach Julie on the phone on my way there. She was still at a family member’s house and worse yet – wasn’t feeling well. She was out.

“We lost a good man tonight,” I said to Marci after I hung up with Julie. “Let’s win this one for her. By the way – where am I going? Where the heck is the store?” Good information to have BEFORE you start driving.

I skidded into the parking lot and came running towards the line with blankets, my purse and a stadium chair flying out of my hands. “I’m here!” I shouted. “I made it. I made it.” I muttered as I dropped everything at my feet and embraced Marci as if she had just donated me her kidney. “Thank YOU.” I whispered as we hugged.

Then we waited. For 2 1/2 hours. In the cold. On the pavement. In the dark.
Actually, it wasn’t all that bad. We made friends with the people ahead of us and found out that some were actually there for something other than the Zhu Zhu pet – an IPOD touch, video games, etc.

As time dragged on, the line lengthened. By about 11:30 p.m….the crowd had wrapped around the entire building. We could see the end of the line ahead of us at the other end of the store. The store manager came through and made futile attempts to keep the peace. “Anyone who puts someone else at risk will be removed from the property.” I thought it was a little unnecessary until people started trying to cut in front of us in line, then I understood the need. It was not this store manager’s first rodeo and I was beginning to get a little nervous.Right before midnight they passed out vouchers for the most desired items. We grasped our Zhu Zhu pet voucher as if it were one of the 5 Willy Wonka golden tickets….there were only 100. I could almost hear the tears of the mommy who was 101 in line.

Two teenagers ahead of us didn’t want one. Because there was a limit of one per household, we were only allowed to purchase so we made deals of who would get the extra ones. I gave one of the teenagers $10 and my cell phone number. We would rendezvous after we made it through check-out for the “exchange”. I felt very naughty. I was breakin‘ the rules and I gotta tell you….it felt pretty good!

Until the mad rush at midnight to get into the store. Marci was ahead of me and we were running towards the Zhu Zhu pet ACCESSORIES aisle and she was stopping to put random items into her cart.
“Move it, Marci,” I screamed. “No one cares about Pixos!”
We were all disappointed to find hardly any accessories available but we did have other deals to take advantage of. I made it into the electronics department to get a video game, night vision goggles and a camera when all of sudden I sensed I was not alone. I looked around and wall to wall people had crammed into every inch of the store…carts slamming into each other and a line to check out that went around the entire store that seemed to have formed in a matter of minutes.
I felt my cheeks go flush and I knew it was time to cash in my chips.
Just 45 minutes later I left I made it through the line, receipt and Zhu Zhus in hand (along with a few other items). And besides the panic attack at the end – you know, I had fun. I think I’ll be back again next year.
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Zhu Zhu – Where are U?

So apparently I’m not the only mom to blog about her Zhu Zhu troubles. I just read a very well written and hysterical blog by another mom in Texas http://www.thebigmamablog.com/ and her search for the toy of the season. I think I’ll stop blogging and just put a link to her blog on my page with the caption,
“Put me down for what she said.”

A shout out to Linda H. goes here – because she sent me a link to this blog and she could have only KNOWN about my Zhu Zhu challenges if she READ my blog…so ,thank you my friend! Of course, Karen – I must say thanks to you too, because if I actually get a lead on one of these critters you KNOW that I’m dragging you along with me! (And the search for the WII was 2 years ago, not last year!)

I was reading through Big Mama’s reader comments. Ah – to have readers. And to have comments. And it struck me how NICE they all are. I mean – some even gave her store leads and people in other states offered to search for her and mail them to her! It saddened my heart to know that these will be the very ladies I will be knocking over in a mad rush to the Toys R Us Zhu Zhu display or cutting in line in front of at Wal-Mart in the wee hours on Black Friday.

Maybe I can find some Christmas spirit before I do one of the above. As I sit at my computer “working”, I THINK I can keep it under control – but realistically – I dunno. I mean, I could barely handle the Nutcracker Market madness a couple weeks ago….pushing and shoving to get to the front of the line for a piece of peanut brittle sample. Seriously, I’m out of control.

So if I see you out “on the streets” this season – let me just say right now – “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to hit you over the head with a wiffle ball bat or knock you off your feet with a motorized razer scooter. It’s not personal. I’m a relatively nice person in other situations and I hope we can get to know eachother (after the swelling goes down on your knee from the bomarang I threw at you) in January.

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