In the past seven days, the ghost of Christmas Go to Hell has been haunting me with:

* A car crash. We're fine - but the hit caused us 3000 in damages. Thank God I wasn't at fault.

* 3 people died. One a grammar school friend, one was a good friend's father, one was my mother's brother. Two weeks ago her newphew died.

* My tooth was extracted. Always pleasant.

* Stink's ring finger nail was completely ripped off when it got in a fight with a door. The door won.

* I had a molar removed.

* Our fabulous charter school has been threatened with a $75K budget cut. More to come on that.

Tonight, however, the ghost of Christmas We Love Ya Babe descended in all its magesty in the form of a last minute holiday party. Four mom friends from our school - the fabulous place the Governor has decided might not be worth what he promised to us - got together at E's house.

And it wasn't just any get together. She had five Christmas trees including one that was silver and one that revolved in circles with a train at the base, all decked out in Disney. Kids ran amuck in the backyard climbing on her daughter's pirate ship playground, scaling her princess double decker bed, playing Wii and crashing on E's bed while watching Scooby Doo. The moms? We drank wine and ate too much food. Fa la la la laaaaaaa... my halls were decked!

If the rest of the holidays go back down to hell, I don't care. Tonight was all I needed. Stick a fork in me, baby, I am DONE.

Let's just hope my court date for an overdue ticket goes well in the morning. At least if I'm hauled off to jail I can say I had a good Christmas. I wonder if they serve soft food in the slammer? My gums are still kind of tender.

You? What's your favorite part of the season? Is it going okay? I hope so.


* Photo of this tree I found in a catalog. It's totally over the top and decadent, but I am in love with. Almost makes me want to shop retail. But I'll wait until I find it at the Salvation Army. It'll be missing a Pluto, most likely, and Cinderella will be headless, but nothing some Crazy Glue can't fix.

More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

Stink has been really testing me lately. I mean, driving me bonkers. I can see why, when kids get older, one inevitably remarks, "Mom, you loved the other one more."

In our case, not only is Stink more crafty, causing me to run down the street in horror that he's lost, only to find him under the dining room table "sleeping" but he also has the special diet, so although I might spend ten more minutes at night plying him with vitamins, fish oil and extra supplements, Pip still gives me the, "You never spend that time with me."

In spite of the holiday season, or perhaps because of it, the kids have really amped up the "it's not fair" and "you never" brigade. In the spirit of Dooce's monthly letters I have one for my own little rugrats.

"Dear Pip, it doesn't seem to matter that when Stink is at school we go out for candy almost religiously. It doesn't seem to make a difference that we dine on forbidden carbs, watch extra television or leisurely feed ducks at the park. I will always be the "No Lady" with the breath of Diet Coke and the car reeking of fries - you know - the ones that you get when your brother isn't around.

And Stink, even though I've figured out a way to feed you amazing food without having to resort to medication, I realize that you will always view me as the horrific mother who wouldn't let you suck on red food dye #5 at the Christmas party, making you more hopped up than Whitney Houston at a music show.

Precious whiners of mine, I'm realizing that, at the end of the day, there are only four truths:

1. You are limitless pits of need

2. I'm never going to fill that pit myself, no matter how hard I try. And that, my friends, is...

3. ...the pits

4. There's no depth to my pit of love for you. I hope you will always know that.

And to answer your question from bedtime Stink, "No, I am not really a stepmother. I am, however, just the littlest bit evil. And when you have a son or daughter one day who gives you a hard time over taking their enzyme pill, I'll do what any good mother would do and Laugh. My. Ass. Off."

Hope this clears the air.

Mommy


* Photo taken during their "restaurant meal" in front of our fire. Guess who was the waitress and clean up crew? Look how happy Stink is? Poor dude, eating organic food by fireside.

 More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

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Who needs a size 4T holiday dress? I'll cover shipping. I have another one up for giveway at my BabyCenter blog. Contest ends Monday, December 15 and will be shipped the next day.

Any of you sponsoring similar giveaways, feel free to link this. Please tell me about yours so I can link you as well. Or don't. That works also.

Rules: Leave your email in the comments so I can find you. My daughter will pick the winner, followed likely by a tantrum along the lines of, "But I want to keep that dress!" Me: "You already have five." Her: "Then I'll keep it for Stinker!" Me: "I'm letting him take a dance class. I draw the line at tulle."

On a personal note, like the dress, may your days be full of sparkle and magic. And maybe a tad less itchy.

Tonight I was coloring with Stink. We had just finished baking. Pip had gone to bed because she was more cranky than I am when I run out of Yuban. (Well, almost. No one is as cranky as I get without my morning coffee. Or afternoon coffee. Or evening coffee. I'm a bit of an addict, but it works for me, so please don't have a virtual intervention for me. I'd send you all my spam. That's a lot of penis enlargement ads. Just sayin'.)

As I helped him read which colors matched with what number, "Red =1", "Blue = 2" I seized a life lesson. I remarked, "Colors, like ingredients in the cookies we just made, can be kind of bland by themselves. But when you put them all together, it's amazing what kind of picture - and final food dish - you can create. Teamwork! It's great, isn't it?"

Stink looked at me all wide-eyed and confused. He didn't say much but kept working away at the green xmas bulbs on his paper tree.

For a moment, I wished I was five. I wanted my mom right there with me, chatting me up about things I would only remember after I broke my heart ten times. I didn't want a life lesson. I didn't want to think about how everything together makes everything beautiful, because sometimes everything all mixed up becomes one giant mess and headache. I wanted to be like Stink, happy with his one crayon, living in the present, not caring if everything blended into one uniform work of art.

But then, now that I think about it, everything about my few moments with him tonight was perfect. Not even my overthinking noggin could mess that up.

* Photo taken today of Stink with his new Scooby "thinking cap." What started as a whim - the skull caps - have now become his favorite thing. I swear he's more focused at school with them, too. Something about heat not leaving his sweet little brain. Anybody hear of this theory besides Daria?

In an attempt to stay away from TV, I've started turning to crafts after school. This usually involves downloading coloring pages from the internet, but sometimes we go on pinecone hunts and make turkeys that look half fowl half like Joanne's dollar aisle vomited on some branches.

Today it was cotton balls from the 99cent store glued onto cut out cardboard circles from my new Braun coffee press box. It matters to the children not a stitch that the snowman bellies are more misshapen than Lindsay Lohan's liver after a bender. The kids are just happy to stick cotton on them (The circles, not Lindsay Lohan.)

While I'm thrilled that my creativity is keeping my children entertained, I do worry that I'm not providing the most physical example for my kids. Rex is no better. "Let's throw a football around the yard!" Um, no. But play a game of Pong on a thirty year old Atari? Look out, some testorone is going to fly!

Lest you tell me I'm being a bit neurotic about my concerns, let me regale you with a story my cousin reminded me of this past weekend. Last year Stink was at Costco eating his way through the samples. A large man in a red apron handed him a meatball.

Stink:  "Mmm, delicious meatball!" (Then, staring at the man.) "You have a very warm face."

Man: (Taken aback, big Bronx accent) "Thanks, kid. Hey, you must be five."

Stink: "How did you know? Do you have a magic eye like my mommy that can read my brain?"

Man: "No. But my grandson is five and he's about your size. He likes to play sports. Do you?"

Stink: Horrifed. "NOOOOOOOO! I am a dancer!"

I'm just sayin'.


More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

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TOP 5 REASONS I WISH I WERE AN IPOD

5. My husband would communicate with me all the live long day.

4. He would push my buttons over and over and I wouldn't even want to yank out his chest hair piece by piece.

3. I could mess with his mind. Ex: He Googles RX 7 motors, I spit out Anne of Green Gables on You Tube or the Little House on the Prairie DVD bonus packs.

2. When he was Mapquesting directions to a tech convention, I would insert a roadmap to either Disneyland (where I'd be waiting with mouse ears and fishnets), a Burger King (their coffee is almost as good as Yuban) or a thrift store (If I'm feeling extra cheeky.)

1. I could change all his saved "Favorites" to my most treasured bloggers, giving him more insight into the female brain than Bill Gates has into the Ipod. He might be wondering why he's using the words Pook, Praise Jesus, ass wipe and lurve at his business meetings, but I'm sure the female staff would adore him, including HR who would give him a raise, allowing me to get my very own home office! Now if only I could really get this 6'1 bod into a teeny Ipod. (That rhymed! Going to sleep. I can't handle myself anymore. And if Rex handles that Ipod much more, he won't be able to handle me either.)