Updates and Unique Unicorns [RANT]

Playdates and lack of sleep have thrown off the summer schedule but we are muddling through. Well, I am muddling through. Everyone else seems determined to consciously create chaos wherever we may be. 

My oldest child has a friend who has a pool, so both kids want to go over there every day. My new friend (the mother of my child’s friend) says we are welcome to pop over everyday. I am not sure she realizes what such an invitation brings. I think I have to let people enjoy my uniqueness in doses, so I will not take advantage of her kindness.

Aside from that, even with just two fabulous playdates this week, my house feels neglected. The piles get bigger and not in a good way. For instance, they are not huge piles of money that make me dream of being like Scrooge McDuck and swimming in my money. Instead, I soak my hands in soapy water and try to knock back funny smells by giving my new washer a workout. 

I got behind on my writing goals. Since I posted a poem and then realized I did a horrible job editing it last week, I need to get ahead of this goal and not behind it. I also owe my potential substack readers one more post of actual prose since I am planning to make most of the content there only available to paid subscribers in July.

No, I will not be offended if you subscribe to my substack as my birthday gift. I might be sad if you never read my posts or give me feedback though. Not sure why I am so needy about these things. It is good to know that what you create brings joy in to the world.

Why else would I keep subjecting people to cake, brownies, cookies, muffins, and other treats? It isn’t because I make too much for one. Or because my freezer is overflowing with goodies. Well, maybe a little.

That doesn’t stop me from popping out for an ice cream date with a friend. Sometimes, you need to step away from everything you need to do and relax. Tonight, our waitress seemed surprised that I ordered the Cookie Monster ice cream. She warned me that it was VERY blue and would stain my lips and teeth. I reassured her that I did want it and I do know how to use a toothbrush. She seemed satisfied.

After I had a chance to partake of some of my treat, she came back to check on us. I beamed at her and asked if I looked like a Smurf yet. She responded in the affirmative and wandered off again. The evening culminated with her commenting that no one had ever finished the blue menace before. I wonder what her response would have been if I licked up the dribbles from the side of the glass. I always amaze people when I eat ice cream. Want to know what I mean? You can buy my ice cream and find out…

Clearly, I know how to party like it is summer!!!

Life’s a Party: Part 2 [RANT]

One of the many roles I take on as a mom is party planner. My youngest decided to make her arrival at the beginning of May, so sometimes her birthday falls on Mother’s Day. Not this year, but I already had a commitment on the Saturday closest to her birthday, so I got to plan multiple celebrations.

Technically, her first party was at Nana’s. This preceded me falling down the well of microfilm of obsession and was planned by Nana. My duties for event centered around releasing new friends from packaging as fast as presents could be unwrapped and consolidating Christmas, Easter, and birthday gifts, so we left behind as little as possible. We succeeded to the point that no meltdowns resulted.  I think I was also expected to eat a quarter of a sheet cake in a twenty-four hour period, but I did not accept that challenge.

So the first celebration that required my attention was a treat to be shared with friends. Some parents send in little gift bags, but I am a major slacker and skipped that stress. I decided to send in Tastycake Krimpets. The kids love them. We are close to Philadelphia. Perfect, right?

Nope. As I walked my daughter home from the bus stop, which happens to be on a busy road with cars zipping by and revving their engines as they blow past buses with their stop sign out, she informed me that I didn’t send in enough treats. I strained to hear her explanation until it finally made sense.

I sent in twenty-four cakes for a class of eighteen. They happened to be twin packs, which I have sent in before. It just means the teacher has to separate them and give each child one krimpet not a two pack. But there was a sub. And the sub didn’t do math. And the sub told my daughter to start passing out packages of cakes. Luckily, it sounds like the first graders figured it out and shared, but I still got whined at all the way home. And I am a mama who doesn’t like my child to be upset or disappointed if I can help it. There are enough disappointments in life that I can do nothing about.

Part of the reason I didn’t load all the kids up on sugar is that this was my daughter’s actual birthday. I knew that she would be having cake at home with just the family. We did place a video call so her aunt and nana could watch her open gifts. She seemed excited about all of my carefully selected offerings. Dad got credit. Nana commented on how much stuff we bought her though it was significantly less than the birthday gifts she got at her first event. Then we sang and let her have her tiny cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes that I made look like Hello Kitty. Then, she played with her toys and insisted that all of them needed to join the hoard already overflowing her bed. Happy Baby! Happy Mama! Goal Achieved.

Now, I needed to focus on her actual party with friends not just people who share her genetics. At this point, none of the seventeen kids from her class had responded to the invitations I sent in. Thankfully, I bravely invited some other friends, so I knew at least four other kids could make it. This meant squeezing them into our house, the three usable rooms between me not wanting to tidy the upstairs and the basement still needing remediation from a flood in December.

I spent the next week monitoring the weather and tidying and re-tidying my house because rain and the threat of rain made it impossible to prep or plan for an outdoor party. Saturday ended up being a sunny day, but our backyard was still wet and overgrown, so we squeezed into the house. I dubbed it a success. Confetti cake was enjoyed. Gifts were opened and appreciated Even the adults seemed to have fun.

Of course, my tasks didn’t end there. I needed to tidy again. And someday, I need to find more room for all of the goodies Thing 2 got before Thing 1 has a birthday. 

And why didn’t I post? I got asked to give a talk at church last Sunday, so I got sidetracked by that. (Would you like me to post that for your perusal?)

Then Memorial Day wanted celebrated. I joined friends from church for breakfast in the park. I made some apple cider donuts. Boiling down the cider to make it more concentrated took more time than shaping the donuts.

We also had friends over for dinner, so I decided to make four desserts. I get excited when other people who eat a variety of foods show up. One of the desserts was brownies, so everyone could be happy. I made a yummy blueberry cobbler and save a couple of donut holes for sharing. I also made lemon strawberry pie, which didn’t set well, but I had ice cream because it goes with every dessert I chose, so it became a topping.

I may still be cleaning up from that  event by eating the few stray brownies.

So life is a party and I am the planner.

And it is not a small task.

Noël Hotel [FICTION]

I woke with a craving for one more slice of pumpkin pie. No matter how much I stuff myself at dinner, I always wake up starving sometime between dinner and breakfast. On the good years, I can hold off and have pie for breakfast as I hide from the enthusiastic shoppers trying to nail down the best deals the local stores have to offer. With so many stores closing down lately, I shudder to think of the hordes descending on the few remaining brick and mortar bastions of holiday joy. I don’t need the cheery carols meant to keep those crowds of shopper in line, however, because my Christmas joy arrives at my doorstep uninvited the day after Thanksgiving.

Had I looked at the clock, I would have just rolled back over and resisted the urge for one little nosh with a heap of whipped cream on top. I didn’t realize that Thanksgiving was firmly in our rearview mirror when I stumbled down the stairs with my hair awry and my pajamas askew.

As I plated a piece of pie and reached into the fridge for the bright red spray bottle of happiness, I froze. Had I heard it? It couldn’t be. I glanced at the clock: 12:01. 

“Oh no,” I mumbled, closing my eyes tight, “I’m not ready.”

“I can see that, mom, but you’re still lovely,” a saccharine voice greeted me from the area of my kneecap. “You are going to need another container of the whip.”

I slowly opened my eyes and looked down in time to see a tiny little man clad in green begin climbing up one of the stools to my kitchen counter. He planted himself happily in front of my slice of pumpkin pie and plunked a chubby little finger into its middle. That finger then went into his mouth.

“Delicious, but where is my whip?” He doffed his peaked hat, placing it gently on the counter next to the pie plate to reveal his pointed ears.

I sighed and sprayed a slightly ungenerous dollop of whipped cream onto his, formerly my, pie. He gave me a quizzical look, but my face convinced him that I wasn’t to be trifled with unless he was going to make me a trifle for a change. I watched him wolf down pumpkin deliciousness and ruled out that idea—he’d just eat the components to a good trifle instead of layering them into a thing of beauty and deliciousness.

As the last crumb of pie disappeared, he looked up to me with a huge grin, “Thanks, mom. You always know how to make a fella feel welcome.”

I stared at him, holding back the tart reply that I wished he didn’t feel so comfortable in my home. He took my silence as tacit encouragement.

“So what else do you have for me?”

I threw my hands up in the air, “What do I have for you?”

“Yes?”

“A list of cleaning projects you should plan to do this year instead of taking over my house and leaving a mess for me?”

“A mess for you?”

“Glitter. Foil. Shreds of wrapping paper…” I started.

He raised a hand to stop me, “Oh. I see. You don’t want me to leave mementos of my visit around the house to make you miss me. I can do that.”

After a few seconds of staring at him silently as he hefted the can of whipped cream and sprayed some into his mouth, I turned slowly, announcing firmly, “I’m going back to bed.”

“Sweet peppermint dreams, mom,” he called out to my back, chasing his comment with another hit of the whipped cream.

~~

The next morning, I woke to the sweet giggles of my babies downstairs and the delectable scent of a breakfast I didn’t make wafting up from the kitchen. I pulled on my robe and slipped my feet into slippers that felt different than normal. Looking down, I beheld feet clad in green velvet comfort with toes that curled up toward me. I frowned down at the bells on their very tips and took a few tentative steps. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned over to feel that the bells were as soft and silent as the rest of my new apparel.

As I padded down the stairs, the intoxicating aroma drew me into the kitchen. Even the sound of Christmas carols dominating the room couldn’t turn me back as my stomach grumbled and reminded me that I had never eaten my midnight pie last night. My mind gently pointed out that maybe, for that reason alone, I should be more patient with my holiday guest. Rounding the corner prompted it to offer a second reason.

Elfis stood at my usual spot before the stove. Of course, he stood on a step stool, but he worked just as fervently as I ever had to keep all the pans on the stove cooking food to perfection. One held bacon, another had eggs, and the one receiving the main portion of his attention held pancakes speckled with red and dark brown.

“Here she comes, the hardest worker in the world: a mom,” he announced as he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes rested upon me. 

I paused, taking in the rest of the scene before my eyes. My children huddled over plates that clearly had already been filled with food, shoveling the last bites happily into their mouths. My husband looked up from a similar plate to smile at me and pat the stool next to him.

“Don’t worry, mom, I am making a batch fresh so you can have as much as you want,” Elfis waggled his eyebrows at me, “And then I have a surprise for you…”

“Oh do you?” I interrupted as my eyes assessed the number of dishes already in the sink and those soon to join them.

“I do. A beautiful surprise and then I shall wash the dishes, which may be a surprise you would prefer.”

I blinked slowly. When I opened my eyes, a plate piled with modest portions of bacon, eggs, and peppermint chocolate chip pancakes sat before me. I took a deep inhale. My husband nodded encouragingly, and I took a tentative bite. Finally, something the little elf did that didn’t instantly irk me. He grinned at me and removed the festive tea towel he had fashioned into an elf-sized apron. Underneath, he wore a new fashion accessory, a candy cane striped holster for a microphone. He drew his weapon of choice and jumped up on the opposite end of the counter from me to appreciative applause from my family.

“This is for you, Mom,” he said with a wink.

“Since Thanksgiving passed me by,

Well, my thoughts have a new place to dwell

Well, it's down at the end of Cocoa Street

At Noël Hotel

“Where it'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby

Well, it’s so snowy

It'll be so snowy, I could fly

“Although it's always crowded

You still can find cocoa

For peppermint lovers

Or another winter’s glow

“It'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby

It'll be so snowy

It’s so snowy, you could fly

“Now, the bellhop's singin’ carols

And the desk clerk's dressed in red

Well, they've been so long on Cocoa Street

They'll never, never look back

“And it gets so, it gets so snowy, baby

Well, it is so snowy

It’s so snowy, you could fly

“Well, now, if your cocoa leaves you

And you need to warm a spell

Well, sing a carol down Cocoa Street

To Noël Hotel

“Where you will be, you will be, you'll be so snowy, baby

Well, you will be snowy

You'll be so snowy, you could fly”

He paused here to dance for us, shaking his hips in a way I still found more disturbing than provocative, particularly as it made the bells on the ends of his shoes jingle merrily. Then he resumed:

“Although it's always crowded

You still can find cocoa

For peppermint lovers

Or another winter’s glow

“Where they get so, they get so snowy, baby

Well, they're so snowy

They'll be so snowy, they could fly.”

I giggled as one child turned to the other and asked, “Is he singing about skiing?”

Elfis didn’t laugh. He just shook his candy can microphone disapprovingly our way. That resulted in more hysterical laughter and holiday cheer pouring out into the room.

Where Did the Stories Go?

For those who noticed an absence of stories to read on the average Monday, I offer reassurance that the stories will return. Life has thrown a little more at me than my somewhat defective body could handle, so I put a brief pause on my weekly writing deadlines and boutique inventory updates.

So what keeps a hobbit that busy?

1. Chasing my tiny boss. A two year old has more energy than a dozen mommas of my advanced age. She keeps me busy from dawn until dusk, and often all the other hours in between. I actually started this post about twelve hours ago, but quickly got roped into playing, preparing food, and comforting for sorrows I may never understand.
2. Running to the bathroom. Having one toddler was not enough. Another tiny hobbit is growing happily inside my tummy, which means my bladder needs emptied frequently. This also means I get to discuss the previously mentioned advanced age with my doctors on a regular basis.
3. And if that doesn't make you a little more forgiving of my neglect of the gift of words, our growing family suggested a need for a slightly larger base of operations. We've been moving my hoard of craft supplies, costumes, baby accouterments, and papers for over a month. We finally have some places to plant our bottoms in the new house, so the end might be just around the corner.

Wish me luck, send up prayers that the stress doesn't melt my brain, and hopefully you will be reading lovely works of fiction again soon.