My mind has been busy with two things lately, and I need some input. So pick your specialty, or chime in on both.

1. Orlando
2. The Bedroom.

(Sounds fascinating, no?)

First. Orlando:

So we are planning a short trip to Orlando in July. It’s kinda last minute, and it’s kinda during the worst time of year to visit Disney (as far as crowds are concerned.)

And, although we’ve spent years of our life overanalyzing to try and figure out the best scenario for a first Disney trip (Chris can’t usually be gone from work for seven days, and we all know that Disney is incrementally cheaper the longer you stay, and we didn’t want to feel rushed to cram it all in, and we didn’t want to go when we had nappers…and on and on and on), we’re considering (and we may be crazy) spending ONE DAY at Disney.

Just one day.

Because Ali’s never been, and she’s at the perfect age of Princess Love, and she has no expectations of the vastness of Disney. So we’re thinking we’ll soak up a little magic, walk down Main Street, and scope the place out for a return visit at some point. Do a little, but with no pressure to DO Disney.

We also want to visit LegoLand (for obvious reasons) while we’re there, so we’re thinking that we will spend a day at LegoLand, a day at Disney, and perhaps a day at the resort or in and around Orlando.

So, Disney Veterans.

1. Are we crazy?
2. Will we hate ourselves for this plan?
3. Is there a way to get cheaper tickets to just GO to Disney for one day? No hotel, no food plan, no frills, just the ability to walk into the park and maybe see a few fun characters and junk.
4. What do we need to know? For reference, the last time I went to Disney was in 1985. And I was 3.
5. What’s the easiest way to meet some princesses? Or even better, Tinkerbell and her friends?

And, Orlando Residents.

1. Where should we eat while we’re in your city?
2. What else should we do?
3. Again, are we crazy?

And, All of you:

Have you seen anything offering discounted LegoLand or Disney passes? I remember someone saying that their kids got a free pass in a Lego kit, but I don’t remember who it was or what kit contained such goodness. Help a last-minute-trip-planner out!

Second. I need your help in the Bedroom.

(I know. You’ve all been waiting on that one.)

Since we moved into our house five years ago, our bedroom has bothered me terribly, especially subconsciously. Every night, when I’m right in between awake and asleep, I find myself eaten up with uncomfortableness and wrath toward the room.

That could be due to my very poor decorating skills. And the 1984 wood trim. And the mismatching of said wood trim with our furniture.

Or it could be due to the evidence of my former mod podge/scrapbook paper addiction:

So I’ve decided to finally take on a project this summer. After all, I lived through 184 days of involuntary home repairs – certainly I can slap a little paint on the walls and buy and new comforter, right?

So I plan to get my lazy butt out from in front of the computer and repair my broken psyche.

We have great furniture, but ugly walls. I’m ready for a new bedspread and curtains, and we desperately need wall fixtures.

And in general, I want a calmer room.

In my head, I have in mind a blue-gray or steel blue color scheme – very cool, very light, very vacationy. White curtains, our current black furniture, a simple but luxurious looking bedspread, perhaps recovering my chair and ottoman, and yes – painting my trim white.

I’ve got a Pinterest Board going with a bunch of ideas, but here is the combination that best describes my vision:

So here’s where you come in.

I am horrible, awful, no good, repugnant at wall hangings, knick knacks, and other pointless decorations.

However, as my current bedroom (and my angst surrounding it) suggests, pointless decorations are what makes a room feel like a room.

Also, I’d love any input on what needs to get kicked off the island of ideas on my Pinterest Board.

But just for some direction, I like geometric designs (very little floral), I like modern, and I don’t like trees next to my bed.

Also, I don’t want it to look like Ariel skinned Ursula and turned her into my comforter.

So that’s it. Tell me what I need. What you’ve seen that is cool. How I could better this room palette. Anything and everything.

And don’t forget about Orlando.

I need your help!

Hey! So I have pink eye. Actually, a more accurate diagnosis would be that I have pink eyes. Which means that it hurts too much to look at this computer screen. However, I’m in luck – last week, I ran across this post that I wrote in 2010 and set it aside to re-share. I can’t believe that it is now halfway through 2013 and I have yet to figure out how to fill this position. Because I NEED it. Especially when my eyes don’t work.

Men play golf.

(Some men, anyway – not my husband. And some women, I know. Forgive the generalization for a moment.)

And, men get caddies.

(Some men, anyway – surely not every man that plays golf can afford to have another man follow him around all day while he leisurely plays a game.)

But at any rate, from what I understand, these caddies carry around their golf luggage and offer intelligent suggestions as to what instrument they should use for various needs.

“I suggest a nine iron for this shot.”

And that sort of thing.

Well, if men get caddies for their play time, I’m thinking that Moms TOTALLY deserve caddies for their every day life.

ESPECIALLY considering the massive amounts of junk we have to carry around.

We have our purses. Our diaper bags. Our camera bags. Our portable high chairs. The stroller. The pack n’ play. The infant seat. The kid’s lunch boxes. Heck – we even have the kids themselves to carry around. There’s no way that one woman can manage to tote her entire expected load – simply impossible.

So – as I see it, a Mom Caddie’s job description would look something like this…

a. Offer the service of packhorse. They would follow us around, toting all of our Mommy Luggage, and finding that paci that managed to crawl to the very bottom of the diaper bag when we need it to quiet our screaming baby.

b. Offer their professional advice on what we need when. For instance…

• Scenario A: Baby poops. Mom opens diaper, assesses the damage. Turns to caddie… “What would you suggest?” Possible answers might include…
  • “I think that one wipe will suffice for that situation. Hold on – I’ll get you a wipe and a fresh diaper – oh, and a bit of Desitin for that rash.”
  • “You’re going to need three wipes, a diaper, and probably a gas mask for that one. And I’ll go ahead and be ready with the Purell for after you close.”
  • “Oh – look there. There’s a bit of brown on the edge of that onesie. I’ll pull you out 10 wipes, a diaper, and would you prefer the blue or the green replacement onesie?”
  • “It looks like he’s in a screaming kind of mood. After I retrieve your necessary wipes and diapers, I’ll get out a toy and shake it around in his face so that you can do what you need to do without having to listen to that awful racket.”
• Scenario B: Kid spills a bit of Chick-Fil-A Polynesian Sauce on their shirt. Family photos are in an hour. “Mom Caddie!! What is the best thing to take out this stain AND make sure it doesn’t leave a water mark for photos?”
• Scenario C: Baby wakes up in the middle of the night screaming. Diaper rash. Always-at-the-ready Mom Caddie is ready and waiting at the bedroom door, holding the tube of Desitin, lest you, in your mostly-asleep state, accidentally pick up tube of toothpaste to slather on their butt.
• Scenario D: Kid and baby are playing adorably together. Pictures must be taken. “Mom Caddie, would you suggest the point-and-shoot, the DSLR, or the Flip Video Camera for this particular event?”
• Scenario E: Mom is by herself with the kids (and Mom Caddie, of course), and has an amazing moment of Mommish Victory of some sort. Normally, Mom would have to resort to texting Dad, tweeting or Facebooking about her amazing moment to get the accolades she deserves for her accomplishments. However, Mom Caddie is there. Mom Caddie is able to immediately affirm Mom with golf claps and congratulations on her amazing Mommy feats.
• Scenario F: New baby is screaming it’s head off. “Mom Caddie, what do you think is the issue here?”
  • “That is definitely a gas scream. Hold on – I’ll grab the Mylicon for you.”
  • “Hold on – let me consult the tracking notebook. It’s been three hours and twenty eight minutes since you last nursed – I’m thinking baby is hungry. Oh – and the records show here that you only nursed on the left side last time, so I recommend starting with the right side.”

c. And, speaking of the tracking notebook, Mom Caddie would be responsible for keeping tedious baby records (with a little golf pencil, of course) of feedings, poos, naps, and bedtimes for reference. Because what Mom has time to do THAT?!?!

d. Checking and Replenishing stock of all Caddieable Items – never again will Mom find herself in a blowout situation with half a wipe and one diaper left that just so happens to be two sizes too small.

Come to think of it, I’m really not sure how I survived four (make that six and a half) years of motherhood without a Mom Caddie.

I am now accepting applications.

I don’t usually get too serious on here, but today I did. I wrote this post as a Christian to other Christians, including myself. I pray that my heart and intentions come through clearly.

The woman was on her knees, hunched completely over in the dirt, probably a little beaten and certainly humiliated.

Men crowded around her, their religious robes brushing up against her as they shouted her sins for all to hear.

She was not one of them. She was not like them. She did not follow their rules. She must be killed.

They took her to Jesus with judging indignation toward her, and pride in themselves for digging up such a wretched creature.

“Look at this woman! Look what she has done in the face of our God! Shouldn’t we kill her?”

He ignored them, perhaps hoping that they might grow a brain cell and realize their own sinfulness and hypocrisy.

They pushed him.

He sighed. He looked at them, piercing through their bone and marrow and straight into their soul.

“Whichever one of you has never done anything wrong, you go right ahead and punish this woman.”

At least something woke them up from their murderous stupor. They slunk off, perhaps not quite as blind to the hateful and judgmental state of their own heart.

These type of men were the only men that Jesus would ever condemn. That he would ever get angry at, horrified at their actions and thoughts, at their freedom to use His Father’s Name as an excuse to bludgeon others with their power and piety.

The woman, along with others in her not-so-holy world – Zaccheus, Matthew, and many more – they were the ones that Jesus would visit, would love, would dine with. None of those that he called to be his disciples were chosen from The Religious Crowd. His followers were the ones who understood the huge gravity of Jesus’ Love. They were the ones who would go to great expense to worship their Savior, because they recognized the sin in their own heart and knew that they needed Him desperately.

Jesus loved the outcast. The sinner. The World. Jesus was much more disturbed by the sin within the hearts of those proclaiming His Father’s name than He ever was with those who had yet to meet Him.

And I would wager a guess that the same is true today: Jesus is much more concerned with the sin that is in my heart than He is about the sin in the heart of a woman who doesn’t claim His Name.

Today, The World is in the center of the circle. Some who claim the Name of Jesus Christ crowd around it, picketing it, condemning it with judgmental Facebook statuses, sending out fear-mongering emails, boycotting it, railing against it every chance they get, and discussing how to clean it up and squash it at all costs.

I see it happen every day, and it hurts me. It keeps me up at night, wondering what to say and how to stop it.

I catch myself doing it, and it cuts me even deeper. Maybe I don’t put it on Facebook, but I spend too much time thinking about the actions of others, when I have enough to deal with in my own heart to keep me busy for the rest of my life.

I can’t help but think that Jesus would probably be choosing to dine with those being condemned, rather than those doing the condemning. And if Jesus were a picketer, His biblical track record suggests that He just might be picketing some of today’s Christians.

The Woman – the one back in the circle. Do you think that she ever wanted to go back into those religious men’s Synagogue? Did their pointing out of her sins and the condemnation thereof bring her to repentance?

Um, no.

If I had been her, I would have been so traumatized by religion that I would have found whatever was opposite of it and run that way.

Condemnation of sin by other sinful humans will never save souls – Jesus didn’t even condemn the woman caught in sin – how much less should we?

“Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.”
~ John 8:11

Jesus’ love saves souls.

Loving others well will help them find Jesus’ love.

Jesus loved people first, then encouraged them to live lives worthy of the calling they received – something they were desperately driven to do because of Jesus’ love for them, not to earn or deserve Jesus’ love.

He called us to be a light to the world. He did not mean for us burn people with our light, and he certainly didn’t mean for us to shoot fiery darts in every direction and call it “light.” Let’s be the kind of light that attracts and brightens the world, not burns and damages it.

Busying ourselves with pointing out The World’s sins and debating over the comparative depth of other people’s transgressions will only blind us to the sin in our own hearts, and that’s what Jesus wants us to deal with.

Let Jesus handle their hearts. Let Jesus handle our hearts. And let’s get The World out of the middle of the circle and into our homes to dine with us.

Love well, my friends.

Toddler Intelligence Agency, Home Office
Security Clearance: SLEEP
CODE RED INTELLIGENCE BREACH

The Toddler Intelligence Agency (TIA) has determined that “Noah”, hereafter named “The Agent”, has allowed a serious breach in confidential agency terminology.

On the afternoon of May 15, The Agent did so use a Code Sleep Security Command (CSSC) in the presence of “Mommy”, hereafter known as “The Target”.

After running an impressive exercise battery of refusing sleep for more than two hours despite The Target’s every effort at exhausting him that morning, in a delirious stupor of half sleep, The Agent had the following conversation with The Target, which was recorded and transcribed by undercover field agents:

The Agent: “I won’t take a sleep. I won’t.”
The Target: “You have to.”
The Agent: “I won’t.”
The Target: “You have to.”
The Agent: “Why?”
The Target: “Because if you don’t, you will be sad and Mommy will be sad.”
The Agent: [Silence.]
The Target: “Take a Sleep.”

The Agent, as programmed, promptly fell asleep.

Prior to this conversation, The Target had no knowledge of the existence of CSSCs. It is apparent that she suspects there is power in the phrase, because she repeated the CSSC that evening at bedtime, and again the next day at naptime, both, of course, immediately successful.

The Target then proceeded to experiment with a more blasphemous use of the CSSC, stating it over the baby monitor.

“Take a Sleep, Noah.”

It worked.

She was even able to successfully use the CSSC during a Lunar Toddler Eclipse, which is that period of time when naptime and The Agent’s poop schedule cross orbit, creating the most effective sleep-ending action known to the TIA. The Target proceeded to get The Agent, change his diaper, and then lay him down and tell him to Take a Sleep.

And it worked.

The danger of this power in the hands of The Target can not be underscored enough.

The Target can now be heard chanting “Take a sleep. Take a sleep. Take a sleep.” under her breath at all times.

Due to this grave security leak, The Agent must be called in immediately for a reprogramming. He may also need reformatting to prevent another similar informational leak.

All means necessary are authorized to contain this breach.

Breaking Update: The Agent has been successfully reprogrammed. The CSSC is no longer functional, and the new Sleep Key has triple encryption. Refusal to Nap Maneuvers are back in full operation.

It was Monday afternoon. I was playing with the kids, as my job description dictates that I should. The house phone rang.

Actually that’s not quite accurate – the copy/fax machine rang – which has no handset to answer. I lost the last remaining house phone weeks ago.

So instead of getting up to answer the missing phone, I waited for the answering machine to pick up so that I could determine whether I needed to call them back, all while wondering to myself as to the possible reason that I even have a house line since the lost handset’s battery lasts all of 2.65 seconds and, as such, I never attempt to use it even when it isn’t lost.

A deep, serious voice began reverberating throughout the room.

“Hello, this is Henry from [Your] Bank. I need to speak to you about your accounts with us. Here is my direct number – please call me as soon as you have the chance.”

What the…?

I despise calls like that, as I can feel anxiety over approximately 617.5 potential crises per minute.

Has someone hacked my account? Stolen all my money? Left my checks for dead?

Did I overdraft? Make a mistake?

Did they read my blog post about their teller love notes? Are they finally calling to get my input on whether they should dot their i’s with a heart or a flower?

Are they following up to make sure that my husband got that curly-cued lovey-dove postcard in the mail from the female teller last week? Because he did. What is UP with that??

Is this about me complaining about one of their policies on Twitter a couple months ago?

Has the IRS frozen my assets? Launched an investigation?

IS THAT THE FBI DRIVING UP THE STREET RIGHT NOW???

What went wrong? WHAT DID I DO???

So I dropped my kids like last week’s sippy cup and ran to find my cell phone.

I listened to the chilling message again and hurriedly jotted down Henry’s number.

I called him back.

A kinder, perkier, female teller (who smelt of mailing postcards to other women’s husbands) answered the call – clearly Henry lied about this being his direct number.

She included the branch location in her greeting – not even a branch I visit, but it was the one my husband frequents.

(WHAT DID HE DO????)

I asked for Henry. She put me on hold. I sat waiting, feeling my heart jumping inside my ribcage as my toddler jumped in synchronization on the outside of the same poor ribs.

As I waited, I continued my rundown of every possible choose-your-own-adventure ending to this call.

This WAS the branch I complained about to their Twitter Person. I bet Henry is now calling to let me have it for tattling on his branch.

I hate confrontation. Maybe I should hang up now.

But it was too late. Henry picked up the line with his deep, rich, smoky voice.

“This is Henry.”

“Uh hi, this is Rachel. You just called me?”

“Oh yes, Rachel. Thank you for calling me back. How are you today?”

“Fine…for the moment.”

“I called to find out if you have ever considered having a personal relationship with a banker.”

I choked.

Then I lied.

“Um, I’m sorry. My phone cut out. What did you say?”

“I called to see if you wanted to have a personal relationship with me. As your banker.”

“Well, um, what exactly did you have in mind?”

”I just wanted to let you know that I am here for you and Christopher. If you ever need a line of credit, or a loan, or any money…”

“We don’t need any of that, but thank you.”

“We have some great interest rates right now if you decide that you do.”

“Thank you Henry, have a nice afternoon.”

I hung up, leaving Henry free to solicit more married women. And I sat there, stunned.

Did he really just ask me that? With those words? In that order?

Yes, yes he did.

And then I did what any red-blooded American would do: I turned to Facebook and Twitter to make sure I wasn’t overreacting.

Facebook validated me,

Twitter helped me nail down the important questions to answer,

And Twitter gave me the opportunity to identify a potential Henry.

(If ever one needed to argue the importance – nay, the vitality of Social Media in the Modern World, awkward banking situations prove it every time.)

So I finally sat down to properly answer Henry. After all, I definitely left him without a clear answer, and I’d hate for him to be sitting by the phone, plucking petals off of a Tulip while whimpering to himself, “She loves me, she loves me not…”

So here’s my response, Henry. If you’re out there.

Although I consider myself a somewhat adventurous eater (I’ve eaten raw octopus and liked it,) I do not like Asian food.

Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Indian, Thai, none of it for me, please. Fried Rice is about as far East as I prefer to go.

However, when I gave birth to Ali, a member of our small group, Christie, brought us Curry Chicken. It was unlike anything I had ever had, and it intrigued me greatly. It had a spice and a sweetness to it, another combo I don’t usually like – but in the dish she brought, it was delightful.

She gave me the recipe, and then I modified it to add vegetables to the dish. So this is my modified recipe for Curry Chicken, especially for those who don’t like Asian food (and perhaps for those who do.) It’s easy to make, has simple ingredients, and even my kids like it.

Ingredients:

6-8 Chicken Breasts, thinly sliced
6 tbsp. Butter
1/2 c. Mustard (yellow or spicy, your preference – I’ve tried both and they’re great)
1 c. Honey (it’s best when it comes from your Dad’s bees…but I hear that everyone’s Dad doesn’t have bees, so…)
4 tsp. Curry Powder (There are a lot of different kinds, but I use McCormick Yellow Curry Powder.)
2 tsp. Salt
1 c. Water
1 Bag of Sliced Carrots (or 4 Carrots that you slice yourself)
1 Onion, thinly sliced

What to do with those things:

1. Melt butter in a skillet, then add mustard, honey, curry and salt. Stir over medium heat until boiling, then remove from heat.

2. Roll Chicken in the mixture, then put in a baking dish. Do not pour the rest of the liquid over the chicken – it will keep plenty on its own.

3. Cover the chicken and bake at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes or until cooked through.

4. While the chicken is cooking, add 1 cup of water to the remaining mixture and bring to a boil again.

5. Add carrots and onions to the mixture, then cover and let simmer for a good while. If the carrots don’t seem to be softening, add more water.

6. Serve the chicken and carrots separately or mixed together, paired with Basmati rice. For more of a kick, add more curry at the table.

And to make it even more alluring, it’s super healthy. Before the rice, this dish has only 370 calories per serving (after 1 cup of rice, it’s a total of 575 – still not bad.)

So enjoy – and without guilt!

(And feel free to scoff at me for my lack of Asian taste buds.)

And so it came to pass that it was her time to spend 184 Days in the prison of flood recovery. She prayed three times for this thorn to be taken from her flesh, as it grieved her soul greatly. But finally, the end was at hand.

From the dark day in November when my daughter flooded her bathroom and then then went back to playing while the toilet spewed forth until the final completion of all necessary home repairs, it was taken from my life six months and three days.

The cleanup was intense, recurring, and ugly.

The last remaining step in the process was to replace the carpet in Ali’s room where the flooding had leached in brought ruin.

Replacing carpet seems significantly easier than gutting a bathroom and completely retiling and bathtubbing it, an it even seems easier than completely cordoning off the kitchen to scrape and repopcorn the ceiling, all of which had already been completed.

Except for the fact that my daughter is a hoarder. And I was Proverbs 22:6-ing it and training her up in the way she should go, which was clearly hoarding.

(Maybe I misunderstood the concept of “should.”)

So every surface of her room,

every drawer in her room,

every floorspace on her needing-replaced carpet,

was completely loaded with priceless treasures. Treasures that needed trashing before workmen showed up.

The night before The Big Dump, I prepped her and her brother.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow. We’ve got to throw many things away, but it will be fun – because we’ll find all kinds of toys and treasures that you’ve forgotten about.”

And the next morning, she was ready to go.

We had a trash box, a donate box, and a sentimental-stick-in-the-basement box.

We started sorting, and Noah started de-sorting.

We sorted faster, and he de-sorted faster.

We exchanged hopeless looks, and distracted him with new and fun toys.

But ultimately, after two days of work, we achieved DeJunked Nirvana.

(Okay. I didn’t throw away that much, but I certainly thought about blowing up the room and starting over.)

In the process, I ran across some especially curious finds.

1. Such as, the one remaining tiny princess shoe from the Christmas of 2009.

I still want to hunt down the childless idiot doll designer at Disney and ask him what-in-Jasmine’s-name was he thinking when he designed those shoes that were so tiny not even a brain surgeon could even get them to go on those stupid doll’s feet.

2. The Treasured Target Cardboard Collection: authentic floor-droppings from Targets all around Birmingham.

(My friends always thought I was embellishing my daughter’s hoarding tendencies when would I tell them that she has a drawer dedicated to cardboard-from-the-floors-of-Target, but this photo proves it – I was not.)

3. A Corner O’ Styrofoam. Also a hugely exciting Haul from Target.

4. This guy.

I have no idea who he is, from what world he came, how he broke into my daughter’s room, or what his intentions were. But he has now passed on.

5. To prove that perhaps the mess wasn’t entirely Ali’s fault, I present to you Exhibit A: unopened baby presents circa 2007.

(I apologize to whomever gave me those precious gifts. I assure you, I treasured them. In the back of her closet.)

6. While I’m at it, I apologize to the gifters of these as well.

7. It’s bad when her room is so messy that her toys themselves start passing along veiled threats.

8. Although we found enough Legos to sell on eBay and feed the world, there was a bowl with this collection, carefully set aside:

And tucked neatly next to the bowl were these directions, front and back:

When the two were combined, this was created:

Her first set of hand-drawn Lego Instructions. My husband’s lego-built heart grew ten times that day.

9. When all was said and done, the room was cleaned out, and the carpet installers were on site, I went to move a plastic shelving unit out of her closet. The type with the shelves held together by hollow tubes.

As I picked it up and tilted it, I was showered with her final art installation: hundreds of chestnuts, molded and partially disintegrated.

When the carpet was installed and I went to move the shelves back in, somehow a second batch that had been holed up and waiting for the exact right moment to plan their escape and all came tumbling out, covering the brand. new. carpet. with chestnut dust, particles, and nuts.

She’s a special kid.

Our ultimate load included five garbage bags, a box of trash,

and a giant stack of donate items (I hope someone gets good use out of that first year frame – apologies once more to the gifter.)

We also removed the carpet from the hallway and replaced it with hardwood,

And Ali, who was surprisingly proactive about throwing away or giving away even more than I thought she would, was thrilled with her new carpet, but even more thrilled to have a purged room.

And I was just happy to be done. 184 days later.

For those of you who asked the final tally of what that one cursed toilet flush cost our family, here’s the breakdown:

State Farm originally gave us $3,680 for our troubles.

On three different occasions as the project grew and more damage revealed itself, I spent hours calling, emailing proof, nagging, negotiating, and making them wish they never agreed to insure me to get them to give me more money. I even had my wonderful carpet guy and friend George to call my insurance guy and explain why I needed more of The Farm’s cash. Due to my general pain-in-the-buttedness, State Farm sent me three more payments for a total of an extra $1,798.51.

So the total Insurance payout was $5,478.51, which does not include the nine day bill from ServPro for untold oodles of dollars, because State Farm paid them directly.

Our total repairs and upgrades (such as getting a new bath tub while the bathroom was torn out, and getting hardwood in the hallway, an area that State Farm staunchly refused to admit damage but clearly also had ruined carpet) cost $6,352.01.

(This does not include the amount that we spent to go ahead and get the outside of our house painted while we already had multiple workmen coming in and out of our house.)

(And then the amount that we’re spending to finally get sod in our front yard because the house’s new paint job really made the mud pile of a yard look significantly worse.)

So ultimately, we got:

• New bathroom tile, floor and walls
• A new bathtub
• New carpet in one room
• New hardwoods in the hallway
• A kitchen ceiling paint job

for a net of $873.50. And six months and three days of construction hell.

It is not a route I recommend, but I am gravely concerned that my daughter might feel differently.

For over three decades, my Grandmother has been the cornerstone of Hallmark’s Christmas success. If they have a Ritualistic Secret Society, I’m positive that she is a charter member.

She has bought all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren scores of Hallmark Christmas Ornaments every year, all lovingly dated and labeled per child.

As each of us got married and started our own traditions, our multitudinous boxes of ornaments went with us. As such, many of the same ornaments that were on the tree for me and my brothers are now on the tree for my kids each season.

My Grandmother is such an integral part of Hallmark’s Business Plan that she submits her order (written by hand, of course) in the month of May.

(I bet you were wondering why this was coming up right now.)

Which means that she gets really anxious for us to peruse the Hallmark Catalog and offer suggestions as to what each member of our family unit might adore before she misses her VIP ordering deadline.

I went through this year’s catalog, and as usual, Hallmark had adorable, touching, funny, creative, and traditional ornaments.

But along with the usual mix of Christmas Mirth was also an unusually high amount of…odder ornaments.

I pondered this sudden rise of Christmas Uglaments. I mulled it over in my heart. And the only explanation I produced is that after so many decades of supplying my Grandmother (and other equally dedicated stalkers raving fans) with their Christmas Drug, they just might be running out of ideas.

So here they are, the Bottom Ten 2013 Hallmark Ornaments.

10. Depressed Frogs.

In case you ever wanted to celebrate what frogs look like after losing their Bud-Weis-Er job.

9. Awkward Icicles.

Call me weird, but something about this icicle doesn’t say icicle. It reminds me more of the spires on The Little Mermaid’s Castle.

And lucky for us, it’s the first in a series of Shady Icicles!

8. I’ve always wondered what my Guardian Angel looked like…

And now I know. Tall, dark and handsome.

And topless and muscular.

With a WWE Belt Buckle girding his loins.

7. Our Lady of Guadelupe and the questionable game of peep-eye.

…But in fairness, I did my research, and the above child is actually less creepy than others that Mrs. Guadalupe has encountered.

6. Personally, I’d be more than a bit afraid to push this one’s button around children.

As opposed to this one, which you can clearly see that I claimed. I can’t wait to push all of Milton’s buttons.

5. I am positive that Robin Williams has always wanted to be a Hallmark Ornament, even if it happens thirty years too late. Too bad this Mork looks nothing like him.

In contrast, I’m shocked that it’s taken them this long to create an Iconic (albeit hated) piece of Christmas Lore.

4. I’m pretty sure that putting this guy in the bottom of a kid’s stocking would be worse than coal.

3. Deck the halls with stabbing monsters…

Because the only thing that can make the high-tech Star Trek sound effects better would be canning them into an ornament.
2. Combining multiple facets into one ornament is an art. Mega-Sizing your combo is worthy of a Nobel Prize.

“Hey Deb!! I bet you can’t combine Madame Alexander, The Wizard of Oz, Halloween, and Christmas into one ornament.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me and melt.”

But Debra wasn’t the only one that thought there needed to be a little more ‘Ween in Christmas…

…Or are we supposed to now have a Halloween Tree?

If we are, I’m sure that Hallmark sells them.

And the King of all of 2013 Christmas…

1. Jabba needs Immodium.

Because Christmas isn’t Christmas until you hang your slimy piece of worm-ridden filth on the tree.

Dear Tech Support,

I have recently upgraded my software to Boy Child 2.5. Although in general, this new version is very visually pleasing and much less taxing on The Motherboard, I have noticed some bugs and issues, and was hoping you could advise me on how to work around them since you were so helpful with version 1.0.

The most significant problem I’ve run into is in Sleep and Hibernate modes. I bought the Ultimate Premium Deluxe version of Boy Child so that these modes would run at their highest efficiency, and up until this upgrade, they have run exquisitely. However, I am now experiencing multiple episodes of the Blue Scream of Death when I try to place the program into Hibernate or Sleep mode. Do you recommend allowing it to reboot on it’s own, or should I do a hard reset? Are there any plug-ins that can be run simultaneously to solve this problem, such as Benadryl 2.5, Melatonin 4.6, or Sledge Hammer 1.8?

Secondly, I read in the system specifications that Boy Child 2.5 is designed to run congruously with Potty Training 1.0. However, every time I click on the Big Boy Potty icon, the system develops a high-pitched hum, and I have to ctrl-alt-change-the-subject to silence it. Also, the Dry Overnight script has not self-activated, and it is my understanding that Potty Training 1.0 works best when this is functioning. Do you suggest that I wait to install Potty Training 1.0 until the release of Boy Child 3.0? Because I would really love that, even though I might get scoffed in the Motherboard User Forums.

Thirdly, I am severely underwhelmed with the amount of intake apps that are compatible with this version. Chicken Crush, Angry Fries, and Bad Gummies are pretty much the only ones that launch successfully. I get an unhandled exception when I try to install Soup With Friends, and a run time error when I attempt to open iMilk, regardless of whether it’s the lite or full version.

Next, I appreciate that some functions that were previously manually performed are now built into Boy Child 2.5, such as the Hand Washing Function, The Stairs Function, the Spoon and Fork Toolbar, The Fetch Stuff Function, and a very valuable built-in safety lock to keep the Eject Function from activating during a System Clean. However, it would really be great if you could build in automatic prompts for the Dress Function, Clean Up Function, and The Wipe Nose Function (without using the Sleeve Plug-In.)

Also, it would be amazing if you could add some system defaults to prevent unnecessary actions such as licking the ground in public places (or private, for that matter), throwing things down the stairs that are loud enough to sound like a small human and therefore cause a Motherboard Power Surge, and add a fear subroutine to disable the motor skills interface right before it attempts to dive out of a shopping cart.

In addition, I am highly impressed with the significant upgrade in Boy Child 2.5’s Word Processing skills. HOWEVER. This version seems to be hacking into every other program’s database and picking up key phrases and spitting them out at the most inopportune times. Is there any way to modify the dictionary to be a read-only list of words? Also, it seems like a coding error has caused an infinite loop that continues until the data request is satisfied, which causes a stack overflow on the Family Server. Could the next version simply enter it’s request at the command prompt and then wait for a response?

Also, Boy Child 2.5 doesn’t minimize well at all. It continues to clog up the Motherboard with constant pings when other programs are running in the foreground. I have found this to happen most often when running School K.5, Cooking 5.6, and Cleaning 8.9.

I’ve been surprised that considering Boy Child 2.5 runs on an MOS (Male Operating System), the performance of the program is significantly affected by the template chosen for that day. It runs best when in the template of pajamas, firetrucks, and cars. It hates any template consisting of overalls or solid colors. It would have been nice to know this limitation on the front side when I bought my templates for the year.

But I don’t mean to just complain – I wanted to compliment you on the mobile version of Boy Child 2.5 – it is infinitely better and actually enjoyable! It used to have a significant whine anytime I tried to run it, but it now performs flawlessly, and with the added bonus of a director’s commentary on all other passing traffic. I am also thrilled with the cross-program integration between Boy Child 2.5 and Girl Child 6.5. The seamless communication between these two versions is a work of art, and has caused a significant decrease in system-wide crashes. However, I do sometimes get concerned with how well they are integrated. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two programs were capable of conspiring against me.

But of course, that’s silly talk.

Thank you for any help you can give me on the above issues.

Sincerely,

The Motherboard.

Just because I have a vision, a dream, a calling even, to visit fifty new restaurants this year, does not mean that my children have the same sense of seriousness and urgency regarding this ever-important quest.

And as such, they might, in their own unintentional (or perhaps not) way, occasionally hijack the process.

One such occasion happened last week.

10. The Steel Drum Grill – So this is a small, new startup restaurant in a strip mall fairly near to me. As such, it was definitely on my list of places to try.

My neighbor Alice and I had been trying to get together for lunch for way too long, but we finally found a date that worked, and agreed that we needed to try the Steel Drum.

I arrived first with my two kids. It was quiet, having only one other table of diners. The chef, the server, and the presumed owner seemed to be the only workers needed.

With much foresight, I had instructed Ali to bring her iPad along to keep her and Noah entertained if the meal lasted longer than their collective span of patience.

But since we were about ten minutes early, I let her pull it out while we were waiting.

Ali asked if she and Noah could make a video (she’s becoming quite the vlogger), and I agreed, as long as there was no running and yelling involved (most of her movies contain Blair-Witch-Like scenes of her fleeing from monsters.)

But before they created a new piece of artistry, they decided that they needed to be inspired by their previous works of art. So she pulled up a video that she and her friend AJ had made (with much running from monsters) and she and Noah watched, laughing heartily at their cinematic brilliance.

At the very end of the video, Ali said the line “Mister Pooky Pants!!”

Because she’s six, and silly.

Noah can copy and turn a phrase faster than you can desperately attempt to take it back, and Mister Pooky Pants was a saying highly worth adopting.

So, just as the owner of the restaurant was walking over to our table to see if we needed anything or had questions about the menu, Noah started yelling with great glee and conviction,

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

I tried my best to talk over him, quickly attempting to cover my son’s weighty accusations. But in true southern form, the owner acted as if he couldn’t understand what Noah was saying, and laughed at him anyway.

I do not think that Noah’s original intention was to connect this nice man to his new favorite catchphrase, but it happened.

And so, when the owner walked back over to give me a sample of his lovely pimento cheese, Noah checked up, saw him coming, and began proclaiming once again.

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

And then, when Alice arrived and the insistently welcoming proprietor walked to our table once again (much to my dread and chagrin,) it started again, Noah staring him dead in the eye.

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

There is no shushing a two year old on a roll. Especially when his sister laughs at his every exclamation. And, in fairness, it’s not like he understood the girthy insinuation behind his words, anyway.

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

Finally, Mister Piggy Pants asked, “What is he saying? It sounds like ‘Sneaky Pete’, but…I don’t think that’s it.”

I lied. “I have no idea. He’s two – he jabbers a lot.”

He chuckled uncomfortably and walked away.

I tried to eat my sandwich (which was a fantastic and fruit-filled chicken salad) as unobtrusively as I could, taking great precaution to not look like I needed ANYTHING AT ALL that would make The MPP think he should walk over and check on me.

As we were finishing our meal, I got up to refill my drink and slip out the door.

But he just had to stop by one more time.

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

The very nice gentleman looked at me with a suspicious and determined look in his eye, and said, “You really don’t know what he’s saying?”

Then it all came blurting out, in a panic of assurances that it wasn’t personal.

“Okay so he and his sister were watching this video right before you walked up the first time and she said Mister Pooky Pants in the video and then he took it and ran with it and turned it into Mister Piggy Pants and since you walked up at the same time I think he associated you with the video and he’ll probably totally remember it next time we come here so I’m so so so so sorry.”

Sir Pants chuckled even more uncomfortably as I stood there slowly melting through his floor and looking for a fork with which to spear my own eyeballs for punishment.

“MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!! MISTER PIGGY PANTS!!!”

And then he simply walked away, peering down at his waistline.