The War at Home

There have been some trying times of late for my husband and I....

First, of course, there was the series of unfortunate sporting matchups throughout the fall and all the bitter recriminations that ensued.

Then, just when it seemed we'd survived the football-themed fire that is intra-divisional play, there arrived an all-new marital mishap I like to call "Awake Baby Chicken".

"Awake Baby Chicken" is a fun game you too can play with your spouse!

All you need to get started is a jet-lagged baby who regularly wakes up for the day at 4am. The object of the game is quite simple: pretend you are asleep and therefore deaf to said baby's cries for longer than your partner.

Can you force your partner to exit the bed first, thus allowing you to fall back into blissful slumber? CONGRATULATIONS! You are the winner of "Awake Baby Chicken"!

And, for the record, I understand that repeatedly ignoring my lovely baby so that my husband will be stuck with him in the middle of the night is likely NOT the path to lasting marital bliss.

But what can I say? Warm in my bed at 3a.m., such logic rarely applies.

But just when things seemed darkest for my husband and I...

...things got significantly darker.

Because David and I decided to face down the happy marriage torpedo that is "Honey, Let's Clean Out the Store Room!"

The problem with us cleaning out the store room together stems from the fact that David and I are, in fact, the WORLD'S LEADING EXPERTS on proper store room cleaning-outing. Yet tragically, our equally perfect methods of organization are somehow diametrically opposed.

Let me provide you with some sample dialogue from the event:

INT. STOREROOM - DAY

Husband enters with giant TV.

Husband: I'm just going to put this down.

Wife: No! That's not where that goes!

Husband: OK, well it weighs about 900 pounds so I'm just going to put it down for a second.

Wife: YOU ARE RUINING MY SYSTEM!

Despite his burgeoning hernia, husband gets dreamy look in his face as he imagines a life alone after running off to Rio.

(CUT TO:)

INT. STOREROOM - SOMETIME LATER

Wife: What are you doing?

Husband: I'm moving all the things you put over here to put all the things I think should go here over here.

Smoke begins emitting from wife's head.

Wife: Why are you doing that?

Husband: Because it will be so much better my way!

(CUT TO:)

Wife surreptitiously pouring antifreeze into husband's cool, refreshing glass of Gatorade.

THE END

I tell ya, folks, the marital hits just keep on comin'!

But before you start PayPal-ing me funds for the divorce lawyer, there is some light on the distant horizon. This morning we leave for three days of Thanksgiving merriment in Sacramento.

Is my brother-in-law a chef who will be preparing all the Thanksgiving food himself?

YES!

Are my children staying with my in-laws while my husband and I stay alone in an undisclosed location?

YES!

Does there remain a sliver of hope that my husband and I can cease our elaborate schemes to off each other in the night?

ANYTHING'S POSSIBLE, PLEASE STAY TUNED!

Dark Night of the Snood

Ugh.

I've always hated the end of Daylight Savings Time (hereafter referred to as TEODST).

But I'd managed to forget over the course of a year just how exponentially crappy TEODST is when you have really young kids.

Because as we all know, there is a SINGLE upside to TEODST, and that is, of course, the extra hour of sleep. In fact, whenever you complain about TEODST people will inevitably say,

"But at least we get an extra hour of sleep, right?"

WRONG!

Because, unfortunately, no matter how many times I tried to explain to my 2-year-old Snood and my 6-month-old Crink that once a year there is a VERY SPECIAL and VERY SACRED day where Mommy and Daddy get an extra hour of sleep...

...they refused to get with the program and insisted on waking up at 6:30am (Now known by its cool new name: 5:30am!)

You got me good, TEODST, you got me real good.

Now, having officially missed the upside of TEODST, we have moved right on to experiencing its epic downsides.

Basically we've left behind our happy lives as People of the Sun and transformed into the Wintry Mole People that the season necessitates. No more the days of playing ball in the yard when Daddy arrives home at 6:45pm! Instead, each evening at around 3:45, the children and I begin our nightly ritual of huddling together for warmth on the cold linoleum floor of the playroom. In case you think I'm exaggerating, I must tell you that it now regularly dips to UNDER SIXTY DEGREES each evening in Los Angeles!

Having anticipated the looming darkness, I attempted to stock the playroom with exciting new toys, aiming to renew Snoodie's interest in this indoor wonderland.

Yeah, that was misguided.

Only days into the time change Snoodie is officially over it. He'll push his shiny new trains around contentedly for a little while, sure, but it is a rare day that we'll make it past 4:45 before the Snood starts hanging from the doorknob yelling at rapidly increasing volumes, "I want to run! I WANT TO RUN!" And so it is that we often find ourselves running through the neighborhood in the darkness, Snoodie's blond hair glowing in the streetlights as he darts amidst the shadows.

When we return home we pick our ways toward the backyard swingset so that el Snoodo may fly about in the darkness, occasionally nailing me in the head as his feet fly forth from the gloom.

I've composed the following summary of my feelings on the subject:

Hey, end of Daylight Savings Time -

You suck.

Love,

Me

Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, we can move on to some more unpleasantness.

Having participated in some light-hearted taunting of my husband's football team, the Dallas Cowboys, when they fell to the Giants last month, I feel I must acknowledge this Sunday's game.

You should know that David got to the Snood before I did (for the record, because I was in church WITH JESUS) and therefore got to outfit him for the game.

And then fine, Dallas won 33-22.

So, if you are the type of person who likes the Dallas Cowboys, in spite of the fact that recent scientific research has shown that Cowboys' pass completions are directly related to incidents of blindness in puppies, then I guess to you I say, "Congratulations."

And next time I'm getting up earlier and putting my sons in blue and red.

Do You Like 'Short Fat Dictator'?

Folks, if you are anything like me, you love the blog Short Fat Dictator with the incandescent heat of ten thousand suns.

But for many of us the joy of this simple adoration is too often coupled with a feeling of frustration that there are so few opportunities to express our joyous adulation for 'Short Fat Dictator' in a simple yet straightforward manner.

Well, dear readers, I am happy to tell you that thanks to the good people at Babble this frustration is no more!

If you like the blog 'Short Fat Dictator' I urge you to CLICK HERE and give us the old thumbs up!

A Very Spooky Snood

This Halloween I saw some truly frightening monsters out and about in their ghoulish hunt for candy. There were goblins; there were vampires; there were witches and mummies galore.

But none of them could hold a candle to the terrifying creature that lives at my house - - - THE 2-YEAR-OLD SNOOD!

*MUSIC CUE: DUN-DAH*

*INSERT: LIGHTING CRASH, HIGH PITCHED SCREAM*

Snoodie's spook-tacular rise has reached new heights recently, most markedly after I decided to utter the following phrase out loud to my husband:

"You know how you always hear about the terrible twos? I just feel like maybe Snoodie got a lot of that out of his system when he was one. I'm thinking the twos might not be so terrible after all."

Yeah, that was dumb. Because ever since those words escaped my lips the Snood has been BRINGING THE PAIN!

Let me provide, for reference, a few sample interactions:

EXAMPLE THE FIRST:

MOMMY: Hey Snoodie! Let's go to the playground! What do you say?

SNOODIE: Whaaaaat? NOOOOOOOOOO! I will NEVER bow to your nefarious playground-going scheme, woman! Can't you see that I am currently occupied in gnawing on this old shoe for my personal merriment? To suggest that I would give all this up for a trip to the playground is nothing short of absurd!!! How DARE you???

(The above conveyed primarily by high-volume wailing and pitched floor rolling)

EXAMPLE THE SECOND:

MOMMY: Snoodle bear. I made you some dinner! Come on up and have a seat.

SNOODIE: Whaaaaat? NOOOOOO! You insult me on the deepest level with your offer of chicken fingers, knowing as you do that the only food I will deign to ingest is YOGURT! How DARE you???

(The above conveyed primarily through food tossing and back arching)

EXAMPLE THE THIRD (a Holiday-themed favorite):

MOMMY: Snoodie, it is time for Trick or Treating! Now we ring this lady's bell and say 'Trick or Treat!'

*INSERT: Kindly unsuspecting woman opening door*

UNSUSPECTING KINDLY WOMAN: Oh! Aren't you so cute! Here is some candy! ....Uh-oh!

MOMMY: Snoodie NO! We just take candy and leave! We don't run into strangers' houses! Snoodie come back! Snoodie get out of the nice lady's bathtub! We really don't belong in here...

SNOODIE: Whaaaaat? NOOOOOOO! Can't you see that having my own groovy Snoodie party in this strange lady's bathtub is the fulfillment of my ONLY TRUE DREAM IN LIFE??!! NOOOO!! Stop attempting to extract me from this location of wonderfulness! I SAID NOOOOOOOO! How DARE you???

(The above conveyed primarily through ear shattering screams and the occasional bout of biting)

Yeah, so that's what's going on at our house. Oh, and I haven't even touched on the horror that is nap time. Suffice it to say that when it comes to trashing rooms, Charlie Sheen's got nothing on my kid.

It's gotten to the point where I have given up reading parenting books and/or searching the web for advice on handling "the difficult toddler" and am now devoting myself solely to seeking out a skilled exorcist.

Please do let me know in the comments section if you've had a good experience with one, won't you?