There was snow on the ground yesterday, but no snow day. The weatherman over-dramatized again. But we had the day off today instead, due to another migraine. The kids were certainly happy to have the day off, and were especially happy to be able to choose and make their own lunches. Georgie decided on a granola bar, a juice box, and a Little Debbie Nutty Bar. Abby played copycat and ate the same. Probably not the healthiest choice for them, but it definitely sped the process of my recovery to be able to stay on the couch with the pillows over my head and pretend not to notice.

Just wishing and hoping...

...and thinking and praying, planning and dreaming for a snow day tomorrow!

When I was your age, television was called books.

I found a copy of The Princess Bride on clearance over the weekend. For the record, it was the best $5 I've ever spent. I'm so bored with the kids' other movies that we've all seen dozens of times. And today, when we were all down for the day with fevers and coughs, a movie with "fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, and miracles" were just what the doctor ordered. TPB kept even Georgie glued to the couch for the full 98 minutes. Miracles? I'll say.

My First Valentine's Day

With February 14th just gone by, the ghost of Valentine's past has been lurking in my head, and I started mulling over my first boyfriend and our first Valentine's Day together. Mike and I were in 8th grade, and officially "dating" for almost 6 weeks. That's practically an engagement at that age.

So, for our first Valentine's Day together (my first Valentine's Day with a boyfriend), there were no reservations at a fancy restaurant, just dinner at his parents' house. His mom made a chicken and Stove-top stuffing with all the fixings. After dinner, Mike and I kicked back in his room where we listened to Pearl Jam's Ten on Mike's stereo, and he showed off some of the art work he had been working on. He was, and remained, quite a talented artist. Actually, part of my gift that year was an amazing drawing he'd created for me.

His bedroom was very artistically designed, as well. He had burlap covered walls on one side of his room, his art was hanging everywhere. He collected and created unique sculptures and displayed them on shelves. His room always smelled of incense. Another hobby of his was to gather large branches, skillfully carving and shaving the bark of these branches to create unique designs in the wood. As a fourteen year old girl with not a creative bone in her body, I was impressed by his artistry.

About halfway through Pearl Jam's debut album, I started feeling the aura of a migraine about to come on. I ignored it, trying to be cool and not look like a complete loser in front of my boyfriend, hoping the feeling would pass. But no matter how much I tried to push the feeling aside, there was no doubt that a fireball migraine was on its way. By the end of the CD, there was no denying my pain. The music seemed louder, the lights were that much brighter. I was almost in tears and asked Mike to turn down the blaring radio. He turned around to walk across the room, and that's when it hit me. A wave of nausea ran through my entire body. There was nothing I could do, nowhere to run. I turned around, frantically searching for a trash can, or anything else to contain what was about to happen, but it was too late. The closest target - his bed. By the time Mike turned around, I don't know if he quite understood what just happened, but there I stood, my hands over my face, and my dinner all over his comforter. Mortified at what just happened, I ran out of his room and down the hall. I slammed the bathroom door behind me and started to cry.

A few minutes passed, as I contemplated how I was going to jump out the second floor window without killing myself. Maybe killing myself wouldn't be so bad, though, since I never wanted to have to face Mike ever again. Before I could crack open the window, there was a knock at the door. It was Mike's mom, who said she had just called my mom to come pick me up, and asked if there was anything she could do. I just wanted to go home. And thankfully, ten minutes later, I did.

The next day, Mike called me on the phone to see how I was feeling. My migraine was gone, but I was still far too embarrassed to talk to him, so my mom relayed the message that I was feeling better and was taking it easy, but was too exhausted to come to the phone.

Mike and I wound up dating for another year and a half, and after that night, I learned that, no matter how much you wish you could melt into the floor, somehow you do not die from extreme mortification. Instead, that night gave Mike and me our own private inside joke.

And how was our next Valentine's Day, you ask? Well, once again we spent the night at his parents' house, where his mom made us dinner. We wound up in the same spot, listening to the radio and playing video games, and no joke, I got another migraine. But, you'll be happy to know that this time, I made it to the bathroom in time.

Mike and I broke up a few months after our second Valentine's Day, but we continued to be friends. And every once in a while when we get the chance to talk, he'll ask me if I'm still allergic to Valentine's Day.

A Pink Nightmare

Over the weekend George and I took Abby and Georgie to see Go, Diego, Go Live! The Great Jaguar Rescue. My review of the show is neither the point of this post, or even important, but let me just say, intermission was, by far, the best part of the 90 minute puppet show. But my kids were happy and entertained without much effort on my part, so I guess that's really all that's important.

Before the show, I stopped at the store to stock up on some treats to hide in my purse, as to avoid paying $10 for one bag of popcorn at the show. I grabbed two coffees for George and myself, and some candy and Strawberry Yoo-hoo for the kids. After drinking my 24 oz. coffee, I was thirsty, so I took a quick swig or two of Abby's drink. It hit me that quick. I instantly became dizzy and nauseous - flashbacks to a college graduation party I attended five years earlier.

The party was at a hall, with mostly family. It had an open bar, stocked with beer, wine and bottom shelf liquor. There were no professional bartenders, just a few retired firemen from the town were running the bar on this particular evening. Since the hall was located in the same town in which I grew up, I knew a few of these firemen well. As the night wore on, I became bored with the generic beer, and the jug wine was leaving an odd, metallic taste in my mouth. One of the impostor bartenders insisted I give his new favorite drink concoction a try. A bit leery, I agreed. He handed me a glass that looked as if it were filled with Pepto Bismal. I inquired as to what I was about to drink. "Strawberry Yoo-hoo and vodka," he replied. I closed my eyes and took a sip. Kind of odd, but not entirely bad. To be polite, I took another sip, and another, until I was on my fourth or tenth drink of this stuff. The high sugar content (and, sure, maybe it had a little to do with the high vodka content) started making me a bit queasy and towards the end of the night I was quite a sight to see. I wound up sick, hiding out in the bathroom stall the remainder of the evening. Fortunately, I don't remember the part where I insisted on telling people, over and over, how much I loved them, or crying into my sleeve about the people who did not love me back. Like I said, I was quite a mess. I still don't understand why he kept pushing those baneful drinks at me. This man was a former fire fighter. Was his job not to help people? He certainly did not help me the next morning, when I couldn't see out of my left eye and my stomach was ineludibly stuck on the spin cycle.

Somehow, to this day, vodka I'm fine with. It's still only Strawberry Yoo-hoo that sends me spinning every time.

Moral of the story: When in doubt, stick to the boring generic beer.

Trying to get the kids to bed early tonight so I can spend some alone time with my Valentine, and this is what I hear:

"Mom!! Georgie put his head in the toilet!"

The long awaited snow day!

It took almost an hour to gather all necessary clothing, and dress them up, but alas, they were ready! Norah was not so thrilled with all the layers.


Georgie wasted no time before he dove right in and started eating the snow from the ground.


Norah immediately turned right around and begged to go back inside. She spent the rest of the afternoon looking out from the inside, watching her big brother and sister frolic in the repulsive white stuff on the ground.


Abby was so happy, she hugged all the trees in the yard. I have no explanation for this.




Later, some friends came to play!


After we spent hours outside, we all came in to drink hot chocolate and eat valentine cakes. To get even warmer, we gathered together in the family room around the fireplace where we watched movies the rest of the afternoon. It was a good day...

For some people, Valentine's Day is the most unsurpassable of days for romance. For others, it's not that big of a deal; it's just another day. I tend to fall into the latter category. Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those anti-Valentine ralliers. Not at all. I think the attached sentiment is sweet, with its flowers and mushy cards, and I certainly sop up the extra attention my husband dishes out on this particular day, but aren't relationships stressful enough without all the extra pressure to meet the certain, sometimes unreasonable, expectations for one over-the-top fabulous day? Love runs so much deeper than flowers and chocolates. If you love someone, don't rely on the calendar to tell you when to show love and thoughtfulness to your special someone. It's what happens the other 364 days that counts.

Abby's new do.

WARNING: Venting post ahead.

Does anyone remember this post? Or this one? Well, the days of spring-like winter weather here on the east coast have left us for good. And I miss them terribly. It is 16° today. When the wind blows, the temperatures drop into the negatives and my skin cracks and my eyes and lungs burn. How I wish it would snow to make this bitterness seem worthwhile.

Sorry for the temporary blackout. Things have been hectic for me lately. I have been busy job hunting, training the best new puppy ever, adjudicating my own children's seasonal belligerence, and looking after other people's children day and night. The in-house responsibility is weighing down, since I never seem to have a moment to myself.

I'm not complaining, since being busy keeps me from becoming bored, although being bored doesn't sound so bad at this point. A little rest for myself is in order, and I will catch up on my down time soon enough. Before I can do that, I need to start planning Abby's birthday party. This year she wants a sleepover with about eight or so of her girlfriends. I pretty much have everything in order at this point, which is pretty good considering her birthday is still a month away.

Sorry for such a whiny post. I think I'll stop before you all start charging me therapy fees. I can almost promise a better mood tomorrow, it's my one "day off."