10 Time-Saving Tips for the Holidays

So sorry that I've been silent for the last two months. We are in the midst of some life change (moving, possibly changing our kids' schools) and I tend to get very quiet and introspective when I'm faced with new, big ideas.  If I were a real writer that would probably make me write more often, but you get what you pay for so it's not all that unexpected. 

Anyway, I'm back with a post that is going to more than make up for my absence. I am going to remove that harried/stressed/overwhelmed feeling from your December. So, without further ado, my top ten time-saving tips for the holidays!

1. Stop making gift wrapping so ridiculously hard. There are so many ideas for how to wrap gifts and make name tags that if you Google "gift tag ideas" it gives you about 24 million results. Really. I'll wait while you check. Twenty-four million ways to put a name on something.  And they are adorable. Look at this one from Martha Stewart.

Who wouldn't want to cut out tiny little mittens and stockings and then glue rickrack onto them and tie it all to packages with attractive grosgrain ribbon? And that's great if you want to to do that. But do you know what else you can do with wrapping paper? You can write on it.  Because that's why paper was invented. So buy some paper and wrap some gifts and then write names on them in magic marker. See?  This one is for my mom.  She will know it is for her because I wrote "Mom" on it.

2. Get rid of your Elf on the Shelf.  Last year I recommended that you kill Santa and this year I am freeing you from your elvish bondage.  It's not as though this is some age-old tradition harkening back to the Old Country. This is a fairly amusing book with a really good marketing team. Tell your kids that you can't afford an elf. Tell them that the elf left to pursue other passions. Tell them that you just don't want any more creatures to take care of in your house because kids are hard enough. Tell them that if they had been your age when the movie Child's Play came out they, too, would know that this is clearly the kind of toy that tries to kill you in your sleep and you had to get rid of it for the safety of the entire family. Ta-da! No more frantic last-minute elf hijinks.

3. Create a "tradition" where your kids go get ready for bed and then come back to the family room for the Advent Calendar. Use the 5 minutes between when they walk away and before someone starts crying to put something in the Advent Calendar for that night. We rotate between handfuls of marshmallows, Hershey's kisses, notes I write on index cards that live in the kitchen, and sometimes a bunch of Pirate's Booty. Let other people have hand-crafted Advent cards strung artfully from the doorway--you have Pirate's Booty.

4. Give up on Christmas cards. Sometimes I totally nail Christmas cards.  Look at this one from two years ago.

It completely captured the essence of our family with a new baby and a bunch of other kids. See how happy my husband is? I thoroughly enjoyed sending that one out and it was not stressful at all. But this year? I don't have a family picture more recent than Easter, we are moving in January and have nowhere to live, and I still haven't shipped our gifts out to Jay's sister. So no cards. I will get to it in March when I send out new address cards instead. I'm pretty sure our friends and family will survive without seeing what we all look like this year. If I have time and enough old cards left over I may just send these out again and tell people to imagine everyone a little bigger.  My husband's boss is sending out a card with a stock photo of someone else's kids on it instead of trying to get a family picture. All good ideas and way more fun than worrying about getting that perfect family shot on that perfect card.

5. Don't bake things. You know who's good at baking? The Publix bakery by my house. And they will give me delicious baked goods made that day in exchange for money. Voila.

6. Give teachers money. Trust me, that is all they want. This also applies to anyone in your life you sometimes "buy little things for and set aside in case you need a last minute gift." No one on earth wants something that is of so little value to you that you buy extras and stick them in a closet. Give them money or nothing at all. Stop the charade. 

7. Stay home. I give you permission to stop going to every single school event your kids have. If you have a problem saying no, just take some younger kids to the next school-age kid winter party and you will never be asked to help throw the class party again. I speak from experience. 

But Sally, you say, these are all the FUN things about the holidays that I WANT to do.  If I ignore all of these things, I won't feel Christmas-y and it will be just another cold month!

You are right. And now it is time for a hard truth: Unless you have that magic thing that Hermione used in Harry Potter that allowed her to go back in time to take extra classes (what kind of school allows that, Hogwarts??!!) you will not have enough time to do all of these fun extras and all of the other things you usually do.  

Which only leaves one other option:  do a much worse job at your usual tasks.

8.  Stop mopping the floor. There is a lot of floor in my house.  Most of it is sticky. During the month of December I make myself content with sweeping up visible dirt/leaves/old food the day someone is coming over. Then, about half an hour before guests arrive, I give my kids a canister of Clorox wipes and tell them to wipe up anything not floor colored. I get to pretend that I cleaned the floor, the kids are kept out of my hair before people come over, and it is appropriate to dim the lights and use candles at this time of year. So let's make a pact--we all stop mopping the floor and no one looks down when we go to each others' houses.

9. As-needed laundry. For the next two weeks I will not do laundry until it is required. When a kid runs out of underwear, I will wash all the underwear.  When a kid runs out of pants, I will wash pants. I do 7-14 loads of laundry a week depending on how many beds need their sheets changed. Not in December. I suggest you wear a dress shirt with those sweatpants because I'm not washing anything until I have to.

10. Only make things in the crock pot. Last night I made enough chili to feed a family at least five times our size. Some of our kids don't even like chili, but we will now eat it every day for a week. Next week is roast beef and the week after is barbecue chicken. Get used to it, kids. 

So there you go. Ten ways to give yourself a little extra breathing room for the next few weeks. And if it helps, you can know that I am doing all ten simultaneously and that there is no reason for you to feel slack because you are not alone. In fact, there are quite a few other things I'm doing a worse job at right now, but even I have my pride. 

Merry Christmas! Also, go eat some chocolate. I know I will. 

Best Mom Tip #185: Look Down

After having written a somewhat downer of a Christmas post last week, I thought I'd make up for it with cute pictures of my toddler. SO...This is Baby Jack.

  

He is cute and cuddly and he really likes to help do things like put on his shoes and socks and decorate the Christmas tree. He is terrible at all of these things.
He also likes to throw the Christmas ornaments, eat the tinsel off of the tree, and steal things and hide them in the cabinet of toys for later. He is significantly better at these tasks.

For the most part, he makes my life a lot more difficult. He screams when I buckle him into the car seat, he tried to steal a stranger's snack at church this morning, and he flings himself on the ground when he doesn't get his way (say, when I remove a stranger's snack from his grubby fingers). But he also forces me to look at the world with different, and far more passionate, eyes.

If your Christmas holidays are anything like mine, they involve a ridiculous amount of shuffling and logistics and can seem kind of overwhelming. Figuring out what I'm supposed to send in for class parties, which room parent is supposed to get the money for the teacher gift, and which kid is going to which party feels like one of those logic problems I used to do in school.

You know, like, five girls are named Becky, Kaitlyn, Dylan, Brittany, and Heather. Their favorite colors are red, blue, pink, purple, and green. They each play one instrument, the violin, cello, harmonica, piano, and tuba. Becky hates pink and plays the tuba. No girl plays a stringed instrument and likes a traditionally feminine color. What day does Kaitlyn go to the orthodontist? Or something like that.

Having little people who are thrilled with it all, however, has made me try to slow down and really enjoy the chaos and clutter. On Thanksgiving we went to a local tree lighting and our 5-year-old said, "Mommy, Thanksgiving had a little visitor and it was Christmas!"

How cute is that? So I've been trying to welcome our little visitor of lights and cookie exchanges and gingerbread parties and sing-alongs and handmade ornaments and gift buying/wrapping/re-wrapping (Harry crushed three of them while climbing behind the Christmas tree to steal his brother's ornament) without getting frustrated. It doesn't always work.

Which brings me back to Jack. On top of the kitchen table.

This is my precious 1-year-old climbing up on our table in order to play with the Fisher Price Little People Nativity set. He picks up the donkey and barks. He picks up the camel and growls. He is also not very good at identifying animal sounds. He has monkey, though, so that should come in handy here in Atlanta.

The third time I found Jack on top of the table stealing wise men and risking the health of his already bonk-prone skull, I had an epiphany.

"Why in the world don't I move this thing to somewhere lower?"

I've started to try to look at our wonderfully tacky Christmas decorations with my children's eyes, from a point about two feet off the ground. After seeing our house decorated for the first time this year our teenage baby-sitter said, "I like it. It's whimsical and magical. I bet the kids love it." And she's right. They do love it.

They love seeing everyone they know (except Aunt Julie and family--Hi, Aunt Julie!) throughout the month.
They love that I bake things (really, the only time of the year I do that).
They love class parties.
They love giving their teachers gifts (even though I know from my own teaching experience that cash would be better.)
They love to decorate the front porch.
They love to sing Christmas carols.
They love to celebrate.

So keeping in mind my little ones and their enjoyment of the holidays (and also Jack's health) I moved the nativity.


Underneath the hideous reindeer candy dish, underneath the garishly colored ornaments, right where it can be reached by little fingers. There is a wise man missing. There is a race car, and sometimes a dinosaur, present. The camel can often be found lying pitifully on its side in the middle of the hallway.

Isn't it beautiful?

Best Mom Tip #184: Kill Santa

I'm kidding, I don't really think you have to kill Santa-- I just thought it was a funny title. I have an old post called "naked laundry" and you would not believe how many hits that thing still gets. I like to imagine how disappointed some guy is that it's actually just about a frazzled mom and does not include pictures. Or maybe he's grateful it doesn't include pictures.

Anyway, I did really want to talk about Christmas and some things I've been thinking about around our house lately. This Christmas will be the 10th one that Jay and I have celebrated as parents. Over the years we have settled into some traditions and ideas that I'm really happy with and others that are still not exactly what I had in mind.

Early on we decided that, as Christians, it was our responsibility to be intentional with what we teach our children during this time of the year. Our first decision to that end was that we would not be using Santa in our holiday celebrations. Not because Santa is evil or because we hate the joy of children or because we like to flaunt our super-spirituality in front of our friends and family, but because we felt that Santa overshadowed one of our easiest opportunities to teach our children about God's love.

Every year we make a point of telling them that God loved us so much that he gave us all the precious gift of His son. Jesus came "to seek and to save the lost"--to point an arrow back toward God so that we would always know exactly how to find Him. To celebrate being on the receiving end of such a gift, we choose to give gifts to the people we love and cherish every day. Santa, while fun and jolly, made that message harder to explain to kids already distracted by new stuff. So we just don't use ole St. Nick and that has worked pretty well in our family.

Eventually, we focused in on a sort-of two pronged approach to celebrating Christmas with our kids. We attempt to limit their materialism in order to encourage them to become generous givers and we also try to give them opportunities to do for others outside our family as much as possible.

Limiting materialism is quite an uphill challenge. Being Santa-free helps because we don't have to make up excuses for why he doesn't bring super awesome stuff, but there is still a temptation to give over-the-top presents just to see their faces light up. But we didn't want to experience a Christmas morning that was just a gluttony of gifts with no meaning and so we have spent years attempting to counteract the greedy advertising fliers and crazy store displays that our kids see almost every day during late November and December.

A few years ago my friend Camilyn mentioned that her kids get three presents because that was how many Jesus got from the Wise Men. I thought that was both hilarious and practical so Jay and I have implemented this rule in our house, too. Each kid gets one "big" gift and two smaller ones on Christmas morning. Honestly, with four kids it also makes it easier to be relatively equitable.  We still can't control gifts given by others, especially grandparents who have their own need to give equitably among grandchildren, but it's a start.

I also have the children help pick out the gifts we give to their cousins and grandparents. I want them to understand that we choose gifts others will like and spend our money on those we love in order to serve them, not because they will give us presents in return. I hope some of that idea sinks in.

Doing for others is pretty simple while our children are so young. We participate in the Operation Christmas Child program every year and our kids carefully pick out the gifts to go into the box for a kid their age in a developing nation. They pick out toothbrushes and balls and, with our boys, there is always a dinosaur I have to cram into that little box. It's a family outing that they really enjoy and look forward to every year-even my 3-year-old who doesn't like to share anything. I hope to add other service traditions as they get older, but we will have to see where their hearts and interests lie.

By no means do we experience a Christmas completely free of our cultural influences, and I don't think that we need to try to do so. Even our date for celebrating Christmas is likely based on tradition rather than fact so deciding that there is only one right way is a little arbitrary (and silly). We have a Christmas tree even though I know that it has far more to do with the desire of European pagans to remember that spring would come again than it does Christ. Our children's gifts are hidden until we reveal them on Christmas morning purely for the element of surprise. We hang stockings and fill them on Christmas Eve for no other reason than that it's fun. We even make cookies, but instead of leaving them out for Santa Claus, we take them to the police and fire stations near our house on Christmas Eve.

My point is not that you should kill Santa, but rather that we should all really look at our traditions and actions during this month and make sure that they are teaching our children the message we want them to hear. December, more than any other month, gives us great opportunities as parents to share our values and belief systems and have those lessons stick.

Most importantly, we should continue to pray for guidance about what we do and say around these little ears concerning Christmas.

As parents, we actually already have their undivided attention about this holiday. They know that there will be lights and cookies and TOYS from every adult they know. They are eager to talk about Christmas and what they remember from last year and what they hope for in this holiday to come.

Our children will remember our traditions from year to year and hold them sacred in their hearts well into adulthood because they are (hopefully) accompanied by good memories of excitement and fun. Let's attempt to instill meaningful traditions that shape our children into caring adults who value their fellow man and seek to do good in the name of God.  I think it will make for a merrier Christmas for us all. 

Best Mom Tip #178: Choose your soundtrack

So today is Valentine's Day.  Quick, you have a few more hours before it is painfully clear that you've forgotten to acknowledge your significant other.  Anyway, Valentine's Day makes me think of romantic comedies and that makes me think of movies and that makes me think about how much more fun my life would be if there were an appropriate soundtrack.

During my boot camp class this morning there were a LOT of stair repeats and we tried hum-singing the "getting stronger" song from Rocky but it really isn't the same with a bunch of out of breath women instead of Sly Stallone.  But I did raise my arms and shadow box a little just in case I did look cool doing it.  Even though I know that I didn't.

I once heard a speaker say that you should choose 5 songs that represent the soundtrack of your life.  I have no idea in what context or why he said that because, clearly, I spent the rest of the time choosing my songs.  I thought I'd share my soundtrack and challenge you to choose your own.

1.  Jesus Loves Me.  I know it's simplistic.   I know large sections of the world don't believe in my faith.  But it reminds me of my childhood and kind little old ladies at church and when all songs in my life had hand motions.  It makes me feel secure and loved and is the core of what I believe in.

2.  Amazing Grace.  OK, I know that it's a little lame to have back-to-back church songs because that would never happen in a movie, but here's why I chose this one.  It was played at my grandmother's funeral and it made my dad really sad.  My grandmother, once a dedicated pianist and teacher, had Parkinson's disease and toward the end of her life she didn't recognize us at all.  At my grandfather's grave site she had to ask if someone had died--it was a bit painful to have to explain that yes, it was her husband of more than 60 years who was gone.  So why doesn't it make me sad like it did my father?  The last verse starts, "when we've been there 10,000 years bright shining as the sun"-and that's how I like to remember my family members who have gone before me--bright shining as the sun.  What a glorious view of death.

3. Georgia On My Mind.  I am Georgian.  Like since the Revolutionary War kind of Georgian.  I'm pretty sure my ancestors were horse thieves or something back in the old country, but whatever their reasons for leaving they thought, "I can do better than this"  and so they risked their lives and headed to the unknown of America.  And they wound up in Georgia.  Cotton farmers, tobacco farmers, a relative who served for both the Union and the Confederacy, and a whole lot of teachers.  I can relate to the "moonlight through the pines."  Also, every state wishes that their state song had as much soul and talent as Ray Charles.

4.  Brown Eyed Girl.  Ignoring that this is clearly a romantic song, my mom used to sing it to me when I was little.  It makes me want to dance and sing "sha la la la la la la la la la la tee da."  And I am a brown-eyed girl.  With four brown-eyed kids.

5.  This one changes depending on my phase of life.  It has been a variety of U2 songs.  Some Cold Play.  Some Mumford and Sons.  Right now it's "We Are Young" by Fun.  Every night after dinner we have a dance party where we play this song and flail around the living room with our children.  They think the last line is, "so if by the time the ball closes you feel like falling down" (you know, because you're so tired) "I'll carry you home, tonight."  And thus continues the family trend of singing totally inappropriate songs to our kids.

None of these is romantic in the least.  Somehow, that portion of my life has always seemed separate to me. More precious.  More sacred.  I dated people before I dated my husband, but no one ever held my heart like he does.  When I think of our soundtrack, the song that comes to mind is Into the Mystic by Van Morrison.  It's soulful, it's romantic, it speaks of a love that existed before and forever.  The chorus starts with a very hippie "I want to rock your gypsy soul."  And when Jay asked me to marry him, 15 years ago today, I said yes largely because he was the only one who could see my gypsy soul trapped in the body and mind of a responsible first-born kid with sick parents.  He's the only one who, in the midst of a lot of child-rearing, still makes me feel like we're about to flow into the mystic.

So maybe tonight you and your sweetie can share your soundtrack and think about all the reasons you still say yes.  I wish a very happy Valentine's Day to you all.

Hey, look at that, Jay!  I did get you something.

Best Mom Tip #172: CYA. Literally.

Today I got stung in the ass by a wasp at a two-year-old birthday party.

I tried to think of a clever intro to work my way up to that statement, but sometimes, you just gotta start with the punchline.

The day started out pretty well-I woke up and read to the kids, we went to church, had lunch with friends.  I wore what I thought was a pretty romantic maxi-skirt I bought yesterday at Old Navy and a maternity tank top and thought that I was hitting just the right note of boho-70s-earth mama.  I'm in the mostly fun phase of dressing while pregnant when you're obviously showing, but nothing has started spreading out the sides yet as though your frame couldn't possibly hold all the baby plus ice cream you have going on in there.

Turns out that my white tank top really highlighted the hollow of my belly button in the sunlight and that the skirt just made a great trap for a really pissed off stinging insect.

The moment I got stung I was with Jay watching our three kids and my sweet niece (the birthday girl) play on the playground at the park where the party was held.  They were all cute and laughing and playing so happily, but this random kid I've never met before and who wasn't at our party kept telling me I needed to watch what he was doing.  He was yelling, "hey! watch me jump off of this" and I was explaining that I was watching three other kids right that moment when I felt this really awful pain in my left cheek.

I tried to just let it go and keep watching the kids, but the pain kept coming in waves and I started to get the chills and I thought, "I've never had an allergic reaction to a bee sting before, but it has been 30 years or so since the last one."  I told Jay I needed a minute and I went and got my mom to come help him watch the kids on the playground.

I tried to go into the bathroom, but it was locked, and this is why I wound up bottomless in my minivan trying to get a good look at my butt in the review mirror.  I didn't realize that I could feel worse about my behind than I usually do, but inspecting a swelling bull's-eye in a mirror made to give you the best possible view of traffic 30 yards behind you accomplished that goal quite nicely.

I returned to the playground and Mom asked if I was o.k.  I told her I got stung in the butt and she suggested (while laughing) that I ice it.  Jay made the same suggestion, but I pointed out that it might really change the mood of the party were I to go sit down in the cooler full of drinks--although I bet I could've laid claim to all the diet cokes I wanted to at that point.

My smart-ass mom and my smart-ass husband then made helpful comments like "doesn't matter where we are, it all comes back to her in the end" and "yep, she really has to be at the bottom of things."  On the way home, I had to sit awkwardly on my right side and I got "you're going to talk about this all night, aren't you?" and "you're really running out of ways to sleep, huh?" from my loving husband.

So now I'm blogging my pain with a baggy of ice on my rear end wondering why in the world I'm the funny sidekick in my own life story.  Shouldn't I at least get to be the beautiful and graceful lead from my own point of view? But even I recognize that bee sting to the butt at a birthday party is pretty darn funny.

I have to go now--my ass is getting numb.

Best Mom Tip #166: Ask your mom about her childhood

My mother grew up below the poverty line on a cotton farm outside the town of Cartersville, Georgia.  While Leave It to Beaver was on TV across the nation, Mom went outside to the outhouse when the need arose.  My beloved Aunt Charlotte was 14 before they had indoor plumbing.  My grandfather ran the pipes himself.

On Christmas, Mom remembers how much she loved getting nuts and an orange in her stocking--oranges in winter were a rare treat.  She also got a box of chocolate covered cherries as her special gift from my grandfather.  As far as presents went, my mother remembers her bike as a wonderful gift.  My grandfather had repainted the tin roof of the house that year and my grandmother had recovered some vinyl chairs in the kitchen.  Mom watched Granddaddy repaint an old bicycle with the tin paint and then saw Grandmother cover the worn seat with the leftover vinyl.  On Christmas morning, out came her "new" bicycle and she loved it.  

Tomorrow morning my children will receive brand new toys bought from Target and Toys R Us.  They will open massive boxes containing 47 thousand twist ties so that the toys do not move into unattractive positions while in transit.  They will get a ridiculous amount of candy because when confronted with the tons of candy in the holiday section, 3 bags of miniature candy bars didn't seem like that much.  They are also all getting their own tiny flashlights in the hopes that they will stop carrying my emergency/handy weapon Maglite around. 

When I find myself getting caught up in the hassle-joy of 13 (actual number if counting class parties) different Christmas celebrations, I think about my mom growing up.  I know it wasn't perfect.  My mom graduated from a segregated high school and apparently spent childhood afternoons helping my great-grandmother stock condoms in the bathroom of the rest-stop-style store my great-grandparents ran until Granddaddy Virgil was fired for being drunk on the job.  So, you know, now seems better than that.  And besides, A Charlie Brown Christmas hadn't been written yet.  

But the simplicity of their Christmas celebrations circa 1953 resonate with me.  I think about making sure that my children understand what exactly we are celebrating.  I want them to know that on Christmas Day, Grace entered the world, not just American Girl Dolls and Muppets.  Although I do love the Muppets and bought 4 of them even though I only have 3 children.  I think about trying to remind myself to swim upstream against the tide of our pop culture with Santa and Christmas trees and enough wrapping paper to coat the world.  I think about trying to create memories that my children recount with as much love as my mother does when she shares her bicycle story.  

I think about a baby and a manger and a scared teenage girl just hoping she wasn't crazy to believe that God would do something amazing with her newborn child.  I think about my favorite sentiments from the Bible: Joy to the World, Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward Men. 

Merry Christmas.

Best Mom Tip #164: Lie to your 3-year-old

First of all, let me say hello to Cheryl. What's up, Cheryl? Cheryl is my wonderful friend who calls herself my #1 fan and reads my blog faithfully. Since she works in television I like to pretend that my writings have been "picked up" by the Cartoon Network because, technically, the same computer that rates Robot Chicken also reads this. So anyway, hey Cheryl. I am resuming writing for you. :)

On to the lying to your children part. One time, when my daughter was 3, we went on a walk to the park that is just under a mile from my house. We got about .8 miles from home and she suddenly decided she needed her princess ball cap more than she needed air to breathe. I calmly explained that if we went back home we would no longer have time to play on the playground. She responded with a sound that I associate with the high pitched whine of civilization's destruction when the nuclear bombs hit.  I then, while 6 months pregnant, drag-walked her the .8 miles back home and put her in time out so that I would not kill her.

When I related this story to my mom, she said, "eh, I probably would have said o.k. and then once we got home told her we couldn't go back to the park."  I was shocked.  You mean, LIE?  NOT tell her the consequences of her actions?  What kind of a child will I be raising? How would she manage in life if I do not present her with reality?

Fast forward 3 1/2 years and two more kids.  My now three-year-old son is in the same phase.  The one where, when things don't go the way he had them planned in his head, he collapses into a puddle of despair.  This is alright if we're at home.  It is more difficult to deal with when we are in the grocery store.

Thus, I find myself lying to him a lot.  Sure, Buddy, those underwear are totally on the right way.  Yes, you have done a nice job wiping off your face.  I will absolutely think about dessert when we get home.

In the car this week we got into a discussion about the validity of flying reindeer.  Now I know that what I am about to reveal is highly controversial, but bear with me.  I do not let my kids believe in Santa.  Are you disappointed in me?  I know Cheryl is.

The thing is, I found Santa confusing.  So I decided that we would present Christmas presents as gifts from us and just ignore the whole your-gifts-are-tied-to-your-ability-to-please-a-stranger-who-looks-a-lot-like-Renaissance-God-in-a-coca-cola-ad part.  For my daughter this was a non-issue.  She didn't/doesn't care and honestly, would have questioned Santa's existence by the age of 4 anyway.  She is a lot like me.

Ah, but Griffin.  While driving to school, Griffin told me he didn't want Santa to be pretend.  Griffin asked me how the reindeer could fly and I said, "Well, they can't.  Reindeer are real, but they can't really fly. That's just pretend."  He got that look.  The one that says, "you are crushing my soul and I will not rest until every vehicle in a three mile radius feels my visceral pain."  The sentiment came out like this:  "BUT I WANT DEM TO FLY!"

So what do I do?  Lie and let him believe that generous strangers pulled by impossible cold-weather mammals are the source of his Mega T-Rex this Christmas?  Can I let him continue his unreasonable desire to believe in cartoons and fairy tales?  Or do I let him have a full-on melt down on the way to school which will result in the teacher physically pulling him screaming from the car?

Turns out lying is actually pretty easy sometimes.  You're right, Buddy.  Reindeer CAN fly.

Best Mom Tip #153: Party like it's 1979

Last week I read this article about why parents of the 70s and 80s did a better job than we are currently doing with our own children. The basic point was that parenting was a bit simpler and they did not seem so afraid that we would die/disappear/stop loving them if they made us mad.

Although I didn't necessarily agree with the whole article (I know a lot of people my age whose parents did a crappy job), I thought the section about birthdays was pretty true. The author complained that birthday parties today are too elaborate, what with ponies and bounce houses and the like. We have certainly gone to some pretty elaborate birthdays over the years, but this weekend we hosted a really basic party for Griffin.

Now I will fully admit that this is less of a parenting philosophy statement and more of a "I'm a really bad housewife" kind of a statement. I have been shamed by a multitude of parties my kids have been invited to. There was the one with the pony and petting zoo. And the one where a "train" came to drive all the children around the neighborhood. There's actually a TLC show about crazy kid parties (they have a show about everything).

Even the more tame ones tend to make me painfully aware of my ineptitude as a domestic success. Charlotte went to one party where the theme was Mary Poppins and the mom had made "spoonfuls of sugar" (molded chocolate in spoons) and gave ceramic piggy banks as party gifts (to hold your tuppence).

Griffin asked that his party be Mickey Mouse Fireman with a Toy Story balloon. So he got Mickey Mouse streamers and fire hats. And a Buzz Lightyear balloon. That cake up there at the top of the post? (Thanks for the pic, Cheryl). Yeah, I totally bought that at Publix and stuck some fire truck candles on it. I did make chocolate cupcakes, but I used a mix. And store-bought icing.

There were no goody bags. I just didn't get around to it. I also only invited kids whose parents I like. Griffin is still young enough for me to get away with that.

The result? I had a great time. Jay and I only know how to throw one party--it involves Jay grilling hamburgers and a lot of fruit. But it was fun. We turned the sprinkler on in the back yard and threw plastic cups out there for the dozen or so kids to play with. And I mean the actual sprinkler we use to water the lawn--not any sort of $70 water ball from PBKids. And I mean red solo cups like you stood around the keg holding at parties in college.

Kids ate, they played, there was cake. Griffin said that he had a great time and that his party was "too exciding!'" Obviously I will not be featured in Southern Living any time soon. Martha Stewart will not be offering recipes that begin with "always buy the cheapest cake mix you can find."

I still think it was a good time. And so did my kids.

Best Mom Tip #148: Sing happy birthday anyway

The President and I share a birthday.

His 50th is front page news for some reason. My 35th is mostly remarked upon by my mother and Facebook. (BTW, thanks for the Facebook wishes, guys.) It's not that I don't feel lucky and loved in my life, but I do start to feel like I may not actually be "special."

You know how when we were little kids and our elementary school counselors told us things like, "you are all unique" and "everyone is special." Never mind that those are blatantly untrue statements that grossly misrepresent the definitions of both unique and special. It seemed like a nice thing to say and I always thought I was pretty special, if I did say so myself.

It turns out that, again based on my information from Facebook, I am not. A lot of us seem to be living quite similar lives. We are parents and spouses and employees. Some are divorced, some stay home with their kids. But pretty much, we are all just living our relatively quiet lives.

I somehow do not think that I will be running the nation in 15 years. Nor do I think that in 3 years I will be gracing the cover of a magazine like 38-year-old Heidi Klum is on the cover of this month's Marie Claire.

I get Marie Claire because in a bizarre twist of irony, I am rewarded for consistent recycling by earning random magazine subscriptions. I also get O.

The Heidi Klum article points out that she gets her great shape by "chasing her kids around" and strength training. I am so tired of celebrities who say they are in shape because they chase their kids. Where are their kids going and are they hopped up on drugs that they are so difficult to catch that it burns calories? They also say horseback riding a lot, but doesn't that seem like more of a workout for the horse?

Anyway, I guess I feel old. I am middle-aged. I am not going to be the president or on the cover of a magazine. Although why I am so annoyed by a German supermodel, I do not know. I blame Project Runway and an affinity for Michael J. Fox in Spin City.

My kids, and this is where they really come in handy, are ecstatic that it is my birthday. They have been "decorating." Which I will have to clean up tomorrow, but still. They got out party hats from Harry's birthday and wore them to breakfast. They are thrilled that there will be cake tonight with dinner.

I may not be happy about getting older, but we're singing happy birthday anyway.

Best Mom Tip #143: Relive the moment

I have been out of town for a while and I was in a horrible vortex where the wi-fi was reeeaaallly slow and my phone's apps wouldn't work. At least there was a Starbucks outpost in the resort. I was surrounded by teenagers because I was chaperoning a trip for our church and they couldn't fix it, either, so I know it wasn't my fault.

Anyway, so instead of focusing on one moment, I thought I'd share a few of the single points in time of the last week that made me smile, laugh, and feel very grateful.

Talking Stuffed Animals:
When I was on my way home from the trip and I texted Jay that he needed to come pick me up, this was his reply:

"I know. Griffin said it was time to pick you up. His moose told him so." I don't know if I should be freaked out that the boy takes information from his rocking moose seriously, but at least it was accurate.

Wildlife Sightings:
Charlotte and I had this conversation:
Me: Look, a bunny is right over there!
Charlotte: It's just like my purple bunny! Except that it's not purple and it's real. And it's a different size. Oh, a BUNNY!

I love that the word bunny is all her stuffed animal and the real rabbit had in common, but for Charlotte it was a love connection.

A Grateful Nation:
At Harry's 1-year-old birthday party, my dad asked my brother-in-law what he was actually doing all day. Since he's in training to be a Green Beret, this is not as rude of a question as it might seem. He (my brother-in-law) said that he was mostly in classes all day at this point, but that it "would be nice to finally get back out to working." You know, where people shoot at him. And other mean stuff. That's what he'd like to get back to doing. I am so grateful that good men stand in the gap for the rest of us in horrible situations here and abroad. And that they are really great uncles when they're in my home.

Misinterpretations:
Charlotte: I know how to get to Aunt Hellen's house, Daddy.
Jay: Good, you can be my navigator.
Griffin: She is NOT an alligator! YOU'RE an alligator!

Way to defend your sister, Bud. Much as it frightens me, I have a feeling you might be one of those men in the gap when you get older.

One Small Step for a Man:
Harry took his first steps this afternoon. There were just a few of them, but they counted. What encouraged him to make that giant leap? Homemade ice cream on the 4th of July. How great is that?

I am lucky and so grateful. The rewind of this busy week has been fun to watch over and over again.

And how was my trip to the beach with no internet access? Pretty good. According to the Panama City Beach ABC affiliate, I participated in the world's largest single-site flash mob. Although, I highly doubt we set any kind of a record, it was great fun. Take a look at it below.

Best Mom Tip #141: Get a lucky number

WARNING: This is not particularly funny. More schmaltzy, with a touch of melodrama.

Yesterday Jay and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary on the 13th of the month. Traditionally, 13 has had a somewhat sordid past. Hotels avoid a 13th floor and Friday the 13th can apparently cause the mass murders of stupid teenagers. I think this bad image has something to do with there having been 13 people at the Last Supper before Jesus was crucified, but there's probably some pagan ritual from the Celts in there as well. I don't really care, honestly.

What I do care about is that we've made it this far. I have lived a lot of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. My childhood, and Jay's as well, taught us early on that life can turn on a dime. Each milestone, each year that we make it without disaster amazes and humbles me.

Both sets of our parents got kicked in the teeth in their 30s. Jay's mom and dad went out on a date one Friday night in February and his father died in the movie theater. Suddenly. We'll never really know why. Jay was 8.

My father began his overt fight with mental illness while my mother was pregnant with my brother. No one knew what to say, his illness wasn't considered a medical disability at the time, and we spent a lot of time with Daddy in hospitals on floors we were too young to visit. My mother had to drag 4-year-old me screaming from the hospital that Daddy is NOT sick, I can see him right there.

But nothing has happened to us so far. We've had three children without incident. We're older than both my mom and dad were when my dad got sick. We are older than Jay's mom was when she became a widow. And yesterday, we were married longer than Jay's parents were before his father died.

Jay is still younger than his father was when he died and I am still younger than my mother was when she developed her own near-fatal illness, but we've passed a lot of the milestones I really didn't think I'd see without some sort of disaster. I wish I could say that I now live without the fear and I just enjoy every day as it comes, but I am not that peaceful.

I am so grateful for what I have and I am stunned that it has all gone so well so far, but I still get afraid of what is around the corner. I'm hopeful for our future, whatever that may hold. I am excited that I get to share my life with my best friend and I am glad I made such a good choice when I was still more kid than adult.

That other shoe could totally fall and beat me about the head and shoulders, but for right now, 13 feels lucky.

Best Mom Tip #137: Run the numbers before you quit

So I mentioned that we're potty training our almost-three-year-old son. There are several reasons why I picked last weekend to start--he needs to be potty trained for school in August, I have spent 11 months with two kids in diapers, I am tired of him telling me I need to change his diaper...--you get the idea.

My husband was supportive, if not actually happy to be spending his Memorial Day weekend in the bathroom. I'm not gonna lie--it was a pretty terrible weekend. He peed everywhere. He refused to poop for three days and finally chose his pants instead of the potty. Jay and I were snipping at each other and questioning whether or not he (our son) was really ready.

At one point Jay said that at least he had finally found a way to make a three day weekend feel longer.

We googled just about everything we could about potty training 3-year-old boys and, basically, the internet is very noncommittal about the best way to do anything. Stupid internet.

I was feeling really discouraged and unsure of what to do. So, dork that I am, I ran the numbers. I took the total number of times he used the potty and divided it by the total number of pee/poop incidents in the day. I even used half increments for the times that he wet himself, but then stopped and finished in the toilet.

On Saturday, he was about 7% potty trained. That was not a great day.

By Sunday he was up to 33%. On Monday, about 55%. By Tuesday he was a solid 80% trained. Unfortunately, the one accident that day involved poop. Wednesday and Thursday continued in the same vein--one accident a day. Friday we had a bit of a setback, but it was mostly because I didn't make him go at regular intervals.

But yesterday...no accidents. Not even one. He pooped in the potty. He told me when he had to go. We went to church and out to lunch today and everything went fine.

I am cautiously optimistic--maybe, one day soon, I will be done thinking about this every day. I'm sure that my friends and family really need me to talk about something else. I know I'm bored with this topic and I'm the one who has to clean it up.

Best Mom Tip #130: Start a nest egg or two

I saw this really cute commercial with a mom making rice krispie treat eggs filled with M&Ms. Since this involves chocolate, marshmallows, and butter I thought I'd try it today.

Unfortunately, our grocery store didn't have any plain pastel M&Ms so I was forced, forced I tell you, to buy Cadbury's Mini Eggs instead. It is a good thing that they only sell those near Easter or I would weigh 912 lbs. I have actually eaten an entire bag of them in one sitting. That was last Easter, honestly, which probably contributed to my 60 lb. weight gain with my last pregnancy. But I digress.

The point is, when I got home and tried to fashion the treats into eggs, they looked more like blobs. When I put my little eggs inside I realized that it would be a lot easier to just make nests. So I did.

I think they turned out really cute. I took them to my niece's 1st birthday party and they were all eaten, so they must have tasted pretty good, too.

Here's what I did:

1. Make rice krispie treats according to the directions:

6 cups rice krispies

1 10 oz. bag of marshmallows

3 T butter or margarine

Melt the butter over low heat and add the marshmallows. Stir very often until melted together. Pour in rice krispies and stir to coat.

Spoon mixture into 13x9 dish coated with cooking spray. Use wax paper to press the mixture into the dish evenly and let cool (about 30 minutes).

2. Once cooled, cut the treats into about 2.5 x 2.5 inch squares. I got about 20 treats/nests out of this.

3. Mold each treat into a nest shape with your hands and press some sprinkles into the edges and center.

4. Place two Cadbury Mini Eggs in each nest.

We set up a little assembly line and the kids thought it was great fun.

I used colored sprinkles because that's what I had in my pantry, but I bet it would be great with chocolate sprinkles or toasted coconut to look more like twigs. It was a big hit and fun to do.

Definitely a new favorite in my house--maybe you can use it, too.