Call me Fred. Or Barry.

This afternoon, I went out to tackle the green beast that is also known as our lawn in late summer.  (This would be the second time this week I've had to mow, for those of you keeping score at home.)  I geared up appropriately for the chore with my iPod and headphones and got to cutting.  I did the front and side yards to the strains of my Leonard Cohen playlist, but by the time I got around to the back, I needed something a bit more.... peppy.  Now, Kiddo has recently become enamored of a certain tune on Mommy's iPod, and it is a tune that is near and dear to Mommy's heart.  I first heard it when I was her age or a little bit younger, and I loved it from the very first bongo thump.  It's one that she has been requesting repeatedly for the past few weeks, so it instantly sprang to mind as I scrolled through my playlists.  Perfect choice!

The song of which I speak, of course, is that 70s classic Copacabana by none other than Barry Manilow.  I adored the song as a kid and still do now.  As a child, I was instantly smitten by the drama of the song (not to mention those bongos) and choreographed a dance routine to go with it.  Now, I'm teaching Kiddo the dance moves (and she is embellishing them with lots of added jazz hands.  Kiddo is a big believer in jazz hands) and she and I belt it out when we're driving around town, sitting at the breakfast table, hanging out on the lanai... it's an all-occasion bit of groovy joy.

Anyhow, there I was in the back yard.  Hubby had taken Kiddo up to the playground to burn off some energy, so I had the yard to myself (well, except for the squirrels and bunnies and jays and cardinals, oh and the bees - lots of bees).  I dialed up the Copa and pulled the starter cord on the mower.  (Incidentally, I always feel so.......... macho when I'm pulling the starter cord on the mower.  Especially when it takes a couple of tries before the engine actually catches.  Is that just me?)  I began merrily cutting my way up and down the back .40 and when the disco violins soared above the bongos, I started singing too.  Singing *and* dancing, actually.  Air bongos are pretty much mandated with the Copa, and that dance routine I've been doing for over 30 years now lives in my very marrow (plus Kiddo's jazz hands - she really is right about how jazz hands make anything better).  I think by now it is physically impossible for me to remain silent and still when the Copa is playing.  I've sung and shimmied to it in any form, including Muzak.  (I'm killer in an elevator - the acoustics are fantabulous, you know.) 

So, there I was, just like Fred and his hat rack

See the whole routine right here!

except instead of a jaunty neckerchief with matching red belt and socks, I was wearing a paint-spattered, 10 year old t-shirt over a boob-squashing sports bra and grass-stained sneakers, and instead of a hat rack, I had an old and decrepit lawn mower.  And jazz hands - Fred may've been a great dancer, but he really underutilized the jazz hands.  But other than those tiny details, I was exactly like Fred Astaire.

Naturally, it wasn't until after the last refrain "Copa.....Copacabana" had faded into silence and I was left with naught but the sound of my mower that I happened to catch sight of one of our neighbors.  Specifically, the lovely, older lady whose property backs up to ours, and who had apparently decided to take advantage of the cooler temperatures and breeze today to do a bit of gardening in her back flower beds.  The ones that are right at the property line, which means she had a front row seat for Heather-Fred-Barry and my dance partner, the lawn mower.  Totally busted.  Yeek.  I did what any self-respecting Fanilow would do in such a situation.  I waited for the next song to cue up and then treated her to a little Bandstand Boogie.  With plenty of jazz hands, of course.

In which I tell you of an awesome, "new" discovery

Let me preface this by acknowledging up front that I tend to be a bit, how shall we put it?  Late to the party when it comes to the hippest, most happening, latest things.  (See? I just used the word hippest which I'm fairly sure is no longer hip.)

Well, one of the things that is a new discovery (to me) that I wanted to share with you is this little thing called Pandora Radio.  Now, I apparently had already discovered Pandora's website once before, but it didn't take the first time.  (I only know this because when I rediscovered it, it turned out I'd set up an account for myself at some previous juncture and then promptly abandoned and forgotten the website entirely.)  I re-discovered Pandora as an iPod Touch app, and have become utterly smitten.  Smitten, I tell you!

So for those of you who are as un-in-the-know as I, let me tell you what Pandora does - it is a radio station where you get to pick all the music and then it plays the songs you want for you.  But more than that, it uses the info you've given to it about songs and artists you like and then comes up with other music that is similar and plays that for you, too.  There's a thumbs-up/thumbs-down feature that helps it tailor the musical choices for your own personal stations as well.  

It is so, so cool, y'all.  I (re-)discovered Pandora a couple of months ago, when I was looking through music apps for my Touch while we were in the midst of The Great Renovation Project, Phase II - Stripping and Painting, and I immediately set up a few different stations.  First, I made an 80s station.  (Duh.)  When Hubby got too sick of All 80s Music, All the Time, I obliged him by creating a Classic Rock station.  It was really darn delightful because by putting in the names of artists I liked (and then dashing over to my iPod mid-paint-rolling to thumbs up or down a particular song), it played classic rock type songs I enjoyed (The Eagles, Steve Miller Band) and not ones I haaaaate (the Horse With No Name song, for example).

I've created a few other channels, like Old Time-y Country (the Oak Ridge Boys, Randy Travis, Dwight Yoakum, Kenny Rogers, Alabama) and the "J.J. Cazh" station (as Hubby and I nicknamed it thanks to the various Andy Samberg bits on SNL) which plays Jack Johnson, my friend Tulpen's boyfriend, Five for Fighting, Dave Matthews, the Wallflowers, and so on in that vein.

And.

I made one more station - my Harry Connick, Jr. station.  Because I love me some Harry Connick, Jr.  Seriously love.  Have been a fan for decades (which makes me sound old, but it's technically true, so there you go).  As in, I've been a major fan since high school before When Harry Met Sally came out and he started getting really famous.  I went to the opening night of his first run on Broadway way back in 1990.  Actually, I was quite a Harry groupie in my younger years, and even met him several times.  (Nothing remarkably groupie-like ever happened, I must admit, although he did accidentally drive a remote-control car over my foot one time outside his tour bus in Syracuse.)  That was the same night he autographed this:

which I promptly had framed for an exorbitant amount of money (especially for a broke, college student, which I was at the time) and proudly hung on the walls of every college dorm room and apartment bedroom in which I lived from that moment forth until Hubby and I moved in together, when it was deemed no longer appropriate decor and thus has been living in the basement for the past 16 years.  (Sorry, Harry... if it meant you'd come and visit us - and hey, we have a piano! - then I'd totally hang it back up right this minute!)

Annnnnyhow, of course I needed a Harry Station, so I set one up toot sweet.  I added Michael Feinstein, Barry Manilow, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and Frank Sinatra to that station as additional artists I like, and let her rip.

And do you know what I've learned since starting that station?  What Pandora has taught me?

That I am a big Michael Bublé fan.  Huge.  Now, please note that prior to setting up my HCJr Pandora station, I only had the vaguest idea of who Michael Bublé was - he floated out there on the far periphery of my knowledge.  I had seen him on SNL, where he was funny in that skit with Jon Hamm but as we were watching SNL off the DVR, as we do 99% of the time, we fast forwarded through the musical performances.  I'd caught snippets of his songs during my daily "Five Minutes To Try and Stay Current and Hip" (dang it, should I not be saying "hip" so I sound more hip?  How about "groovy" instead?  "Fly" perhaps - or with a ph like phat?  Phly?) in which, shortly after waking up in the morning, I start out watching one of the various iterations of MTV (thanks to which I have more than a mere inkling of who Lady Gaga is, for example) but within moments, I'm back on VH1 Classic where it is always 80s videos in the morning and odds are good that instead of seeing anything new and current, I'll find videos like Take on Me or The Reflex.  Ahhhhhhhh, sweet, comfortable nostalgia.  But I digress.  My point is, every time a song I didn't immediately recognize (or, more to the point, I didn't recognize that particular rendition, since 99.9% of this station is standards), I'd look on my iPod and voila, it was Michael.

So there you go.  Pandora is so awesome it gave me a new artist to lurrrrrve.  I'm not saying it doesn't have its occasional misstep, like the time I was merrily making pad thai to the strains of my Old Time-y Country station, when sandwiched between the Gatlin Brothers and George Strait came.... I Don't Want To Miss a Thing by Aerosmith.  ?!?!?  I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm a huge Aerosmith fan, but I don't want to hear a rock power ballad in the middle of my twangin' and pickin' and harmonizin' - not that I thumbsed them down.  I mean, I couldn't do that to my beloved Aerosmith, even when they popped up on the wrong station.  So, while Pandora isn't perfect, it's a pretty awesome discovery, at least for my groovy world.

Stay tuned for further "breaking news" of new discoveries I've made, like about the horseless carriage or the light bulb............

    

We will, we will ROCK YOU!

So, it turns out that 38 has been one of the best birthdays EVER in the life of this particular chick. Not only because of my wonderful husband and beloved daughter, either. Well actually, yes because of my wonderful husband, because he gave me the coolest present ever...

Guitar Hero: Aerosmith

and

Rock Band 2.

Yes, yes, yes, I know. We're totally years behind on this whole Rock Band/Guitar Hero phenomenon. For ages now, I've heard folks talk, blog and tweet about how much fun they were having rocking out to one of those games. I honestly didn't really get all the fuss. Pushing little buttons in time to music? Huh.

Then, Hubby gave me the two games, plus the cymbals add-on for Rock Band. Being Hubby as he is, he bought the various pieces over a period of several months, and kept them hidden away at his office, where I rarely go and when I do, I'm not left alone. I opened my presents this morning over breakfast (which consisted in part of a Wegmans Bakery cinnamon streusel friedcake - if loving them is wrong, I don't want to be right) and then Hubby and Kiddo promptly departed for work and school, leaving me all alone in the house with my new toys.

I decided I'd just open up Guitar Hero: Aerosmith. Just to, you know, check it out. I put together the bits and got everything all synced up and connected and gave it a try.

Two and a half hours later, I realized I was still sitting on the family room floor in my jammies playing the game. Apparently I suddenly got the appeal.

After school, Kiddo and I started putting together the Rock Band equipment. Realizing it was well beyond our technical capabilities, we decided to pause lest we break something (we're both quite good at breaking things, thankyouverymuch) and waited for our roadie to get home from work and take care of it. Hubby made quick work out of assembling the drum kit with cymbals add-on (Kiddo consistently called the cymbals "tambourines" which cracked us up) and we fired up the Rock Band disc.

And OH EM GEE y'all!! Did you know that this game allows for one to SING? Into a super-kewl MICROPHONE? Why did no one tell me this years and years ago when the game first came out?! I thought it was all pushing buttons (which the guitar/bass parts kind of are, though that is admittedly way the heck more fun than I'd assumed it to be) or drumming, but you can SING as part of the game, too! Not just any old songs, either, but FUN songs that I KNOW, like Duran Duran and Queen and David Bowie. (Also, lots of songs I thought I know but when attempting to sing them, it turns out I don't really know them nearly as well as I thought. Hubby was cracking up a few times to the point that he could no longer keep playing his own part.)

We proceeded to take turns rocking out on the drums, then paused for dinner and the World's Best Birthday Cake, then after Kiddo went to bed, Hubby and I continued to rock out for a few more hours. All in all, a fantabulous birthday was had by me. Plus, I was surprised with a SECOND birthday cake, this one the Wegmans Ultimate Chocolate Cake, and seriously, what on Earth could possibly be better than one birthday cake? TWO BIRTHDAY CAKES, of course!

Oh, and for the proverbial frosting on the proverbial cake, I managed to find that earring I dropped yesterday afternoon. Yes, it was with my foot, but I had socks on so it wasn't like I pierced my toe with it or anything. Woot!

Here's a brief photo recap of my super-rockin' birthday...


A couple of Guitar Heroes, waiting for Hubby to come home:




Hubby's turn, with Kiddo backseat-drumming - "The red one! The yellow one! The bass! The blue one!"



Kiddo taking her turn on the drums:



The birthday cake...



Seriously, this counts as food porn. I cannot adequately express in words the utter deliciousness of Cheesy Eddie's carrot cake.



The post-Kiddo-bedtime rock session. Yes, I'm wearing my stylin', stylin' jammies (old flannel PJ bottoms, even older way-oversized t-shirt and paint-spattered, oversized sweatshirt. Straight outta Victoria's Secret, mmm-hmmm. Oh, and don't forget the wool socks - any rock star's must-have wardrobe accessory.). I know, you don't have to tell me. I simply am the hottest 38 year old around...



Long live Rock-n-Roll! If you're ever up for a jam session, you know where to find me!

Christmas Name that Tune: "Tails" really is.............

[Ed note: Whoops! I'd originally written this last night to post after I went to bed, but messed up the post options date so instead of waking up this morning to see that this had posted and revealed the answer, I had total Future Posting Fail. Sorry!]

Someone guessed it! Faster than I did back in the day when it was of critical importance to the kid, too... Way to go, Teresa!

I had hoped to find the Muppets clip of this song to share with you as the big reveal, but alas, it doesn't seem to exist online. So, I'm going with the original, but trust me, if you can get your hands on a copy of John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together, you'll love Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem's version. Animal and his RUN RUN REINDEER alone make it worthwhile. (Teresa - that is one of the Smith family's favorite Christmas albums as well, and has been one of my favorites since I got it on vinyl back when it was a new release in the 70s!)

Well, way up north where the air gets cold
There's a TALE about Christmas that you've all been told........................



Little St. Nick is the TAILS of Kiddo's oddly named request!

Christmas Song Name That Tune... a hint

Several guesses so far, but no one's gotten it right.

How about a hint?

Musicians that have recorded this particular song include The Captain and Tennille, The Beach Boys, The Drifters and my favorite version that was done by the Muppets.

Seriously now, that's a total giveaway, even if you don't have access to my iPod's holiday music playlist................

Answer later tonight - somebody's gotta guess the Tails!

Name That Tune: Christmas music edition

I've always loved Christmas music. Over the years, I've had an extensive collection of Christmas albums, first on vinyl, then cassette, then CD and most recently on my iPod. Kiddo, therefore, has been exposed to Christmas music as much as a child can be from her very first year on Earth.

By the time she was two and a half, Kiddo began having favorites among Mommy's vast catalogue of holiday tunes. She'd even begun making requests. One wintry afternoon as we were driving about running errands, Kiddo piped up from the back seat where she'd been rocking out to the strains of one of my eleventy million and twelve holiday CDs.

"Mommy, play Tails, peese!"

Tails?

Hubby and I looked at each other blankly. Tails? What the heck did she mean by Tails? We conferred, trying to come up with the song Kiddo wanted. We had nothing. We began forwarding through every song on the compilation CD that had been playing when she made the request. She was quite insistent. "Peese play TAILS! I want TAILS!" We kept going through the CD, but none of the songs was the one Kiddo was waiting to hear. We reached our destination without ever finding the mysterious Tails song.

This continued for another two weeks. Every time I had Christmas music playing, Kiddo would ask repeatedly for Tails and we hadn't the slightest idea what song she wanted. We asked her to sing a bit of it for us, but as you can imagine, at two and a half, what she came out with was pretty unrecognizable.

Finally, one afternoon just a few short days before Christmas, Kiddo and I were out with her godmother when sure enough, Kiddo began yelling for TAILS! PEESE PLAY TAILS! I explained to her godmother (also my BFF) that Kiddo had a specific song in mind but that we had no idea what song it was. Her godmother was intrigued and totally up for the challenge, and began the arduous task of playing snippets of every single song on every single CD I had in the van and asking Kiddo "is this it? Is this Tails?" as Kiddo vehemently rejected each song.

Until............ we found it. We found Tails. We found Tails and we subsequently listened to it over and over and over and over again. All the way on the 6 hour drive to NJ that year, we listened to Tails. All the way home again, too. Kiddo was so, so happy to *finally* have her favorite Christmas song (that year) and she would sing along cheerfully and enthusiastically. While out doing some last minute shopping, it came on at some store at the mall, and Kiddo freaked out. "They're playing TAILS!!!!" Oh, the joy of Tails.

By the next holiday season, Kiddo had moved on. She no longer loved Tails above all other holiday songs. That next year, she was all about Dominic the Donkey. Now, at the ripe old age of six and a half, Kiddo is able to play Christmas CDs in her room all by herself, or to dial them up on her iPod, which is even better since that involves headphones (unless she's using my iPod speakers). She can listen to Tails or whatever other song her little heart desires as many times as she wants without driving her father and I to distraction trying to play Name That Tune.

Think you can guess the song that Kiddo called Tails? I'll post the answer tomorrow...

In lieu of ranting and raving, some humor

Oh. My.

I am so, so, so, so, so furious right now. Almost beyond words. I am fairly certain I could shoot laser beams from my eyes if certain members of Kiddo's CSE team were standing in front of me right now. The new levels of asininity that have been reached in the farce in which we've been forced to engage in order to maintain Kiddo's services have left me gobsmacked, utterly dismayed and stressed beyond belief.

I could rant and rave for paragraphs and paragraphs on the topic, but I'm choosing to let it go - for now. Nothing can be done until Monday and we have a holiday coming up. While it isn't going to be the Thanksgiving we'd envisioned (my sister, brother-in-law and nephews were supposed to be coming up from Jersey, but due to H1N1 in their house, they can't), it still is a five day period in which our family of three will be home together. So, I'm choosing to take deep breaths and try to forget about the hell of the last two days at least until I am able to pick up my sword and battle ax and resume the fight next week.

So, in lieu of another diatribe from me on the idiocy that exists in the world of Special Education and the unconscionable acts that are required by the adults therein, all supposedly in the name of helping the children with disabilities, I want to share this with you. A friend had linked to it on his Facebook page and I came across it while ferociously typing out infuriated status updates earlier this afternoon. It cracked me up, and as a fan of both the Muppets and Queen, I can't not share it with you now.

So, please enjoy the following cover of Bohemian Rhapsody:

Hakuna Matata!

Well, that was quite a weekend we just had here in the Smith family. One of those "I need a weekend to get over my weekend" type deals. It all started bright and early Friday morning, when we loaded up Ye Olde Minivan and headed west to Lansing, Michigan. Why'd we do that, you ask? Because Lansing is where the national tour of The Lion King happens to be playing right now.

You see, Kiddo is a bit of a musical theater nerd, just like her mama. Kiddo also is completely obsessed with The Lion King. She claimed my OBC soundtrack for her own years ago, and has since memorized every word, note, grunt, roar and snort therein. We own the movie, which she has watched at least a million times. We have the storybook version of The Lion King, which she has read at least two million times. She has not one, but two Simba stuffed animals. Every year when we go to Walt Disney World, we see the Festival of the Lion King at Animal Kingdom, and Kiddo is rapt throughout. So, a few months ago, Hubby and I were talking about how much we thought Kiddo would enjoy seeing the actual stage production. Our first thought was, of course, Broadway, where we had seen TLK many, many moons ago ourselves. Hubby hopped online and quickly discovered that these days, a ticket to TLK costs approximately four arms and three legs, especially multiplied by three. On to the next thought - perhaps the national tour would be coming back to our fair city sometime soon? Hubby looked into it and discovered that sadly, no, it isn't going to be stopping back here in the near future. That was when he discovered that the tour would be playing in Lansing in April. Some further research led him to the conclusion that we could get three awesome seats and a hotel room overnight for less than what it would cost us to see the show on Broadway (which would include free lodging at Chez Grandparents in Jersey). Furthermore, Google Maps informed him that driving from our house to Lansing takes almost exactly the same amount of time as driving from our house to Chez Grandparents. Seemed like a no-brainer to us, so we ordered the tickets, made the hotel reservation and put a big star on the calendar.

So there we were, setting out Friday morning, Kiddo watching the first of her vast Veggietales DVD collection, Hubby and I overcaffeinating with Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi and Mountain Dew Code Red, respectively. Now, the thing about driving mostly due west from our home is that it takes us a bit out of the country:



And it turns out that this is the more direct route than staying in the US and going the long way around the eastern Great Lakes. We had renewed our passports and gotten Kiddo her very first passport a few months ago in anticipation of this trip, so we weren't sweating it. We made good time over the border into Canada, stopping for a quick bathroom break during which Kiddo had to go sit next to "the really shiny guy" on the bench inside the Duty Free shop...



We continued on our way through what must surely be one of the most boring stretches of eastern Canada (no offense intended to the lovely inhabitants of this section of the country; I know anyone would have the same impression should they be driving along the NYS Thruway in our neck of the woods as well). It was so boring that I promptly fell asleep, as I am wont to do whenever I'm in a car anyhow. I was awakened from my midmorning nap a short while later by the energetic and loud serenade of a bunch of singing vegetables - Kiddo had decided to remove the headphones connecting her ears to the portable DVD player (and seriously, was there ever a better invention for the sanity of all adults on long car rides than the portable DVD player? I know that as a child, we made several long car trips - I'm talking NJ to Florida and back length trips - and I know that I certainly would've appreciated the opportunity to gorge myself on repeated viewings of Dirty Dancing or Pretty in Pink or A Chorus Line, the Movie instead of playing endless rounds of Herbie Car - what my family called Punch Buggy - or "Mom, she's touching me! She's on my side!" and praying that my Walkman batteries wouldn't run out before lunch....). The Veggietales crew might provide wholesome and often humorous entertainment, but they certainly do not provide good lullaby-esque music by which one can nap, especially when the portable DVD player is strapped to the headrest directly behind one's head.

We zipped along through Canada, feeling like we were driving much faster than we actually were thanks to the cute, metric speed limits (100 KPH? Wow, we must be flying!) and in no time, we were circling 'round Lake Huron and approaching the US Border once more. We were getting hungry, but Hubby refused to stop at any of the Fifth Wheel Truck Stops we'd passed for lunch despite my begging (come on now - they had HUGE signs proclaiming BREAKFAST ALL DAY, and we were in Canada, where they surely have maple syrup instead of Aunt Jemima or Mrs. Butterworth, right?). We pulled up to the bridge back into the US and promptly came to a

dead

stop.

It turns out that many, many Canadians really wanted to head into Port Huron for Good Friday. Who knew? We sat on the scary, heart-stoppingly high bridge over the lake for a good ninety minutes. Plenty of time for me to get this shot of the beautiful view of the sparkling, clear blue waters of Lake Huron out my window:



When we were finally back in the US of A, we stopped at the first Golden Arches we came across that we could see from the highway. That is one of Hubby's Road Trip Rules: it isn't enough to see a sign telling you there is a Mickey D's or Wendy's or gas station at the next exit, the actual building itself must be visible from the highway or you do not pull off the main road. This rule came about after one too many frantic attempts to get gas or change a blow-out diaper where we found ourselves traipsing about the dark, back woods of Nowhere, PA, driving further and further from the main road and in some cases, unable to get right back on to the highway where we exited. So, after a later-than-we'd-planned-for lunch, we trekked onwards, finally arriving at our hotel in West Lansing.

We stayed at a Residence Inn, which meant we had a suite with kitchenette instead of just a room. Kiddo was extremely excited to learn that she was sleeping on the magical sofa that would transform into a bed just for her. We didn't disabuse her of the idea that it was a special treat to sleep on the pull-out bed, either. Kiddo and I changed into swimsuits and headed down to the pool (excellent sensory input for her, as well as a way to stretch and burn off some energy after spending almost 8 hours strapped into a booster seat watching animated veggies frolicking about). Unfortunately, we were not the only people enjoying a late afternoon dip. It seemed that the West Lansing Residence Inn was the gathering point for someone's large family function. Could've been a wedding or maybe a large family reunion, but there were fifteen adults and at least two dozen children who all were related/knew each other well already occupying the relatively small pool and hot tub area when Kiddo and I arrived.

Now, when I say "large family reunion" I am not emphasizing it quite the way you'd expect. What I mean to say is, it was a LARGE family. As in "Biggest Loser" large. Now, I am not a small woman. The words "slender" or "svelte" do not ever apply to my person, especially when my person is squeezed into any sort of swimming gear. I freely and openly acknowledge this. However, I was the smallest adult woman in the pool area by at least half. The men were even bigger, and most of the children were equally rotund. Oh, and they were all REALLY, REALLY loud, too. It was insane. Despite the fact that the deepest part of the pool was only 4ft 2in and there were impressive NO DIVING signs on every available surface, the Large Family was diving with abandon. Come to think of it, the amount of water that was being displaced by cellulite and cannonballs probably brought the water down to closer to the two feet deep level, and made a "lazy river rapids" sort of effect all the way around the pool, as well. Consequently, Kiddo and I didn't stay in the pool area for more than 20 or 25 minutes before heading back up to our room, where Hubby had set up the computer (yay, hotel with free WiFi!) and located a nearby Domino's with coupons online and ordered us some pizza for dinner.

Soon enough, we were all bathed/showered and fed and tucking ourselves in to sleep in our respective beds.



Now, remember how I said our suite came with a kitchenette? That kitchenette included a fridge/freezer that had an ice maker as well as a cute, miniature dishwasher. We'd started up the dishwasher after dinner, thinking it would provide a bit of white noise for Kiddo as she was in the front part of the suite, closest to the hallway, and the Large Family were no quieter moving about the rest of the hotel than they were in the pool. Turns out that the teeny-tiny dishwasher operated via a very loud engine. A loud, slow engine that clanked and roared for a good hour after we'd turned it on and tucked her in some eight feet away. Whoops. Eventually, though, the dishwasher wheezed to a halt, the Large Family stopped thundering past our door in the hall, and peace and quiet settled over our suite. Everyone drifted off to sleep, and then the ice maker in the freezer began to work.

This was a Very Special ice maker. When we'd first arrived at the room and were investigating all the features therein, I peered into the freezer and noted the lack of any cubes in the tray below the ice maker. Hubby subsequently jiggled a few bits in the freezer and proclaimed it broken. Not quite. In the wee, small hours of the night, the ice maker decided the time was nigh to produce a cube. One cube. But not just any little cube. The effort required by this machine to produce one cube started off with a noise akin to the Space Shuttle gearing up for blast-off from the launching pad. After ten minutes of this machinery grinding away, building to an ever-crescendoing roar, it popped out its cube with a resounding BANG that sounded like a shotgun being fired, again from mere feet away from my sleeping child. Needless to say, the noise woke me up. The ice maker continued to "work" in this manner irregularly throughout the night, the Space Shuttle crescendoing roar leading up to the shotgun blast of the cube shooting out into the tray. If I didn't know how quietly water actually does freeze, I'd completely believe that this level of ferocity and sound was totally required to fuse those Hs and Os into a solid, cold mass. I do know better, though, so I was not impressed or amused.

At any rate, despite the Thundering Herd of Larges and the World's Loudest Ice Maker, we all managed to get some sleep, if not of the highest quality. (I forgot to mention the West Lansing Residence Inn also featured the World's Worst Pillows. They seemed promising enough, all fluffy and big, but they were of the Insidiously Evil Feather variety, whereupon you rest your head waaaay up on top of a pillow or three, and in mere seconds, your head is down on the mattress with pillow puffed up around your face in a most suffocating-esque way.) Morning arrived, and Hubby took his turn taking Kiddo to the pool. Luckily for him, the Large Family had bypassed the early-morning exercise option in favor of the free, full breakfast offered by the hotel, and he and Kiddo were the only people in the pool area. I opted to surf the 'net and take a super-long shower (yay for endless hotel hot water!). Hubby checked out the breakfast scene on the way back from the pool, and reported upon their return that there was no room at the inn, or at least in the restaurant area. Yep, he'd met the Large Family. He made a few trips from the restaurant to our room instead, bringing us some very tasty breakfast (though I bet not as tasty as breakfast-for-lunch would've been at the Fifth Wheel). We had some time to kill before heading out to the show (remember the show? I know I've spent paragraphs here on the hotel, but really, we were there for the show) so Kiddo watched some TV (including more Veggietales, which are in the Saturday morning cartoon line-up apparently), Hubby "worked" on his computer and I watched vintage Law and Order (oh Jerry Orbach, how I miss you) and napped a bit in the other room, then we nuked some leftover pizza for lunch before packing up our stuff when it was time to head out.

We bid the Large Family and the Residence Inn a fond farewell (Kiddo, in the parking lot, blowing kisses to the building: "Goodbye, Michigan hotel. I'll miss you. I'll come back soon! *mwah*") and made our way to Michigan State University, where TLK was playing, while Kiddo watched our Lion King DVD in the back seat. We drove around campus for a bit and then did some parking garage strategizing to optimize our chances of a quick exit after the show. We paused in front of the theater to get this shot (after Hubby graciously offered to take the same picture for a family that had thought of the idea first)



and then it was showtime! Well, not quite. We couldn't even get into the lobby yet, and stood in the entrance way as Kiddo looked longingly through the doors at the lady setting up the Official Lion King Souvenirs Stand a few yards into the lobby. Finally we could enter the lobby, and we made our way past several OLKS Stands (as well as a few Roasted Nut stands, oddly enough) and up to the balcony level. We found the right set of doors and were told that we'd need to wait a bit more before we could go in, so wait we did. When the doors opened, we discovered that the front row of the balcony at the Wharton Center is not only very high up (I know I've mentioned my utterly incredible fear of heights before) but had a long, sloping ledge off the front down which one could easily slide before plummeting to the orchestra level below. My palms are sweating as I type this just from thinking of it, I kid you not. We settled in for the show, which began after at least a dozen more announcements reminding us in no uncertain terms that photographic or other recording devices were most definitely prohibited.

Finally, finally, finally it was showtime. The lights dimmed, the curtain rose, the music swelled and The Lion King began. We had great seats despite the sickening height, as it turns out. Kiddo was transfixed, and Hubby and I were as captivated by this production as we'd been when we saw the original on Broadway. I briefly regretted not choosing an aisle seat in the orchestra section when the actors made their entrance at the beginning of the show, but at the beginning of the second act, one of the bird actors stood not ten feet away from us, swooping and soaring his bird in circles directly over our head. It was awesome. Kiddo did not like the strobe light/exploding bursts of steam and smoke effects that accompanied some of Scar's "villian" scenes, but was not the least bit upset by the wildebeest stampede (which we'd thought she might find scary). At the intermission, Hubby went off to find some snacks and Kiddo announced she had to use the bathroom, level "emergency" so we joined the line at the ladies' room.

Now, it appeared the balcony seated maybe 800 people or so. It was a near-capacity crowd. There was exactly ONE ladies' room for the entire balcony section. We were maybe 40 or 50 people back in line when Kiddo, who was growing increasingly frantic, told me that she "could feel the pee starting to come out" and I had to make a snap decision. I hoisted her up by the armpits, and bearing her aloft in front of me like a shield, I cut to the front of the line. The woman who was at that point next (along with her maybe 10 or 11 year old daughter) most graciously allowed us to go ahead of them, and I got Kiddo into the stall and on the seat with not even a millisecond to spare. I didn't even bother closing the stall door - I was peeling her tights down as we hustled into the stall. Whew, that was a close one. Since we had cut the line, I didn't feel right using the facilities myself, so I opted to rely upon my Bladder of Steel and we exited the stall as quickly as we could when Kiddo was done. She was apologizing and thanking everyone in line behind us as we washed our hands and made our way back out of the bathroom (and I would like to extend my own apologies and thanks to all the women and girls we cut in front of as well; I know you all had to go, too, and I appreciate your allowing us to avoid a pants-wetting incident that doubtless would not have been pleasant), where we rejoined Hubby who had managed to acquire a small bottle of water, 2 mediocre and very dry chocolate chip cookies and a small bag of chocolate-covered peanuts for approximately $15. That boost of sugar was enough to get Kiddo bouncing, and before we knew it, the show was over and the actors were taking their third (well-deserved) curtain call.

Back out to the garage, where Kiddo changed into her jammies and strapped in to watch yet more Veggietales DVDs (I swear to you, we brought many, many NON-VT DVDs with us as well, but Kiddo was on a veggie kick) and Hubby's pre-show parking strategy worked like a charm, getting us out of the garage and on our way back to Canada in less than three minutes flat. With a few quick stops for bathroom breaks, food and gas, we were back in New York and approaching our town by a little after 11:00 Saturday night. Oh, and for the last hour and a half or so of the ride, we were wowed by the sight of the moon rising low on the horizon. It was so darkly orange that it resembled the setting sun more than the rising moon, and I spent a good twenty minutes trying to take a decent picture of it through the windshield. Sadly, this is the best I could do:



and it doesn't nearly capture the orangey-ness or largeness of what we saw. The higher the moon rose, the less colorful it became, but trust me, it was an amazing sight.

Once we arrived back at the homestead, Hubby carried Kiddo up to bed and I began assisting the Easter Bunny in basket prep and hiding. (Yeah, I know, I should've done that before we left. Idiot.) Thankfully, the late night and excitement of the trip meant Kiddo slept in until 7:40 yesterday morning, instead of being up and in search of baskets at the crack of dawn, as is customary. She found her basket and promptly surveyed the loot brought by Mommy and Daddy the Easter Bunny.


While I was salivating at the sight of Cadbury mini-creme eggs and the giant Gertrude Hawk Chocolate Dinosaur Egg, Kiddo was most excited by the arrival of Pico, the Chihuahua (or Chewawa who is "so cyoot" according to the various odes Kiddo penned later on, during church and afterwards). Kiddo took Pico up to her room to meet the rest of her Stuffed Animal Entourage and I decided the time was right to hide to have the Easter Bunny hide our eggs in the back yard. Hubby was watching golf on TV at this point, so I left him in charge of making sure I the Easter Bunny was not discovered. Imagine my surprise when I came in from the deck to find Kiddo standing in the living room! Shooting Glares of Death at Hubby (who returned them with the Shrug and Raised Eyebrows of "What did you want me to do?"), I quickly explained to Kiddo that I had noticed the empty egg carton in the fridge when I went to start breakfast, so I'd gone outside to see where the Easter Bunny had hidden her eggs this year - in the front or back yard. Kiddo bought the line and insisted upon immediately going out to find the eggs, so we did. Well, by "we" I mean Kiddo and I, as Hubby wisely opted to stay inside where it wasn't a wind chill of 29 degrees. I wound up giving Kiddo "you're getting warmer/colder" type hints just to hurry things along (and because she was really not doing that spectacular a job of finding not-very-concealed, brightly colored eggs) before any of our extremities blackened from frostbite and fell clear off.



Once that was done, we returned inside to thaw and enjoyed some Easter omelets cooked by Hubby, then it was time to get ready for church. (Yay for church that doesn't start until 10:45!) After church, Kiddo played with Pico and the rest of her SAE, Hubby watched golf and I took an Easter nap. But, not before I got a few shots of Kiddo (and Pico) in her Easter ensemble....



Any girl knows that dresses - especially ones with crinolines! - were made for twirling...



In conclusion, Hakuna Matata and He is Risen, hallelujah! Hope you and yours had a wonderful weekend, and a happy Easter or Passover or whatever you may celebrate. Now, stay out of my way as I hit the post-Easter candy clearance bins, okay? At least, stay away from the Cadbury Creme Eggs, as they are MINE!

Oh Danny boy, oh boy, oh boy

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Random ramblings on a wintery weekend

I've been pondering my dry, dry, drrrrrryyyyyyy skin this morning. I'm not sure if my skin is closer to this:
this:

or perhaps this: Now, while I've never touched an alligator, they are the animals that one usually sees in the commercials for dry skin remedies. I have actually touched both a rhino and an elephant, and I think overall, my skin (especially in winter, when I'm not as likely to shave my legs quite as often as I do in the summer) is more similar to that of an elephant, as elephants have hairier skin than I recall rhinos having. I remember the rhinos' skin as being surprisingly smooth, whereas the elephants were a bit prickly.

At any rate, my skin definitely doesn't feel terribly human this time of year. Between the weather, the wind, and the more-frequent handwashing/sanitizing due to it being cold and flu season, my skin is suffering. It always does in the winters.

When I mentioned in my last post that my skin is dry and that I have tried many, many products with which to moisturize it, I wasn't kidding.
This is just a random sampling of the products I had close at hand when I decided to take a picture of them today. There are others lurking on shelves and counters, in cabinets and drawers. Some of the smaller tubes came out of my purse, because as well as carrying a small bottle of hand sanitizer and antibacterial wipes with me, I also carry lotion to try and counteract the damage I'm doing by sanitizing. As to the rest of them... clearly, I am a woman who is swayed by marketing, willing to believe any promise of smooth, soft skin that resembles none of the wildlife pictures above. Clearly, I am also a woman who does not frequently throw things away. Like, for example, those two bottles of "makes you look tanner" moisturizer/lotion. I'd heard good - even great! - things about those, so I cut out a coupon for them one Sunday and trotted off to the store. I bought the kind designated for "fair" skin, because at my absolute darkest, I'm still pretty dang fair. I did not at all like the color they turned either my legs (the body lotion stuff) or my face (the facial moisturizer stuff). It did darken my skin, but only in a "my goodness, but she looks like she could stand to have a liver transplant" jaundiced sort of way. Haven't opened either of those in years. They're still mostly full. I haven't thrown them out, though, because you never know when I might want to look orangey-yellow again, I mean, maybe the next time I try them, they'll work better.... ha. (Actually, those tanny-tinty ones kind of *do* make my skin look like that Rhino in the picture above!)

Anyhow, thanks for all the suggestions on moisturizers and lotions. Maybe this winter, I will find something that works well and yet doesn't make me break the heck out, too!

***
So, two weeks down, with five workouts a week. I no longer am quite like this, and with any luck, I'll be all buff like Homer (ha ha ha) in two months, too, though I'm eating oatmeal and drinking green tea for breakfast instead of eating Powersauce bars....


Hee! At the very least, I can pronounce the name of the place I've been dragging myself to each morning after Kiddo gets on the bus..... it's the "why?!?!?!"



***

Hubby and I are planning on going to the movies on Monday, sans Kiddo. (Woo-hoo!) We really want to see Slumdog Millionaire, but we also really want to use our Fandango gift card that my brother and sister-in-law gave us for Christmas, and it isn't playing at any of the local theaters that use Fandango. Grrrr. So, our options are either going to be to (a) see something else and use our Fandango gift card - and goodness knows, we haven't seen *anything* that's playing now other than Bolt, so we ought to have plenty of options, or (b) pay for the tickets ourselves to see Slumdog Millionaire. We haven't quite decided yet which option we will go with, but either way, a movie.....in a theater.....that isn't animated.....possibly with popcorn, even....... *swooooooon*

***

Speaking of *swooooooning* - Ellen has finally landed George Clooney as a guest. I love Ellen, but don't watch daytime TV really, other than the news first thing in the morning (so, before 6:30am) and then the Today Show or Regis and Kelly while I'm at the gym. I sort of vaguely knew that Ellen's had some recurring thing about getting George Clooney to be on her show, and I just read that he will be on this coming Monday. Totally setting the DVR for that one, woot woot!

***
In other TV-related news, only FIVE MORE DAYS until Lost finally premieres!!!! Lost is one of my most favorite shows EVER in the history of television, so needless to say, I'm a wee bit excited. Then, adding to the "oh my goodness!" levels of excitement, I came across this story on E! Online this morning.... The season of Sawyer?!?! Be still, my beating heart!!!

***
It is currently five degrees outside. (That'd be Fahrenheit, for all you international folks out there who wonder why I'm pointing this out. Then again, I suppose 5 degrees Celsius is also not terribly warm.) This cold spell we're in is supposed to end by tomorrow though, with temperatures soaring all the way back up into the 20s. (That'd be a wee bit of sarcasm...) At the rate this weather is going, it will be May before Hubby braves the outdoors long enough to take down the outside Christmas lights. I unplugged them the weekend after New Year's, but they're still up there. At least all the other Christmas stuff (aka the indoor stuff) has been put away for weeks now.

***
We have started giving Kiddo a weekly allowance. She has three piggy banks (thanks to her aunt and uncle who gave them to her for Christmas, knowing this was our allowance plan), designated as SPEND, SAVE and CHARITY respectively. Each week, she gets $.75 that gets divided evenly between the three banks. (Hey, I said we were giving her an allowance, I didn't say it was a BIG allowance...) Her current plan is to save up enough money in her SPEND piggy bank to buy some new clothes for her Barbie dolls (she has three; Birthday Barbie, Surfing Ken and Cinderella Barbie). Right now, the SAVE piggy bank is earmarked for our trip to Disney World next summer, but it may not last quite that long. She wants to use the CHARITY earnings for helping kids who don't have food or toys, so we'll figure out an appropriate charity to donate that money to once there is enough collected.

I never had an allowance when I was growing up. (I did have a savings account at the bank - one of the old-school, passbook kind of accounts - into which I put the money I earned through my 4-H market lamb and other endeavors each year.) Hubby and I think there are valuable lessons to be learned with an allowance, and Kiddo is now old enough to understand the concept of money to some decent degree, so we decided we'd go for it. One of the biggest perks to it for me that I've found so far is that now, if we're out at a store and Kiddo starts asking me to buy her something, I can defer her to her allowance and it makes her stop asking (or whining) and also makes her think more seriously about whether the item that has momentarily caught her fancy is really worth spending money to acquire.

***
So, those of you with kids, do you give them an allowance? If so, how much at what age and how do you do it? Is everyone else sticking with their New Year's Resolutions (if you made any)? If your resolution was like mine - to get in shape - how are you doing? (Thus far, I've lost a measly two pounds, but I haven't been killing it at the gym, though I intend to step it up a bit starting next week. There's a Latin dance exercise class I walked past on my way out yesterday that looked intriguing, and I'm going to see if I can join it for the rest of this session. If not, it will definitely be a next-session goal!) Any good movie suggestions in case we opt for the non-Slumdog Millionaire route? Any hints on how to do better at Wii Mario Kart, like which character to race as and which vehicle to drive? What daytime TV shows do you watch? Anyone else psyched for the start of Lost on Wednesday? (Boy, the PTA meeting better get out on time so I don't miss a second of it!!) Anyone have exciting weekend plans? We're going to Disney on Ice tomorrow, and I can't wait!

In closing, I will leave you with the link to the Human video from The Killers. I caught about 15 seconds of it while flipping channels early the other morning, and the song has been firmly lodged in my head ever since. I am going to download it to my iPod, I think... the lyrics may be silly, but it is downright catchy nonetheless, and I am a fan of the band. So, one last question: Are we human, or are we dancer?

Mmmmmmeme!

There's this alphabet meme that's been making the rounds of the blogosphere, and the always delightful Georgie gave me a letter so I could play, too! Thanks, Georgie!! She gave me the letter M, and now I have to come up with ten things I like that start with M... As many other meme-attempters have said, this is harder than it looks, as it turns out! Here goes:

1. Motherhood.


Best thing ever. 'Nuff said.

2. Movies.


Love 'em, and don't get to see enough of 'em these days, either in the theater (especially in the theater!) or even on DVD. I can't wait until Kiddo is old enough that Hubby and I can resume our moviegoing habits without having to worry about being able to make that month's mortgage payment so we can hire a sitter AND see a movie.

3. Music.


Just about any kind, except heavy/death metal, opera and most rap or hip-hop. Otherwise, I'm your girl! From showtunes to classical to 80s pop to country to gospel to rock to folk, oh yeah, it's all good. (My love of music and relative talent in the area does not, however, mean I can dance. I can't. I'm hopeless on a dance floor.)

4. Macaroni and cheese.

Preferably with bacon. Hey, these chins didn't grow themselves, you know. It took help. Help and laziness in the kitchen come dinnertime.

5. Uh-oh, I'm not even halfway through yet and I'm drawing a blank. I'm strongly tempted to say Meorge Mlooney, but I'll save that for if I get really desperate round about number 9 or 10. How about, instead, I'll go with Musicals.


Different than music, I think, as a "musical" is a type of theatrical production. I love musicals. LOVE them. I'm a Broadway Baby. What's that? You want to know my top ten, all time favorite musicals? Well, since you asked and in alphabetical, not favorites order....

• A Chorus Line
• Anything Goes
• Cabaret
• Cats
• Chicago
• Guys and Dolls
• Hello, Dolly!
• La Cage Aux Folles
• Les Miserables
• The Lion King

6. Magicians.
Well, not *all* magicians - that Criss Angel dude freaks me out and David Blaine annoys the heck out of me. (I'm thinking they probably consider themselves "illusionists" or something instead of straight-out magicians, anyhow.) Penn and Teller, though? They rock! I used to make a point out of going to see their show at least once whenever Hubby and I went to Vegas, often on my own as Hubby preferred playing poker to seeing a show he'd seen before. Another great magician who works in Vegas is Mac King. When we saw him, I laughed hard enough to give myself a severe side cramp. Funny and amazing at the close-up magic, who could ask for anything more? Heck, I even am a Siegfried and Roy fan - we saw their show, too. (I even saw their 3-D IMAX movie - in the theater - back in the day.) It's not just Vegas magicians, though - any magician who is halfway decent, better if they're funny as well.

7. Merriment and Mirth (wow, a twofer!). I love to be happy, I love to laugh. (Who doesn't?) My default mode is to always look for the sunny side of life. Unless I've got PMS, in which case all I want to look for is a bag of Cheez Doodles, a bar or six of chocolate, and a comfy spot to curl up upon and moan. But other than those few days, I'm all about sunshine and happiness and humor and smiles and joy, and those things that bring them, like

7.5. Muppets!



8. Mignon, filet.


(Yeah, I'm cheating a bit - still it's better than busting out Meorge Mlooney!) Medium rare, preferably with Bearnaise sauce and/or wrapped in bacon. I have it at most once a year if I'm lucky, but I love it.

9. Milk.
Well, actually, any and all milk products, aka dairy. Again, these chins (and thigh rolls, hip rolls, belly rolls and back rolls) didn't grow themselves, and you can't put that much pressure on a poor, little box of macaroni and cheese. See, cheese. Mmmm, cheese. Sour cream. Ice cream. Whipped cream. Butter. Yogurt. Cottage cheese. If it is made from something that came out of a cow's udder, I am a fan. I even like milk, straight up (or, of course, with chocolate sauce or Ovaltine. Mmmmmm, Ovaltine....)

10. Okay, for my tenth and final Favorite Thing that Starts with the Letter M, I've got a good one, especially given my recent wedding anniversary (and thanks for all the good wishes, y'all! You're all so sweet!): Matrimony. Marriage. There's nothing like it, and hopefully the day isn't too far off when everyone can get married, regardless of with whom it is they fall in love...



All right, there are my 10, and I didn't even have to use Meorge (or Malan Mickman or Meddie Mizzard, either) to get there. Whew. Anyone else want to play? Let me know and I'll happily give you a letter!

Wake me when it is 2010!

I honestly had *no* intentions of staying up until midnight last night. We wound up not having company due to the rather inclement weather of yesterday, though Hubby did make the run out to our favorite Chinese restaurant for our traditional New Year's Eve dinner. We couldn't manage to play Wii Mario Kart while eating, so we flipped around and settled on the 70s classic That's Entertainment, which is the first of a documentary trilogy I adored as a child (and even rented many, many times from our local video store back when my family first acquired a VCR in the 80s. Yes, I was so hip as a preteen, I rented movie musical documentary videotapes) and which Hubby had never seen. We watched until the first movie ended (they were running all three in succession, followed by one I'd never seen called That's Dancing, which I totally would have recorded to watch today except for the fact that 90% of our DVR space is presently taken up with episodes of Bindi the Jungle Girl, aka Kiddo's latest obsession, and there wasn't room). Hubby then, quite sensibly, went to bed around 10pm. I shut off the TV and headed upstairs when he did, but sat down at my computer "to turn it off" ...and the next thing I knew, it was 11:46 and at that point, I figured if I was still up it would be silly not to stay up the extra 14 minutes. Kind of like getting within eyesight of the peak of Mt. Everest and then saying "Eh, I'm heading back to base camp." (Note: I never in my entire life have or will ever climb Mt. Everest, so this is possibly the most farfetched comparison I could make... I haven't even attempted to scale Mt. Clean Laundry that has reached rather towering heights atop my dresser in ages!) So, I shut off my computer, congratulating myself heartily on my fortitude so that I wouldn't get sucked back into the blogosphere (and/or my 23 current Wordscraper matches on Facebook) again at 12:03am. I curled up on the couch with the cat to watch the ball drop. I was happy to see Dick Clark seemed better this year than last. I didn't have the New Year's show on long enough to be terrifically annoyed by Ryan Seacrest or Kellie Pickler (though whatever genius hired her to speak extemporaneously on live TV must be worried about his/her job this morning) and before I knew it, the ball had dropped. Mission accomplished - 2009 it was!

Why I didn't immediately turn off the television and go straight up to bed at that point, I cannot say. Why I chose instead to peruse the channel guide and notice that Chicago was just starting on IFC and decide to flip over to catch the opening number is beyond me. I told myself "I'll just watch All That Jazz and then go to bed." Then All That Jazz ended and I remembered that McNulty from The Wire played Fred Casely in Chicago and I told myself "I'll just watch 'til the first commercial break and then go to bed." Yeah, one slight flaw with that brilliant plan: IFC doesn't have commercials. The crazy cat and I wound up watching the entire movie, which I will admit I haven't seen in its entirety in quite some time, and the next thing I knew, it was a quarter to two. This is the point at which any sensible, extremely tired, usual-bedtime-is-no-later-than-10pm kind of mature and responsible adult would've shut the TV off and headed up to bed straightaway, but some possessed part of me insisted upon surfing the channel guide one last time before convincing myself it was utterly ridiculous to think I could start watching That's Entertainment III which was starting in five minutes, because then I'd be up past 4am. I haven't done an all-nighter in decades, not counting those nights when Kiddo was ill and I *had* to be up with her over the past five and a half years. Seriously, I am the woman who goes to bed well before midnight even when on vacation in Vegas. I need my sleep.

So, I hefted the cat off of my lap and staggered upstairs to brush my teeth and collapse in bed at a most impressive 2:16 in the morning. Why is it, then, that my body decided it needed to be wide awake at its usual time of 6am?? By all rights, I shouldn't have cracked an eye open before noon, at least... Oh, right - my bladder. Darn thing insists on being emptied like clockwork at 6am. I fought it until 7, but then it became a necessity to get up. I attempted to go back to bed, but the smell of bacon wafting up from downstairs where Hubby was cooking breakfast and Kiddo was playing Diego Animal Rescue something-or-other on the Wii became too irresistible. So, here I am, awake but exhausted, and wishing I could spend the start of this new year snoozing away instead of taking down the tree and doing some serious tidying up. Thank heavens I have a decent supply of Mountain Dew Code Red left over from our drive to NJ last week. I may need to inhale some enormous quantities of peppermint bark as well, for purely medicinal purposes, of course - must get ample sugar in the blood to stay upright!

And thus concludes the cautionary tale I will remind myself of next New Year's Eve: I am TOO DANG OLD to stay up until midnight anymore.

Oh, while surfing the interwebz last night - erm, I mean last year (hee hee, sorry, I love those kinds of corny jokes on January 1st), I came across a video that I swear is exactly how I spent my post-midnight TV watching. I must share it with you now; the only difference is that I was watching a musical, not sports:



Hee hee! So, tell me, blogosphere friends, how many of you made it up 'til midnight? Were you partying or at home in your jammies like me? Anyone have any ambitious resolutions? If you are a Wii owner, are you as utterly pathetic at every Wii game imaginable as I appear to be? (Seriously, the only thing I have aced thus far is the Handbell Harmony game on Wii Music, and this comes after ringing handbells in real life for several years... but by that method, I ought to be much better at Mario Kart, tennis and bowling too...) Anyhow, Happy New Year!

Worst. Christmas. Song. EVER, Chuck E. Cheese Time, Best Comfort Food Dinner Recipe Ever and other, actually more important child-related stuff too

I suppose I should start out with the more important stuff before I begin to ramble. First of all, Kiddo's new sensory diet aide started this morning. I really like her from what little time I've spent with her thus far, the principal reported she received nothing but the most glowing, superlative-laden references and I was impressed with her first interaction with Kiddo when they met this morning, too. I'm feeling quite optimistic about this and that everything works out so that Kiddo has one, good aide doing a good job for the rest of the year.

Secondly, thank you for all your thoughts, opinions and suggestions regarding the little boy who rides home from school completely unrestrained and in the front seat. I did call the police via their non-emergency number and spoke to an officer. I was told that they cannot do anything unless I am reporting this occurring as it is happening. She said I'd have to see it happen, call 911 and have them send an officer. I explained that if I did that, the family would be well inside their house before an officer would be able to arrive. Not to mention I'm not entirely comfortable with the whole prospect of reporting it via 911 like that. So, I went to plan B - I spoke with the principal at the elementary school today. She is going to speak with the school's social worker and said she will also send home with every student a reminder about car riding safety, especially now given the start of our bad, winter weather season. (Considering that I skidded a slight bit going about 3 miles an hour around the bend up the road from my house in the snow-on-ice conditions we have right now, she's not kidding about the "bad" weather!) So, hopefully this situation will be adequately addressed and the little boy's parents will take better precautions in buckling him in safely in the back seat from now on. If the principal or any other school personnel witness it, they'd have to report it to CPS. I hope it doesn't come to that, but that the child is kept safe. Isn't that one of the greatest parental responsibilities we have? To keep our children safe?

In other child-related news, tonight is the night of the big Chuck E Cheese birthday party. All the kids were bouncing around the classroom this morning and the room was buzzing with excitement about the upcoming event. I think I may take a nap beforehand, so I am fully charged up before we head over there... I'll let you know how it all goes either later tonight or tomorrow!

Now, on to the first part of the title of this post. The Worst. Christmas. Song. EVER. While there certainly are a number of worthy contenders for this most dubious honor, in my humble opinion the worst of the worst is The Christmas Shoes. According to Wikipedia,

"In Tom Reynolds 2006 book I Hate Myself and Want to Die: The 52 Most Depressing Songs You've Ever Heard, he names "The Christmas Shoes" as the most depressing song in modern recorded music history."

I can most certainly agree with that assessment! Seriously, have you ever actually listened to the lyrics of this song?

I want to buy these shoes
for my Mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight

Oh my goodness gracious. I mean, not every Christmas song needs to be an upbeat and festive ditty about hauling out the holly, sleigh riding with jingle bells through a winter wonderland and rocking around the Christmas tree, nor does it need to be solely religiously based, like the coming of either all ye faithful or Emmanuel upon a midnight clear to a little town of Bethlehem away in a manger on a silent and holy night. But really? A little boy wearing clothes that "were worn and old" who was "dirty from head to toe" and who was counting "out pennies for what seemed like years" only to not come up with enough to buy his dying mother a pair of fancy shoes on Christmas Eve? Shoot me now, that is just too, too depressing. Depressing, treacly and manipulative. It's such a downer and so over the top that by the time the children's choir chimes in towards the end, I am ready to simultaneously weep, retch and throw myself under a bus. Oy.

To me, The Christmas Shoes goes far beyond the mere annoyance levels of songs like Feliz Navidad or novelty ditties which only are bearable when they are, in fact, "novel" (and the dictionary's definition of novelty is: "whose value is chiefly decorative, comic, or the like and whose appeal is often transitory"). So, yeah, I'll grant you that hearing Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey, Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer or the Chipmunks' Christmas Song too many times in a limited time frame can be too much, but The Christmas Shoes is just way too much. It is an immediate "turn the radio knob" thing for me, and I cringe if I'm somewhere where I don't have the power to block it out or switch it off, like a store or elevator (or is it the tenth circle of Hell?). When I hopped in the car at school this morning, I switched on the radio and heard just enough of that dreaded song to make me dig out my iPod posthaste for a little dreck-free holiday music instead. *shudder*

So what do you think, dear readers? Am I wrong? Does anyone care to defend the wretched Christmas Shoes? What is the worst Christmas song ever in your opinion? While we're at it, what's your favorite holiday song (or songs, if you can't narrow it down to just one)?

Speaking of you, dear blog readers o' mine, there's been a bit of discussion on the interwebz about comment etiquette. Preston and Andy have both touched on the topic recently on their respective blogs, and now I'm worrying that you all find me a rude blogger for not responding to you in my comments section... I know I don't always respond to every comment left on my blog via email either (though I try not to feel too bummed if the reason I can't respond is because the comment is left with a "noreply@blogger" instead of an actual email address), but please know that I'm not not responding because I don't love or appreciate your comments, I swear! I am a comment junkie up there with the best of them, and I do *heart* each and every one of you who responds to my posts!!

I am going to leave you with a recipe that I made last night. It is total comfort food and there's nothing better on a blustery, snowy night. This recipe is originally my mother's and I have been making it ever since I was old enough to have my own kitchen. I made it for my roommates in college - they loved it. I first made it for Hubby back when he was just Boyfriend and he loves it too. It is so yummy, although admittedly so not health food. (If you're one of those people who thinks healthy food, like celery sticks with a spritz of lemon juice, makes good comfort food, then just stop reading now. You won't like a thing to do with this recipe.)

Now, my mother's recipe is actually a variation on Shepherd's Pie. Growing up, we referred to this dish as Hamburger Pot Pie, and I've continued that tradition. Over the years, I've occasionally tried to "health" it up a bit, with various substitutions or even just to make it more "grown-up" than it is. It never comes out as good as the original recipe, so I've given up and now I make it just like my mom did thirty years ago. It is easy, not too time consuming, and a total one-dish meal. The leftovers (if there are any) honestly do taste even better the second night. (Holla, Kiki!) Here it is:

Hamburger Pot Pie

Ingredients:
ready-made pie crust
1 lb ground beef (I do buy the leanest ground beef I can find...)
1 can Campbell's condensed Vegetarian Vegetable Alphabet soup
instant mashed potatoes
your favorite cheese, grated
ketchup

Prepare pie shell according to package instructions (you know, poke full of holes with a fork and bake, let cool). Brown the ground beef and drain. (I toss a little garlic powder and some Italian herb seasoning in with it if I'm feeling really wild and crazy.) Add the can of soup, straight - DO NOT add any water to it - to the ground beef, then add a few generous squirts of ketchup (maybe 4 or 5 tablespoons - I just give the bottle two or three generous squiiiiiiiiirts) and mix. Cover skillet and let stand while you mix up the instant mashed potatoes (I usually make up the largest amount - the one that calls for two cups of water and two cups of potato flakes). Pour the hamburger mixture into the pie shell. Cover with the mashed potatoes. Generously sprinkle the grated cheese over the top of the mashed potatoes and stick pie in the oven until the cheese is melted. Enjoy!!!

Now, if you are the kind of person who doesn't normally have instant mashed potatoes in your pantry because you only mash your own from organic sweet potatoes with perhaps a dash of ginger, this is not your kind of recipe. If your thoughts when I said "favorite kind of cheese" ran more to Gruyere or Jarlsburg or perhaps Vacherin Fribourgeois than to Cheddar or American, this is probably not your kind of recipe either. (My mom used to make this with extra-sharp Cheddar taken from a brick of cheese and sliced or grated by hand, I am a far lazier chef and buy the pre-shredded bags of cheese, and tend to use the Cheddar-Monterey Jack blend myself.) If you don't eat ground beef, do not, I repeat DO NOT attempt this recipe with any sort of substitution. It does not taste the same with ground turkey or any vegetarian meat substitute, sorry. Like I said, I've tried making a more adult version of this - substituting the ABC soup and ketchup for tomato paste, mixed veggies and orzo and swapping the cheddar cheese blend for mozzarella, but it just isn't as good. Nope, this is a tried-and-true, classic comfort food kind of a meal. Also exactly what I'll be having for dinner in leftover form tonight. Mmmmmm. (Have to have the leftovers tonight as I bought a pot roast at the butcher shop yesterday and I want to make that tomorrow.)

Oh, and speaking of the pot roast, I need to pick up some red wine for the recipe, so I thought I'd be all efficient and swing by the liquor store on my way home from Kiddo's school this morning, as there is a liquor store between there and here. Turns out that liquor stores aren't open before nine in the morning - who knew? Not me! Clearly I don't drink nearly enough to have this information! We only buy wine if we are having company over and/or if someone gives us a bottle, so whenever I have a recipe that requires wine (usually either pot roast or chicken French), I have to hit a liquor store for one of those teeny-tiny bottles that are only good if you're cooking or the sort of person who drinks in public out of a brown paper bag. So anyhow, now I have to head back out in the increasingly nasty weather on the increasingly slippery, messy roads and get my tiny paper bag of wine. Woot. Hopefully the store isn't playing The Christmas Shoes or I may be inspired to switch from Category A of tiny wine bottle purchaser to Category B!