Storyteller's broken heart

I need help. Storyteller has a friend from the old private school. We tried to keep in contact with the girl but her family never return our calls. I didn't want to make a nuisance of ourselves so I finally stopped allowing Storyteller to call her friend. I thought that Storyteller would eventually forget her but it's been 6 months now.

Yesterday Storyteller told me that "Ami" is her best friend in all the world but "She's like an ice cube. Once she was here but now she's all melted. There's nothing left." OH MY GOSH! HOW SAD IS THAT? My heart broke for this child. All Storyteller wants to do is go and play with this little girl.

I don't understand why they won't return phone calls. I thought that perhaps they didn't want to continue the friendship because we live in a different town from them. We are always in that other town. I don't know if they realize this.

Anyway, now I wonder whether I should write the other family a note asking whether we could get together for a playdate. Should I explain that we spend a lot of time in their town? We're there at least 2 days a week. I really don't know what to do. I'm as lost and confused as my little Storyteller.

All I know is that my little Storyteller is mourning the lose of her friend. My heart breaks for Storyteller. I just want to find those people and beg them to keep in contact with us. So any words of wisdom would be welcomed. If you have some insight this situation I would be more than happy to entertain all suggestions.

Christmas conspiracy!

There is a Christmas conspiracy! I kid you not. And it is in the store near you. I don't mean the over-commericialization of Christmas. I mean the candy that is available for Christmas is completely limited to chocolate. I've started noticing over the last two years that Christmas candy variety is being taken over by chocolate! Don't get me wrong I love chocolate as any good American woman does. But does every available candy option need to be chocolate?

Some of my favorite Christmas candy is chocolate. Who couldn't resist a chocolate Santa? What about a marshmellow chocolate covered snowman or a Santa? I love chocolate bells, especially if they have peanut butter in the centers. Of course there are plenty of candy canes but after that there really isn't much left these days.

I miss those mallow creme candies shaped like Santas, reindeer, and bells. (They were made from the same stuff as candy corn.) What about all those hard tack candies that are traditional candy at Christmas. I found a small container of those in Walgreens on the shelf just above the floor. So you know how they rate.

Why has chocolate taken over? Did some rabid investors in the cocao bean see falling prices and found away to make a market? Or has the American taste bud become so unadventerous? Why do we as a culture always dumb down to the common denominator?

Ask me what I want for Christmas-- All I want for Christmas is some candy variety!

More sexy neighbor tales

Well, I finally got all the icicle lights up on the house last week. To do this we had to borrow an extention ladder from the "perfect family" down the street. By the way their house and yard had been decorated for a couple of weeks. Let's just say Santa shouldn't have trouble finding their house on Christmas eve. All their trees have lights; their sidewalk leading up to the front door is lit like a runway; the house roof is outlined in lights. I think they even have those reindeer made from lights in their front yard.

After completing the task of the lights I returned the ladder. This was on Saturday early afternoon. Sexy neighbor comes to the door, her hair perfect brushed and wavy, cute jeans and a red blouse with one of those sweater things that glitter (I think they're called shrugs?). She had been vacuuming her living room. All of the rooms that I could see into were decorated for the holiday. So I told her I had left the ladder in her garage (they leave it open most the time) and I asked whether they were having a party. The older boy (who I think DQ has a crush on) was dressed rather smartly himself. Sexy neighbor said they were having a few guest this week but not today. So I looked at her and asked, "Do you always dress up to clean house?" "I mean do you do yard work in evening wear?"

Of course she denied dressing up to clean house. They had been to the oldest son's recital. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask what he played. I was simply amazed that the woman could clean house and still look so damn put together. Truly aggravating!

Now I have to explain that I like this woman. She has a great sense of humor. But for some reason she makes me feel inadequate. I don't think she even intends to do that. (You guys know what I mean we all know at least one woman who works hard at making you feel inferior to her.) She is really a down to earth kind a person and is fun to be around. I just wish I had some of her style.

Manic Mass of Christ!

I really marvel at my parents. If we were anything like my children at Christmas time my parents deserve a medal! Especially for not killing us in our manic state. Yes! A manic state has creeped into our lives. The girls are all pumped up with visions of gifts, and gifts, and gifts.

I contemplate not celebrating Christmas. I think about telling the kids to forget Christmas morning because Santa called and said you all are too wild. Of course we do the normal threatening... "You better behave because Santa's watching!" Yet this doesn't even seem to phase them. It's like they know they'll get the goods no matter how bad they behave.

I don't know, Christmas is somehow different than when I was a kid. I was always excited about Santa coming. I wondered what I would get. I asked Santa for stuff and usually didn't get it. But you know I was never truly heart-broken, or disappointed. It was just great to run out to the living room and see all the presents under the tree. To wake Mom and Dad up early. To turn the tree on and watch the twinkling lights. To smell ginger bread men and other goodies hanging in the air-- it was all a promise. A promise that it was going to be the best day of the year. And you know I can't think of a single Christmas that wasn't wonderful.

What surprises me is how I have to go wake up the kids in the morning. I have already turned on the tree lights; had a cup of hot chocolate or coffee; and sat enjoying the quiet peaceful morning. I savor that brief moment in the morning, and then I can't stand it any longer and I go wake up those little darlings. I watch their faces as they see what Santa brought them.

Last year I had to explain to a disappointed DQ that a bike is a good thing. Better than the thing she asked Santa for-- a suitcase. Oh the drama of the morning. I really lost my cool. It was during the shower I took that I understood/realized what DQ must of thought when she didn't find what she asked for from Santa. I'm still kicking myself for the decision I made last year. I should have bought her the bag and gave Storyteller the bike. ST uses it more than DQ does any old day. Don't worry Storyteller's getting a bike this year. The best part is it's all put together already!

I've noticed this mania seems to increase with their age. Of course I suppose at some point this will end too. Especially after they realize that there isn't a real Santa Claus. If they turn into materialistic grubby monsters at that point I may just go ahead and skip Christmas presents all together. I'll use the money that I would spend on a charity that does excellent work. I'd much rather build a home half way around the world than buy some spoiled child an X-box or a Wii or what ever will be in fashion then. But that's the future. Right now they are the sweetest little girls. They're excited, sweet little girls that I love dearly.

Miss Sunshine

When I look at Miss Independence I see a doll that I use to play with as a child. It's one of those toys that no one else seems to remember. It was actually a set of dolls. They were called the Sunshine family. They were the hippie family. In fact with each doll and accessory you bought came with a little yellow card that told you how to recycle common things into furniture and other items for the family. I remember one card showed how you could cut an oatmeal container down to create a table and chair. Another had a bunch of ideas for egg cartons.

Mom was a cute little blonde doll. She had the cutiest button nose. The baby was as blonde as the mommy doll. Dad doll was dark haired and wore comfortable clothes. No suits and ties for this man. In fact I doubt he ever saw a tux. Not even on the wedding day. It's rather funny that my very conservative, Republican mother would have bought these dolls for me. Life's ironic, isn't it?

Well I was playing with Miss Independence today and I could see a resemblance to the mom doll. Miss Independence has the cutiest nose. It has freckles on it. Of course her smile ranges from impish to angelic. I call her Morning Glory because she wakes up with a smile and a giggle. MI is certainly going to make an impression on the world.

Wonder if she'll be a hippie?

The power curve.

Just this morning I said something that I heard all my life. It was something my father always said. I think he said it to drive my mother crazy. My Mom is not the most punctual individual you will ever meet. My father was a punctual man. I think he hated to be late.

When travelling with my mother anywhere she knew exactly how long it took to get there on a good day when the travel gods are with you. You know you hit all the green lights; you're not stuck behind an old codger doing 20 miles below the speed limit, etc. If it took 5 minutes to get there under those conditions then Mom would leave exactly 5 minutes before the appointment/event.

Dad, on the other hand, planned an extra 10 to 15 minutes into the travel time. If it looked like your actions made some of those extra minutes disappear, my father would bellow, "We're 4 minutes behind the power curve!" I remember once when my mother told my father that she hated "his power curve".

This morning I heard myself telling my children that if we didn't hurry we would be behind the power curve. So my father lives on. He lives on by what I do and say. By my teaching my children the things he taught me. I suppose that is why some people are so insistent that their children procreate. They want some measure of immortality.

At this point I don't want grandchildren. My father always said that if he had known how much fun grandchildren were he would have skipped us. I have no idea whether this was an original thought or whether he stole it from someone else. It really doesn't matter because to me he owns those words. He took such great delight in them.

So here's to you Dad! You did your best with all of us. We know you loved us. I thank God we had time to settle our differences and find in each other great joy.