And just like that, another school year is almost over. And now that I’m out of my pollen coma (*waves–remember me?), I realize I have tons of fun stuff to look forward to this summer with my three boys. Now that they’re getting older, I feel confident they can entertain themselves. Bon Bons here I come. FI-NALLY!

HANGING FROM CURTAIN RODS IS A FUN GAME! I THINK IT'S RATHER THOUGHTFUL THAT THEY DID IT ON BOTH SIDES SO THEY'D MATCH. I'M SURE HUBS WILL GET TO FIXING THAT WHEN THE STANLEY CUP IS OVER....OR IN 2014 SOMETIME. NO RUSH. NO RUSH.

Who needs educational games when we can just dump a family sized box of Cheez-It’s on the table and in the randy Christmas tree dish that’s most likely caked in dust. Bon appetit!

HO HO HO? WE DON'T NEED ANY FANCY CAMPS TO LEARN ABOUT SPACIAL RELATIONS!

We’ll be hitting the open road for sure. How lucky are we that 4 year old is totally qualified to run his own safety patrol? I mean, if he doesn’t come down with a rare dust induced botulism. Or the neighborhood kids don’t give him a wedgie—he did just shriek that a kid was riding his bike without a helmet on—on the movie Frankenweenie.

WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE BEAR. YOU'RE ALONG FOR THE RIDE BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I'M BUYING YOU A DOUGHNUT TOO!

Freeloader!

Some people like to lounge pool side at a fancay club. Not us! We keepin’ it real in the hood.

GUNITE POOLS AND SNACK BARS ARE SO OVERRATED. WHEEEEEE!

WT, two sides painted shed with dead flowers in windowbox, optional.

(Not pictured: mom holding beer in a can with Lands’ End granny suit on reading trashy magazine. Hear no evil, see no evil!)

Party on, rockstars, it’s summahtime!

There is likely nothing I can say about the horror show at the Boston Marathon yesterday that hasn’t been said already.

I was born in Boston. I grew up not twenty miles outside Boston. Raised by two Bostonians, one of whom was a Boston police detective, who was the son of a Boston Police Captain. I lived in the city as an adult. And so it has been for my family, and for me, our home for generations, even though I have since moved some fifty miles north.

Like so many, I have dear friends who ran the race yesterday. Who worked tirelessly to train for what was supposed to be a joyous event. And who are thankfully alive and well, as are their families.

Like so many, I have children of my own.

And so somehow, this all feels very personal. As it should. We should all take it personally, that someone would assault and terrorize our friends, families, fellow citizens, beloved guests from America and abroad, in our city, state, and country.

I don’t know what will happen in a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, two years, five years, fifty years. And yes, that scares the hell out of me. But I do know this. You do not mess with a city like Boston. Boston is Paul Revere and a midnight ride. It’s six generations Brahmin. Four generation Irish. One generation Cape Verdean. And everything in between and back again. It’s Regina and Santarps– the best pizza in the world. (Sorry, New York.) It is cold tea in Chinatown at 2 AM. It’s college transplants who come, fall in love, and never leave. It’s doctors, cops, bartenders. It’s bad accents we love to hate and hate to love. And Dunkin’ Donuts. On ever corner. (Really.) It’s Filene’s Basement (RIP) and the Pru. Triple deckers and brownstones. Universities and hospitals. Boston is wicked smaht. Just asked Donnie Wahlberg.

Boston doesn’t bow to queens. Or crazies. And definitely not to terrorists.

Boston is grit and determination. Boston is courage. Boston is PRIDE.

Boston is the Marathon. It’s Uta Pippig. Bobby Orr. Larry Bird. Doug Flutie. “Manny Ortiz”. Ted Williams. Boston is The Garden. Fenway. The Red Sox.

It’s the ghosts of yesterday and the promise of today.

Boston was cursed once. It won’t be cursed twice.

That is one thing I do know.

I love that dirty water, don’t you?

PHOTO CREDIT: www.kimworld.com

**On a side note, Erin Gale Williams is the winner of the book pack, I Just Want To Pee Alone and Mommy Mixology: A Cocktail for Every Calamity. Please email me at janet@muffintopmommy.com so I can email you with details. Congrats.

So, hubs found out last week that he needs to have surgery this week. Don’t bust out your rosary beads or your Buddha or call your Rabbi–it’s totally minor. (Which is why he’s feeling his pulse and pacing. But you need to know this IS the guy who turned ashen and shrieked, “What’s gonna happen to meeeee!?” when he realized I’d inadvertently given him a tuna sammie on a roll that had one TEENY, TINY, TEENY bit of mold on it. What? It wasn’t on purpose! Go to Burger King if you want it your way! I ain’t no Mrs. Patmore.)

WHAT IS SHE TRYING TO FEED ME NOW????

I know what you’re thinking. You. And You. AND you. What’s a little day surgery when he’s lived through almost 13 years of my culinary catastrophes. What’s a little day surgery when he’s survived at least a dozen common colds and three near misses with self diagnosed terminal Web-MD illnesses?

Right?

He’ll be fiiiine. I would be breaking HIPPA laws and probably marital ones too if I told you what he’s in for. Rhymes with kerplernia. 

Because I love him, I fully planned to see him through this. For better or worse. For poorer or poorer. In sickness breaking a collar bone racing a Razor scooter on Mother’s Day, blowing out a knee pretending to be a Solid Gold dancer at high school reunion, no hard feelings and in health. I have been there. I am there. I will be there. Like Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything. Only more. And better. (No offense, Peter Gabriel. This isn’t about you.) Instead of a boom box, I’ll have People mag. Trash tv. Ginger ale. I’ll make sure his TMZ app is working (Yes he has it. Would I EVEN make that up?!!) AND I’ll be keeping the kids from jumping on his recuperating kerplernia-ness. I won’t try to take advantage of him in his fragile state. (Just so we’re clear, slurred consent for me buying bling will hold up in court, yes? Any barristers in da house??)

YOUR WIFE WILL BE RIGHT IN TO SEE YOU. JUST AS SOON AS SHE'S BACK FROM THE JEWELRY STORE. MORE PERCS?

But seriously. I was all, “I got this!”

Then? He said something along the lines of—it’s all kind of hazy now—”By the way, I won’t be able to shower for like five days after the surgery. And, you’re going to need to change my dressings.”

WHACHUTALKINBOUTWILLIS!

Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat. Willis! Hubs! Soon to be Stinkyass! Whatever your name is!? What!?

I don’t remember much after that. I think I called my shrink. Oh wait, I don’t have a shrink. I mean, I opened my beer. And I said –to him–not the beer, “Now you are really taking this for better or worse chit a little too far lately. I am not yet 40–I have my whole half my life ahead of me! Can’t we save the Nurse Ratchet bit for Bingo time? If you want a dressing change, please, I am totally willing to go Italian to blue cheese–boom–just ask! I am here for you!” When I brought out the box of Elmo bandaids to be helpful, I do have to wonder—and I’m just throwing it out there—if he fleetingly wondered if maybe bringing English major flowers on a random Tuesday miiiight have helped my outlook?

I’m kidding.

Mostly.

But dude.

Five days of not showering? Changing dressings? While he’s laid up in bed surfing the net convinced he’s having kerplernia after shock complications that could cause blindness/ketosis/cirrhosis/deafness/impotence/male pattern baldness/typhoid/scarletfever/measles/sepsis/fungalungameningialcarpaltunnelness.

Who. Who’s busting me outta this joint?!!!

SO…

We have a winnah of the Honeywell Energy Smart 360 Heater!

As promised, the drawing was random:

YUP, THAT'S A DARTMOUTH HAT. NOPE, I DIDN'T GO THERE. WOULD AN IVY LEAGUER EMPLOY SUCH LOW TECH RAFFLE METHODS? I DID DRINK THERE ONCE AND WHEN I WEAR THE HAT, I FEEL ALL NH GOOD WILL HUNTING.

Child labor ensured the process ran smoothly, efficiently, and with the utmost of integrity:

NO PEEKSIES. HE'S A PROFESSIONAL.

AND, WE HAVE A WINNAH!

"BECKY B! BECKY B! BECKY B IS THE GUY WHO WON THE PRIZE! WAIT, WHAT IS THE PRIZE?"

I told him Becky B. is a gal, and that the prize is the heater. I don’t think he much cared. He raced around the family room with the slip of paper, “Becky BEEEEEEEEEEE.” Becky, five year old will never forget ya! Congrats! Email me your deets to janet@muffintopmommy.com and your heater will be on its way soon.

As for the rest of you, I am only sorry you couldn’t ALL be winners, kind of like child athletes. But I only had ONE special heater to give. I recommend the rest of you steer clear of state lotteries, casinos, and possibly even Bingo (Those octogenarians will trample you with their HurryCane. They will.). I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, but you lost in a 1 in 18 chance raffle. Hold on to your money, honey!

I decided to celebrate Becky B’s win. And simultaneously drown my sorrows about your loss. We are the world.

ALSO, I HAD TO TRY OUT MY NEW FUN WINE GLASS. I LOVE IT--IT SCREAMS, "STEP OFF BOYS, THIS IS MAMA'S GLASS!", BUT IN FRENCH... IT MADE MY CHIANTI TASTE EVEN BETTER---THE ONLY RED WINE I CAN INGEST WITHOUT WINDING UP IN FETAL POSITION. YIPPEE!

Speaking of Vegas, the Boston weatherman said today that a funky storm system that is in Vegas today is going to whirl its way to Boston/the NH Saturday night and dump 6-12 inches on us!

I KNEW "WHATEVER HAPPENS IN VEGAS, STAYS IN VEGAS!" WAS A BUNCHABULLSHITE! THANKS FOR NUTHIN' , CHUMPS!

I told you gambling was bad! *exceptfreeMuffintopmommyblograffling

In other news, my office is painted its new color. I like to call it, “jailbird grey”. I like it. I don’t looooooove it. I like it more at night. And I think I’ll like it more when the touch up is done, and all my stuff is moved back in, including my colorful DIY curtains and chair. I’m working like a turtle to get my new Muffintop DIY blog up so I won’t bore those of you who only showed up for the funny and not the scary DIY projects!

LIKE THE DROP CLOTHS HUBS USED? I'M SURE IT WON'T BE HARD TO GET PAINT OFF MY HARDWOOD FLOOR. I'M NOT SAYING A WORD BECAUSE HE PAINTED FOR ME WHILE I WAS OUT RABBLEROUSING WITH MY GIRLFRIEND BUYING CHALK PAINT AND A MADAME GLASS. PAINT. WHAT PAINT? I DON'T SEE ANY PAINT!

FYI, jailbird grey is Stonington Gray by Benjamin Moore. However, I cheated on Benny with Val. Spar. Valspar. From Lowe’s. They have a new low VOC, high def paint that I’ve heard wonderbar things about. It’s paint plus primer and Lowe’s said two coats should do it and one gallon should do the whole room. But the first can of paint was really, really thin and we (hubs) used up almost the whole gallon on one coat. So….we had to buy another gallon. Which was bizarroly thicker and seemed better. ?????? Someone on quality control must’ve been sniffing glue, the cracksmokers. It was like two different paints. All in all, not.a.fan. And, it didn’t wind up being cheaper than Benny in the long run. Take me back, Ben! Take me back!!!!

(I used to talk to real men. Back when I was single. And ready to mingle. As my friend likes to say. But now? Now I talk to paint. That’s totally normal.)

G’day, muffintoppers, I’m off to commiserate with Madame tonight over Downton Abbey being over. Love, hugs, and randomosity–peace out!

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. With three little kids and almost 13 years of marriage, I’m just hoping hubs will come home from work and sing something romantic to me.

“Let’s go Outback to-niiiight!” 

Curbside takeaway=porn for moms. Aim high. (I know. How greedy of me to hope for more after the promise of microwave slippers a few weeks ago. Don’t get all jealous, ladies. It’s not a good look!)

Hey, we can’t ALL live at Downton Abbey. My cook and lady maid are on extended vacay. Listen, we all have to play the hand we’re dealt! (Sometimes you get to frolic upstairs at Downton and eat with 27 silver utensils, sometimes you have to stir soup downstairs, and sometimes you’re stuck in suburgatory!) I’m not an addict. 

With arctic temps and over two feet of snow dumped on us this past weekend, it’s no shock my Valentine and I have our biggest rows over the thermostat. You’d think the muffin top would insulate but nooooo. Irish McFreezypants had to marry a hot blooded Italian who wears t-shirts inside the house in winter and fans himself with all the dramatics of a strange southern debutante with a Boston accent, “I’m sweeeeltahring!”

I’m sorry, Scahlett O’Hah-ra. Jeez. Since I’m shuffling about like a 4 foot kid from A Christmas Story, I’m not sympathetic!

So imagine my delight when I got the chance to review a Honeywell Energy Smart 360 Surround heater—just in time for the most wonderful time of the year! Along with mah gift of extra, energy efficient warmth, I received the following info which, I believe, demonstrates I am NOT the cray cray one in this house!

JUDGE AND JURY, I REST MY CASE!

MMM HMM. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

I have to say this is a great little ceramic heater. It’s perfect to put under my desk by my feet while I work on my next book read Peep, and in our playroom which is often chilly since it abuts the non-heated garage–and it’s lightweight enough with convenient carrying handle to tote wherever my muffin top desires! It’s super quiet so it will not disturb any important Mario Kart racing, Lord Grantham viewing, or wine slurping. It has a wonderful control panel allowing you to adjust the temperature depending on how Christmas Story-ish you’re feeling, and how energy conscious you are! (Hey super duper green peeps, tada! You can pre-program the thermostat and even see how much energy you’re using with this heater.) This heater packs a punch as it can blast heat all the way around–hence the 360– or you can just use the 180 for a more targeted effect, and has excellent safety features like an overheat protection device, so you don’t burn the joint down! Bonus! (No really. Remember when Italian boy almost burned the house down thawing a pipe last year?)

Here’s what this little beauty looks like in real life—so you can see the scale:

SEE? TOTALLY COMPACT AND UNOBTRUSIVE!

Good news, m’ ladies (and m’ cold lords), you too can have a chance to experience this gem. Honeywell has graciously offered to send a heater to one lucky, soon to be toasty roasty, muffintopmommy reader. All you have to do is leave a comment with your name, and we will have a super official drawing—probably someone under 8 years old will pick a name out of a mixing bowl. You don’t even have to subscribe to mah blog, like me on Facebook, leave a blood sample, follow me on twitter, Pinterest, or the grocery store! (But I surely love when you do— minus the grocery store stalking–I don’t need you seeing the processed snacks in my cart!) Please enter here by next Monday, February, 18th by midnight. South Floridians need not apply. (I’m kidding! I know it gets like 45 down there at 2 in the morning once a year, you lovelies!). Heaters can be shipped to U.S. addresses only.

So what are you waiting for? Even if you don’t win, microwave slippers and a fabulous portable heater? For $59.99, or roughly the price of a Lands’ End sweater, you’re totally in biz. Visit www.kaz.com for more information on this and other Honeywell heaters.

Stay warm, muffintoppers!

*Honeywell did provide me with a free heater for review purposes. All opinions expressed are 100% my own. As usual. Ahem. 

SOMEONE LOOKS LIKE HE COULD USE SOME HEAT!

I hope everyone is enjoying winter—especially all of you who live in warmer climes you lucky bastards. No hard feelings! Even 4 year old is over it. He asked me “When can we see the grass again?” on the way to school the other day. What a sad sight—him gazing out the window like he was missing a friend. “I dun like the cold!” That’s mah boy!

I WILL ADMIT *GRUMBLEGRUMBLE* IT CAN BE GORGEOUS. WHEN I'M NOT SKIDDING, FALLING ON MY ARSE, OR FEELING MY EXTREMITIES GO NUMB. I AM SUCH A GLASS HALF FULL PERSON! *PATS SELF ON FLEECE CLAD FREEZING COLD BACK

I’m getting to the point now that after a few weeks of zero-ish temps, and all of us being cooped up inside like mad science experiments, that in addition to buying stranger’s furniture on Craigslist and covering it in Boca Raton-esque fabric, I’ve taken to asking random, warm climate people on social media if they’ll adopt a 39 year old muffin top. That’s not weird right? It’s….social. What? I said I’d bring drinks and party snacks–I’m no free loader. My hubs is apparently not into me running away from home to become a carnie or shack up with internet strangers. Buzzkill. Instead, he had me scouring the internet for cheap flights to Florida. I said, “We didn’t budget for this!” with the faux indignation of an English major, and he said, “Sell your body on the corner!” (I’m kidding! Don’t worry—I am not dropping my Merona drawers—that would clearly get us nowhere.) Btw, is anyone skeered  the English major is the one talking budgets in this joint? I’m just saying, a few misplaced decimal points could have me bagging groceries at Market Bucket when I’m 80. I need to look into that. As soon as I get back from my budget trip to Flerida in April.

I'M A BUDGET HAWK. SEE? STORE CEREAL.

Of course the store cereal was met with hisses and boos this morning. “Where is Tony the Tiger?!” to which I responded, “Shut up, hubs. The $2 I saved is gonna get me a 1/3 of a beer in Flo-rida!”

Damn right.

In a high fallutin twist, I did make a coffee cake  this morning(Pillsbury. FANCCCAAAY!) which thoroughly confused my ingrate kids more than the absence of Tony the tiger.

4 yo: What’s that?
5 yo: Coffee cake.
4 yo: Is it spicy?
5 yo: (With utter disdain…) NO! It’s doesn’t HAVE coffee in it!
4 yo: Well what’s in it then?
5 yo: CAKE! Cake is in it!
4 yo: I dun like it. (Didn’t even try it.)
5 yo, half way through his piece: I don’t like this cake. It’s gross.

Mature Adult aka ME: It is NOT! Eat your fake Frosted Flakes!

But not even old man winter or the biting culinary reviews of preschoolers can cut down the spring in mah boots. Because you see, I’m so loving, I get hawt emails from my hubs. Last night he was putting the kids to bed and shocker! Must have left our tv on (pertinent to the story!) which led him to email me from upstairs. (I know, let that one sink for a while. He emailed me from within the house.) The title said, “HOT BOOTIES” and the inside of the email was blank.

What the? *Blinks* I didn’t know we had THOSE channels!

I emailed back—from all the way downstairs, “I have no idea what to say right now.”

He wrote, “Google them.”

Oh ladies! The romance is ALIVE! Keep your roses on V Day and rock my world with MICROWAVEABLE SLIPPERS!!!!!! and a 30 pack, jack! Every kiss does NOT begin with Kay–it begins with Mama having warm feet!!!!

I present, “Hot Booties!” (What are you waiting for? Prepare to have your mind blown. Click it! Wait. This is not what it looks like. I swear!)

OMG, THEY ARE EVEN ON SALE! SHAZAM!!!

Who needs ya’ now, Flerida!!!!!!!!!