First, let me confess I’m wearing an unmentionable right now. But I’ll mention it anyway. Because as one of my friends aptly said, “You are just living your life out loud!”

Yes.I.am.

And yet? You keep coming back! You had your chance to run from the muffintopmommy madness. But that is why I LOVE you!

So you know how hub’s just had his minor surgery, right? For a belly button hernia that went rogue—it was a baddie. I knew he’d be laid up for a few days so as a joke, and because Amazon makes it so easy for impulsive muffintops who might have had a few beers to click twice and BOOM, get some fun merch in a just few short days……I ordered hubs a recuperating gift. A bright blue, as seen on TV, FOREVER LAZY! Yes, yes I did. I know what you’re thinking. They really need to start installing breathalizers on computers, kind of like when people get arrested for DUI repeatedly and the authorities put that thingy on their car so the car won’t start because they are clearly bound to try to drink and drive again and thus eventually harm innocents? That’s what they need for computers, right?  I decided no one who would blow over a .08 on a breathalizer should be responsible for late night Amazon purchases or Facebook comments. Until vital societal changes are implemented, you got me again, Amazon, you got me!

LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, KIDS--THIS TOO COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!

Anyway, can you believe the ingrate has not even worn it? He looked at it with utter disdain, touched the material, and muttered, “Gross.”

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I married Queer Eye for the Straight Guy!

“Fine!” I huffed, “I’ll wear it! It even has a hood—in case a sudden gust of wind whips through the family room! I? Am always thinking of you!”

Meanwhile, I have listened impatiently to all his croaking about his “button”. Yes, it’s been shortened from belly button to “button”. The kids are all, “How’s your button, daddy?” “How are you feeling, daddy?” HEY KIDS, I pushed all of you out, one I swear with a fake Epidural bought on ebay, one after 4.5 hours of pushing, and one of you weighed almost ten pounds! I know, I know, old news, yada, yada. And we know I’m the sympathetic sort once a year. So as hubs lamented the day after his surgery, “I can’t believe they cut my tummy open yesterday. It really hurts!” I couldn’t help but reply, “They cut your tummy open, but the good news is, they didn’t hand you a baby immediately after and say, ‘You gotta take care of this little one now.’” Oh yeah. That was for you c-section mamas! *Pats self on the back of mah new Forever Lazy.*

It’s good that the surgery has brought us closer together as a couple though. Just the other day, I received this email from him:

Hubs: My belly button is stinging, but looks amazing.  All the crap is falling off

Me: Who says old married couples don’t still get love notes?

(Sorry if you just threw up in your mouth, but I figured if you made it past the Forever Lazy summary, you’re a hearty bunch!)

So today, I made good on my threat. I decided the FL would get some action. I wanted to paint a small chair I bought to reupholster (yeah I’m still up to that shitz–still planning to start my DIY blog!) and figured, HA!, the FL would be a kick ass painting suit to wear!

SNEAK PREVIEW!

The only problem is, when I went to put a quick coat of paint on the chair in my garage, I opened the door and 4 year old ran out with no shoes, no coat, and we had to get ready for a school event. I didn’t want him getting all wet and muddy. But of course he darted around the corner and I shouted for him to come back.

Again.

And again.

I poked my head around the side of the garage.

Nothing.

I stuck my paint stained slipper clad foot onto the driveway and yelled.

Nothing!

You know where this is going. I had to walk out of my house in broad daylight at 5 pm in my…..bright ass blue Forever Lazy. Now splattered with Annie Sloan duck egg blue, and cream spray paint, as sad accessories. I looked like a cross between a crazed inmate and Cookie Monster.

The best part? Is that when I bent over, I felt a draft. There is a zipper on this thang that goes across my arse –didn’t even know til 5 year old unzipped it when I bent over. (Always read the fine print when you shop late night! Never know when you might need to air out your arse!)

I don’t think I’m getting invited to the block party.

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’m on political overload.

Sound familiar?

I’m not the first to blog about this. And in truth, this post is an extension of something I wrote a few years ago but never published. But now? Things are worse and I am more weary. More jaded. More aggravated.

Social media, my happy place–my daily escape, my window to the world (Shut up. I know I need to get out more.) isn’t even safe anymore! If I see one more snarky political comment on Facebook or twitter, Imma explode. Implode? I’m going to lose my shit. There. I said it. See what happens when you push the muffin top?

I love my country. I want what’s best for it. I’m a big fan of snark! Huge! BUT….we’ve reached saturation, doncha think? And to that end, I can only surmise things need to change. There is a lack of basic civility surrounding politics, and it starts from the top down. Or maybe the bottom up? Politicians don’t seem to work together for the common good–they all seem to have their own agenda, most of which involves power, imo. I guess if we’re being honest, that’s not so new. You can only have it your way at Burger King, you douche canoes!

STUPID POLS PROBABLY CAN'T EVEN AGREE ON WHERE TO GRAB LUNCH. I SUGGEST BK! Photo credit: Photobucket

We are all entitled to our beliefs—-that’s the very best thing about our country, in my opinion. And because these beliefs are personal–it can seem “personal” when they–our beliefs– and by extension, WE, are attacked. But. But! Now more than ever, citizens can and do hide behind computer screens and hurl nasty insults toward strangers and friends alike. Instead of healthy discourse it reads more like a food fight. Or a sucker punch. A hit and run even. Don’t we all deserve better? Can’t we DO better? Is this the best example to set for our kids? That when we disagree with someone, it’s okay to call them names and even bully them? Would you walk up to a stranger or an acquaintance at a cocktail party/soccer game/Cracker Barrel and call them a dummy? A warmonger? A hippie freak?

RIP CIVILITY.

Will that really help them to try to understand your point of view?

Before the debate started the other night, I wrote this on my muffintopmommy page on Facebook:

I really wish Andy Cohen could moderate the prez debate tonight. We could drink every time Barack says “moving forward” and Mitt says “deficit”. (Scratch that. Getting your stomach pumped at the ER when you’re a grown up is a no no.) 

He could ask Mitt pressing questions like what would Ann do if he took a call in a vineyard away from the table and started speaking Italian? He could ask Barack if he’s ever done a back flip in the White House foyer and chipped a tooth while he and Michelle had company. 

Really. We need to inject a little humor into this whole thing. We needs some MAZEEELLLLL!

Honestly? I was only half kidding. We can kill each other….or we can laugh about it and try to figure out a better way.

Regardless of where your political loyalties lie, chances are, first and foremost, your loyalties lie with your family. Let’s face it, the guys down in Washington—are mostly a bunch of schmucks. Democrat, Republican….I don’t think it really matters. See, I’m thinking, the gig’s about up. I’m onto them. While they wine and dine with lobbyists, with who knows what agenda, we’re at home, putting the interests of our families first. When they make decisions about this country’s future, are they considering the best interests of our collective families?

We have runaway spending while our roads crumble and schools falter and the suits point fingers and posture for the cameras. They get all shouty and start wagging their extremities. Nobody will cop to doing or saying anything wrong. No one will EVER just say, “I’m sorry” and ask for forgiveness when they mess up. No one collaborates–they obfuscate. It’s their way or nuthin’. Come on, you know their moms taught them better than that. How can you fix something when no one will admit it’s broken or offer any viable solutions?

TELL THE TRUTH! SAY YOU’RE SORRY WHEN YOU EFF SHIT UP. IS THAT SO HARD?????

Sorry. Sorry. I’m shouting. See? See? They’re doing it to me!

It’s time to start a revolution. The answer is clear. It’s time for mommies to take Washington, if only temporarily to show them how it’s done. Face it, we’re always on borrowed time. We can’t be lifers in Washington. Our families need us. But I contend that if we went down there for even a few weeks, the difference would be palpable and we could solve most of what ails our beloved country.

We’re fierce negotiators, even among the toughest of adversaries who can be, ahem, petulant and irrational at times (sound familiar politicians?). We balance strict budgets, work under severe time constraints, and arrive on schedule with our homework in hand. Our work ethic is unparalleled, as we are accustomed to working hours on end with no breaks, and no complaints. (Okay, maybe a few complaints. We’re moms not martyrs.) We juggle kids, jobs, homework, cooking, cleaning, shuttling and scheduling, and we do it all with a smile. Or a smirk. Maybe a few swears under our breath. But let’s not split hairs now. We teach our kids to play nice in the sandbox and it’s about time some of that is done in our nation’s capitol!

DON'T JUDGE ME BY MY APPEARANCE. I HAVE A LOT OF GREAT IDEAS! I WORK WELL WITH OTHERS! I'M KIND! I WILL OFFER YOU BOOZE AND PARTY SNACKS WHILE WE FIGURE SHIT OUT!

Just in my group of friends alone, we are or once were, sales people, educators, doctors, lawyers, nurses, real estate professionals, computer specialists and money managers. We come from all walks of life, and from different political parties. We don’t agree on everything, but we agree on one thing. The future success of this country depends on our ability to keep our future generations in mind, our kids and our kid’s kids.  If given the chance, we mommies could solve our education, healthcare, housing, defense and infrastructure problems, balance the budget and maybe even have homemade cupcakes on everyone’s desk by month’s end. Okay, maybe that’s optimistic, especially if I’m baking, but admit it, it’s not the craziest idea I’ve ever had, is it?

I’m crying uncle. This crazy shizz that’s going on down in DC…just ain’t working.

DON'T THESE GUYS DESERVE BETTER THAN A BILL OF GOODS?

Wake me up when the election is over!

So remember a few weeks ago when I said I feel like a biggity buzz kill sometimes, but I would not not not inflict my thoughts on my kids? I vowed to let them go and watch them fly.

As it turns out, surprise! My six year old really seems to dig math. I figured this out over the course of the year and his teacher confirmed it. Good for him! So when a form came home asking if we wanted to sign him up for something called “Math Superstars”, which is  just a few sheets of extra math homework per week, I leapt at the chance for him to math it up.

Now, I wasn’t a horrible math student, but I had to work really hard for average grades, and I despised it like Ohio State hates Michigan, like Carol Brady hated kids playing ball in the house, like muffin top hates swimsuits. With the exception of tying for first place in the multiplication table contest with a smartypants in third grade, I was no standout. (Did I mention the prize was a trip out for an ice cream sundae with the teacher? Ladies and gentlemen, meet Pavlov, the accidental mathematician!) 

Yes, yes I do.

Science and I–which sometimes seemed like thinly veiled math—were hardly bff’s either, but at least in science you could blow stuff up and learn to be grateful for the geniuses responsible for me being able to drive over bridges to fun vacation spots without plunging to my death—-go Physics!). Only because I was a motivated student kind of a nerd who went to a free math SAT prep class after school, did I actually manage to get a better score on my math SAT’s than my English. (You’re the man, Mr. Sweeney!) I’m not sure who that probably surprised more—my math teachers or my English teachers. Regardless, besides balancing my checkbook (and by balancing, I mean going online to see what’s what and making sure I didn’t blow the mortgage at Tarjay) and figuring out important math problems in my head (If the shoes are $59.99 and they are 40% off, how much are they? A great fracking deal!) I’ve steered mostly clear of math the past few decades.

I figured my kids’ math homework might stump me eventually, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I’m not going to lie to you. Some of the Math Superstar problems are hurting my head.

Example:

Five scarecrows had a candy corn eating contest.

Ben ate the most candy corns.

Jen ate more than Len.

Jen ate less than Ken.

Zen ate less than Len.

Write the scarecrows’ names in order to show how much candy corn they ate.

My son and I figured it out together but dude, this is why English people shouldn’t do math. My brain was whizzing. Why are scarecrows eating candy corn? They’re fake. Most scarecrows are badly dressed dudes, so what is Jen wearing? Not faded overalls and bad plaid I hope! And Jen ate more crap candy than two dudes–I wonder if she has a scarecrow muffin top? And anyway, who names their scarecrow Zen? Is Zen a Buddhist scarecrow? Isn’t it bad karma for Zen to try to scare away crows, who are gifts of nature, and overeat candy?

Moving on to exhibit B:

There are 3 children and 1 wagon ( I wanted so badly to scratch out the 3 and the 1 and write out three and one instead!). Two children can play at a time. One child can ride and one child can pull. In the table, show all the ways the children can ride and pull. (Then there is one column for child riding and one for child pulling.)

Well, this is a dumbass question. You know damn right well the one kid who doesn’t get a turn is going to be whining/crying/pitching a shit fit screeching, “When is it myyyyyyy turn? Is it myyyyyyyy turn yet?” You know the kid pulling is going to pull the wagon too fast, and you know that wagons were not designed by the smart bridge Physicists/Engineers because the damn things suck at hairpin turns. So you gotta figure the rider is getting dumped out onto the pavement. So that leaves two kids crying, pitching a shit fit, and one kid remaining. The one kid remaining will demand his turn from the whinybags who are crying, but the two cryers won’t want to pull him so he’ll start wailing, too.

Let’s review, mathletes: that leaves three kids crying, after only one turn. So that leaves 5 different turn combinations to go, math geniuses? I don’t think so. I’m calling bullshit on your fuzzy math. Meanwhile, the mom who sent the three to play with the wagon is cursing under her breath and counting the minutes til happy hour–she knew it was a stupid ass idea in the first place.

 You can be all Big Bang Theory Sheldon smart, but you can’t check your common sense at the door, son!

Finally? This one:

Teaka finishes dinner at 6 o’clock. She reads her book for 2 (t-w-o, mathletes, two!) hours. Then she goes to bed. Draw the hour and the minute hands on the clock to show when Teaka goes to bed.

Okay. But first….what book was Teaka reading? Is Teaka a kid or a grown up? This might help me guess what book. After she puts her book down, does she brush her teeth? Floss? Check her email? Balance her checkbook *cough*? Do some push ups? Write in her diary! Ooh! Check Facebook? Twitter? Pin some shit on Pinterest? Does she really go right to bed? I know you’re thinking the answer is 8 o’clock, but I find that hard to believe, frankly. But with no further information, I was forced to watch 6 year old put 8 on the little clock, but I do not feel good about it. At all. Because again? I have to call bullshit on the math superstars for leaving out pertinent info!

But I will hold my tongue. I will let him go. And I will watch him fly.

This is my brain on math and science.

As my brain explodes. (At what velocity and force, I really don’t know. I was probably talking about 90210 that day in Physics.)

A few months ago, a friend sent me an invitation to something called, “Pinterest”. Have you heard of it? I didn’t know what it was at first so I did what I always do when I don’t know what something is….nothing. (I put the I in initiative.) Then I got another invitation so I took the next step, set up an account under my alias, Muffintopmommy, and promptly forgot all about it. Til one day a few weeks ago when a funtastic muffintopper pointed me to a recipe blog called skinnytaste (nom, nom, low fat goodness!) whose glorious recipe pictures led me back to……Pinterest.

People? 2012 is the year I met my personal crack cocaine.

It was a circuitous route, but like all addicts, I perservered. And once I got there? It was the point of no return—I was ALL in. So now what? Naturally, Iwanna do like most good junkies do…. give others a taste and suck you all down my wayward path. That’s right. After being asked several times last week by friends what Pinterest is, I feel it is now my obligation to spread the good word. (I’m not going door to door. That’s just silly. It’s January in New Hampshire and this territory is owned by Girl Scouts right now. Have you ever tried to cross a sash clad, ponytailed, four foot tall ninja carrying an order form for the holy grail of minty cookies? Don’t. Just don’t. Just smile and give them all your money.)

Wanna come along? Consider this Pinterest 101. Right here. Right now. Time to woman up. This isn’ t for sissies. And it can be confusing. After one friend emailed me asking me to explain it and why it was so addictive, I sent her an email that I thought made sense, to which she responded:

“Ok, I think I kind of get it.  I can pin things to my board and they will stay there if I want to go back to them?  Do you share stuff with others?  I take it back…I don’t think I get it at all.”

She seemed down, so I emailed her back, “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.” Thank you, Pinterest, for reminding me of that phenomenal quote from The Help! I love you Aibileen, I love you!

People who are smart, kind, and important still often can’t grasp the concept of Pinterest because you see, it’s one of those things that’s harder to explain than it is to actually do. I know that sounds weird, but my best recommendation is to jump in with both feet and try it. You do need an invitation from someone who’s already on Pinterest. I know, it’s super exclusive. That’s why I am surprised I got an invite. (But really…if you need an invite, email me and I’ll send you one.)

So here’s my best stab at ‘splaining it. Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Did you ever cut out pictures from a magazine of things you liked… a fun outfit? A wedding dress? A cool looking kitchen? A yummy recipe? And pin them to an actual corkboard? (Yeah, me neither, but I kinda wish I did.) I hear people who aren’t like me (read:organized) do, or they carefully file these clippings away for future reference/inspiration.

Well now, even disorganized dopes with no initiative can display everything we love! The really crack coke part of it is, you can follow what others display too, and “repin” what they have displayed on your corkboards. And you can have dozens and dozens of corkboards showcasing anything and everything your muffin top desires! For example, I have categories like, “The Yummies” for recipes, “The funny” for hilarious sayings, “Shoes and clothes and shoes, oh my!” for houses (Der, clothes and shoes! Just making sure you’re paying attention–this is so not important!) ,  and “Let’s Get Physical” for exercise tips. I even have a board called, “People I Want To Have A Beer With” and “People I’m Allowed To Cheat On The Hubs With”! Calm down! Stop calling me Newt. It’s just for funnies and let’s face it, Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights isn’t into me hasn’t returned any of my  calls, text messages, or emails.

And who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane? Someone’s pin totally brought me back and led me to the greatness of this 70′s commercial:

Time for Timer!

Makes me teary. And inspiration? Is at your fingertips, my friends!

Can you even guess where I found this fat-tastic weight loss inspiration? Who needs to pay for Weight Watchers! Pfft!

 So pin those yummy recipes, Julia! Showcase the most fashionable outfits you’ll never fit into or be able to buy, Gisele! Pine away for that perfect porch to have a cocktail on, Martha! Be inspired to conquer your muffin top, um, Muffintopmommy!

See, Pinterest is almost like the life we wish we had or everything we aspire to be: in shape, well dressed, well spoken, well intentioned, grammatically correct, repurposing, funny, inspirational, selves……..who drive fantastic cars, cook like famous chefs, sip gorgeous cocktails on sweeping verandas whilst taking time to smell the perfectly pruned hydrangeas.

Mama can dream. Mama.can.dream. Don’t we all deserve a break, if only virtual, from cars covered in winter’s salt, shirts we bought because they were on clearance at Target, and humdrum dinners we could assemble in our sleep?

But hey, just don’t blame me if you’re soon writing status updates on your Facebook page like I did last week:

Dear Pinterest, thanks for making me hungry, hate my clothes, and want a new baby. I would complain, but your inspirational messages prevent me from not appreciating the wonderful kids I have, the (mediocre) food I cook, and (nerd herd) clothes I wear! Well played, Pinterest, well played.

Don’t hate the playah, just hate the game.

**You can even pin blogs! But apparently putting a pinterest button on my blog so you can follow me or pin my blog….is above my pay grade. I tried. And failed. On Pinterest, I’m much more talented…..so if you’re looking for me? Try there. And if anyone finds a blog post giving the 411 on that, pin it baby, pin it!

Whew!

I’m happy to report I survived Black Friday.

Granted, I was in my snowman pajamas snuggled under the covers sawing wood til the late hour of half past 8, but I am just so grateful my 2 year old didn’t pepper spray me and no one stepped on my face for some Wheaties here at Casa de Muffin Top. I know others did not fare so well.

I was worried. You just never know where danger lurks.

I love me some bargains but oooh, the thought of getting out of my toasty roasty bed after hosting T-giving (that’s right…..and opening that can of cranberry sauce was the last straw…it totally did me in…)was too much for any 50% off wafflemaker. Unless Coach Taylor was up for grabs, I was just not ready to do battle with the people of Walmart. I’m klutzy on a good day–half asleep with gravy coursing through my veins–you know I wouldda gotten taken out by one of those scooter people cuz I’d be too slow to pole vault away into a display of Faded Glory madness.

So here I sit. Not one Christmas present purchased. Not.a.one.

And the overacievers on Facebook are stressing me out. (You know who you are, you crazy little elves, you. Bastards!)

You know the ones–they’re putting status updates like this up:

Tree trimmed? Check! Lights up? Check! Christmas quilts on all the beds? Check! Holiday afghans knitted for the senior center? Check! Christmas presents for friends, family, bus driver, teachers, mailman, street sweeper, babysitter, dog walker, newspaper mystery delivery person, check out girl at supermarket, brother’s girlfriend’s stepfather’s sister purchased, wrapped, and under tree? Check, check, and cha-eck! Gifts from toy drive for needy children wrapped and dropped to shelter?  Check. *

Ugh oh. I knew I should have started my shopping in 2010!

I’m a terrible person! The worst! A total procrastinator. I have nothing for my kids! For the needy kids! For the hubs! The teacher! The seniors! The distant almostsortakinda relative! The butcher! The baker! The candlestick maker!

 Think, think, think. I can do this. I’m not stressed. I’m not.

See now that I’m off my pneumonia meds, I can hit the sauce.

Can you have a beer while you shop at Walmart?

NOOOOOOOOOO. (You really should be able to. It might take the sting out of some of the scenery. No really. Seriously.)

UMMMM. I DON'T SEE ANY POURING GOING ON, WALMART LADIES. SO NO DICE!

But I can in my family room. While I’m on my computer. Shopping til I drop in my snowman jammies! I can google for coupon codes with my best pepper spray game face on. GRRRRRRRRRRR. I can throw my muffin top around the family room and pretend to knock down little old ladies for wii games while I’m on toyrus.com! JOY TO THE WORLD! WINNING! It’s the reason for the season, yo!

CRUSHING CYBERSPACE FROM THE COUCH. HUZZAH! PARTY SNACKS AND BEERS INCLUDED. AND MAYBE SOME RHONJ RERUNS. ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN GET ME SOME CHINCHILLA??

I can have hot chocolate with fluffed marshmallow vodka while I swoop in and crush some ebay auctions.

Hellz yeah.

Don’t –don’t even try to grab up the last blender at amazon.com or I will cut you. I will. I will find your cyber arse and cut you with my sword mean unChristmasy, un Jimmy Stewart words.

It’s holiday time. It’s on. Good tidings to all and to all a good figh–I mean, night. Night!

*If this was your status update though, let’s be friends! Really! You can help people like me!

When you’re home all day with small children, any adult interaction is key. It’s absolutely vital for a parent’s sanity to at least attempt to have some contact with adults. Don’t even come to my door trying to sell me on some mags or the good word of Jesus unless you’re prepared to chat.  I really don’t care if you’re from the high school lacrosse team or The Church of Latter Day Saints. (They’ll probably be coming by more often if they ever read this blog, trying to help my troubled soul. Really? Can you blame them?) I’m sorry Mormons, you seem lovely, but I can never join up with you. You frown on booze and I’m not giving it up, not even for the Lord. But let’s chat over coffee when I’m home alone with the kids. Decaf, natch.

OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE TO TALK ABOUT JESUS AND MY WAYWARD PATH!

It’s just the days are long around here. The hubs is gone for a good twelve hours a day between work and commuting. By the time he gets home, I just might be talking to myself. (Where did I put my glasses? OH! On top of my head. Where did I put my beer? OH! On top of the mantle. Where did I put my toddler? OH! Gotcha….I SO know where my son is almost all the time!) And the brain? Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not livin’ up to its full mediocre potential.  Love my kids, they say adorable stuff, but there are only so many conversations a gal can have about Transformers,whether or not fish have teeth, and the importance of thorough hand washing. And the brawls about the same damn toy when there are eight trillion others I’m twisting my ankle over? Repeat after me: I’m a mom, not a martyr bar bouncer. A mom, not a martyr. A mom, not a….oh never mind.

At some point, in between crafts and Cheerios, I have to sit and wonder what is going on in the world outside the confines of my kitchen.

To find out what’s up in the local community, I have the newspaper.

To find out what’s up around New Hampshire, the country, the world…. I have my kitchen tv for the news.

 But to find out what’s up with 300 of my closest cyber friends, I have Facebook.

If you’re not on Facebook, I don’t know if you can appreciate how much essential information you’re letting slip by! I’m scared for you. I am. See, Facebook to me is my “work watercooler”. It’s where I find out pressing, up to the minute details, like who passed their boards, whose kid put a diaper on their teddy bear, and whose dog swallowed the car keys. I know which childhood friend is on call at the ER, who’s having a baby, what they are naming said baby, and what their Facebook friends think of what they’re naming said baby.  I know who wishes essays would grade themselves,who loves to dance in the rain, and whose favorite smell is fresh cut grass. Are you a Fanilow or more of an AC/DC guy? I think I can guess! I know which moms like to drink and swear (please take note I’m not alone) and which ones won’t get all judgy on me for stating one night, “I’m hiding under the kitchen table. Do you think my kids will find me?”  I can see riveting revealing photos of my friend’s friends’ 40th and my husband’s cousin’s daughter’s dance recital. Don’t you wonder what your old next door neighbor’s favorite movie is or what your son’s friend’s mom’s five biggest pet peeves are? Join Facebook, and wonder no more!

From the east coast to the west, and even Europe too, I have a thread of individuals who make up my unique network of “friends”, even if I can’t quite recall how I even know one of them. (It’s not you, silly! I swear!)

Facebook is vital in my life because I need to know what my sorta friend from high school and my roommate from college’s sister is up to in real time, all the time! Wanna know who’s getting married? Divorced? Havin’ a baby? Midlife crisis? Botox? New boobies? Barium enema? Just ask the bankrupt US Postal Service—no one’s gonna mail you a letter, sweatheart! Facebook, baby.

OH THEY'RE REAL AND THEY'RE SPECTACULAR!

Truly, Facebook reminds me I’m really not alone, that my kids aren’t the only ones trying to wash their hair with diaper cream in the middle of the family room or dance on the counters….that maybe I’m not the only mother out there convinced there ain’t enough Calgon to even think about taking me away some days. It is a community of sorts, albeit a randomly constructed one.

I know, I know…. I might get tortured, or worse, pitied, for admitting Facebook is my window to the big outside world some many days. But most days, it’s just nice to know I’m not flying solo on this crazy journey called life.