So after I shouted to the weather gods and all who would listen last week about how I was digging the 97 degree temps (Seriously? I took some heat (wink, wink) for that post. Someone musta been hating on me for saying that because they unsubscribed to muffintopmommy after that *apparently controversial* little diddy I posted. *Insert sad face* Maybe it was someone who sells hot cocoa for a living, lives in hotty, hot, hot Texarkana, or just isn’t down with my devil plans. I’ll never know!)

I think they cursed me because I got stuck in some randy weather this week. The hubs and I took the kids to Santa’s Village in northern New Hampshire the other day. It’s a really cute amusement park geared toward younger kids with a Christmas theme. I love it too, because, aside from watching how proud and excited the kids are to be able to ride some of the rides by themselves, well… I’m a total wuss and even I’m brave enough to ride all the rides.  (Even the scary log flume ride which makes me simultaneously hold my breath and think death is imminent, while I clutch one of my kids in a Vulcan death grip because HELLO, why are there no seatbelts in the damn thing?) I totally get it. I get it. Some physics nerd figured out it’s physically impossible to plunge to your death due to velocity or gravity or whatever fangled thing the pocket protector crew are calling it these days but STILL. That just doesn’t compute to an English major who very truly worries about impending bodily harm to her brood.

WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT DEATH DROP?!! *photo courtesy of Santa's Village

Anyway, when we left our house which is a little more than two hours away from Santa’s playland, it was sunny and 75. When we got there, it was 61, cloudy, and intermittently rainy. WHA-AT?

We still had a blast, and I’m here to tell you, Santa is making a list and checking it twice. You heard it here. I trust you’ll be good! better than me

THESE BOYS WERE SCARED STRAIGHT!

Not only was it Christmas in July, it was also my birthday. When you get to be a woman of a *cough* certain age, birthdays can be rather ho hum. But… the hubs never disappoints, and he so sweetly posted this on Facebook after our freezing ass day with Santie:

“Happy Birthday to my great wife and great mother! Oh, and a lucky lady I might add. You are welcome Janet for being able to spend your special birthday at Santa’s Village.”

I had to give him props as he had, indeed, outdone himself this birthday–except for where he sorta implies I’m both his wife and mother. (I let that part go. Marriage = shutting your fig, bat face sometimes.) Instead, you can publish it on the world wide web. Regardless! I responded:

“I AM lucky. Not every gal gets to be serenaded by a freaky, inbred looking elf on her bday and eat a burger that tastes like it’s from the elementary school caf! Romance: alive! Oh, and I almost forgot–scream louder than her 2 year old on the scary log ride!” (Dude, I told you I wasn’t kidding about that log ride!)

It’s all magic, all the time around here. Insert contended sigh. I mean now you know why I drink.

Kidding!

I speak only the truth here at Muffintopmommy. It hasn’t set me free yet, but hot damn, when I got home from my day o’ freezing fun, there was a big, brown box on my front steps!!! The truth got me a prize from Lands’ End!! And if you follow the muffintopmommy page on Facebook, you know they saw my Ready, Set, Scream post about 4 year old screaming for me to wipe his little arse when I was trying to talk to them on the phone about an order. Well, they thought it was  funny and  were happy I mentioned how wonderful their service was (truth!), so they kindly said they’d send me a cover up to go with my bathing suit. I don’t make much from this blogging gig zero, nada, zilch, so I was all, “Squee, hee, hee!” when they told me that. I told the woman I’d be psyched to get another cover up. I love their cover ups and actually wrote a review of one I’d bought earlier in the summer on their site. (Under the alias muffintopmommy. I’m muffintopmommy on yelp, too. This double life is gettin’ kinda crazy. Even the fam is starting to refer to me as MTM.) See!

OUR KIDS HAVE PEANUT ALLERGIES SO I USUALLY MAKE ALL THE CAKES. NOW THAT I KNOW WHAT HUBS AND KIDS CAN DO I'M FIRING MYSELF!

Anyway, there was no cover up in the box! It was even better. Instead, there was funtastic oversized (how better to hide my middle aged eye wrinkles!) sunglasses, which I totally need because I’ve had my others for three years and Klutzy VonKlutzenberg I am, I’ve dropped them on the pavement so many times they’re scratched; a super adorable sun hat to shield my butt white Irish skin from the sun at the beach; and, a perfectly sized tote, simply screaming to be filled with smut mags, books, Cheez-It’s and perhaps an adult beverage or two.

Oh Lands’ End, how’d you know????

Virginia, there really is a Santa Claus! (He lives in Wisconsin and his initials are LE. And his summer stuff is now 65% off. Holla!) Thank you Lands’ End for hooking me up. (And for including a packing slip which said $0.00 because hubs was really eyeing me suspiciously when I said it was a fun box of free swag–what I can I say? I have a shopportunistic reputation. )

Despite the fact that I’d just gotten home from from my 12 hour round trip voyage to the North Pole aka Northern New Hampshire and my makeup was all smeary and I was craving a beery, I had to take a pic of the fun swag in case you want to buy now and save!

I'M NOT CUT OUT FOR THE PLUS SIZE MODELING GIG I IMAGINED. I WAS TRYING TO BLOW YOU A KISS BUT FORGOT TO MOVE MY HAND. SO NOW I JUST LOOK LIKE A REALLY BIG FISH. AMATEUR.

And yes, that is a Lands’ End polo I sported ALL day. What are the odds? (Um, actually, pretty high. Please refer to my reputation.) The shorts are not Lands’ End. They are from a little store I like to call, “Che Marshall’s”.

 I’m not looking forward to my next bday because nothing can top Santa, fun Lands’ End swag, and a muffin top cake! May your birthday this year be so merry!

Dear American Girl Dolly People,

The first time I received your catalog, I laughed at the irony. The second time, I was all, “Wait a second. Someone is totally punking me. Which one of my smartass friends with girls thought, ‘Let’s taunt the frat house den mother with girly girl stuff for snarking she’s gonna get the last laugh when they all hit their teens.’ ” Then I thought, maybe it was payback for all the people who’ve asked me, “Are you going for the girl?” and got the eye roll and stock snark,  ”Girl? Come on. One more and it’s an instant golf foursome,  the hubs will be cut from the team, and then how will I ever get him outta the house?”

 But now I’ve received your doll mag at least three or four times. It’s you. All you. I gotta tell you, American Doll people….seriously? You really need to get your s*&^ together. I have three BOYS. Ninos. MuchachOS. Not AS. I don’t know who you bought your mailing list from, but you’re getting like zip for a return on your invesment if I’m any indication. I mean, do Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware send catalogs to prisons? (Although grey walls are quite the thing now. Coincidence?) It’s called targeted marketing, doll people. I think you need to put on your Go Girl Sunglasses and New! Active Sneakers and step on out of the doll house and into the big girl world.

I’m sure these catalogs aren’t cheap. I don’t think Kit Kittredge, “a bright light in the dark days of the Great Depression”,  would approve of you squandering your resources in this way. And Lanie, who seems hip to the world’s bounty, has to be squirming in her shorts adorned with “I love nature” at your blatant waste of paper! Just don’t lie to Lanie and me.  How many trees did you kill to send me all these catalogs? I’ll grant you, I’m no Al Bore, but tsk tsk! You are wasting nature’s gifts like nobody’s biz!

I have to be honest though. I’ve kind of taken a shine to little Lanie. If I had a girl *cough*, I would totally dress her like Lanie. Her striped blue and green short sleeve rugby polo dress is, well, just the right balance between sporty and feminine. You overlooked no detail with the tiny bow on her shoes and green messenger bag with embroidered butterly. Nice touch. And the garden outfit? For real? Could you even make a fab hat like that for my big squash? Love! And the a-line deep pink dress with tangerine cardigan? Does that come in misses? Dress me up muffintop!

I'M NOT TOTALLY SOLD ON THE DO...BUT THE DRESS AND SHOES? SHE OWNS IT!

But the boys? Were not so impressed with Kit and Lanie.

Here’s what the informal focus group had to say about your doll catalog :

“Is there any boy toys in this book?”

“Ugh, this is bo-ring.”

 ”It’s a girl book!!!!”

 The tribe….has spoken.

"COME ON GUYS! THERE ARE SOME AWESOME ROCKS RIGHT OVER HERE!" *PHOTO COURTESY OF DEBBIE ELLIS PHOTOGRAPHY

I’m not trying to be sexist. I’m not. The hubs is perfect example of salty and sweet. Real men cry. They mop. They rock the clearance racks at Marshall’s with the best of the fashionistas. They cook. (As my husband said to me one weeknight as he made dinner….”I bring home the bacon AND fry it up in a pan!” But? I shop for the bacon! And Tretorns. If one of my sons picks up a doll at a playdate and wants to get his pink on, I never interject.  But they’re not exactly jonesing to break the sabbath with Rebecca Rubin or have a spot of tea with Felicity Merriman. Right now in this house? We’re bugs and worms, Power Rangers and Transformers, and Matchboxes and mudpies.

And girls can do anything a boy can do. I know that. Because I’m the girl who came home from playing outside when I was little with caked on mud down the front of her shirt. (And you know, besides the dirt rollers, there’s the doctors, lawyers, CEOS, Secretaries of State, blabbity blah.) Ahem. Anyhoo, when my mom asked me, “Janet. What are you DOING? You come home and the front of your shirt is always covered in dirt that I can’t get out!”, I had to explain that rather than walk around to play king of the hill with the boys next door, I’d burrow underneath the stockade fence behind my house. E-ffi-cient! See? Grace really is inherent.

The truth is, I didn’t even play with dolls when I was little and I AM was a girl when Carter and the Gipper were Prez and saturated fat was all the rage!! I take that back. I had one Barbie. One. Can you guess which one? Give up? Suntan Barbie. A most wonderful choice for someone with skin the color of a Word document. The tan lines so fascinated me! (It’s a crying shame Mattel didn’t follow up with Suntan Barbie cruising with Ken in the ‘vette to the dermatologist!)

Listen, Rebecca Rubin, Josefina Montoya and my girl, Lanie Whatsherface, all seem really lovely. The spa days, hikes, and cultural lessons neatly rolled into your catalog are truly remarkable. And I thought Transformers were more than meets the eye. Who knew?

But I have one last thought…. maybe if you stop sending people who have kids who only pee standing up 5,000 glossy pages of fun dolly clothes, you won’t have to charge like $95 bucks for Lanie and the crew. ($95 bucks? $95 bucks!)  For $95 bucks Lanie better make me my coffee. With milk. That’s all I’m sayin’.

So, unless you start selling suntan melanoma Barbie, let’s save the rainforest and stop the madness. Or Imma gonna have to get in my girl Lanie’s camper and serve up some STFU sammies on your American Girl arses! Cucumber of course!

In muffintops,

Muffintopmommy