THE MEANEST MOM

This weekend, we are moving into our new house.

Needless to say, our current residence looks like the aftermath of a hurricane.

While everyone else was loading the truck, Cortlen decided that it was just as good of time as any to open up one of his Christmas presents: a plastic tank full of sea monkeys.

"Not now," I told him when he asked me to help him fill the plastic aquarium full of water.

"We can mess with the sea monkeys tomorrow," I promised. "Definitely not today."

My son is s good listener and I could have predicted what happened next.

A few minutes later, Cortlen emerged from the bathroom wringing his hands in anguish.

The water came out of the faucet faster than expected and flushed all the sea monkey embryos down the drain.

"I killed them all!" he cried.

I tried to be sympathetic, but it was hard. On Christmas morning, Kellen tripped over a box and dropped his aquarium on my living room rug. Three thousand sea monkeys lost their lives in the accident.

"You're happy!" Cortlen wailed. "Stop smiling!" he screamed.

That was almost twelve hours ago.

If you've ever had sea monkeys at your house, you know why I'm still smiling.

Happy New Year!

Like most neighborhoods in central Florida, mine is comprised of a mix of young families and retirees.

I've heard mixed reviews about the snowbirds; they have a reputation for sitting on their front lawns with radar guns and clocking your speed as you drive down the street.

All of the ones that I have met so far, however, remind me of my grandma...which is a good thing.

Today a group of painters came to my new house to fix a couple holes in the drywall and remove a 12 x 12 foot map of the world that the previous owners had super glued to a bedroom wall.

By lunchtime, the poor guys were pulling their hair out. Four hours had past and they had only removed Australia.

I told them I would buy them lunch. I left the garage doors open when I left.

When I got back to the house a half hour later, several senior citizens were standing on my driveway. They waved as I pulled up.

"You've got a lot of work to do in there," one whistled.

"Why are you taking that map down?" asked another. "Don't you like maps?"

"I like the tile in your kitchen," said a third.

I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

"I feel violated," I told my husband when he came home from work.

"You like going through other people's houses too," he pointed out.

"I didn't invite them!" I cried. In my mind, there is a big difference between a realtor's open house and trespassing.

"Welcome to Florida," he replied.

If walls could talk, I'm pretty sure I would not want to hear what mine have to say.

As I was dragging a garbage bag full of dead banzai trees (another treasure left behind) to the curb this morning, I was approached by a woman walking a dog.

"Welcome to the neighborhood," the woman said with a smile.

I smiled back.

"I heard you were left with a mess," she said.

I gestured to the garage, which was brimming with treasures.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked.

"Like what?" I wanted to know. I wondered if the woman knew about the plastic fruit and perhaps wanted to buy it.

"Never mind," the woman said and shook her head.

I shrugged my shoulders and heaved the garbage bag into a trash can.

The woman couldn't take it any longer.

"The people who used to live here were swingers!" she blurted out. The woman looked visibly relieved after the announcement, like she had just passed a kidney stone.

I shook my head in disbelief. This couldn't be true. Things like this didn't really happen in the suburbs, especially one so close to the Magic Kingdom.

"They used to have parties all the time!" the woman continued. I put my fingers in my ears.

Two minutes later, I was curled in the fetal position in the hallway closet. My husband didn't answer his phone the first ten times that I called. When he did pick up, he was slightly annoyed.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting," he hissed.

"Why do bad things happen to good people?" I asked.

It's been twenty-four hours and my husband hasn't stopped laughing.

I've decided to hire an exorcist.

I apologize that I haven't posted in awhile.

We closed on our new house and had Christmas, out of town visitors, and the stomach flu....all at the same time. Needless to say, things have been nuts.

The house was in pre-foreclosure (short sale) when we bought it. When the previous owners moved out of the property last winter, they left behind a significant number of personal belongings ranging from the bizarre (a collection of plastic fruit; three huge Roman columns made of styrofoam; a wine rack that had been converted into a bathroom vanity); to the mundane (cans of refried beans, bottles of half-used shampoo); to the sad (the back side of the one of the kids' bedroom doors was decorated with family pictures). This morning, I cleaned out one of the closets and found a shoebox filled with unopened bills.

While we are excited to have the house, of course, the past few days have been a constant reminder that our family is the beneficiary of another family's misfortune. From what we can tell based on the documents left behind, the previous owners had a small business that went belly up when the economy tanked. Maybe there was more to it than that; we don't know. Like us, they have four small kids.

Ugh.

Packing up someone else's life is a completely surreal experience. I don't know how I feel about it all yet.

This morning I went to the post office to mail a couple last minute gifts. Everything went fine, except for the fact that somehow I managed to get my dad's Christmas gift stuck in the mail bin.



After waiting in a ridiculously long line, I notified the woman at the front counter of my predicament. She told me that what happened to me "happens all the time" and that someone would "try" to get the package out later that afternoon.

"If another customer doesn't figure out a way to get to it first," she told me with a hysterical laugh.

I too, would have found the situation very funny had I not already lost the will to live. By that point, Cameron had already taken his shoes and socks off for the seventh time and was trying to mountain climb up my leg.

The woman standing in line behind me had also already tapped me on the shoulder to tell me that my son was barefoot and that the ground was filthy.

Needless to say, I decided that my dad would survive without receiving a gift this year.

After all, it's the thought that counts.

I have something very special to give away this week!!!!!

It is incredibly awesome and something that every family would love to have in their home for the holiday season.

I'm not going to tell you what it is (surprises are rad), but I will give you two clues:

1. It's a gift that keeps on giving. I got it on Friday night, in the middle of Ikea, and still have it!!!!!

2. You won't be able to keep it to yourself! This gift is not for the stingy. No matter how hard you try to keep it all to yourself, it will be nearly impossible not to share it with somebody.

I love a good giveaway and this one is, I'm sure you'll all agree, pretty awesome!!!!

Sadly, this prize can only be claimed in person...but don't despair! If you don't live in Florida but have a friend traveling to Orlando over the holiday break, enter on her behalf!!! This gift is perfect for families on vacations. Someone gave it to us once while we were on a three-day road trip and it was the best.

Contest starts NOW and ends 12/24 at midnight EST.

Good luck!

None of the gingerbread houses that I have made in years past ever made it to Christmas....due to structural problems.

This year, I used a glue gun to apply all of the roof shingles and windows and doors etc..


"I think the kids got to it," my husband said slowly.

I am now regretting my ingenuity.

Last week, the family who lives across the street got a dog.

Today, a man came and installed an invisible fence around their yard. The concept is genius: every time the dog crosses the line, it gets a little bit electrocuted.

I want an invisible fence for my bedroom.

Ever since my daughter discovered hair spray, mine is always missing. All of the pencils in my desk have broken tips. My printer paper is constantly being turned into paper airplanes. One of my sons runs off with my toothpaste on a daily basis. The other one can't stay off of my toilet.

"There are two other toilets in this house!" I yelled through the bathroom door this morning. "Why are you always on that one?"

The straw that broke the camel's back was when I tried to wrap Christmas presents this afternoon but couldn't find any tape.

"I bought three rolls at the store yesterday!" I cried. "I put them right here!" I said, pointing at my desk.

Three seven year-olds stared at me nervously and asked if they could go take a long walk off a short pier.

I found the empty tape dispensers in my daughter's closet, along with half of my stash of wrapping paper. Instead of doing their homework, my kids wrapped up half of their personal belongings for the fun of it.


I wanted to stick my fingers in the nearest electrical outlet.

Once I calmed down, I made them put the "presents" under the tree and told them that they couldn't open them until Christmas morning.

"You brought this upon yourselves," I lectured.

"I wrapped up all my underwear," Cortlen announced after I stopped talking.

One of us was visibly distraught by this news. The other giggled and ran out the front door.

Please tell me that it gets better.

Yowzers! You guys rock. I wish I had 800 dresses to give away, but thank you so much for entering.

The Shabby Apple Dress goes to Gwen from Texas who wrote:

"That dress is so beautiful & classic. The ring is so fun too!"


And the gorgeous ring goes to Mommy McD who wrote:

"Are you going to have another give away where you offer those long legs so us short people don't have to do any hemming. Because that dress is amazeballs.
As is the jewelry."

Congrats ladies! Shoot me an email at themeanestmom@gmail.com ASAP and we'll get your stuff shipped out to you.

This weekend, my husband and I took our older kids on a short cruise to the Bahamas. We specifically left Cameron at home so we could do some fun activities together as a family.

I shouldn't have bothered.

All my kids wanted to do the whole time was watch television in their cabin.

"We didn't come here to watch T.V.," I told them. "Let's go check out the buffet or something."

I had to poke them with sticks to see if they were still alive.

"Do you guys want to go swimming in the pool?" asked my husband.

All eyes remained fixed on the television screen until my husband leaned over and turned it off.

"Hey!" they grumbled in unison. "I was watching that!"

My husband ticked off the options on his fingers. "How about ping pong?" he asked. "Or shuffleboard or basketball? At 3 o'clock, we can learn how to fold towels into the shape of animals."

There was panic and desperation in my husband's voice. For a brief moment, he thought that he had flushed several hundred dollars down the toilet. Then, out of nowhere, hope rose out of the abyss of darkness.

"I can think of something that I would like to do," volunteered Camber.

"Yes?" we asked, hands clasped in eager anticipation. By that point, both of us had cabin fever so bad that we would have agreed to sing a karaoke duet at one of the ship's bars, if that's what it took.

"We could order room service," she said with a delighted sigh.

"I officially hate myself," hissed my husband as we dragged our children, kicking and screaming, up to the pool deck.

"We're going swimming now," my husband said through gritted teeth. One by one, the children were dropped into the water.

"She's trying to kill us!" Cortlen told a fellow swimmer, pointing in my direction.

"We're having fun together as a family," I corrected.

The swimmer looked embarrassed for us.

"Why are we doing this to ourselves?" my husband asked me a few minutes later. We were sitting in deck chairs, recovering from all of the fun. Our offspring were huddled in mass in the hot tub, plotting against us.

Ten minutes later, we were back in the dungeon.

"I might not make it through this," my husband announced, moments after Camber poked her head through the door to our adjoining rooms. She had just gotten off the phone with the cruise ship operator.

"I ordered everything!" she announced, referring to the room service menu.

No good deed goes unpunished.

For the first decade of my marriage, I refused to buy any of my own Christmas presents. Instead, I gave my husband a list and felt slightly unloved as he put off all the shopping until Christmas Eve.

In years 11 and 12, I bought my own presents, but refused to wrap them.

This year, I saved my husband (who breaks into a cold sweat at the sight of the mall) the trouble.

"What did I buy you? he giggled nervously, eying a box with my name on it.

"Something expensive," I replied.

Actually, it's just a blender.

But I like to see him sweat.

*****
Happy Holiday Shopping!

*****
If you haven't entered the Shabby Apple Dress giveaway yet, you'd better hurry up! Time is almost up!

On a related note, I haven't run giveaways for a long time because I had a couple of bad experiences and got kind of cranky about them for awhile. However, working with the truly fantastic ladies at Shabby Apple made me remember how fun they are and why I liked doing them in the first place. If you have something GOOD that you're looking to promote that is not a blanket with arm holes or any of its handmade relatives, I'm ready to hear it! Shoot me an email.

Six months ago, we made an offer on a short sale property in Orlando. In its current form, the house is kind of an ugly duckling. The previous owners abandoned the property a year ago, so the yard is a mess. The pool was home to at least 2000 tadpoles when we first saw it.

For unexplained reasons, several bathroom vanities have been ripped out...and replaced with wine racks. All of cabinet door pulls in the house are in the shape of grapes.

The previous owners had dogs.

An eight-foot tree limb recently crashed through the screened lanai and fell into the pool, chipping off several pieces of tile.

The owners attempted to take the laundry room wash tub and several pieces of drywall with them when they moved out. Unsuccessfully.

Currently, the house is occupied by an illegal renter who has five flat screen television sets mounted to the living room wall, along with a seven-foot sailfish.

I may or may not have peeked through the windows.

The list goes on.

Despite, or maybe because of all of its problems, my husband and I love neighborhood and the floor plan and kept our fingers crossed that it would work out.

In a few weeks, the house will be ours.

Assuming we can get the illegal renter/squatter to move out.

The box containing my Christmas tree ornaments is buried somewhere in this delicious treasure hoard:


At my kids' suggestion, I scaled the tower of boxes in our garage in search of the Holy Grail.

I did find a pile of mouse droppings, but no Christmas box.

"We're going to have to have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree this year," I told them, throwing up my hands in defeat.

"What's that?" they wanted to know.

The story about the degenerate tree and homemade ornaments raised everyone out of the depths of depression.

My vision of making ornaments with my children included a warm fire, Christmas carols, and a group hug.

I spent half of the appointed hour locked in the bathroom counting to ten.

No one told me that when you include the price of pain and suffering, it costs more to make ornaments than to buy them.

"Is it going to kill you to attach your paper chain to your sister's? Really? Is it?"

"She isn't copying you, and if she is, who cares?"

"If you tell your brother that his ornament is ugly one more time, I'm not going to let you make the next one."

"If you can't share the paint, I'm going to take it all away!"

It was not one of my better moments.

"Mom's in a bad mood," my daughter announced when my husband came home from work. She shrugged her shoulders and looked confused.

A few minutes later, our cat pulled the popcorn garland off the tree and dragged it up the stairs.

I was in the bathroom counting to 100 when my husband threw it away. Or else I would have taken a picture.


*****
Have you entered the Shabby Apple Dress and Ring Giveaway yet? If not, get going!

Wanna win a Shabby Apple dress or ring? I'm giving both away over HERE.

Our current living quarters are tight. Very tight.

This year, my husband proposed that we get a Christmas tree that is proportionate to our town home's square footage. "Like one that fits on the top of a table," he said.

While he was at work, I took the kids to a local home improvement super center and purchased half a forest.

"Do you want me to trim off the bottom?" asked the sixteen year-old tree salesman.

I eyed the man-child suspiciously. "It's free," he assured me.

When we arrived home, I noticed that in the process of trimming the bottom of the tree, the man-child also managed to split the tree trunk nearly in half.


I thought about taking the tree back to the store, but then I found some duct tape and wood glue.

"Is that what you're supposed to do?" Cortlen asked me nervously as I bound the trunk with sticky bandages.

"It's what smart people do," I answered confidently.

My husband noticed the deformities right away. "That tree isn't going to make it until Christmas," he predicted.

That was Friday. At least 1/3 of the pine needles have already fallen off. Is that a bad sign?

On Saturday night, I went to the grocery store. Before I left the house, I asked if anyone wanted to go with me.

My husband and Cortlen ignored me (they were watching a football game). Camber came into the room with a brush, a bottle of hair spray, and two packages of glittery hair clips.

"I would go, but I have things to do," she explained, jabbing a clip into my husband's scalp.

I didn't really want to take Kellen because he looked like a homeless person, but by the time I found my keys, he was already in the car.

The drive to the grocery store took exactly three minutes...plenty of time, I learned, to have a conversation about just everything in the entire planet.

Kellen: "Do you know what? I wouldn't go walking in the woods right now. You wouldn't be able to see a panther because it's so dark. Isn't that crazy?"

Me: "Why are we talking about panthers?"

Kellen: "Do you know what else mom? Do you know what? A boy in my class got sent to the principal's office last week. Did you know that?"

Me: "I wasn't aware."

Kellen: "Do you know what isn't a smart idea? Shaving off half of your mustache and leaving the other half still on your face!"

(ten seconds later)

"Do you know what? I ate something out of the trashcan today when you weren't looking. I feel bad about that. Do you know why? Because eating out of the trashcan is disgusting and I lied."

Me: "I'm still thinking about panthers."

Kellen: "Do you know what?"

Me: "Please try not to say that so much. It's unnecessary."

Kellen: "Ok, Mom. I'll try. Do you know what?"

Me: "Chicken butt."

Kellen: "That wasn't what I was going to say."

Me: "Oh. Sorry."

Kellen: "Do you know what? If you snort a kidney bean up your nose, it might get stuck there or go into your brain and kill you."

After 20 more minutes of this, I started to ask around about kidney beans; namely, where they were in the grocery store and if they carried any large enough for an adult to snort.

Kellen: "Do you know what? If a rabid dog bites you, you have to get three shots in your arm that are as thick as peanut butter. Did you know that?"

The scene: an overpriced department store

The purpose for our visit: to purchase a $100 group gift card for a relative who just had a baby

After paying for the item, I put the card in my purse. My kids were quiet until we got outside. And then they let me have it.

"You paid $100 for that?" Camber screeched. "That's a total rip-off!"

"You are not that smart," added Cortlen.

Kellen produced an identical card from his pocket.

"I got one for free," he bragged. "The woman told me that I could have it."

Sometimes I don't think that I'm going to make it to forty.

*****
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My kids can earn up to 5 bucks per week doing household chores, remembering to chew with their mouths closed at the dinner table, and the like.

Camber spends her money the instant that she gets it, usually on things that I abhor.

"It would be great if you didn't buy that tub full of tiny beads," I told her as she plopped the object into my shopping cart this afternoon.



One of my greatest joys in life is picking up thousands of microscope beads off the floor...one by one.

"Christmas is coming soon," I begged. "Maybe Santa will get it for you."

My kids aren't the smartest kids in the universe, but they have enough brain cells to know that the Santa that comes to their house doesn't love them as much as the Santa that comes to their friends' houses.

"Santa would never buy me something like that because hates us," my daughter told me. "All he buys me are books and toys without batteries."

"And the things that are at the bottom of my Christmas list," added Cortlen crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm asking for an I-Touch this year, but I'll bet that I won't get one."

"I would bet that too," I told him. "You have a really hard life."

When we got home from the store, my daughter got out her homework. One of her assignments was to write a story using her spelling words. The title of her story was "Why Santa Hates Me."

Lovely.