Poor little Such The Spot has been one of my more neglected endeavors as of late.  I’m sorry.  It’s been a crazy (but very good) week.  Here’s what it looked like:

Monday - my grandparents pulled into town.  It was a day earlier than expected but once I found out they were here I promptly invited them to dinner because I was so excited to see them!  They’re not staying with me.  They’re here for a RV rally but we’ve convinced them to break away a time or two to hang out with us.

Tuesday - the birthday.  Having recognized a craving for cream cheese frosting, I spent most of the morning making yummy carrot cake birthday cupcakes.  I tend to be sort of choosey when it comes to what I will consume so stopping in at the grocery store and picking up one of their premade carrot cakes was not an option.  And I had previously called a great bakery in town to inquire about their delicious carrot cakes but they wanted, ahem $48?!, for an eight inch cake.  Hello?  For $48 those carrots better be golden.  And with both of my buying options exhausted I went ahead and made it myself.  They were oh so yummy though so as it turns out it was worth the work.  Later that night we went to our favorite mexican place where my grandparents treated us to tacos and margaritas.  Well, the kids didn’t partake in the margaritas.  What do you think I’m doing…raising a bunch of lushes?

Wednesday - catch up day.  After having fallen behind on a bunch of those boring SAHM tasks (washing the sheets, dusting, and the list goes on) I spent the morning being a productive mom and getting things in order.  Then we had speech therapy in the afternoon for both Cassidy and Jayce.

Thursday - clean up day.  I usually grocery shop on Friday mornings.  This week, though, our cupboards had cleared early and so off Jayce and I went to fill them.  And since we’re talking groceries can I just say that I’m none too happy that what once (not long ago btw) was a $140 weekly grocery bill has now increased to a nearly $200 grocery bill.  That is such a budget buster, kwim?  Anywho, we stocked our still sparkly clean pantry before heading off to pick up the girls.  Jeff and I ran when he got home from work and then came home to do dinner and our weekly cleaning ritual: he takes care of the kitchen while I do all the floors.  It would seem that concrete floors would be easy to keep clean, but boy the dust is a killer. 

Which brings us to Friday - half day.  I hate half days at school.  They seem like such a waste of time.  The kids are there for four measly hours.  By the time I drop them off and pick them up really I have only three hours to take care of my bizz’ness.  It would really make my life happier if they’d just combine two or four of these darned half days and instead give the kids a day or two off.  And since the schools are in business solely to make my life happier I really don’t see the problem.

Tomorrow we’re off to see the Halloween decorations Gram has put up in their RV.  She’s like the Martha Stewart of RV’ing really.  She does a doozie of a job turning that thing into a little home on wheels.  Ah, but come Monday they’ll be the proud new owners of a “winter home” right here in Arizona and the home in wheels will go into storage.  I’m so excited that we’ll be sharing a home state (for at least part of the year!).  We don’t have any family here regularly so you can imagine how nice it will be to have them close by.  Even though they’ll still be about three hours away it feels so cozy to have them here. 

I really need to get off my duff and get showered.  Seems it’s just about time to go get the kids already.  Imagine that.

Enjoy your weekend.  Maybe I’ll post some pictures of Grams and Gramps so you can put a face to the comments!

Okay, one more thing.  Next week I intend to go back to posting at night.  It was just an off week.

I have a little anecdote to tell you.  But you have to promise you won’t think less of me once I do.

Promise?

Okay then.  Here goes.

My mom gave me the cutest shirt for my birthday.  Very befitting for a girl like myself who likes to indulge in a glass of vino from time to time.

See?  Told you it was cute (pardon the wrinkles - I wore it to dinner last night).  Anyway, I opened her gift yesterday while Jayce was napping.  Based on the size and feel of the package I had a hunch as to what might be inside so I went ahead and opened it with nary a soul gathered around to see what I got.  And, wouldn’t you know it was precisely what I suspected?  So I, of course, proceeded to change out of my workout clothes and into my chic new t-shirt that speaks volumes is the latest trend.

Jayce woke up a couple of hours later (yes he sleeps for 2 hours - SCORE!) and I went in to rescue him from the confines of his crib.  He’s usually a cheerful waker and yesterday was no exception.  He stood right up to greet me with his customary, bleary-eyed “hi mommy.”  His cheerful little greeting never fails to brighten my day.  I reached my arms out to him and instead of reaching back he pointed to the ”Y” on my shirt and, clear as day, he says, “wine?  Mama’s wine?”

Uh-oh.

This is the child, mind you, who receives weekly speech therapy.  I wonder if the fact that he can not only identify but also clearly speak “wine” should tell me something.

Anywho…

I don’t want to be presumptuous here but I’m thinking that you all know who would make an ideal write-in for the mother of the year award.

And hey, you promised remember?

(If you want a chic t-shirt of your own email me and I’ll let you know where you can get one).

One year ago today I turned twenty-ten.  It was tough on me.  Really tough actually. 

I’ve had a year to get used to the idea of being, well, you know, thirty’ish.  And I can honestly say that this year the date on the calendar (you know, the one proclaiming I’m suddenly even older) hasn’t been that big of a deal.

Is it because the milestone numbers are the tough ones and then the follow-ups just take you deeper?  Perhaps.

I can think of a few reasons why twenty-ten was so hard for me.

1. My son was born when I was 28, twelve (nearly 13) years after my first child.  He left me with a bit more junk in the trunk than my previous three kiddos had.  Yeah.  There are certainly drawbacks to having a baby at 16 but body issues are not one of them.  I can’t say the same for having a baby at 28.

2.  My husband is younger than me and it just doesn’t seem natural.  Luckily he’s only about, oh I don’t know, one year, three weeks and two days behind me but still.  It’s not normal.  Today, for instance, he’s 29 and I’m 31.  It pains me to even type that.

3.  The developing fine lines around my eyes.  What’s up with that?

All very superficial reasons to let a silly birthday get to me don’t you think?  But it did.  Oh but it did.

So here I am, a year later, having braved twenty-ten.  Those fine lines haven’t disappeared.  If anything they’ve spread a bit.  My husband is still younger than me, believe it or not.  Funny how that works.  And that baby belly (which I’ve come to lovingly refer to as my blueberry) is still hanging around.  All the things that caused me such distress this same time last year now seem like insignificant tokens in a life so full and so blessed.

It’s not that I wasn’t aware of my blessings last year; I most certainly was.  But that number was like a giant weight threatening to drop at any moment and squish out a part of myself that I’d always taken for granted.  The youth. 

I think it’s taken me a whole year to get to this point.  The point where I realize that yes, there is in fact more to life than looking hot in a bikini.  I’m ready to move on to another phase of my life.  One that allows me to overlook a body flaw or two (though looking hot in a bikini is nothing to shake a stick at).  One that embraces the year on my driver’s license as something to be proud of.  One that recognizes that without all those years behind me I wouldn’t be where I am now.

Who I am today is someone to be proud of.  I’ve been richly blessed with amazing, unique and beautiful children for whom I couldn’t be more thankful.  I have a hot younger husband who not only appreciates this 31-year-old exterior, but loves the inside part too.  I have friends near and far (okay, so they’re all far) who brighten my days and bring a smile to my face; they’re among the groovies chicks on the planet.  I’m a daughter and a granddaughter and a sister.    I’m a writer and a Disney mom.  I’m a kick-butt cook, an even better vacation planner and a decent keeper of house.  I can’t sing for the life of me but crank up John Mayer and I’ll groove with the best of ‘em.  I’m feisty when the mood strikes and stressed when things are out of place.  I run.  I read.  I love.  The lessons I’ve learned, the things I value, and the woman I am wouldn’t be if not for the years I’ve lived.

I’m 31 today.  And happy to be.

Don’t you hate it when your mom insists that the oral thermometer couldn’t possibly be right and therefore inserts that *^%#$ anal one when (and where) you least expect it?!  Sheesh.  Give a kid a break whydon’tya?

Shelle over at Blok Thoughts is holding a “Don’t You Hate It When…” contest this week and the prize is an iPod shuffle.  If you got a chuckle out of my entry be a dear, won’t you, and head over there to vote for me.  All you have to do is leave a comment telling her that my entry totally rocked and left you in stitches.  Or that you barely cracked a smile.  Whatever, it’ll still count.  Just say, “I vote #9 Darcie.”  And while you’re there you may want to add your own entry post to her Mr. Linky.  It’s an iPod shuffle after all.  You know you want one.

Three years ago, at about this time of year, I left Jeff at home with our then two-month-old son and took the girls to a Disney on Ice production.  When we came home we found a very festive gift basket filled with spooky delights like silly string, Halloween candy, orange and black hair ties, and glow sticks.  There was also a poster-board cutout ghost with the word Boo! written in bold black lettering across his chest.  A note inside explained that we’d been boo’ed by a good-spirited neighbor and that we should pay it forward by boo’ing two other people in our neighborhood.  We were also directed to hang the ghost on our front door so that we wouldn’t accidentally get re-boo’ed.  It was such a fun idea, one that we’d never heard of before, and the kids immediately began their detective work, trying to figure out who had started the good deed.

Meanwhile, we set out on our own boo’ing adventure.  We had a blast filling up our own boo baskets and conspiring about who we would deliver them too.  When the time came to deliver our goods, the girls had a blast dropping the baskets before ringing the doorbell and running to the awaiting minivan so we could make a speedy getaway.  We had so much fun, in fact, that we exceeded our quota and boo’ed ten of our neighbors.  It was so fun to watch ghosts pop up on the front doors of unsuspecting neighbors as the pay it forward phenomena spread.

Fast forward to this year.

 We decided to venture out of our neighborhood and boo one of Torri’s best friends, Ali.  So earlier tonight we hopped into the car and made the drop.  Torri was giddy with excitement as we drove home, especially when she got a text from Ali telling her to call right away because she had something exciting to share.

Torri called as soon as we’d arrived back from our secret mission.  What happened next is really rather unfortunate, but equally comical.

Seems that Ali misunderstood the spirit of the boo and had unselfishly taken just one item from the gift and had immediately delivered the rest to a neighbor down the street.

Disappointed that Ali gave away the goods, Torri came clean about the fact that she had been the boo’er.

Equally disappointed in the unfortunate turn of events, Ali begged her mom to go down the street and reclaim the mis-delivered boo.

And, feeling bad for re-gifting that which was not meant to be re-gifted, Ali’s mom went with her daughter down the street and explained the mistake to the neighbors.  I’m told that Ali’s mom hung her head low in utter embarrassment as she rehashed the details.  The couple who mistakenly received the boo basket was very understanding about the whole thing and gladly returned the goods to Ali.

Oy.  Vey.

This, my friends, is a prime example of boo’ing gone bad.  But I couldn’t have made up better blogging fodder if I’d tried.

I can assure you that, when properly executed, boo’ing your neighbors is frighteningly fun.  Just be sure to properly and thoroughly explain the process in the note you deliver with your boo basket.  Better yet, cut and paste the following.  This one, unlike the version we left at Ali’s door, is tough to mistake!

The air is cool the season fall
Soon Halloween will come to all
The spooks are after things to do
In fact, a spook brought this to you
“BOO” is a shield from witching hour
Just hang it up and watch its power
On your front door is where it works
It wards off spooks and scary jerks
The treats that came with crypted note
Are yours to keep, enjoy them both
The power comes when friends like you
Will copy this and make it TWO
Then others here among our friends
Will give warm fuzzies that do not end
We’ll all have smiles upon our faces
No one will know who “BOO”ed whose places
Just one short day to work your spell
Or a big ZAP will strike your tail
And don’t forget a nifty treat,
Like something cute or something sweet
Please join fun, let’s really hear it
And spread some “BOO”s and Halloween spirit.

I’m spilling it.

No, not the beans.

The contents of my purse.

Merrie at Sleepless Mornings tagged for a meme in which I must dump my purse and answer a few related questions.  As far as memes go, this is one of the funner ones I’ve seen, so thanks Merrie, for giving me blogging fodder for the day.   Okay, okay.  In all honesty this post should have gone up last night but we had issues.  Seems our DVR resigned while we were away at Disney World, leaving Heroes to go unrecorded.  So we’re watching it via the internet.  That, btw, sucks.  You can’t fast forward through the commercials when you watch online.  Luckily we’re all caught up now and we can go back to vegging in front of the big screen instead of all crowding onto the couch around a little monitor and sitting in perfect stillness because every rustle drowns out the pitiful sound of aforementioned monitor.

Enough about that though.  On to the dumpage.

And here are the related questions:

Describe the contents of your purse.  It’s pretty self-explanatory, but okay.  I’ve got a wallet, a cell phone, hand sanitizer, a little leather pouch that I use to contain gift cards, store membership cards, etc.  You can see my handy-dandy camera, a little mirror, a tube of sunscreen (a necessity in Arizona), some lip gloss, two pens, a pencil, a barrette, and that white weapon looking thing with a cross on it is a nail file my Gram gave me.  Last but not least is a rain check for Foster Farms chicken breast at 1.77 a pound.  Score, huh?

What is the most important thing in your handbag?  My wallet.  Definitely.

What’s the most embarrassing thing in your handbag?  Actually, this meme caught me at a good time of the month so I’m not embarrassed by anything in there.

What’s the smallest thing in your handbag?  The barrette.

Is there anything illegal in your handbag?  Sheesh, who do they have in mind when they come up with these questions?  Sorry to disappoint but I don’t think I’m packing anything illegal.  Unless you count the fact that I have two other rain checks for the exact same thing in my wallet so perhaps it’s against the rules to get multiple rain checks for the same thing.  I totally live on the edge though.

Here is the fine print:
Find a safe quiet place free of significant others, nosey meme makers, priests, nuns, all things religious and men in general. (If you’re a guy just reverse this process to male and tell us about your wallet, tool box, briefcase or metro sexual accessory.) Don’t look at me, I just cut and paste.
1. Dump the contents of your handbag in a pile.
2. Take a photo of your handbag and the contents.
3. Be brave and explain to your fellow bloggers what lurks inside the handbag.
4. Tag others who might want to embarrass themselves.
5. Answer the above questions in your blog.

So, if you want to dump your own purse, please let me know that you’ll be playing along so I can come see what the rest of you are hiding.

I have a couple of random questions.  I’m hoping you can offer insight.

- Have you gotten a flu shot and if so how much did you pay for it?  The reason I ask is I’ve never gotten one before but last year I promised myself to get one this year.  For some reason I’ve always thought that you could get them for around $10.  I can only find them for $30 though.  Figures.

- About how long of a shower do you take?  Mine is roughly 12 minutes long.  I’m asking because I need a fair sampling to offer up to Torri when I demand once and for all that she (Little Miss Green btw) cut her shower time in half.

- What’s your favorite magazine?

- When you go to the hygienist to have your teeth cleaned do you wince when she is getting ready to floss between your two front top teeth?  I had my teeth cleaned today.  After I suffered through the ordeal the hygienist failed to give me a toothbrush.  She did, however, scold my flossing habits before sending me on my way.  Jeff and Torri had their cleanings today too and they didn’t get toothbrushes either.  I know economic times are tough.  But no new toothbrush from the dentist?  For real?  C’mon.

Okay.  That’s all for now.  Back to your regularly scheduled day.

Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.

Or so say they say.

But they have it all wrong.

According to Torri at least.

You remember how I told you Cassidy has taken to, ahem, expelling excess bodily air in all sorts of fun ways?  Well, Torri, being the epitome of teenage sophistication, is really quite disgusted by the barbaric ways of her younger sister.  Unfortunately for Torri though, Cassidy isn’t easy to coerce.  Believe me; I’ve tried.  Bribery, praise, rewards, and even the tried and true methods of multiple behavioral specialists have all failed up against Cassidy’s abominable ways.

That Torri though, she’s a resourceful one.

She asked Cassidy one day if she’d like to be best friends.  And, wouldn’t you know it, Cassidy accepted Torri’s selfless offer of primo friendship status.  Unlike the friends Cassidy is used to having though, Torri’s friendship comes at a price.

A price that Cassidy and the rest of us hear repeated multiple times throughout the day. 

It happens while we’re in the car.  Or as we’re walking into the grocery store.  And even sometimes at the dinner table.

Burp.

Fart.

Burp.  Burp.

Fart.

Fart.  Burp.  Burp.  Burp. 

Fart.

Depending on the volume and rhythm of the burping/farting pattern, I have to admit that sometimes, we all have to stifle a laugh.  Go ahead.  Sigh disapprovingly if you want to but believe me, if you heard the way this little girl can rip ‘em you’d be giggly too.

Not Torri though.

Her disgust is palpable.  But she is not deterred.

“Cassidy,” she says to the offender, “are we friends?”

“No,” Cassidy answers, knowing the error of her ways.

“That’s right.  We’re not.  Because what don’t best friends do?”

“Burp.  Or fwart.”

(See how clever Torri is?  She doesn’t even like to say the words so she phrases her questions so that Cassidy has to.)

The mantra is commonly known among each and every member of our household:

Best friends don’t burp.

Best friends don’t fwart.

I suppose that perhaps the textbook mother might intervene at some point, and instruct her teenage daughter in the ways of compassion and patience and understanding.

Frankly though my patience for the flatulence and belching is wearing quite thin.  I for one am willing to see if the mantra will be more successful than my boring old-school methods.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

I watched Oprah today.  

I know the dangers of talking politics on my blog (I might offend someone-like I’ve never done that  before) but I can’t really hold my tongue on this one.  It really wouldn’t have bothered me so much had it not come on the heels of that Presidential debate last night.

Today’s show was supposed to deliver money saving tips for families like mine.  It promised to give all kinds of hints as to how we could uncover tons of money that we’re already making and, apparently, blowing, all without knowing it.

I guess Oprah has never seen my checkbook.

I’m one of those who balances the checkbook down to the penny.  Every other day.  I also log on to my credit card account sites and rectify those with my own records each and every week.  At any given moment I can tell you exactly what the balance of my checking, savings, and credit card accounts are.  Because I’m wild and free like that.

Anyway, on today’s Oprah she opened the show with some yahoo coming on and explaining why our country is facing an economic crisis.  And how this gigantic mess started because “all of us” chose to live beyond our means and accept loans and mortgages for far more than “we” knew “we’d” ever be able to repay.  This bail out, he explained, is necessary because of the collective poor financial choices “we’ve” all made.

Um, all of us?  Really?

Because last I checked my husband and I very carefully considered and reconsidered the amount of money we were willing to borrow.  And when we built our house we weighed which options were most important to us because we knew we couldn’t afford all the things we wanted. 

It was a novel idea really. 

We created a budget.  We stuck to it. 

Shocking, I know.

Yet, in spite of all that planning and disciplined decision making we’re being lumped in with a group of Americans who didn’t take those same precautions.

It’s all a bit frustrating.

Please don’t include me in that group of entitled folks who chose instant gratification over calculated decision making.

I’m totally over entitlement.

There is a well-known Senator from Illinois who exacerbates this mentality.  I watched the debate the other night and had to keep from choking myself when he spoke.  Because here’s the thing:

When the Declaration of Independence was penned, it set forth certain rights for us.  Those are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.  Notice that we aren’t guaranteed happiness, rather, we are guaranteed the right to pursue it.  They didn’t guarantee us large homes, SUV’s, or even health care.  What they did was establish for us the opportunity to earn all of the above if we so desire.  Not have those things handed to us on a silver platter.

As Americans we are not limited by the things that people in other parts of the world are limited by.  We don’t have militia men raping our women and stealing our children.  Women in this country are free, encouraged even, to go to college and be every bit as successful as their male counterparts.  We can practice whatever religion we are compelled to practice.  We can live and believe and be.  And these things, these things are the gifts that come hand in hand with being an American.

Everything else?  Everything else you work for. 

You see because the fact that a fellow American has more wealth than you or I do does not entitle either of us to that person’s fortune.  Contrary to what that certain Senator might think.

I heard him use the word fair over and over again in that debate the other night.  Didn’t his Momma tell him that life isn’t fair?

Is it fair that a wealthy person pay upwards of 25% of his or her income in taxes when someone with less of an income pay 15% or less?  No.  It isn’t.  Spin it anyway you want but the answer remains.  It’s not fair.  We all live here and drive the same roads and have the opportunity to send our kids to the same public schools.  So why shouldn’t we all pay the same percentage of our income in taxes?  Why isn’t there an across the board tax rate?  I’ll tell you why.  Because not everything in life is fair.  It’s a valuable lesson and I truly believe we’d go a lot further if everyone learned it. 

I guess I should stop now because I’ve likely offended two or three of you.

In closing, I’ll just say this: remember that list Kennedy wanted me to make, calling out people who smell bad?

Well, I’m not naming any names, but there happens to be a certain Socialist Senator at the top of it.  And that freak who was on Oprah today isn’t far behind.

Are you a fan of pumpkin?  I’m a fan of pumpkin.  Pumpkin bars, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie - you name it, I’ll eat it.  Last fall, in my quest to find a new way to infuse pumpkin into my seasonal baking frenzy, I discovered a recipe that will forevermore go down as one of my absolute favorites. 

Iced Pumpkin Cookies.

You can thank me later.

Cookie dough
2.5 c. all purpose flour (don’t even try substituting with whole wheat flour - I can assure you it doesn’t work)
1 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
2 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/2 t. cloves
1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. softened butter
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 c. canned pumpkin
1 egg
1 t. vanilla

Icing
2 c. powdered sugar
3 T. milk
1 T. melted butter
1 t. vanilla

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.  Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, ground cloves and salt in a mixing bowl and stir to combine.  Set aside.  In medium bowl, cream the 1/2 c. butter and sugar until light and fluffy.  Add pumpkin, egg, and vanilla to mutter mixture and beat until creamy.  Mix in dry ingredients.  Drop on cookie sheet by tablespoonfuls; flatten slightly (or don’t it still works just fine).  Bake for 15-20 minutes in the preheated oven.  Cool cookies and then drizzle glaze with a fork.

For real.  These are dee-vine.