Week Something or Other

I am Here

Here, Mom

Oh How I Wish the iPhone's Camera Had Zooming Capabilities

Because then you, too, would be witnessing this sight:
A 70-year old Elvis ipersonator. His snug, electric blue sequined
jump suit. His perfectly coiffed 'do. His rocking gold shades. His
alligator-skin fanny pack. You know, the usual Elvis impersonator garb.

Week 42

From Last Night

Papa Tommy had a birthday, shout hurray!

He's a jolly good fellow. Just ask my Mom, who is seen here

singing those very words while dancing a jig.

And no, that's not a cow print mini-skirt she's wearing.

It's an apron...yes, worn underneath her sweatshirt.

She'll deny it, but underneath the cow print apron, she was wearing a smaller apron.

And a smaller one under that one.

And an even smaller apron underneath that.

And finally a tiiiiiny little apron underneath all of them.

She's a big fan of aprons.

Birthdays are taken seriously at the Garlocks.

Olive, enjoying her Grandmother,

who is a good sport and would never somehow slip X-Lax

into her sassy daughter's serving of lasagna.

Ruby explains the complexities of her lansing device

and other things Diabetes related to the fire academy hopeful.

Oh what a feeling when May's dancing on the ceiling.

John, Joe and Bryn flipping through Papa Tommy's new Bear Grylls book

and picking their favorite glamour shot pose.

Papa Tommy reading his birthday card from Ruby,

which included several tongue twisters she wrote herself,

such as "I see an iguana in icy mud under an ill person's bed,"

and "Hot hotdogs hopping off the stove, one hotdog yelled "Hurray!"

Santa Ana Wind like candle-blowing.

Happy Birthday, Dad. We love you, love you.

CA So Far

Week 41

Yes, Olive. I feel the same way about United Airlines.

Some Christmasy Advice From One Who Knows

Because of work schedules and traveling, we celebrated Christmas today, on Christmas Eve. It has been wonderful and for the first time ever, I feel like we really spoiled our kids. I have conflicting feelings about this. But I digress.

Since we've already done our Christmas, I feel inclined to impart some words of wisdom concerning various things I've learned this season.

1. Make sure Mr. Claus is home on Christmas Eve to help Mrs. Claus assemble a gigantic cardboard house right the first time, rather than the fourth time.

2. If you bought your child a FurReal cat or other creepy blinking animal, wrap the box in dark wrapping paper as opposed to white wrapping paper. When wrapped in white wrapping paper, a FurReal cat's motion detector can still detect light and movement and will most definitely "meow" at any given moment, say weeks before Christmas when the children are getting on their shoes to leave for an outing. A blatant and unholy lie will follow: the tale of the living room ghost cat.

3. If your child receives a ink and stamp collection from Santa Claus, do turn your back, then turn back around to find your 9 month old crawling through the opened ink pad, leaving a tiny baby hand tracks behind her all over your living room floor. Though precious looking, they're a bugger to scrub out of the carpet.

4. If you buy your wife an AeroGarden a week before Christmas, do not leave the receipt and order confirmation in the printer's cue to be found by her loveliness the following day when she goes to print off a recipe for marinated mushrooms with blue cheese.

5. If your children are receiving Walkie Talkies, a Busy Ball Popper, an Easy Bake Oven, or anything else that requires odd sized batteries or an 100 watt non-energy efficient light bulb used to bake weird textured treats, I would make sure you have those batteries and light bulbs on hand, otherwise you will be making a trip to the store and hobknobbing with 1,000 of this season's biggest procrastinators.

And last but certainly not least:

6. Do not let Child A put her new Zhu Zhu Pet hamster in Child B's hair. Not only will tears will fall, but also tangled locks of golden hair that will inevitably have to be cut free, with scissors, from the tiny hamster's wheels.

Pictures from this morning's festivities:

The loot.

Can you tell I was excited as they were, coming down the stairs?
Just a tad blurry.

Both Go and I always received a tangerine in the toe of our stocking growing up.
Does anyone else do this?

We play with unwrapped Santa gifts and stockings first,
then eat a big breakfast,
and then open gifts.
Both Go and I grew up with this Christmas schedule,
and now, so do they.
This is from the stocking-segment.

This year's favorite stocking stuffer item.

And now we are playing.

We hope everyone has a merry, merry Christmas.
With lots of love,
Us

Whomever Smelt It, Dealt It

We Had Ourselves Some Merry Little Christmas Dresses

Week 40

Happy 33rd Anniversary and Stuff

I am thankful to my parents

who were married on this day 33 years ago,
for without their loins I would not be.

Check out my Dad's rad suit.
Bow-chick-a-bow-bow!

A Little Tackiness For You This Morning

I try not to lament on the fact that we are pretty poor.
1. I'm fully aware that it's tacky.
2. It's temporary.
3. I'm fully aware that acknowledging it's temporary is tacky.
4. We are extremely blessed and I have absolutely nothing to complain about.
5. I'm a firm believer that money does not buy happiness.

...that being said, I'm pretty sure some expendable income could really boost my mood once in awhile.

THINGS I WOULD BE WILLING TO PAY FOR IF I HAD THE MEANS THIS HOLIDAY SEASON (besides buying my family some decent gifts):

-Blurb blog book do-er. (And I even won a free one from Design Mom like 2 years ago but I bet the code has totally expired. Bah!)

-Teacher-gift thinker-upper and doer.

-Christmas card envelope stuffer and licker.
(...though I recently got a priceless tip from a friend: BABY WIPES. genius. And if I had the means I would have paid her for that piece of advice)

-Masseuse. Just because.

-Eyebrow plucker. Or at least someone to remind me to do it more often so my eyebrows don't grow together...so often.

-Suitcase packer.

-Ironer. I don't do it. Period. Blessed be the name of Downy Wrinkle Releaser!

-Blog commenter. I don't do it enough. I'm a slave to my Google Reader, but regardless of my cyber-silence, I do love all of you.

-a decent Kleenex box designer. My goodness. The horrors to be found on Kleenex boxes these days...

Letters Written After Today's Elementary School Holiday Program

Dear Darling Little Girl Pianist in the Plaid Dress,
I'm sorry my baby yelled/growled the entire time you played. I was shhh-ing her the whole time but you probably heard that too while you were plucking away at your Christmas Medley. You did a really good job, by the way.

Sincerely,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Little Flute Player with the Too-Tight Outfit and High Heeled Boots On,
Why the need to grow up so fast, huh? Take off all that makeup and jewelry and enjoy being a little girl! Good job on that flute. You have very nice posture. Now where is your mother?

Yours Truly,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Lady with the Thick Bright Blue Eyeliner Sitting Next to Us,
For the 18th time, my baby's feet were not cold. She just doesn't tolerate socks and shoes and I've given up. Mind your own bees wax.

Best,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Little Girl Who Played the Drums,
You rocked!

Love,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Man Sitting on the Other Side of Us Who Suffocated Me with Your Smokey Stench,
I apologize again for my baby's projectile vomit which landed on your Timberland boots. But maybe it was just because her throat was closing up after having to breathe in your residual cigarette smoke for an hour. Nevertheless, I'm still sorry about your Timberlands.

xoxo,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Woman With the Sequined Snowman Cardigan Sitting Behind Us,
Thank you for pointing out thrice that my daughter's dress was on backwards. I'm sorry if we chose not to strip her down right there and put her clothes back on the right way, leaving you to deal with your obvious OCD-like tendancies but I rather not expose my child to the entire elementary school's auditorium.

Regards,
Annie Reynolds


Dear Ruby,
Though you claim that performing isn't your favorite thing, you did great and were so cute. Olive clapped for you the entire time. The lady sitting next to us who repeatedly informed me that Olive's feet were cold spotted you up on the stage before you even saw us and said to me "That must be your daughter! She looks just like your other ones," and I proudly said "Yes, she's mine!" And I'm so glad that you are.

Love,
Mom

Verdicts

Thanks for your input. It was interesting to see who said what.

My decisions: Across the board, a combo of both choices every time.

1. Olive will start having one bottle a day in the afternoon, but other than that, I will continue to nurse her until she's 1.

2. I will snail mail relatives, those who send us cards every year and close friends who live further than a 25 mile radius. That's 100 cards right there. I will also be posting our Christmas picture/card on the blog in a week or so for those of you who didn't make the cut and if you fall into that category, know you are loved nonetheless.

3. Making some gifts, but also purchasing.

Badabing, badaboom.

Top Three Questions

1. Olive: continue nursing or ween?

2. Christmas cards: snail mail or email?

3. Christmas gifts: purchase or create?

Week 39

Advent Day #5: The Nutcracker Ballet

Question:

Are male ballerinas called ballerinos?

Since my red spell-check line just popped up underneath that word,
I'm guessing no
but that's not going to stop me.

Saturday the big girls and I went to the Nutcracker Ballet performed by a local ballet troupe. (From the picture you would think that I was the only one who was excited, but they were.)

It was a worthy effort, but left a little wanting in the ballerino department. Not that I'm sitting here jonesing for a ballerino in his man tights or anything, but that night at the ballet, I was. My favorite part of the Nutcracker has always been the Russian dancers and those rad low squat kicks. But because of the apparent lack of ballerinos here in central PA, alas, there were no Russian dancers and no low squat kicks. This also meant that all the male characters in the production were played by females. So the little boys at the beginning at the party were played by little girls: a nice combination of amusing and creepy: girls in lederhosen with bowl cut wigs, (which I'm seriously considering as the new title for my blog, by the way.) The Nutcracker had a very obvious boob job. The Rat King had nice child bearing hips. While watching the busty Nutcracker slay the junk-in-trunk Rat King, I started thinking "What are they going to do once that big Nutcracker head has to come off, revealing the handsome Prince?" The answer: an extremely non-ballerino teenager. Thanks to the names listed on the program, I deduced that the Prince, who shall heretofore be called The Prince Without Rhythm, was played by the big brother of the girl who played Franz, Clara's pesky little brother. Unfortunately, the most memorable dance in the production ended up being his, The Prince Without Rhythm. There's a part where the Prince Without Rhythm tells the story of his battle with the Rat King through dance...or lack thereof. We, the audience, all squirmed uncomfortably in our seats while the poor kid did a series of off-beat marches, and off-beat fake-sword lunges for a solid two minutes, all the while futilely counting to the beat, flaring his nostrils and licking his lips. Other than that, the production was pretty good. But next year I'm hoping for some bonafide ballerinos.

Week 38

She thinks my phone is funny.

Year of the Rat

You know these contests they have on the internet, where it's like whoever gets the most votes for something wins? These types of things rub me the wrong way because it just ends up being a popularity contest rather than judgment on the actual quality of whatever is being judged.

This is another one of these contests. But. BUT! This one really deserves to win. A family friend wrote/acted in a 65-second film that is most enjoyable. I watch it and giggle at its hilarious nuances.

If you want to see something funny and help a sweet guy out, go to this website, where you can watch and vote for the short film "Year of the Rat." (It's the one at the very bottom.) You'll be glad you did.

Twenty Three Days and Counting

As usual,
we're going to Irvine and Las Vegas for the holidays
and we couldn't be more excited.
There are people we really like there
and it's just a whole lot sunnier.

It's Official: We Need Caller I.D.

Phone: ring! ring!
Me: Hello?
Mystery Caller: Hey Annie. This is Mmmferrferrferrferr. How are you?
[I did not catch her name, though at this point, I reckon I'll be able to figure out who's calling after a couple of seconds]
Me: Uh...good! And you?
Mystery Caller: Pretty good, pretty good. So how was your Thanksgiving?
[Nope. Still no clue who I'm talking to.]
Me: Um...wonderful. How was yours?
Mystery Caller: It was fun. Hey, I was wondering if you and your girls would like to come over for a play date tomorrow.
[Still clueless.]
Me: Uhhh...remind me where you live again?
Mystery Caller: Oh, we live right off of BlahBlahBlah Street.
[This tells me nothing. It could be anyone.]
Me: Um...yah. Ok. That would be...uh...um...Can you hold on for just a minute?
[I put down the phone and sit there like a dummy. After a couple of seconds, I come up with this genius gem:]
Me: Hi. I'm back. Ok, this is so incredibly lame but...who is this again?

Seriously. How lame am I? GAAAAAH.