Blog - Part 9

My Elf on the Shelf Has Seasonal Affective Disorder

December 16, 2013 by Robin

I’m not sure if you’ve heard about this new thing that Santa has been up to for the last few years. Apparently, he needed a little help keeping tabs on who was naughty and nice and started sending elves to kids’ houses to monitor their behavior 24/7. You may think the elves look like small stuffed dolls but you would be wrong, my friend.

No as legend tells it, these elves have magical powers. Every night while the children sleep, the little elves fly back to the North Pole to tattle to the Big Man about the kids to which they are assigned. But you know elves— so full of life, so full of mischief.

Those little elves are so busy that my Facebook feed is full of other people’s elves: taking a marshmallow bubble bath in the sink with Barbie, hanging the family’s underpants by the chimney instead of stockings, hanging upside day from the family Christmas tree.

Apparently, those little elves are SO busy that their behaviour is quite the hot topic around the lunch table at my girls’ school. Sadie, Aubrey & Emma come home everyday recounting the new adventures of their friends’ elves.

Which may explain why my kids are a bit disgruntled with Santa this year.

While he did send an elf to keep an eye on them, poor Chippy seems to be struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. He’s listless throughout the day and while their friends’ elves get into all sorts of hijinks at night, Chippy tends to spend entirely too much time on Netflix bingeing on his favorite shows. He lays around the house, sipping on a glass of Merlot, eating gluten free chocolate chip cookies and wearing yesterday’s yoga pants.

Occasionally, Chippy makes a half-hearted attempt to climb the Christmas tree, but it’s just so much work.

Chippy recognizes the total insanity of making a mess in someone else’s house and is smart enough to know, if I was left to clean up after a night of elfish escapades, he could expect to be our dog’s new chew toy before I poured my first cup of coffee. I’m pretty sure what Chippy needs is a little vitamin D– A long vacation somewhere where the sands are white, the water is cool, the sun still knows how to shine and the drinks are served in coconuts— and if he wanted to take me with him, well, that’d be okay, too.

The Weight of Great Expectations

December 4, 2013 by Robin

Thanksgiving was fun. We spent a week at The Farm in Jasper, Alabama with Zeb’s family. I love them and I have the best in-laws in the world. I don’t even have to try to like them, because I just do. They are awesome. And I say that because I don’t want anyone, anywhere to confuse what I’m about to say– but sometimes the holidays just suck.

Yeah, I said it.

The holidays suck. Maybe not for everyone, but I know I’m not alone in this.

I mean, I guess EVERYTHING about the holidays doesn’t suck, but for me, anyway, they are almost always emotional.

You know that hollow, day after Christmas kind of feeling?? That. I hate that.

I guess it boils down to expectations. No matter what, we always have them. Other people have different ones, and then we are all in the same place trying to celebrate and be happy, but there are kids everywhere and tons of people to be fed. And I crave the quiet corner in my bedroom but I’d be sad if I was there because I want to see everybody and do everything but that’s hard too.

My parents divorced when I was sixteen. It affected every member of my family differently but deeply. Sometimes it still surprises me that my parents aren’t together anymore. Like it just happened yesterday.

Then, in 2006, someone broke into my childhood home and burned it to the ground. (BTW, great job on never doing anything about that, ever, Jasper Police Department.) Thankfully my mother wasn’t in the house when it happened but she lost everything. And for me, the last bit of “home” was gone. Even after my parent’s divorce, home was still home. But then it was just gone and part of my childhood went with it. I miss that house, and the life I thought I was supposed to have pre–divorce. I struggle to this day with my expectations being so very different from my reality.

The day before Thanksgiving, I cooked dinner at The Farm for my wonderful family. The in-law family that has accepted me as their own for the last sixteen years. My dad came by for a quick visit before dinner and I was so happy to be there with everyone. We ate dinner, my nieces washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen, and I went upstairs to the room Zeb and I share at The Farm, and cried for two hours.

It wasn’t about anybody or anything, it’s just that sometimes, when you are broken– the things that are supposed to feel good, don’t. I’m not sure if I should attribute this to being from a “broken home,” having chronic depression, being human, or all of the above.

I texted with my friend Heather, (because she’s the kind of friend you can text the day before Thanksgiving, when you are crying in the bed), and just talking with her made me feel so normal that I cried harder. Mostly because I knew I needed to write about this moment, because I don’t want you to think you are alone if having to force yourselves to keep moving forward through the holidays when you don’t always feel like it.

I took for granted when I was growing up in my parent’s huge house that one day it would be full of their grandchildren. It never crossed my mind that not only would I not be spending the holidays with my parents, but they wouldn’t be spending it with each other. And every year, I find myself holding my breath around the holidays. Not figuratively. My chest aches and I realize I’m not breathing and it hurts. It hurts to breathe, but it hurts not to. So I take a deep breath and pack up my family and we come to the Farm, where my husband and kids feel like they’ve always belonged but where I still feel slightly conspicuous. I love it there but it’s not my home– it’s not where I was raised. It’s not mine.

Sometimes it just hits me so hard that I need to be saved from myself. From my expectations of other people, from my expectations of me.

The weight of these expectations is what keeps me from breathing.

But I keep it breezy on Facebook and say things like, “Have a great turkey day! May all your food dreams come true! Happy Holidays! Fa la la la laaaa!!!”

Because it’s easier than saying, “Hey, I realize today may be really hard for you because it’s not what you thought it was going to be 5 years ago, or 3 months ago or 2 minutes ago. But I hope it’s bearable. I hope it’s good. I hope you make it through this day with a smile. I hope you are kind to yourself today. I hope you breathe and notice something beautiful. Maybe it’s not what you thought it was going to be. But maybe you’ve been adopted into something that is lovely and beautiful and full of light.”

But maybe that’s what I should say instead. Because maybe then you’d feel less alone, and so would I.

Because if you’ve lost someone, if you are struggling with depression, if you feel out of place or out of step or out of sync… I simply hope your holidays are bearable. I hope you breathe through them. I hope you embrace what is beautiful and let go of everything that isn’t and I pray for peace for all us in the midst of our own expectations.

I’m A Grown Up Lady

November 18, 2013 by Robin

I’m not sure why I’ve been thinking a lot about getting older recently. Maybe it’s because my birthday is coming up and I can’t remember if I’m going to be 35 or 36? Maybe it’s because I’m seeing how much my girls are growing up and it makes me realize that we’re all getting older (and in my opinion, better). Maybe it’s because I’m watching from afar as my mom helps an elderly friend move into assisted living. I can’t really put my finger on what’s got me thinking about aging so much, but it’s been on my mind.

I’ll say this– I’m not sure if I’m 34 or 35 (pretty sure I’m 35. I could do the math but I’ve got other stuff to do.) But I AM sure of this: I love life right where I am.

I wouldn’t go back to 30 for a million dollars.

I wouldn’t go back to my 20s for ten million dollars.

And for a magic genie and unlimited wishes there is no way in HELL I’d go back to my teens. Ain’t no way.

I’m content.

I make faces at myself in the mirror to scrunch up the wrinkles on my face and see where that first round of Botox is going to to go in a few years (right between my eyes) but so far– getting older is pretty kick ass. My kids all sleep through the night, unless they are sick or have a nightmare. Everyone can put their poopoo and peepee in the potty (Glory to God in the Highest) and, best of all? They can all use words!! No more screaming and crying for inexplicable reasons. My four-year-old can simply say, “Momma, my ear hurts,” and BOOM, just like that, I know we need to go to the doctor. I don’t have to wait it out, call my friends, call my mom, call my pediatrician… wait, did she pull her ear??? Nope. We just use our words.

I was in this sort of “HOORAY for getting older” phase when my friend Mandy Rose from one of my fave blogs, House of Rose, posted on her Instagram that she was going to start wearing real lipstick.

She’s adorable without a speck of makeup but her post made me realize that I never wear real lipstick. Even when I get dressed up all fancy to go somewhere with full make-up, I usually just wear lipgloss AND– this is the worst part– it’s the same color I wore in 8th grade. That’s not to say that Clinique’s Black Honey isn’t a timeless classic, because obviously– it is. But I realized that if I was really a Grown Ass Lady– I’d wear real lipstick. Dark and dramatic lipstick.

I remember a conversation I had with my Momma once. She was trying on lipstick in Sephora, something she only does when I make her, and she put on a dark wine color. I gasped. It was stunning with her gray-blue eyes and silver hair.

“It’s too dark!” She argued, wiping it off.

“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “Wearing lipstick like that is one of the reasons I’m looking forward to getting old! It would look cheap, trashy and sort of goth on me, but you just look classy! I can’t wait to get old so I can wear bright red lipstick and huge diamond earrings. Hell, they’ll probably be CZs but when you get older, everybody assumes they’re real.”

All of this was still rattling around in my brain when my friend Cecily posted on Babble with her top makeup tips for women over 40. I clicked through her slide show and read all of her tips and I thought she was beautiful. Her lipstick was bright and spoke to me.

It said, “I’m not afraid of bright colors because I am a sassy and fabulous Grown Up Lady.”

Later that afternoon I was at the grocery store and I thought to myself, “Dadgumit. I’m gonna buy some real Grown Ass Lady Lipstick.”

I wheeled over to the makeup aisle and trusting Cecily’s recommendation of Revlon’s Colorstay Overtime, I bought the reddest red on the shelf (Forever Scarlet.) I checked out and once I was in my car, I whipped out the new lipstick and put it on. I checked my reflection in the mirror and I’m not going to lie, my heart skipped a beat– I looked just like The Joker. I fiddled around with my phone for a minute, responding to a few texts then checked the mirror again. It wasn’t that bad, I guess after 20+ years of the same lipgloss, it just seemed, so dramatic.

But the more I sat there and stared at myself, the more I realized that was exactly the reason I had bought it. Because I LOVE being 35. (Or 34.) I care less each day what other people think about me and this lipstick was bold and kind of awesome. I also realized that it was 2:30 pm and I was still wearing the workout clothes I wore to hot yoga at 8am. It was highly probable that with a shower and a full face of makeup, my Grown Up Lady lipstick wouldn’t be quite so out of place.

Regardless, I decided, I wasn’t just going to wear red lipstick– I was going to rock the hell out of it, you know, the next time I was going to go somewhere which required underwire and makeup. I reached for a tissue and wiped it across my lips and was a little surprised when there was NOTHING on the tissue. That’s when I noticed that the packaging promised it would last 16 hours.

SIXTEEN. HOURS.

I was committed but I was planning on pulling out the big guns for special occasions only– not for running carpool. Which, as it happened, was exactly what I was supposed to be doing, I cranked my Patty Peck Honda Odyssey (wink) and headed to school to pick up Sadie. As soon as she got in the van she yelled, “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR WIPS MOMMA? DAT’S SO PETTY! Kiss me!”

None of it rubbed off on her, so I feel like Revlon was pretty damn serious about it lasting 16 hours. I posted on Facebook:

Shortly after, people began offering me tips on how to remove the lipstick. I was running errands with my kids and I felt pretty freaking suspicious in my sweatshirt, yoga pants, dirty ponytail and bright red lipstick. I considered swinging by my house and trying some of the suggestions but then I thought, “Screw it. I’m a Grown Ass Lady and I’ll wear red lipstick with dirty sweats and greasy hair if I damn well want to.”

And I do.

Thank God the Internet isn’t Scratch N’ Sniff, yet.

Getting older is awesome. I can’t wait to be 36 (or 35 again.)

Rocky Mountain Oysters

November 11, 2013 by Robin

So since Emma Jean has been recovering from her little skurgery, we’ve been having “Chopped” marathons. There are several seasons on “Neckflicks” and our family can’t get enough. We are mesmerized by the chopping, sauteing, sweating and whisking. Aside from America’s Funniest Videos, it’s the one show that the whole fam will sit down and watch together.

This weekend Emma and Aubrey were piled up on the couch watching “Chopped” and I happened to walk through the room, following a trail of Sadie’s discarded clothes– she was on outfit #11 for Saturday and outfits #1-10 were scattered around the house. I bent to pick over a handful of socks as Emma said, “Momma, do you know what Rocky Mountain Oysters are?”

Me: Yes. Gross.

Emma: That was one of their mystery ingredients! Have you ever eaten that? It’s bulls’ balls Momma! Did you know that?? Rocky Mountain Oysters are bulls’ balls!!

Aubrey snickered beside her.

Me: I know. Stop talking about it. I’m about to gag.

Emma: But did you know that before Momma? You already knew that Rocky Mountain Oysters are bulls’ balls??

Me: YES. Stop.

I picked up a few more articles of clothing as one of the “chefs” was interviewed.

Terrible TV Chef to the camera: I’d never heard of these before. I didn’t even know what Rocky Mountain Oysters WERE until I heard the other guys talking about testicles… (Sidebar: Maybe you should’ve watched a few episodes of Chopped to prepare yourself for this “cooking” show. If you are a “chef” on a show on The FOOD Network and you don’t know what Rocky Mountain Oysters are and my SEVEN-year-old does– spoiler alert– you’re gonna get Chopped. .)

Emma: MOMMA. Are testicles and balls the same thing?

Me (OMG): Yes.

Aubrey was wheezing and had tears rolling down her cheeks.

Emma: I didn’t know that. Did you know that Momma? Did you know that testicles and balls were the same thing??

Me: YES.

I ran out of the room at that point hoping the conversation was over. Approximately 60 seconds later Emma followed me to the kitchen.

Emma: Can I have your phone? I need to call Ella Grace? (her cousin)

Me: Sure, as soon as she gets out of church.

Emma had only taken two steps when my brain finally caught up– oh I BET she wanted to call somebody. Thank God for long winded preachers and Sunday morning lunch crowds. And my brother and sister-in-law said, “Amen.”

The Very Serious Cooking Show Ep 3

November 5, 2013 by Robin

One day I will blog again. I will write all the words and all the feelings and tell ALL the stories here. But for now I am finishing up the copyedits on the new version of “Ketchup”, taking care of two sick kids (WHICH two rotates on a weekly basis), trying not to get sick myself and editing cooking shows.

What with all the free time I have these days, I spent most of the day today editing down 18 minutes of video to 4. Editing video is sort of time consuming– somebody in this house needs learn how to use iMovie (besides me) or this show is gettin’ cancelled.

Nuggets to listen for:

Sadie saying that her Daddy will kill you if you come to his house because he “HATES” people being here. (I have no idea.)

Sadie telling Emma to quit being silly that this is serious. Then, JUST KIDDING, it’s silly. I mean, serious. I mean– WAIT, what are we doing?

Emma begging Sadie to make it stop because they have been recording for 17 minutes.

Sadie telling Emma, “We’re best friends.” Emma saying, “Well, we’re sisters.”

Enjoy. And leave them comments. They lurve it.