A reminder for elected officials and other political hopefuls this election season ....

Robo-calls make children sad.

Pimp my (home) office

This is the cleanest this room will ever be ...

So. Since I'm home ... hiding from the snow/ice/rain or whatever concoction of winter precipitation we're supposed to be getting today.

What say ye?

What color do I paint the walls?

... before i start climbing them that is.

Remote control

I mean, really?

Isn't there some kind of prophylactic we can add to the plastic to keep them from multiplying?

How do you control your remotes?

More than it seems

Dear Ittybit,

I know I should feel embarrassed by the excess.

More than two dozen people invited to a two-hour birthday party.

At Christmas time, no less.

But I don't feel embarrassed.

The much reviled gift bag is in full production mode at our house.

I understand the hatred for such things. Before I was a child, I've come to understand, the party WAS the present.

When I was growing up a few kids would go home with prizes, which was probably how all this excess was born. Everyone, as they start having children of their own, remembers feeling like a loser as they left party after party empty handed.

And here we are - adults, a whole lifetime later - trying to compensate for all the mild disappointments with small bag of trinkets to be handed out to the children we sugared up and are sending home with their parents.

We rent places and spaces, trying to create memories that will last until next year when we'll try to top ourselves.

It sounds so much more of an indictment of modern life that it seems. "It's only money" is the polar opposite of "it's such a waste." Schools of thought that can't meet in the middle and play nice.

It's social/economic position vs. social/economic position: The haves vs. the have nots.

Either way, all that angst and anticipation gets channeled into a plastic and paper assembly line. And things that don't really matter at all -- things that will undoubtedly wind up at the bottom of a drawer -- end up meaning more than they should.

... Except that they do, somehow, matter in the moment we do them. In the minutes we spend planning, shopping and producing we are working together. We are sharing a moment.

I had begun to think it didn't matter that it doesn't matter.

But I know it does matter.

The thing we lose by being so caught up in the details is the big picture; this celebration birth and belonging and life gets lost in the minutia of the minute.

More than seven years ago, when I sat on an examining table in a paper robe listening to the doctor telling me I would have a Christmas baby ... I felt sorry for her.

I thought she would forgotten in the hoopla that is the holidays.

I had no way of understanding what a gift I would get that Christmas when I met her. I didn't have the forethought, and still don't, to see how Christmas would be forever changed by you.

Each year brings a new revelation.

So as we ready for the day you will turn seven, I want to tell you to just enjoy this moment for all that it is and all it could be.

And I'll try to do the same.

Love and just-about-birthday kisses,

Mommy

What time is it?

*

'Tis

the Season

for holiday excess ...

Which ... in my little corner

of the universe means purchasing

coffee cups I only need because my last

(and most favorite) one, which was to be put in

the car's cup holder, went flying off the car's roof

and broke into a bazillion pieces as I drove away from

the place where my bed and coffee maker reside.

No Matter.

It's that

time again ...

It's time for the slinging of holiday swag!



The new Holiday Masthead Mug is 10 (or 12, who knows) ounces of holiday joy, which I perennially have trouble giving away ... even with the addition last year of homemade candy. (But I'm not bitter.)

And new this year, we bring you Holiday Masthead Stacking Mugs ...



With four of us around it's a party!

Yeah. I know ... whatev ...


Finally ... and having nothing (and everything) to do with the holiday season of excess and guilt, I present the ultimate in passive aggressive travel drinkware:


I'm calling it the "Just Say No" travel mug.

These, and much, much more, are available for purchase at egregious prices at Cafe Press.



**And ... as per custom ... If you'd like a mug but don't want to shell out mucho dinero, just fill my email box with love. I'll pick one reader/commenter at random and you'll get a mug filled with homemade toffee. You know ... whenever I get a chance to make it.

Tuning out

"You aren't going to like my idea," he said, still hungover from a night of playing tiny video games he hadn't meant to play, on a tiny screen that is destined to make him go blind.

"Try me," I said, wishing for more sleep and less talk.

"I think we should turn off the TV, stow the cell phones and just enjoy Thanksgiving."

I suppose I can understand why he'd think I'd protest. Technology addiction isn't exactly like an addiction to chemical substances ... most folks can admit, at least in a social way, they are hooked.

Have cell phone, will check it ... several times ... a minute. It's the nature of the beast.

I didn't mention how irritated he'd gotten last week when I'd accidentally instituted a similar moratorium on electronic communication by forgetting to bring my cell phone to the grocery store. I found the lack of a phone to be refreshing and oddly liberating.

Everyone else thought it an inconsiderate affront to civility.

Not only was Ittybit unable to play Angry Birds whilst we drove, but The Husband couldn't call me several times to ask when I'd be coming home, or if I could pick up an extra tub of ice cream.

*Insert Heavy Sigh*

Truth is I don't want to be tethered to technology. I don't want to compulsively check for messages from perfect strangers. I'm tired of deleting sales pitches and propaganda. I'm tired of distinguishing which is which.

The idea of turning off cell phones and closing the doors on the "entertainment center" as we go about the work of turkey and trimmings is more than nice, it's nostalgic.

We turned on music and danced. The kids exercised their imaginations and their ability to play nice. The Champ turned his coat into a sled, and Ittybit, in turn, facilitated Magic Coat Rides between the dining room and the entry hall.

It wasn't anything special. It just was direct, and without a filter.

Yet we are unable to pull the plug entirely.

At 8 o'clock, we turned on the television to watch "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving." And then we saw exactly what we hadn't been missing:

Eighteen minutes of vintage, values-infused entertainment about the spirit of celebration hacked apart by 12 minutes of commercial "YOU NEED TO BUY THIS TOY" or "STORES OPEN AT MIDNIGHT WITH DOOR-BUSTER DEALS" interruptions.

"Where's Charlie Brown?" she protests the first time Walmart broke in on the entertainment.

"Walmart is holding him hostage until they get a chance to sell us on shopping there."

"Well ... Do we have to shop there to see it again?"

"No, honey. Our policy is not to deal with terrorists."

"Well ... What DO we DO then?"

"We just tune them out."

Paper or plastic?

My husband isn't fond of the sales pitch. I pity the the telemarketer that is at the end of the phone he answers. Even if they have legal approval to call, it doesn't mean he'll be cordial.

He's especially unhappy with the credit card companies and their wormy ways.

Always pitching their products, always adding more fine print.

Recently, he decided to send them some fine prints of his own. He collected all pitch letters he could find and commissioned Ittybit to draw some pretty pictures to return in their prepaid envelopes.

She drew unhappy squirrels ...



Who would rather have the shelter of trees ... than kids in college, or we in our suburbs, buried in paper or encased in plastic.

Party's over

My bank wants to be in a "relationship" with me.

That's what the advertising says, anyway.

It's not much of a stretch that banks would want to ride the social marketing wave. They've been enticing new customers with wedding gifts for generations. Still, it irks me like shoptalk at a party.

Relationships, Trusted Friends, Family. ... are now phrases that are often followed by pages of small print.

Thing is ... I don't want to be in a relationship with my bank unless they're willing to change a diaper or put the kids to bed.

Adoption clinic ...

Oh ...

Hello Kitty.

How sweetly you purr.


Witness my crazy: Our Ittybit's sewing machine has been broken since June when I *coughOVERTAXEDITcough* by making gazillion super capes for The Champ's birthday water slide party.

I promised Ittybit I'd replace it but agonized about tossing the machine.

Then, last week, I decided to bite the bullet and have it repaired.

Yet, before I even sent it back to the manufacturer, I impulse ordered the machine (phoned-in) above ... for no other reason than I am crazy.

Friday the new machine arrived.

And ... Oh. ... How I lurve the new machine. (Like a pet, that's how much ... Like I may NOT allow it to sleep in Ittybit's room, that's how much.)

Anyway ...

The projects are coming soon.

Please feel free to send me ideas. I have no idea what I'm doing, but we can learn together. *Or you could just laugh at how I translate your craftacular dares.*

I really would have liked to have been at the development meeting for this ...

This little "curio toy" was made by the Fleet people who are not bankers.

Seriously ...

I wish my mind worked this way creatively and not just appreciatively.

I know this will cost me in readership

It's definitely NOT going to win me any new fans.

But it may help a little girl be brave in the face of a big dentist appointment on Thursday.

And oddly enough, deciding it is only a doll has a calming affect on me, too.

Oh me of inferior blogging

Stacy, the lovely and talented mind behind Apathy Lounge, wrote a delightful and thought-provoking reminiscence into junk drawers past and present. And I SOoooooo wanted to comment there. But it would seem I'm totally and irredeemably unable to master the art of logging into Typepad.

*Shakes head in shame*

I then tried to e-mail her directly, which I usually do in times of my technological malfunctions, but I couldn't manage to find her e-mail address either.

I did say irredeemably, right?

*More shame shaking*

Instead, I will offer you the *comment* I had hoped to leave for her:

I happen to know I had four pairs of scissors (why can I never find them?); bits of leftover ribbon; a compass; four birthday candles; seven product information booklets, including three booklets for appliances we no long own; three marbles; two Playmobil figures, scuba dude and zoo keeper; two packages of batteries; an old Nalgene bottle filled with corks; the top half of a Hello Kitty plastic egg; four glue sticks; two packages of some longevity chemical for cut flowers; two rubber bands; six pencils; one pen; two reusable produce bags, one mesh the other muslin; theater ticket stubs; a postcard from France; and a Buyus Funeral Home ash tray, which I'm considering using as a soap dish in the downstairs bathroom.

I know this because I packed the junk in a reusable grocery tote and moved it to the new house, where it has become painfully obvious that the new kitchen has one fewer drawer.

Now I have to find a drawer for my junk.

Now. Go snoop through Stacy's junk drawer, she's got a choice of cake or pie for you, too.

Which reminds me: "Pie."

Five bucks

five bucks, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

The other portion of last week's stimulus money, which is $11 if you're keeping track, went for a cup of coffee for me, and some candy and trinkets for the kids' Easter baskets.

Getting out of the house by myself to browse at the used bookstore was kind of priceless.

Random Question Thursday

Do you have a favorite shower setting?

Massage
Nebulizing mist
Rain
Power rain
Full rain with massage
Directed pattern spray
Random pattern spray,
Aeration spray,
Twirling spray,
Pulsating jet spray


Here's a bit of too-much-information for your Thursday reading enjoyment:

My husband and I were perfectly happy with our single-setting, no fuss no muss fixed shower head. It was roughly the diameter of a half-dollar and probably cost the same way back when it was initially installed during the late 70s.

But then someone - a houseguest (I'm not naming names) - decided that we needed something more exciting. This houseguest disappeared to the hardware store and reappeared with a super-duper 12-setting shower head that (for a time) did everything but change the light bulb above the sink.

Class-ay!

After that (and this was a while ago, hence the note about the time) my husband and I started having the hassle of having to change the other's selected preference of water-dropping-pattern-ratio spray whenever we were scrubbing up.

I had the added problem of having to turn the shower head towards the wall so as to keep the water in the tub, something my husband can't really do because he'd never be able to get all the soap of his body. But I'm not going to quibble about that. I figure the fact that the shower head is the size of a salad plate and our shower is the size of a gym locker is the cause of that added adjustment.

Of course time and minerals conspired against us, and eventually, no matter what setting we wrestled the shower head into, what we got for our trouble was Do-it-Yourself Carwash (Patent pending).

We stopped adjusting the spray and just adjusted its direction. No one needs exfoliation to the bone.

Lately though, the shower head has been providing a rather pleasant effect: big, soft, fat droplet fall everso lightly now. It's quite pleasant not to mention refreshing. The effect isn't really comparable to nature yet still I equate the sensation to that of being caught in a summer rain shower.

Soon, the spray wars begin anew. The spray hits me like a sandblaster until I strong arm the head to my simple rain.

I mentioned this revelation to my husband as deuling settings dance begins once again.

He likes his shower to be injected with tiny needle pricks of water whereas I'd be fine if mine were dumped over my head in a sudden rush as if it were coming from the spigot of a hand pump.

I want to mention it, but complain I shant. The whole point of adjustible showers is to ADJUST.

"You know, I kind of like the way the shower isn't all scrub-your-skin-off anymore."

"Oh, that," he replied. "You didn't notice? I just wiped the crust off with my thumb a few days ago."

"Now that's class-ay."

How to make the perfect cup of coffee ...

even more perfect.




Coffee-talk amongst yourselves.

Stimulation

I found a few extra dollars in my paycheck this week, thanks to the economic stimulus plan, and spent it on a few things I didn't need: the Juno soundtrack and orange-flavored Tic Tacs.

I blame HBO programming honchos, a longing for my youth and product placement for this particular impulse purchase.

I know the money probably could have been better spent; perhaps on groceries or other necessities. But at least I was smiling and singing happily on my way to work this morning.

A virtual world almost as wonderful as the one we currently inhabit

Meet Jenny, Annabel's virtual pet Webkinz. Jenny's pseudo real-life counterpart, a stuffed dachshund toy, has been sleeping with Annabel since we activated the account.

For those of you still blissfully unaware of this particular corner of hell; let me enlighten you.

These are -- for the most part (but not in Jenny's case, of course) -- the crummiest looking stuffed animals ever manufactured. But the toy itself isn't the real draw; the $12-$14 you shell out for it also covers the cost of a secret code that allows entry into the Webkinz World, an online hub for video games that promote all that is wonderful and annoying about the interwebs, including social interaction and consumerism.

All the things we love and hate about reality are realized in Webkinz World, too.

In Webkinz World you can get a job, earn cash to feed and clothe your little friends, and collect over-priced virtual stuff to decorate your intangible pet's imaginary house. You can play some games for hours and others are only available to you once a day. You can click on ads. Put purchases in shopping carts. Watch your imaginary money dwindle away as you buy $900 tables, that don’t really fit into your pet’s tiny room anyway. You can work at the pizza joint for a few hours and make enough dough to buy your pet an extra room.

You can even sell your pretend stuff back to the make-believe shop (which sold you the invented junk in the first place) -- no questions asked. You will have to resort to that once you get fired from your ghost job at the shoestore that the employment office set up for you because you aren’t terribly skilled at matching shoes, and you won't be making any tips in the replacement gig you got on your own by visiting the Arcade: It's hard to make pizza when you have to follow when the video game won't allow you to do two things at once.

Of course, you can't do two things at once in real life very well anyway, so quit yer bellyaching.

In this virtual world you don’t have to deal with folks dressed in floral housecoats and wearing socks with sandals, pawing over the stuff you’ve dragged curbside, trying to negotiate a lower price. You can just get your money back for that apple you bought for $25 bucks regardless of when you bought it.

Of course you can learn a lot about your kids’ priorities when you activate their account and let them go hog wild.

For instance, Annabel isn’t terribly patient when the Web site crashes and I have to sign her in again (because she can’t read or spell her sign-in and passwords.

“MOM! I feel like I’m 25!”

“Why is that?”

“Because it’s taking so LONG!”

But really, I think poor Jenny is gets the worst end of the deal.

She may have the best room EVER, but her mistress is forgoing food to pay for it all.

Adding insult to irony

The only reason I ever thought of buying a shopping cart cover was to pad the skinny little wires, which, from my vantage point as an adult, look mighty uncomfortable for small tushes. But then I'm always shoving my coat, or their coats, hats and all manner of pillowy belongings in right beside them anyway.

But physicial comfort is not what the makers of these cute little liners are selling us; they're selling us supposed protection from the big, bad germ bugs looming on the handlebar; leftover, no doubt, from the unwashed, diaper diving hands of some other mother's little heathen.

That's what they're selling.

Of course, according to Healthytoys.org, with this particular cover -- The Shop 'n Learn Cart Cover made by Fisher Price -- you also get 153 parts per million of lead, 240 parts per million of bromide and 19 parts per million of Arsenic.

Kinda glad I opted for the common cold.

T'is the season ...

It's time for the soul-sucking, clogged-shopping-mall, every-thing's-potentially-dangerous holiday season. (Not to mention the ceremonial lighting of this year's holiday masthead.)

What? You didn't expect to get a sales pitch, here?

Silly readers.

I know you're strapped for cash.

We're in a recession, damnit.

You can't afford the exorbitant cost of an Ittybits & Pieces coffee mug or an Ittybits & Pieces bumper sticker. (They're never going to be collectors items anyway). That's just shameless self-promotion.

We're in a recession, damnit.

Save your money.

Go make something and give it to your mom why don't you.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Speaking of nice, I've made something I'd like to give to you.

Send me your mailing address and I'll send you our 2008 holiday card.

It's time to get this party started.