Merry Christmas

Among the crazy piles of boxes
And the tape and wrap and bags
I thought about the woman
That I saw was dressed in rags
She was standing on the corner
Midst the traffic and the snow
Holding up a sign that said she had no place to go
And could I give a little
To help this holiday
The sign said she was homeless
And had no job that gave her pay
I doubt the change I gave to her
Helped her out too much
But doing so helped me to see
I had gotten out of touch~
The worry and the hustle
And the rush and all the baking
To pile up all the presents
For my kids as they are waking
On Christmas morning as my kids come flying down the stairs
I want them to remember
All the blessings that are theirs
And so I wrapped and prayed for all of those who are in need
And I promised not to forget
The reason for my deed~
So remember as the hustle and the bustle cloud the reason
To be grateful that we have enough to celebrate this season
Its not about the presents or the stress to which it lends
Its sharing in the spirit with our families and friends.

So Merry, Merry Christmas
To all of you and yours
And may the Beauty of This Season
Come flowing through your doors.

Thanks For Reading
funny.crazy.love.

Mourning Coffee

It became a part of our family, sort of by accident a bit over 6 years ago.

When we got married, we got this gift certificate for a pretty large amount to a pretty swanky store, that we pretty much would never have stepped foot in, unless of course we had a pretty penny to spend on things we really didn't NEED. You know?

But we DID have this gift certificate. So we took a little trip to the big city.

Inside this store, we both, I mean, my husband and I, wandered around, looking for something on which we could spend this gift certificate. The things in the store were beautiful~don't get me wrong~but one thing that we both have in common is that we don't spend money on things that we don't NEED. (Well, at least I don't. My husband has been banned from "stopping to pick up milk" due to his recent "impulse" buys, like 12 boxes of light bulbs, or new "funnels" just in case they would ever come in handy, anyway...that's another story)...


So again, this particular store was filled with unnecessary items~pottery, massive candles, hand-crafted sculpture-like-things-that-you-put-on-your-mantle-if-you-have-one, things that I would not likely spend money on...except we had this "fun" money...

We walked slowly around the store...picking up one thing, shaking our heads, "No." Stopping in front of another thing. "How about this?"

"Uuummmm....not so much."

It really wasn't our kind of stuff.

"Can I help you find something?" The hippy-ish clerk asked.

Neither of us had any idea.

"Have you been upstairs? There is a whole other department up there..."

Coffee.

Rich people coffee. Java. Espresso machines. Cappuccino makers. Stirrers. Grinders. Beans. Mugs. Spoons. Mixers. Coffee books. Coffee magazines. Coffee experts in fancy coffee aprons...

Coffee pots.

Not just your average department store brand coffee makers. Not that there was anything wrong with average department store brand coffee makers... I mean, we had a perfectly good, well-functioning, Mr. Coffee at home...

We were happy.

 We had coffee every morning.

It was fine coffee, too.

But these machines were different. They looked different. They were stainless steel trimmed, sleek black and sturdy. Stallions.

Guaranteed to brew the perfect cup o' joe.

We peered over the models.

They were spectacular.

And we had a gift certificate.

Did we need one of these beauties?

Nope.

Had we ever even discussed the notion of owning one of these masters of coffee makers?

Never.

They cost almost as much as two car payments for heaven's sake!!

But here we were...standing face to face with owning one of the best...

What the hell else were we going to buy? A forty pound beeswax candle? A miniature sculpture of "The Thinker?"

We had to spend it on SOMETHING!

So we did. AND we had enough left over to buy the "Burger Bible" cookbook.

This coffee pot had an instruction manual the size of the dictionary. We learned the basics, plugged it in, and pushed start.

And THAT was the beginning of our beautiful relationship with our coffee pot.

The coffee that it produced was better than any I had EVER had. DD, Starbucks, here, there...wherever. This was superior java.

If our guests had it, they all commented. It was GOOD. It was SO GOOD.

I looked forward to it every single morning. The best was when my hubby made it before he left for work and it was waiting for me when I padded into the kitchen, poured, and sat to watch the weather before the kids came trampling down the stairs. It was pre-perked heaven in a cup.

For 6 years.

Then, in the last couple of months, it started taking a little longer than usual to brew.

It would sigh and heave and gurgle sounds that it never made before.

Oh...it still tasted great, but it was certainly showing its signs of aging.

THANKSGIVING MORNING, 2010.

I was so excited to make my coffee and start the holiday traditions: cinnamon buns for the kids, coffee for me while I started baking...

I put the coffee in the filter. I poured the water in. I pushed "on."

Nothing.

I stood there and stared at it for a good 3 minutes.

Nothing.

I gave it a little "love tap."

Still Nothing.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, Dear God, NO!!

I pushed the button to "off."

Unplugged it. Plugged it back in.

Nope...

I was in a state of complete panic.

My husband came in and saw my face.

"What's wrong?"

"ITSNOTCOMINGON!"

He came over and gave it a smack on the side.

"I know...it's been like this for a while." He said.

I gave it a smack. Then another.

Then, the life giving "HIIISSSSSSSSS" sound graced my ears as it started brewing.

A collective sigh of relief blended with the percolating sounds of our beloved machine.

But we knew it then.

Its days were numbered.

In the days that followed, we took turns smacking it, shaking it, cussing at it, plugging-UN-plugging-plugging it into different places around the kitchen, trying to set the timer, using hot water, colder water...cleaning it, praying in front of it, cleaning it again, standing in front of it with our ears next to the base of it...hoping for it to brew...

At first it would go after a couple of shakes and smacks...but as the days passed, we had to beat it longer and harder. Shake it to the point of crazy. The kids were waking up to one of us literally beating the crap out of the coffee maker. We knew it was not long before we would have to buy a...

dun-duh-dunnnn...

replacement.

So, we searched high and low...on-line, in stores, in the holiday fliers...for a respectable, yet practical, new maker.

We found one.

It looked like a beauty. Decent price.

Sturdy. Not too many options...12 cup...and RED. (I like that. It looks sharp).

My husband asked before he hit "send" on the order..."You SURE?"

"I'm sure."

"Really sure?"

"Ugh. I guess so."

SEND.

It was done.

I can't help but feel oddly sentimental about it.

It was, after all, a wedding gift. It was REALLY nice. It made excellent coffee every.single.day.

So for the past few days, we had waited for the new machine to arrive. And, of course, yesterday, our trusty old maker started brewing at the first push of the button...much like the day of a scheduled hair cut, you have a great hair day...anyway...it was almost like it knew...I know that sounds crazy. I 'm tearing up...

But this morning...OH!THIS!MORNING!

It would NOT start. I was trying to figure out how to make a DD run in my jammies...My husband was pacing in front of it...he had to leave for work...it was not gonna brew. it was over.

I unplugged it for the final time.

Then the doorbell rang...

It was our new coffee pot. (IT didn't ring the bell, the UPS guy did...)

I took it from him like it was a newborn.

I tore it out of the box and placed it on the counter, where I hope it will remain for many years.

I called my husband. "It's here."

When he got home this evening, we just stood looking at it. He filled it and set the timer.

"I feel like going to bed now, so morning will get here faster." He said. (Love him).

And so it goes. At least, I hope.

Thanks to my Uncle Jim for the inspiration for the title of this...Thanks to the friends-who gave us the gc in the first place-Thanks to the folks at KRUPP'S...It was a hell of a ride.

I love my coffee.

Oh, and we still have the "Burger Bible."

Books are forever, you know.

That is all.

thanks for reading.

funny.crazy.love

The First Day Of Crazy

On The 1st Day of Crazy
The Good Gods sent to me
An Absolutely Flooded Basement...

A Whoopie Pie Debacle
Broken Coffee Pot
Nick Broke His Thumb
Splinters From The Wood
Smashing Christmas Tree
Papers Go To Print

FIVE PRESENTS FOUND(by Tyler, of course)

Forgot My Wallet at My House
Need to Order Oil
Of Course We're Outta Milk

AND A FOOT OF WATER IN THE BAAAAASE~MEEEEEENT!

Merry Christmas!!

funny.crazy.love

My Broken Funny Bone

Oh.
Where do I begin?
With an apology? A thank-you? An excuse?

Buckle up, Crazy Road travelers...this might be a bumpy ride.

First, I will tell all of you that have been wondering if the crazy, funny, nutty situations that make life on Crazy Road so, well, crazy~ are still occurring, that~

YES. Indeed they are.

Its a bit of a long story as to what happened with me, and why I haven't written about our chaotic, hilarious life. But now, as I am writing, the words are piling up in my head and ready to explode right onto this blog...

The fact is, my funny bone broke. And it took the words of a complete stranger, as well as a new friend, to shake me out of my slump.

You see, back in July, I received an email unlike any other.

It was an email from someone that I had never met.

Inviting ME to compete in the Mrs. Maine Pageant.

My initial reaction was a giggle.

ME? In a pageant? Now THAT was hilarious to me. And to my close family and friends who know me all too well~hysterical! How would someone like ME compete with beautiful, smart, talented ladies who were likely familiar with very high heels and false eyelashes?

More giggles just picturing it.

ME in a bathing suit? ME in an evening gown? ME in a...crown?

And so days went by, and I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Being in the pageant would mean I could talk about Barbara Bush Children's Hospital and The Make-A-Wish foundation, and maybe, just maybe, help out these two charities that are very near and dear to my heart. so, why NOT me?

"PLUS," I thought...

I mean, this is something that is a once-in-a lifetime opportunity. The whole issue of the looming 40th birthday has been really getting me down...why not do this thing and really take this opportunity to GLAM up. I USED to be glam. I USED to know what was hip. I USED to read magazines and brush up on eyeliner and highlighting techniques...

NOW I pour over the articles on banishing belly fat and reducing stress and de-puffing under-eye-bags.

Blah.

So, with the encouragement of the same family and friends that giggled along with me at first, I took the plunge into the pageant world. I vowed I wouldn't stress about it. I promised I would have fun with it and not try to be someone that I was not...

Oops.

I didn't even realize what was happening.

I poured over pictures of bathing suits and gowns.

My hair has gone from blond to red to brown to red to brown again in an effort to look my best.

I purchased creams and lotions and eyebrow stuff...

I stopped seeing the humor in my days.

On Thanksgiving, for instance, my beloved coffee pot @#$% the proverbial bed. Because I am a fiend about my coffee, not just any coffee pot will do. Because its Christmas, my finances are tied up in Santa's sack(get your minds outta the gutter folks, I mean toys)...and the new pot will just have to wait. So, in the meantime, my husband and I take turns literally beating the broken KRUPP'S coffee pot until it brews my liquid lifeblood.

That's funny.

But I didn't write about it. I will, though. I have a lot of "ground" to make up...

Our Christmas tree came crashing down in the middle of our living room the other night. Among shattered ornaments and tangles lights, the real me would have laughed at the situation and written about the fact that I heard the tree creaking and thought there was a squirrel or mouse a la Clark Griswold, and my husband and I were staring at the tree waiting for it to jump out at us as the tree came smashing down...

Thats funny.

But all I could do was cry and think about all the work I put into that tree and the sentimental value it had...

My husband said..."Well, its gonna make a good story for your blog..." And I barely heard his words.

A couple of weeks ago, I was trying on gowns for the pageant. As I stood in  front of the mirror, and the downright lovely lady fussed over the straps and the trains and the sparkles and the boobs...All I could think of was...my belly fat. My stress. My worry about being judged.

This was not funny.

Last week, I met with a couple of ladies to go over my "pageant stuff." My paperwork. My bathing suit. My plan for the interview.

I answered the questions in a way that I thought was "pageant" like...

And here is my first "THANK YOU:"

During the practice interview, she stopped me mid-sentence.

She said, "You are not that funny. Everyone told me that you were funny and I am just not seeing it."

I was so taken back by her statement! After all, the one word that I am pretty sure people think of when they think of me is: funny.

What had happened? Where had I gone wrong? Had I evolved into an un-funny person?

You know what?

I had.

Shame on me.

I think I convinced myself that to compete in a pageant like this, I had to become very dignified. Very serious.

Very Not Me.

So thank you, beautiful stranger. I hope to re-meet you soon so I can introduce you to someone I like very much...me.

The other night, as I was peering into my magnifying mirror looking at my wrinkles and zits and other deformities with my ever-critical eye, my husband came into the bathroom...

"Stop doing that!" He said..."You are beautiful."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have one-single-wrinkle or and you never get zits!"

He said, "Maybe you should stop layering all those products on and just use soap."

hmmmmm.....

And I looked at my side of the vanity and really saw what I had missed for months.

I have every anti-aging eye cream, scar-reducing serum, self-tanners, stuff to make my hair better, thicker, longer, lighter, darker, skin-primer, face luminator, Clearasil, line erasers, eye-lash plumpers, lip sticks, glosses, balms and tubes....you name it...if it is on a Rite-Aid shelf...I own it.

Ugh.

And I am pretty sure I look the same as I did before.

He was so right. Again.

Yesterday, my new friend Kayt said, "When are you gonna blog again? We miss your funny, crazy life!"

You know what, Kayt?

So do I.

And lucky me, it's been right here waiting for me. Right in front of my ridiculously eye-shadowed eyes.

Thank you, Kayt.

So...onto my apologies...

To my husband. I know I have been impossible.

To the followers of Crazy Road...

Sorry...temporarily lost my funny-mojo.

I am right here...

And so, I will be in the Mrs. Maine Pageant in February. I will do my best to represent all of the "MRS. MAINES" out there who are busy mothers, wives, workers, bill-paying, grocery getting, dinner-making, tear-wiping-bedtime-story-telling-appointment keepers-taxi driving-Christmas shopping-beautiful-talented-successful ladies out there.

I will proudly wear the heels and the gowns and the bathing suits(oh.yes.i.will) and the eyelashes. My hair will be shiny and big and my "girls" will likely be taped up to resemble the boobs(yes, I said boobs, because its funny)of days gone by...

But underneath it all, I PROMISE, will be crazy, funny me.

And THAT is perfectly fine.

I am thrilled that you are still reading this. I might have thought you would have given up on it. I forgot how much I love to write about my wonderful life...I admit...I almost forgot my password to get into my own website! But of course, it came to me. Its really my own description of the real me.

Thank goodness..

I am soon-to-be-forty.

I am proud of my life and my accomplishments.

I have laugh lines~From years of laughing so much and so hard at myself, with friends and family, at funny movies with my husband, at my kids, my sister, my friends, Lisa, Julie...

I have a belly that has made room for my three beautiful babies, and is a bit stretched out because of that. In light of what I have in my kids...I'll take the stretch.

I have stress about my job as an advertising executive, and ad deadlines, and sales numbers...but I have a great job~I work with fantastic people, I have a perfect schedule...I am so lucky.

I am blessed with healthy, happy kids. An amazing, supportive husband. A great family. Amazing friends.

And a healed funny bone.

Stay tuned...I am back, baby!!

Thanks for reading...

funny.crazy.love.

Real Runner

People say I'm crazy.

I won't deny I have my moments of crazy. I embrace it now. I can't fight crazy any more than I can fight being short, or my fear of frogs.

What seems crazy to others, and what is crazy to me, are sometimes two different things.

Crazy to me was the thought of ever being a "runner." I've done my fair share of treadmills, and aerobics, and hundreds of different videos, ab crunchers and whatever was the new "it" gadget...but I never could get my arms (or legs) around RUNNING.

Here's another thing about me. I am naturally lazy.

Not so much in my life, as a mom, a wife, an advertising exec, grocery getter, tear wiper, dinner maker, bill payer, candy-land-ref, and all that...

But with excercise.

i no likey.

I know its a must. I have read every magazine, watched every TV show...I KNOW I have to exercise if I want to be fit and healthy.

I know.

I know.

I know.

So last year I started walking...every day, a little further, a little faster. I grew to look forward and actually liked my walks. I took Casey, my beloved Golden Retriever. And seeing the absolute joy he got from the walks made it all the better.

I even got some of those massive make-your-but-look-cute-if you-walk-in-these Sketchers. I have never had a pair of shoes that came with a DVD that shows you how to walk in them, but sure enough, in a few days I was walking on air and feeling better and better.

Miles and Miles later, at the end of the summer, I heard about a family in my town that have two young children, Brooke and Josh, who have been diagnosed with A-T. Brooke is in my daughters class, Josh is in third grade. There would be a 5K in October to raise money for research for this terrible disease that currently has no cure..What could I do to help?

I could run, that's what.

So I started running.

I hated it.

It hurt my legs. It hurt my hips. It hurt my back. It hurt my arms. It hurt my ta-tas. I think it hurt my ears. It hurt everywhere...at first.

But I did it. I set the goal that I would run that race without stopping. 3 Miles. I knew it would not kill me.

Right?

At times I felt like it would. I started 1/4 mile by 1/4 mile. Soon I was running that 3 miles...and I had my trusty little pedometer thinger to prove it. My heart pounded. I believe that I perspired more than I ever have.

But doggone it. I was running.

And so October arrived. I was ready to race.

The night before, I was nervous. I wasn't sure why, I knew I could do it. I wasn't out to win...I just wanted to finish. I didn't know the route of the race, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be too hard...right?

That night, my belly was doing that thing...you know what I'm talking about...that "ohnopleaseletmemakeit" feeling that you get if you have...well...intestinal distress...the runs.

Ironic.

The morning of the race...I felt better. I was excited. Ready to go...

I popped some Imodium and hit the road.

I picked up my friends and drove down to the church parking lot...It was "brisk" to say the least, but the energy of the runners and huge turnout to support the family was utterly amazing. Music was blaring, people were laughing and warming up...I got my "number."

It was 40.

Ironic.

I told my friend not to worry about running with me. I knew she was a "real" runner, and her pace was sure to be faster, and I didn't want to worry about keeping up. I just wanted to run the whole race with no stopping.

Just about as quickly as we started, I lost her in the pack.

About a 1/2 mile into it, I found my pace, which was clearly slower than most. But I didn't care. I was doing this for so many other reasons. I was doing it for myself. I was doing it for Brooke and Josh. I had set a goal, and here I was...running.

I kept up for a while, but at the first turn, was the first "hill." Remember, I live in the "Western Mountains." Its pretty much ALL hills. I watched as the "real runners" went up and over, and lost them.

Thankfully, there were wonderful volunteers along the route to direct us...cheering us on...lights and sirens from the local Police who had all volunteered their time to direct the race...it was awesome.

But the effing hills.

I was huffing and puffing and sweating.

This was not the fun part.

Then, at about halfway...at the top of yet another hill, there was a mini water station...where Brooke and Josh were there handing out cups, and saying "thank you" to each runner...with tears in my eyes I picked up my pace. Would these kids ever run? They will if I can help it.

Down a hill and around a corner, there was a man walking, cheering and supporting the racers.

"It's All Down Hill From Hee-Yah!"

"It is??" I panted. "Thank GOD!!!" I almost turned around and kissed him.

Down hill I could do.

Another Corner...

The police officer directed me up another hill...

"Really?" I squeaked..."But a guy just said it was..."

Bastard!

Son of a...!

At the top of that hill, I realized I was alone.

Alone with my burning quads, my sore toe...my very un-lady-like sweat...and lost?

I had lost sight of my friend's swinging pony-tail, in a not-so-nice part of town...

I knew I had to be close to the end...but I was not sure. I think I was hallucinating. I was singing to myself.

On a road I knew would somehow get me to the end...

Where the $%#@ was I?
Where the $#%^ was everyone?

Only I could get lost in my own hometown and lose sight of 30 people running in a pack in bright, matching tee shirts...

Then I saw this person...not sure if it was a man or a woman...handing out little cups at a table on the side of the road...

"Yessssss." I was on the right trail!

I took a cup and drank it...feeling very marathony and athletic...

"Holy #$%^!" I thought out loud..."I hope that wasn't some sort of drug or something!"

This person could have been some LOONY passing out meth-juice or crack!

Was I going to die?

I kept running.

Then I saw another police car...blue lights twirling...at least I think they were....maybe I was swirling...

The sun was bright...The officers directing me...

"You're almost there!!!"

"I am? I am!"

Its a good thing. I had to pee.

Now I could see runners in front of me. Now I could hear a few behind me.

I caught a glimpse of the crowd at the end.

I could hear them cheering for runners as they finished.

I was going to be one of them.

Then I saw my three beautiful children cheering for me...beaming with pride..."Go MAMA!"

My parents were there cheering for me as I neared the finish...

My friends that had finished were cheering...

"Great Job!!"

I ran in holding the hands of my two little rascals...Someone snapped a picture...Someone yelled out my time of finish...people were patting me on the back...

I did it.

And I didn't poop my pants, or overdose on that cup of drugs...

I did it.

I became a runner.

I did it for those kids. I did it for my kids. I did it for crazy me.

"Beautiful are the feet that carry good news." The priest quoted before the race started.

That carried me through. And every day since that race. I have run.

I will continue to run, and have set new goals. Crazy goals? Maybe. But the thought of running at all used to be crazy...to me.

It still hurts.

I still don't love it. But I can do it and support causes that are near and dear to me. And that is the reason I run.

Hope with Every Step raised over $55,000 for research in A-T.

I am honored that I could help.

And really, really proud of myself.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

The Name Game

AAAAHHHH~

School is back in full session! That means crazy mornings, lunch packing, bus meetings, soccer practice pick-ups, Open-Houses, school picture reminders on the fridge, two-times-the-laundry, and lots and lots of stories!

This is Tylers first year of Pre-K, and, unlike Mackenzie, Tyler starts telling me the minute-by-minute details of his days the second he steps off the bus.

In his funny, animated way, he tells me the excitement of eating breakfast and lunch with his new friends, making play-dough, drinking from the watah fountain and his absolute favorite~RECESS!!

We've been asking about his friends, but until late last week, he really couldn't tell us any of the names of his new little buddies...

When we visited the school for the open-house, I noticed some of the cute names on the tags hanging on the cubbies...names have changed so much! Names I would never have thought of for my own children, but really interesting, unique names for both boys and girls. Some are whimsical, some are tough, some are spelled in letter combinations that may prove to be difficult to remember when addressing birthday invitations or valentine cards, but really, really different titles to the adorable little wee-ones that are just entering the world of learning.

So yesterday, as Ty was telling me of the drama that occurred in the line waiting, waiting for that precious water-from-da-fountain, I was stopped short when he started mentioning names...

"And so we were waiting in line, and "Mikey" got white in fwunt of VIPAH..."

"Wait. Who?"

"VIPAH....and den he hit huah on da showdah..."

"Ty. Hold up. VIPAH?"

"Yes. VIPAH."

"Is VIPAH a girl or a boy?"

"She's a guwal."

"VIP-ER?"

"Yes MAMA!"

"VIPER?"

"YESSSSS,"

By now he was frustrated with both me and my mother who could not control her laughter at this scene.

"Do you think there is really a child named Viper?" I asked...

"I don't know," she replied..."He is pretty sure."

"Tyler. Come back."

He had already started on his twain twacks.

"What?" He wanted nothing to do with this conversation anymore.

"Are you sure her name is VIPER?"

"Yes."

"And she is a girl?"

"Yes. Vip-Ah."

Then he came over to me, put both hands on my face and said,

"Say....VI..."

So I repeated, "VIIII,"

"PUH."

And I repeated back to his very serious face, "Puh."

"VIP-UH." He was certain. Absolutely sure.

I was trying not to be surprised. There ARE some really different names...maybe "Viper" is a family name? Or a nick-name?

The rest of the afternoon went on, dinner was chaotic, more laundry, forgot that library books had to be returned, ran out of milk, work report still had to be done...but I could not get the name out of my head.

When bedtime arrived, Ty was getting into bed...I asked again, "Tyler. Viper?"

And then Mackenzie appeared in the door. "Mom! It IS VIPER!"

"How do you know? Is she on the bus with you?"

"No. I just know." She explained. "I have been hearing you ask Tyler a hundredtwentymilliontimes!"

"Have you met her?"

"Mom. Her name is Viper. Believe me."

Really? Really? I had to find out.

I called my friend Julie...She didn't know...

I hopped on facebook and was DE-Lighted to see his teacher online...I couldn't resist asking...

"Do you have a girl in your class named "VIPER?"

Her response:

"LOL."

"No. Its not VIPER. But he is close."

I knew it.

Pheeew.

When I told Ty this morning that his friends name was _IPER, he laughed and laughed...He gave himself a "V-8" smack and said, "OOOHHHH. I thought it was VIPUH this whooooole time!"

I look forward to hearing all about his stories...his new friends...his water-fountain line dramas...his playground antics...everything...and if he ends up with friends named VIPER or Reptilly or Cobra, as long as they're good friends, that is fine with me.

God Bless the teachers. Hope you have a great year!

Thanks for Reading~

funny.crazy.love.

The Curse of Queen Frostine

I had a nightmare the other night.

The cast of Crazy Road was engaged in Family Court.

"What brings this Family to my courtroom?" Asked the judge.

"Candy Land, Your Honor," I replied. "The game of Candy Land has forced our family into pieces. We fight. We yell. We burn parts of the game in the furnace...Our once close-knit, loving family has fallen to the Curse of Queen Frostine."

"I see." The judge commented, shaking his head in sadness. "I hate to see this happen to good families...but, it happens all too often...I have no choice but to...."

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

What would a judge have decided?

Okay. I really didn't have a dream. But let me tell you, I believe we have been cursed.

It all started last Christmas...

The kids got CandyLand and Chutes & Ladders.

These games have been around since I was a little kid, but man, they are re-vamped today! All glossy and bright and colorful...but the premise is the same. Designed to teach kids counting, colors, patience, good sportsmanship, and yaddah bladdah gaga, these games are likely in thousands of homes all over the world. I believe in teaching children all of the aforementioned skills. I REALLY do. I just don't think they are meant for the buggers here at Crazy Road.

The second that the kids opened Candy Land, my life changed. OUR lives changed. Because counting and colors did not register with my kids. The GUMDROP PASS and MR. MINT and hot little LOLLIE became the focus. Not only that, but the cards were everywhere, and the poor yellow game piece was constantly found stuffed into the cushions or between books because neither of the kids wanted him.

The anguished cries of the poor soul that landed on "sticky licorice"(so they lose a turn) or the loser who AAAAALMOST made it to King Kandy but at the last draw picks Gramma Nut made me more and more stressed. I took the game away and hid it in my closet. I thought they would forget about it, but they did not.

Day after day they would ask for it. Standing in my closet, peering up at it as if it were the only toy they owned and were being kept away from any shred of happiness or joy...the "joy" that only the Journey to CandyLand could bring them.

I folded. But with strict rules and guidelines: No Fighting. No fits. No cheating when "shoveling" the cards. Queen Frostine would be "shoveled" into the pile right along with the double "purps" and the single "stupid" greens. I would see to it, that her card would be drawn fair and square.

Well, lo-and-behold, they did not follow the rules. Fighting ensued, crying, kicking fits prevailed, and I ended up putting the entire game(except for the little gingerbread man game pieces) into the furnace.

Yes.I.Did.

Was that irrational? Probably. Was it detrimental to their development? Possibly. BUT...Did it buy me some peace and quiet for a while? OH YEAH BABY. No regrets.

But you know...Tyler asked about Candy Land almost every day...for a good 7 months. And you know something else?

I was FOOLED!

I bought Tyler ANOTHER brand-spanking-new Candy Land game for his birthday in August. August 9th, to be exact. I thought foolishly that the loss of the first game would remind him and Kiki that they need to play nicely together. That being a good sport and congratulating the winner, and being "happy" for whomever picked the glorious "Queen Frostine" card would be hugely beneficial to them.

uum. no.

In fact, it got worse.

Tyler would throw a fit(and I mean F.I.T.) if he didn't draw "a special person" card, meaning Frosty, NannaNuts, Minty or who-ever...he didn't even care that drawing the said cards resulted in him being sent backwards...The word "cwap" was uttered every time a "color" card was drawn. He simply does not get it yet.

Then Kiki was overheard "manipulating" the "shoveling" process and actually "counting cards" to ensure that she was the prize picker of special people cards...like a little "rain man."

It was so out of hand...

I have regulated Tyler to playing alone.

I have sent Keek to her room for "cheating." I mean, COME ON! Its freaking CANDY LAND!

So last night was the ultimate breakdown of every system I have tried to enforce.

Trying to overcome the stress of my workday and make dinner and mentally check off items from my to-do list...the screams kept coming from the living room...I squeaked my usual empty threats...eventually walking in to find my daughter strategically "placing" the Queen Frostine card in the pile.

"Kiki! Give me the cards. I will shuffle them." I demanded.

While they continued to bicker, I slid the QUEEN right out of  the pile, calmly walked out of the room, opened the trash can and dropped her in.

"See You in Hell, Frosty." I (really) said.

It wasn't until after dinner that they realized the card was missing.

"MAMA! I can't find her! I know she is here..."

They both searched. I felt a tiny bit bad, but I smiled and said, "She left. She knew that she was causing you two to fight and cry and she felt it best to go."

Sinister. I know.

But they bought it for a few minutes!

Until Chris came in...

"Daddy! Daddy! Queen Frostine left!!!!We can't find her anywhere!!!"

Chris came around the corner where I was still grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"They're freaking out trying to find that card." He said.

"I know. I threw it in the trash."

This is where things get ugly.

HE actually got mad at ME! I had envisioned a HIGH-FIVE or a "Nice Job" from him, but....

"You can't do that! That won't teach them anything!" And my wonderful husband opened the trash and started looking for the card, now buried under the hamburg package and taco trimmings.

"Are you kidding me?!>!"

We actually started yelling at each other a little. We NEVER yell. Really. We don't.

Then he proceeded into the living room, before I knew what he was going to do...he bellowed,
"You know what you made Mama do? You made her so mad she threw away Queen Frostine!"

Tears.

Questioning little faces.

My family was disintegrating right before my very onion-teary eyes.

I was Rockin' Mad.

Mad at Chris. Mad at the kids. Really pissed off at Milton Bradley. Chris was mad at me, Nick was just confused...Tyler still thought the Queen has left the building...

What was happening?

We had been cursed.

We barely got through dinner. Everyone was pouting. Our tacos were the only things making noise. Uncomfortable dinner silence. Nothing worse.

All of the kids went about their business after dinner. Tyler seemed to accept the loss of the beloved card, and saw that he could still play the game without her. Chris and I forgot our little spat and moved on...Poor Nick just went to his room to do whatever he does for hours in there...and Kiki? Well, she went to her room, too.

I was finishing up the dishes and she came around the corner.

"Look, Mama. Look what I  made."

And she handed me a little picture, perfectly colored and framed...about the size of a...

"Who is this?" I asked. The picture was of a girl with crazy yellow hair...at first I thought it was a VOO-DOO picture of me.

"It's Queen Frostine! I made it so we can learn our lesson! Can you help me cut it out?"

Oh. Lord.

I knelt down to hug her, and Tyler came in, Over-The-Moon at his very creative big sisters offering.

She cut that hand-made-Candy-Land-Queen-Frostine out...

And they lived happily ever after.



Lessons were learned by all of us.

Am I sorry I acted in the heat of the moment? Nope.

But I promise, I won't burn another board game...

But don't make me play Monopoly. I might throw THAT one right into the street. But I still am the Connect Four Master.

THE END.

Thanks for reading.

funny.crazy.love.