Yes Virginia, There is a leprechaun!

This past week we've had a lot of talk in our house about leprechauns because of a 1st grade tradition at our school. All of the 1st graders make leprechaun traps as a homework assignment and then set them the night before St. Patty's Day. Our sweet first grader came up with an incredible trap over the weekend with a small box for the base, a handmade ladder of toothpicks and tree branches, a big slice of a wrapping paper tube (just the right size for a weeeee little leprechaun to fall into and not climb out) and of course some gold left by the fairies. And just in case you don't know about the fairies...according to all the local 7 year olds, the fairies pay the leprechauns in gold for all the beautiful shoes they make the fairies. Needless to say, if you've got gold in your trap, you're pretty much guaranteed a visit. The trap was a hit with all of his friends at school on Tuesday and hopefully with the leprechaun as well--we'll see when he gets home this afternoon.

So what does this have to do with a little girl from 1897 and her letter to the New York Sun about Santa Claus? Well, with all the focus on the trap and tales about leprechauns, pretty soon everyone wanted to make one and so pretty soon everyone did. It seemed to me that everyone needed a little something special to happen this St. Patty's Day so that's what was going to happen! With the help of a glue gun, some pretty nifty recyclables and a little bling bling, the kids quickly crafted up 4 traps to set at our house last night.

So there he was, the weeee little leprechaun, at 11:30 last night sneaking around the traps, carefully making tiny green footprints in all the right places and miraculously escaping the traps wondering, how the #*!@ did I get here? Is this the latest Hallmark holiday? The latest tradition for the "perfect modern family"? Am I replacing the big S.C. now that our oldest is "in the know"? Or is it just the need to always have something a little magical to believe in when you're having a tough week?

I guess it's a little bit of all of them for me. I love the crafty projects we're actually able to pull off around the house, even if it means leaving the supplies with the babysitter when desperate. I love the our kids remember at some point in the past we have had a visit from a leprechaun so it must be a tradition. I love the feeling that for a second maybe I am the perfect crafty martha stewart mom that I feel like I may have lost along the way here. But most of all I love the little twinkle in the their eyes when they really believe that a weeeee little leprechaun has stopped by their house and somehow managed to leave treats but not get stuck in their awesome traps. Sure, I may be replacing one magical tradition with another, but we all need a little magic. Talk to me when their 18! ;)

divorcing food

It's not you, it's me.

I've decided to get healthy once and for all and I've had a revalation about it. I've realized that this journey is going to be like a heartbreaking divorce. I really do love food but I just can't go on like this. To make matters worse, we will always have to be connected in some way. We will have to keep the lines of communication, i mean, consumption open. We will have to make it work, for the sake of the kids, I mean, the hips, yes, for the sake of the hips. It is time. Time to let it all out and get over it. Time to come clean about what's been going on. All the late night affairs with the kitchen and desserts have got to go. The loving way the ice cream bowl looks at me so empty and lonely. Goodbye ice cream. I don't need you anymore. The soft sound the cookie jar makes as it closes so gently so no one will know. Not anymore cookie monster! I'm done with you. The delicious chips and guacamole that call my name at Fonda. Too late. It's over. There's nothing you can do. I've made up my mind. We've got to end this bad relationship once and for all.

Oh, and you, mr. pizza man! Don't look at me that way. You know this is for the best. What can I say about you? We will have to make this work but how? I don't want you to go forever either. Less cheese maybe? Will that make you a better influence on me? You're really breaking my heart. I will miss you the most I think but I know it's what needs to be done. You have lured me in with your incredible sauciness and your gooey ways for years but it's over. The time has come. You don't own me pizza man. I'm not your trophy wife. This is it. You've got to go. Pack up your shredded cheese, your delicious sausage, your pepperoni and olives and get out.

And then there are the snacks. They are like the children of this awful divorce. Still needing love and attention and constant affirmation that they will be okay and not be fogotten while I struggle to hold myself together. How should I behave around the snacks now? Should I show my true feelings? My anger? My frustration? My absolute unending need for them? Should I let them know they will always have a special place in my heart (and tummy), I just have to figure out how. Or should I put a smile on and do as I always do and put their needs ahead of my own...eating them up so they don't feel left out. No. That has gone on too long. Time to take care of me for a change. So long granola bars. You've fooled me for too long making me think you are a "healthy choice". Goodbye vanilla lattes and delicious oatmeal cookies from Starbucks that trick me with their "good for you" attitude because they are oatmeal. How much fiber can one girl take? We will all be okay. Time heals everything.

Or does it? How will I make it without these delicious friends of mine? What will become of me as I venture off on my own and break away from this unhealthy relationship I've created? It scares me to death to walk away but it scares me more to stay. The time has come. This is it. This is the moment.

Here we go...

funny from the couch

the other night mike and i were watching ellen when a challenge was made after we talked about whether ellen writes her own monologues or has help, i think she writes her own...i was challenged to come up with a 3 minute monologue everyday like ellen does when she starts her show(i think hers may be more like 10 but who's counting) so here it goes...my monologues are going to be this new blog thing and i hope whoever's reading them is ready for funny! I mean really funny because i'm pulling out all the stops, this will be my best attempts at stand up comedy from the comfort of my couch. i hope to make you laugh, sometimes to the point of tears if possible, and i hope you enjoy the little sneak peeks into my daily life that i'm sure this will bring. i don't know much about the blogging world other than it's someone writing on their computer like a journal for the whole world to read. if that's true, i should start by apologizing because this is going to be nothing like my 7th grade journal, that was funny! this will be more like some quick notes with no capitals and no spell check and maybe even a bad word here and there...let's just hope the bad words are from me and not some funny story about my 4 year old yelling at the dog.:) how's this sound so far? are we approaching funny? okay, here goes nothing...
the other day i was at trader joes and buying some basic groceries and a single bottle of wine. as i put the bag of groceries into my car i realized i didn't get carded, again, and in fact, i don't think i've been carded in about 6 years...except for the day after my last haircut when my bangs were too short. so there i was loading my groceries racking my brain to remember when the last time i was carded was and i just couldn't...how old was i anyway? 35? 36? when did i stop getting carded? it's funny how we get fake i.d.'s to look 21 and we pray to god we won't get carded. we turn 21 and can't wait to get carded and show off the good picture we took at the dmv for this special occasion. and then sometime, hopefully at least 10 years later, we stop getting carded and again, that's sort of cool...not quite as cool, but sort of. but now, here i am, 36 and counting and i can't remember getting carded in a long time and it hurts. it sucks. it's just not cool. the worst part is there's no moment when it stops, it just does. is that when the midlife crisis phase starts too and we just don't notice? it's like one day you're unloading the groceries and realize you haven't been carded in over 5 years and boom, the next day your belting out your favorite college tunes after a day of drinking with your buddies trying to recapture your youth(no experience here, just guessing:))...so what will it take to get carded again for one last time to commemorate the moment? i've considered just pulling out my i.d. and handing it to the cashier but i'm thinking it may be time to break out my old scu sweatshirt and throw my hair in a ponytail just for kicks...maybe that will work. maybe i need to just buy 2 cases of natural light, some doritos and a few pints of ben and jerrys...that has got to work. that's it, a college sweatshirt, all beer and maybe a token teenager by my side to look like the 36 year old loser who's buying for the shoulder tapping teens.
okay, maybe getting carded isn't all it's cracked up to be. i should be proud of my maturity and the aging gracefully look that i'm going for these days. next year i'll have a middle school daughter who will begin to spend endless hours in the bathroom perfecting her look for school so it's time for me to move out of her way. i've done the cute young thing. i've done the cute pregnant mommy thing. now i have to settle in to my new role as the cute one who only gets carded after a bad haircut...or maybe that's my new good haircut? :)