Gobble, Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving to you, as I head into the car for a 5 hour plus ride with the kids, remember, be thankful that you are not me. That being said, things I am thankful for in no order:

1. Sleep. After a long time in which my sleep was interrupted by the random cries of newborn, infants, toddlers, almost 5 year olds with bad dreams, I would like to say that my now 38 year old body loves a good night’s sleep.

2. My Kids. Okay, as much as I portend that the trials and tribulations of parenthood are a roller coaster of awesome and awful - and they are people. I do love my kids and am thankful that they drive me absolutely bonkers with their boisterous and rowdy and sometimes ridiculous behavior. But nothing will ease you into acceptance of that than a kiss and strong hold hug from your daughter or the fact my son will say “Hey Mama.” And after I ask “What?” he responds with “I really love you.”

3. John McCall. I am thankful for John for a myriad of reasons which I will not list here because some things need to be kept to oneself, something that Facebook seemingly has destroyed in about 45% of the population. Oh, you know who you are.

4. Football. That is right assholes, football and fantasy football. I don’t care if you don’t like it, I do. I am pretty much under the assumption if one was to track total brain power usage on fantasy football it would hover at a consistent 30%. (As a side note, I am thankful for the word "asshole".)

5. Turkey. I love turkey, I really, really do. I love it so much that I am pretty sure that my last meal if I ever murdered someone and ended up on death row would be Thanksgiving Dinner. I don’t know what it says about me that these are the things I ponder late at night but there you go. Although it could be lasagna if I am PMSed. Or maybe roast beef. Jesus H. Christ, such a tough question. One needs to be prepared.

6. My Kindle. Holy cow, let me just say that I was one of “those” people professing my love “of real books”. But you know what self righteous judgey judge, the Kindles houses “real books” in a compact, easy to carry parcel with an illuminated light for easy night reading. Caa-choowww! (Please note I have watched Cars 2 approximaely 38 times). The Kindle kicks so much ass, and did you next to me on the bus know I was reading another biography of Ted Bundy, serial killer - no you did not. I blame my fascination on serial killers from my Senior Year Honors Psychology Class and final paper on serial killers which received an A+ - don’t be smart people, cause you will end up being able to quote inane facts about serial killers, which surprisingly does not make for “appropriate” dinner conversation. For example, there was this one guy who would cut off his victim’s boobs and then try to make plaster caster molds of them. This went on for months because said serial killer “could not get the mold right.” I do not lie.

7. My Family and Friends from Boston. Okay, I know that it is cruel of me in my San Francisco weather winter to send you forecasts that call for mild and sunny 60 degree days while you are the throws of punching out your neighbor who parked in the spot that you dug out from three feet of snow. I get that might be interrupted as a bit much, but do know that I miss you and your snow and your laughs and the fact that I spent 31 years of my life there and sometimes (read holidays), it is really hard for me not to curl up into a ball and lament about times of old. Like that time my Nana McInnis threw a turkey leg at my mom during Thanksgiving dinner. That was funny. But seriously, I miss Boston. I love San Francisco, and I love my time here and the incredible gift of having started my own family on its very shores, but there will always be a part of me that is unapologetically Townie. Give me Bell’s Seasoning, or give me death.




Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

P.S. I also love my San Francisco family and friends as well, and if you think I do not, then you let us get a bottle of whiskey and wax poetic about how all of you have made me feel loved and welcomed.

P.P.S. See that there - “P.P.” Hee hee. This may or may not have been stolen from Cars 2.

Hello November.

Hello there people who read this blog, i.e. John. There are no specific reasons (lazy and too much wine) to explain my absence of late. Perhaps it is that the very minutia of my life these past weeks begins with “B” and ends with an “oring”. Not that it can ever be that, for life is never boring when you have an Owen and a Maggie.

The other evening, while reading stories to Owen and in a blatant attempt get him to behave better, I asked him what he wanted for Christmas from Santa. Now that Halloween is over, I can ask this question ever single freaking day until December 24 and quickly follow it with: “You know, Owen, Santa keeps a list of everything you do and if there are more bads than goods you don’t get any presents. I don’t say you get coal, because then Owen would say, “Mama, what is coal?” Thinking it something extremely cool and something he must possess. This would lead him to purposefully choose the “wrong” thing to do in order to achieve this fated and glorious coal of which I speak. That is how he is, curious (and insane). I just enforce that he will receive nothing since nothing in the eyes of a child is something huge - nothing! Oh hells to the no.

So I asked him what he wanted from Santa. He then proceeded to say, “A new Cars 2 blanket”, (officially ousting Toy Story 3 as his Pixar movie of choice). He also said wanted the “Fresh Beats.” If you are not familiar with Fresh Beat, I give you this:


I could have linked a video, but the viewing of such a travesty would cause the immediate mush of your central cortex, followed by leaking out of your left ear to be forever gone and you forever changed for the worse. You can thank me later. But then he said he wanted a guitar, drums, and keyboard. So I think I will get him this:


One man bad bitches!

I proceeded to ask him what he thought Maggie would like for Christmas, keeping with the theme of good behavior for a bounty of goods. He looked at me and said, “Mama, Maggie would like a Barbie, a car and (dramatic pause) poop.” “Owen, are you saying that Maggie wants poop?” “Yes, Mama, she told me.” “She told you she wanted poop?” “Yep, today. She wants poop. Maggie is really funny. She’s crazy.” Okay then.

And there you have it, not the most exciting of daily adventures, but certainly not boring.