So yeah, in response to my own blog post, I did it.  And it worked.  I asked friends (not family cuz god only knows what they would say if they found out) not to bring gifts to the boys’ birthday parties.  (They boys’ birthdays are a month a part and I’m between parties right now…one great success, hoping for the next.)  Here’s an editorial mix of what I included in the invitations, but basically the same intent:

No gifts, please. Really, it’s okay.  It’s simply great having a fun day with you.  However, I know many of you can’t stand the thought of not bringing a gift.  If you are compelled to bring something then a gift card, book or clothes is most appreciated.  Please excuse my rude presumption and know BigBoy/Baby is going to have a great birthday because you’re celebrating with us.  Thank you!

I know, it’s tacky!  Emily Post isn’t down with it and neither is Miss Manners.  I got it.  I’m not like either of those women; so put me down to bunk with Amy Sedaris anytime.  If you know me, it’s really okay not to bring a gift.  Trust me, my boys are not in need of anything.  We have a great life – a life full of enough.  And I understand that people feel weird not bringing a gift and yes, I suggested things, which is so incredibly in bad taste, but I’m okay with it.  Say what you will.  We did receive a few things (out of 17 kids) we received two toys, one gifts of clothes, four books (yeah!), and one gift card.  Fantastic.  Of course, us parents and both set of grandparents gave gifts, so my children weren’t missing out on a thing.  My fear of the boys being permanently damaged from not having gifts on their birthday was completely unfounded.

One of the things about motherhood, especially being a SAHM, is that I hate accumulating crap.  Because as a Mom, you end up picking it up all the time.  (I know you’re reading between the lines and yes, there have been birthday parties where we received gifts that were junky, eventually not played with and things that I would never give nor want for my children. I said it.  So there.)  And I can go on and on about not wanting to raise children in such a materialistic, expectant society.  Furthermore, after the craziness of the holidays, haven’t we all spent enough money?

I just wanted to share in the event some of you wanting to do the same thing, but didn’t have the guts.  I did it.  It turned out fine. As Lola reminded me as I was hand-wringing over writing the note for the invitations, “aren’t all these people your friends anyway and the rest of them, do you really care?”  She was right.

Yeah, here I am just putting it all out there again for the world to see (the few of you who bother to read about my world…thank you).  Feeling weird, but moving forward anyway.  I need a drink.  Cheers!

So anyways boys are weird and say stupid stuff.  Yeah, I think I knew that since the 6^th grade, but I’m reliving this lesson again through my children.  I also don’t want to be the vocabulary police with my kids.  But I’m having a hard time with Big Boy’s words (or word choice as it is).  I know that I need to watch my reaction because cracking up isn’t going to get me the kind of results I want and at the same time I need to be the adult and establish standards around good behavior.  Damn it.  Can’t I just laugh and hug him?

So how am I suppose to react when I swear (I’m not going to stop altogether, I just won’t, I know me) and Big Boy says, “Shit what, Mommy?” in the sweetest, little boy voice ever.  It’s cute, people.  Undeniably cute.  Or when he drops an F-bomb because he’s like the rhyming rapper these days – truck, duck, luck, f___.  It is after all good language development to rhyme, isn’t it?

I have to say how nice it is to laugh with my kids.  Yeah, I’ll be the adult and do my best to explain what is ok to say and what’s not.  I cringe and say a prayer for the parents when I see a 5 year old appropriately use the f-word in a sentence.  And OK, OK, I need to swear less so that it’s not my kids saying the bad words.  But boy oh boy!  I am laughing at the things coming out of his mouth and how I have to explain why it’s right not to say shit (literally and figuratively).

Laughter is good medicine.  Cheers, friends!

So I went to my 20 year high school reunion this past weekend.  Really there was no reason not to go.  It was within driving distance and I was going to share the hotel room with a friend.  After all, I was reminded over and over from my GBF (who did not attend, btw) that I had missed our 10 year reunion and made him go.  (No, I am not bitter)  Back to the point at hand, I had such a spectacular time and honestly, I am a bit surprised.

My GBF was bound and determined not to go because he felt strongly that the people from high school that were meaningful were already involved in his life.  I think a part of it was that he didn’t want to explain to dozens of people that in fact, he is gay.  That was the question most asked of me when I explained that my GBF and I lived together for years and remained very close.  My answer was always, “Yes he is, but we all already knew that, didn’t we?”  C’mon people.

I saw the reunion as an opportunity to reconnect, share some stories, and hopefully have my mind changed about who I thought people were.  We all had our high school drama growing up, didn’t we?  In high school, we make presumptions about people.  We were friends with some, but not others for stupid reasons.  We categorized people and I’m sure people did the same with me.  I arrived at GHS as a new girl from Texas whose skirt was regulation height, however at my new school there were no teachers measuring skirts.  I will never forget seeing a girl with a bathing suit top covered by a Corona tank top sitting in front of me on my first day of school.  I was both appalled and delighted by the new fashion (or lack thereof) opportunities.  Please know the anxiety of fitting in was always present for this new girl.

The reunion was no exception.  Of course my first thoughts were, “what am I going to wear?!?!”  After charging up a storm to find just the right dress and shoes, I settled on a dress I thought was relaxed and pretty, more fun and less vavavoom.  (Thanks Lola and boys for your input and yes, I returned –reluctantly- the other dresses and shoes.)  Once that was settled, I wanted to give some thought about how to answer the cursory questions one would ask after not seeing you over the last 20 years.  How do you briefly sum up your life so that it’s a bit more funny and refreshing than reporting your status (married w/two children, living in San Diego).  And what questions would I ask?  I only went to GHS for two years, so I was particularly concerned if I was even going to recognize people there, let alone remember their names.  And you should know, that when I moved I landed in a particularly great group of people – friendly, fun, good students in a sheltered suburb of L.A.

I have to say some of the most awkward moments of the reunion were in the beginning.  I felt like a Seinfield episode was playing out in a moment and I was caught between the discomfort and wanting to bust out laughing not knowing what to do.  Let me explain…My friend Kerri, reunion organizer and childhood resident of our town (read: she should know everyone!), hosted a champagne pre-party in her room.  Our group of girlfriends showed up first, but shortly thereafter another group of girls joined the party.  I somewhat recognized them, but should have brushed up on my yearbook to have remembered their names.  They were the more studious girls and had their own clique.  I don’t think I ever really talked to them in school as we were just in different circles.  As they arrived, hugs were going all around, but I was riddled with questions and anxiety!  Look, I’m friendly and love meeting new people, but I froze in etiquette confusion.  To hug or not to hug…that was the question.

What was the appropriate level of greeting enthusiasm for people that I barely knew 20 years ago?  Of course, I automatically leaned in for a mild hug because she’s hugging toward me and I didn’t want it to be weird.  But really, do you hug someone whose name you don’t know in any other circumstance?  Does the shared experience of going the same school or knowing each others’ faces because you were alphabetically arranged near each other for a year (lockers, class rooms, graduation, etc.) grant hug status?  I wasn’t sure and honestly a little freaked out about how to progress through the night.  I decided a friendly hello would be my greeting to those faces that looked somewhat familiar.  I wasn’t going in for the hug unless I really knew them and meant it.  Kerri, during our post-reunion re-hash, laughed about the discomfort of having her picture taken with someone she doesn’t think she said more than a dozen words to in the past 30 years.

I got to say thanks to the guy who asked me on my first date.  I got to offer condolences to a friend whose twin brother had passed away.  I laughed so hard with my prom date and we shared some true confessions over a drink (nothing sexy you dirty minds!).  I was surprised by how incredible the women looked and how some people’s sense of humor never left.  I got to dance with my girls and rehash some great stories.  I let go of some stupid high school grudges and things that were said many years ago.  I gave myself and others an opportunity for a fresh start.  And I learned a new way to chase tequila shots (with tomato juice…kills the burn!).

Looking back over the night, I wish I didn’t hesitate with the hug and I wished I would have figured out the stunning mystery blonde sooner so that I could have talked with her.  Certainly I will always have uncertainty about some things, but I’m okay with it because the night was a great celebration of community and shared experience.  The friends that decided not to go (or couldn’t) were sorely missed.  And yes, my hair was blonde in high school, but hasn’t been for a very long time (the odd and second most asked question of the night).  Cheers GHS and thanks for a great night to remember!

I’ll get to the point…The Gargoyle by first-timer Andrew Davidson is one of the best reads I’ve had in a long time (sorry C&B, but it’s true for me!).  While, I’d love to devour this book, I simply want to a savor it a few chapters at a time.  It’s so delicious and a touch decadent.  I like what The Providence Journal wrote, “Reads like the mad spawn of Anne Rice and Stephen King.”  It has the gothic love story and the brutal honesty and wit of terrifying events.  There are absolutely points in the beginning of the book where I read it with one eye open, but I kept reading and don’t want to stop.  And I must give my sincere kudos to Andrew’s excellent writing (the kind of writing where I want to underline the sentence and repeat it over and over again because it sounds so good or there’s just enough interesting words that I want to look them up in the dictionary because I’m a word nerd).  And yes, I’d like to be on a first name basis with the writer.  People that have that kind of dark sense of humor and still are with hope and peace are my kind of people.

So read it if you like to fall fast in love with a dark tale.  I’ll be devouring the rest of it today at the beach.  It is Sanity Friday, you know (the boys go to day care on Fridays!  Whoohoo!).  I think I’ll even pack a square of chocolate (however, it will be Hershey’s) to really kick off this Labor Day weekend.  Cheers!

* Damn you Scharffen Berger!  I will NEVER forgive you for this! However a couple of boxes may have me reconsider my position.

P.S.  Dear Random House, I really prefer the above cover to the one with the woman.  (reader note above book link)  The woman on the cover, while sexy, wouldn’t attract me to read the book if I stumbled up on it at the library or used book store.  The cover with the woman looks like all the books in the 60% off section of big box book stores.  Go with the singed gothic look.  Thank you.