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!

In a strange way I’d love to live in the mess for a week longer.  You know New Year’s is this weekend.  That could me my excuse.  But I know myself and this mess is gonna have to get cleaned up.  I just want to relish that holiday feeling a bit longer.  I love the magic of the season.  I love seeing the kids get so excited and screaming with delight.  Playing with cousins.  The adults playing cards with each other.  Setting aside our differences so that we can enjoy one another a bit more.  These are precious times.  So precious.  I should have taken more pictures.

But now I’m left with literally a mountain of trash, wrappings, boxes and bows to go through (what to keep, what to throw away).  And to fold two weeks of laundry that didn’t get done in all the mayhem and mania of the holiday season.  All these great toys need to find a place to fit in and be put away.  There are numerous toys that broke during the first round of playtime and things that didn’t fit that need to be returned.  I need to face the harsh reality of the money that we spent.

So yes, I feel like I’m coming off the high and waking up with a bit of a head ache.  I want to embrace the day with hope and happiness, but a touch of melancholy, the sober thoughtfulness that it is.  I’ll be thinking of what this New Year will bring–the shape, color and intentions that I’ll be holding.  I don’t typically go with resolutions, because I forget about them after 3 months anyway.  So I try to think longer term.  2010 is just another mile in my marathon of a life, after all.  I’ll be looking forward, but first I have to see what is right in front of me, the arduous task of cleaning up after the party.

Cheers friends!  This is not my favorite thing to do, but it must be done.  Save the champagne for me when it’s all over.

Monday was just one of those days.  To admit the truth, I didn’t do my morning meditation or my yoga, so it just goes to show me.  Anyway, BigBoy was not listening to me and was not picking up the toys off the floor and out of my room.  Don’t you know, I stepped on that stupid, yellow metal jet and cut my foot.  Of course this was all happening when BabyD was screaming and the dog was at my heels wanting something.  I yelled a loud profanity and I swear I could have thrown that yellow jet like a ninja star toward BigBoy, but I held it and screamed some more.  I gimped back to my room while I heard BigBoy break into sobs because undoubtedly I scared him.  He apologized.  I apologized.  All was well.

But then again there was BabyD who just couldn’t get the day started on the right foot.  He was crying and hitting and pushing our buttons.  I start my deep breathing and turned on the hot water for a shower.  “Just two minutes alone and quiet, please” I prayed.  I could hear the boys playing (and fighting, but they’ll work it out) down the hall.  I saw my moment and jumped into the shower.  I love HOT showers.  Lots of good thinking and relaxing happens there.  As I was toweling off and putting on lotion, BigBoy walks in and says to me, “I protected you from Baby and here’s a band aid, Mom.”  OMG…how endearing is that?  Love them!

Yesterday, I was blow drying my hair and the boys were jumping on my bed.  BabyD comes around because he likes when I shoot the blow dryer at him.  We were laughing and carrying on and he starts screaming “Bug!  Mommy! Mommy! Bug!”  I look around but I don’t see it and his little pudgy legs run over to me fast and he starts stomping on the bug (I think it was a silverfish or something).  He was protecting me from the bug.  I said “Thank You BabyD!” and gave him the biggest hug ever.  Love him!

Ahh how sweet it is to have my little boys looking after and protecting me.  Chivalry is alive in my house!

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!

Oh no. Not you? Who’d it be? Certainly not me!

Yes, it’s true. I’ve become THAT woman.  You know the one. The woman you talk about with your closest girlfriend (who I call my “sistafriends”), where you can throw around the dirt and it’s safe – the conversation doesn’t leave the kitchen counter (or wine bar).  Not that YOU do that.  But THAT woman where you say, “poor thing, the kids have taken over” or “Wow. There’s too much crap in her house” or maybe even, “She’s losing it.”  I felt bad for THAT woman and wondered if she had given up or was just too overwhelmed?  C’mon, how hard is it to stay home with the kids?  I mean really, people.

Well, here I am.  I’ve become Her.  I used to say those things, but now I don’t.  I GET IT.  It’s hard to keep it all together – the groceries, the cleaning (what little I do of it…always pressing up against my line of what I can tolerate vs. getting away with), the constant flow of laundry (oh the laundry!), doing the dishes, making lunch, fixing dinners, wiping noses, changing diapers, applying band aids, picking up, picking up, picking up, not to mention the numerous interruptions when I’m actually trying to do something that doesn’t directly involve the kids (you know, like the bills, responding to an email, looking for a job, trying to blog, returning calls, scheduling a playdate, etc.).

How was I ever a full time working mom of two plus a husband?  I still cooked, picked up, read books, returned person emails, called friends.  But the truth of the matter is that a) I had a house cleaner and b) I didn’t spend anytime with the kids and in fact, BigBoy didn’t like me very much.  That wasn’t good.  So yes, there is a good payoff, but does it have to be my sanity?

So here I am.  My house looks like the toy box vomited.  Everywhere.  In the living room, kitchen, dining room, my office/playroom and on the stairs.  You’ll find toys in the master bedroom, hallway, guest room, boys’ bathroom, and all over their floor and in ever nook and cranny of their rooms.  Stepping on a piece of plastic at anytime (particularly at night) can send me on a fiery rage instantly, but no, I keep my cool.  But it’s pushing me close to the edge.  It’s certainly driving me to drink more (but not like Sally) and little tokey now and again, which certainly has been a hot topic around the Bloghersphere.  But we’ll address those issues at a later time.

I know people excuse the mess by saying, “what do you expect with two kids under five?”  Well quite frankly I expect a bit more organization and a little less chaos.  Thankyouverymuch. Oh I don’t mind a little mess.  You should see my desk or the linen closet.  But c’mon all over the house?  How many times a day do I have to pick up this shit?

And might I say, comparatively, we don’t have that much stuff.  I limit the toys to one toy box for Big Boy, one for BabyD, and one downstairs in the office/playroom.  Anymore than that is too much.  But it’s like Pandora’s box, once it’s opened, it goes everywhere!!!  Yes, I make sure the boys pick up right before Husband gets home, so he’s not freaked out when he walks in the door.  Really, I just want him to take the kids outside and play (read: away from me) so I can cook, have a glass of wine, and relax a bit, rather than him having to pick up after us.

Is it just a case of keeping calm and carrying on?  How do I untangle my sanity being related to all this crap on the floor?  I need a system or I will be driven to more substance use or the loony bin.  I did a good job this weekend going through Big Boy’s toy box eliminating the little pieces of crap, toys he doesn’t play with, and basically the toys that I hate.  I did receive good feedback like “hey Mom, I found my little man that I’ve been missing!”  But I still have the downstairs to do.  It’s like cleaning the toilets, someone has to do it.  It’s gonna be me.  I hate it.

Then I probably need to do this every six months.  And train them (and myself) to pick up before going to bed.  Nothing makes my day start out with a groan like walking downstairs and seeing the living room floor covered with toys.  Ugh jen, get a grip on yourself, woman!

Also, do you think it bad of me to ask guests to the boys’ birthday parties not to bring gifts of toys?  Will this permanently dement my children?  Both of the boys’ birthdays come right after the holidays and the expense and consumption of the season never really sits right with me.  I’ll tackle that one later.

For now, let me just say thanks to my sistafriends Bryn and Lola who help me with this craziness and those friends I have yet to meet, JerseyGirl and Mrs. FussyPants (and the other funny women on the blogosphere).  Thank you for making me laugh through my path as a SAHM and being THAT woman.  She’s not so bad.  I’m learning to not suffer through my insanity and love every minute of it.  Cheers ladies!