A plea, in spite of myself

/

Tomorrow, the fourth installment of my Edward fix the Bella/Edward/Jacob saga will be released. And you know that because, like me, you, too, have shred every ounce of dignity and self-respect by caving into the mania that is the Twilight series.

I wanted to NOT like these books. Really, I did.

I tend to want to buck trends simply out of spite. I don't like to do something, just because everyone else is doing it or saying that I should.

I resisted reading even the back cover of the first one until well after the first three had been published and were dominating all the best seller lists. I listened to friends prattle on about how romantic they were, how lovely Edward was, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.

And teen fiction?

I wasn't reading that when I was a teen.

But Ms. Meyers has created another tragic, haunting hero that I have grudgingly put on the mental boyfriend shelf next to Heathcliff, Mr. Darcy, Edward Ferrars, and Atticus Finch (come on, you know you all want him, too).

Edward (in spite of the fact that he's a blood-sucking vampire) has become a household name at women's gatherings. We talk of him, we dream of him, and some women out there even make shirts, plastering his name across their chests. In my grown-up, semi-responsible mother world, I have never seen anything like this. It feels like the Beatlemania of our housewife generation.

And here is where I make a solemn plea to our dear Ms. Meyers.

Tomorrow, I will pick my copy up, bright and early at the bookstore. I will most likely spend a couple of days ignoring my family while reading this new book. But should I get to the end and find that Jacob The Dog wins, I will be seriously ticked off that I wasted any time on these books at all.

You did not suck me into this teen crap to leave our darling boy alone for all eternity. Do not go for an ending with controversy, as some authors are prone to do. GIVE US WHAT WE WANT ALREADY. Have him suck the life out of her, turn her into one like him, and let them spend eternity hunting mountain lions together, as two perfectly beautiful stone-cold vampires.

[Oh, geez. Tell me I did not just write that last sentence. I really need help, as do all of you, vehemently nodding your heads in agreement while reading this in your "I heart Edward" t-shirt. Come on, you know who you are.]

But seriously. If it doesn't end well, I be one unhappy mama.

Please let it end well.

Torturing her brothers, one ABBA song at a time

/
What happens when your obsessive tendency towards all things musical combines with your daughter's obsessive tendency towards all things musical?

I'll tell you what happens.

It began last weekend when a perfect storm presented itself in the form of, "The boys are going to Batman, what should we do tonight?"

In a moment of weakness, I took her to see my new obsession.

And now it has become her new obsession. She spends hours and hours every day, rocking out to the soundtrack from Mamma Mia. The boys come begging and pleading, fingers in their ears, offering to sell their souls if I can only MAKE IT STOP, ALREADY.

But I can't make it stop. (And secretly, I don't want to.)

For she IS the dancing queen.



Young and sweet, [thinks she's] only seventeen...


She can dance, she can jive...

Having the time of her life...

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen...

I think it's the perfect payback for their little soldier firing squad. Don't you?

She's one of a kind

/
If everyone had an Annie, the world would be a much better place.

When you went to the local pool, instead of finding it packed as usual, you would have the place all to yourself. You would sit in amazement, scratching your head, wondering where all the people are.

But only for a moment, because you'd soon be too busy to worry about that anymore. Instead, you would share in the joy of your kids as they dive repeatedly without having to wait in line once.

Poolside chairs in the shade would be empty, and fun would had by all. People and OK Magazine would be on hand to provide Hollywood relationship speculation, fashion critiquing, and comparisons between yourself and the Jolies, Witherspoons, and Albas of the world.

But with Annie by your side, she would be quick to remind you of all the qualities that none of those girls have, that only you possess.

You would instantly feel much better about being you.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, sightseeing trips to the Arch would result in children that magically pose for the camera, with smiles on their faces:

And you would only have a few shots that looked like this (but it would be because you laughed and let them do it, not because it was the best they could give):

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, movies like this would be on the big screen, just waiting with all their magical campiness for you to arrive with your popcorn and diet coke in hand.

With Annie by your side, you would squirm just a little when Bond, James Bond, takes his turn to sing. But you would also be rewarded with the surprising sweetness of Mr. Darcy's voice and the awesome girl power that is the Dancing Queen.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, even when rain blows in and stays for three days, fun would still be found indoors. A new sport would be invented called Boxing Glove Baseball. It would revolutionize life as you know it for 10-year-old boys, 8-year-old boys, and 6-year-old little sisters:





_________________

And if everyone had an Annie, chick flicks would smoothly transition into late-night discussions which would solve the world's troubles, all while you are doubled over with laughter.

Ordinary Moms would become philosophers, and clarity would be found on critical issues such as child raising and husband management. Kettle corn and diet coke would be the food of choice for such occasions, and would never show up on thighs the next morning.

And that bittersweet moment when you have to drop off your perfect guests at the airport? It will turn into shock and surprise when you come home to receive the flowers she has ordered. For you. To thank YOU, of all things.

What's that, you say? You don't have an Annie?

Oh, I'm so sorry. But I really just don't want to share her. She's all mine.

And she's absolutely the best.

Thanks for a great week, friend!

Must. Stop. Cleaning

/

About 12 hours from right now, I will be picking her up from the airport.

I really cannot wait.

I have been in pre-visitor house cleaning mode all day, and I think it is time I staged my own intervention. I need to step away from the mop, duster, vacuum, and Febreeze. Annie knows me, Annie loves me, Annie has seen my real life.

And, truth be told, I think she might like me a little more if she were to walk in and actually find my house a mess.

I wish I could do it, but I just can't.

With her on this visit comes Sam, the long-missing third musketeer to my two boys.

They are beyond excited.

The only one unhappy about this current situation is Hannah, who is pouting because Annie's two girls are not coming along, as they stayed behind for girl's camp. The concept that Annie's daughter's have lives of their own is totally lost on Hannah. I mean, Hannah, who spends a good deal of every day acting as though she were 15, cannot comprehend why real 15-year-old girls have better things to do than play dress up and listen to High School Musical.

I know, right?

Anyway, we are so excited for these friends to visit. And there is nothing like having a few house guests to force your husband to finally do what you've been nagging him to do for months motivate you to finish all those house projects.

Top of that completed list? The Husband finally replaced the baseboards that were missing after we removed some hideous built-ins. You know, when we moved in OVER A YEAR AGO (not that I've nagged him about it or anything).

And after about 186 trips to Home Depot, we also finished our basement wainscoting project (which I'll post photos of soon).

What I will spare you from, however, are the photos of my boys walking around Home Depot with toilet seats on their heads while laughing maniacally.

Because some things are just too disturbing.

See you soon, Annie and Sam!