Writing: In order to not go stark raving mad......

I write this open letter to all utility providers, mortgage holders, landlords, and bill collectors:

Dear All,

I speak for thousands upon thousands in this letter. As you are very well aware of, this is the month of December. The month of cold weather (higher electric and gas bills), getting together with family (higher phone bills and gasoline bills) and gift-giving (larger credit card bills).

We know that we have entered into a contract with you to pay you monthly for the service you provide for us day in and day out, i.e. the roof over our heads, the car we drive, the heat we use to warm our homes, the phone service to contact others and the dish or cable tv we use to unwind after a long day.

Unfortunately, many companies don't raise their employee's (your consumers) hourly wage to match this month's expenses. Some give bonuses, other companies do not. Or some companies, like mine, only give bonuses to their full-time employees, of which I am not. And some families, such as our's make it through an ordinary month by the skin of our teeth so saving year-long, a bit of money each month towards our "holiday budget" is a bit of a lofty goal. Therefore December is a trying month for us and many others. One in which we are strapped, stressed and scared. Not to mention worried, fretful and depressed.

Yes, we are late in our payment to you and yes, we are sorry. Although we are grateful for your continued service to us, we couldn't bare to show up to Christmas empty-handed. Because, you see, the very reason we aren't homeless right now is because of family. Family that has buoyed us through the tough times and rejoiced with us during our joyful celebrations. They may say, "No, no you musn't feel you need to give me a present." But how can we not? And those of us with young children, it is too much to even contemplate having an empty Christmas. Many of us aren't big spenders, our children receive moderately priced gifts (nothing of $30 a piece) like many others. But still it's enough to take a bare bones budget and break it's brittle construction.

Please accept our sincere apologies, dear collector, we know your job must suck. The bills will get paid in due time....errr...overdue time, but paid all the same. If you feel the need to revoke whatever service you provide us, we recognize that, that is your option. If such takes place, we'll cope with it and we'll deal with it. Lord, but we have been through worse before.

After all, our true treasures in life: each other, our children, laughter, smiles, hugs and kisses, and many other simple joys aren't on an installment loan or a monthly billing cycle, except that which we call "life."

Sassy Mama: Supernanny wouldn't approve

I'm prone to doing that---falling off the radar. In fact, you have to be lucky enough to live with me or to have fathered/mothered me to hear from me daily. Life has been life...work, work and more work. And Christmas is killing our budget. Just ripping it into tiny, teeny, shreds.

Every morning for the past week, the phrase, "Good morning, let the chaos begin!" has pranced through my brain. It's been that bad.

On the funny news front, today Lovemelots, my second-oldest man-child (6 years old) told me he was making "drivels" in class in the next day or two. I said, "Huh?" He said, "Drivels Mooommmm....you knowwwww." (Did I mention that LML loooovvveeeesss to whhhhhiiiiinnnnneeeee?) No, I don't know. And since he has a certain humilating habit of wetting his pants at school, I was afraid to know what he was talking about. Turns it out it was harmless "Dreidels" he was referring to. Good to know.

Ornery Tiger Cub has taken to talking back to me in the worst way. Ornery Tiger Cub is the third born man-child in our family. Today he poured milk on the dining room area rug and proceeded to do a little jig on it, ala "Lord of the Dance." The only reason I turned around is because I could hear his little feet tapping away and it was about to drive me over the edge...ordinarily dancing isn't prohibited in our household but with the trolls that live downstairs it is strictly a no-no. Our downstairs neighbors have NO tolerance for joy. There shall be no joy as long as we live OVER their roof.

Anyway, I turn around and there's OTC (ironically enough, OTC is also the abbreviation for "Over the Counter" as in "meds" as in "what I've needed ever since OTC was born---I'm not shitting you") doing his jig and I see what's he done and I send him to the corner telling him about how making messes is not good and wasting milk, thus money, is also not good. As I leave him in the corner he turns around to me, all attitude, and says, "Excuse me, what did you say to me?!" Okay, so he probably learned that from me. Still not good. Sorry Nanny 911 but I veered right off their prescribed naughty chair/corner with that remark. Afterwards I looked him sternly in his eyes and said, "You don't talk to your mommy that way." And as I'm walking away he said, "Wh-at-ev-errrrr." Dear Lord in heaven, I just about lost it again. Breathe mama lion, breathe.

But sometimes OTC can be quite funny. An evening about a month ago he marched right to our bedroom door in a fit of frustration. Behind that closed bedroom door was his sleeping father (who at the time was still employed at the pharmaceutical company in the security department and worked graveyard shift hours). As he turned the door knob I yelled, "WAIT OTC, before you march into the lair of the sleeping papa lion, perhaps you should come tell mama what the problem is first."

All he heard was "stop." And that was just too much. He slumped himself over one of the dining room chairs, which in this tiny apartment, is only like, five inches from my bedroom door, and lays his head down. I think, "gee...something has got my boy down." I say to him, "Really OTC, it's alright...tell mama what is wrong." He lifts his exasperated and exhausted face to look at me and sighs, "It's just....it's just, my brothers are acting like apples." Okay....are you saying your brothers are fruits? Geez, now I'm glad I stopped you from telling your father that. But wait, you are only three-years-old, what do you know about males who act like fruits? So to clarify I asked the question I ask nearly hourly, day in and day out of my life----"What?" He says, "Apples! They're acting like apples!" And then I got it....and I started laughing and couldn't stop myself for quite awhile, eventhough I knew I should discipline him for attempting to call his brothers assholes.

That's my life....a sassy three-year-old son who calls his brothers the names of fruit in fits of frustration (which opens up a whole other way of code speak...does Banana=bastard?) and a six year old that can't pronounce dreidel correctly and makes me think he is planning his next few "accidents."

And I haven't even started on Astroboy (the oldest man-child) and Pebbles (the youngest child and only girl) and their antics for the last month or so. Because I'm tired and the bed is calling and frankly, internet, you're not. You're just a white screen right now.

Good nite.