Frosty the Blogman

It's 10.

I should be doing something other than blogging.

I should be cleaning the house. Like scrubbing this place down. But I'm not. I'm sitting in my recliner, still in my pajamas, drinking my second cup of coffee this morning, deciding that I have neither the will power nor the energy to get up and get the job done.

The girls slept in this morning even. And that meant I got to sleep in. All the way to 7:45, and then during Dora's Christmas Special, I got to fall back asleep until 9. Well, ten till, you know how those Noggin, excuse me, Nick Junior shows work.

And yet, here I am, a great big bump on the log, refusing to do the one thing I should be counted on for, Cleaning The House.

Let's be humble. Ok, this isn't a time for Feminists to stick their nose in. I stay at home, I keep the house, it is a job. It's a full time job. Home-Maker as degrading as that sounds in this day and age, comes with a full list of responsibilities and expectations that I am more than happy to oblige by on most days.

Raise children. Check.
Save money.
Clean house. Not today folks.

That's it. That's what I'm responsible for. Only, most jobs you get personal days and sick days and vacation days and paid holidays.

That's where this job is failing me. I think I need to have a sit down with my union rep and see what he can do for me.... A pension would be nice too.

The kids are being blissfully entertained by their food and kitchen sets, dressed up like princesses off in their own world. That in itself is worth putting down the scrub brush and 409 for some peace and quiet.

They had lost their food last week(Not real food, they still were allowed to eat. I feel like that needed clarification.) because they were naughty when I asked them to clean it up. And ok, you have to be really naughty for me to take something away for an entire week. In fact, I had never done it before. For the whole day sure. Or the next day, yes. But the whole week? That means mommy probably lost some brain cells during the debacle.

Anyways, so when they finally got it back today it was like an entirely new set of toys.

I think I should do that more often.

In fact, instead of buying new Christmas toys, I'm just going to start stealing the old ones from their room, hiding them until Christmas and then wrapping them in fancy paper.

Sounds good to me.

You think I'm joking.


No, I wouldn't do that. Even though, they aren't getting new toys for Christmas. We've decided they have enough. Toys that is.

Besides there is other stuff out there that would be more meaningful besides a plastic piece of something that's either going to break or be forgotten about in ten seconds.

I don't really know all the specifics of how we're doing Christmas this year. Just that it's a struggle as a parent to make it meaningful without going over board.

And every family is different. There is no right or wrong way, it's just discovering what's right or wrong for your family. And we are still struggling with this.

Not struggling.


Creating new traditions, some that don't make it till the next year and some that might be passed on to our own children.

This year, we are just trying to figure out the best way to give lasting, meaningful gifts that will touch our children as young as they are and they can remember forever. Or at least Stella could. I don't think Scar's long term memory has kicked in yet.....

There was a woman in my Bible study who said, "We do three gifts for each child. If three gifts was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for my kids."

And I loved that. So true!

And the point is not the quantity, the point is the meaning of each specific gift meant to hold that meaning for a lifetime.

Don't go buy your child a funeral plot, that's not what I'm saying. But anyways, we are going to try something like this for our family.

So anyways, here I am still in my pj's, watching the day fly by and not really caring about it. I'm tired. I'm always SO tired.

Yes, I will complain once again about being pregnant. I can't keep my eyes open past 9 PM and then the morning is still hell to meet. Plus this baby is too big for my insides. Every day there's a battle between important internal organs and a wiggly little boy that has yet to be named.

Seriously though, if you have a name, throw it my way! We are struggling......

A mom at dance on Saturday was asking me if I had a name and I told her no, we hated every name, and she said to me, "Well, I feel sorry for you, there's a lot of pressure for you to get a good name." And I was like, "What?" And she continued, "Well, Stella and Scarlett are so perfect together and so cute that there's a lot of pressure for the next name."

I think it was a compliment.

Of sorts.

I had never really felt pressure though up until that. And now I do.

Pressure? Why? It doesn't really matter. Logically I get that. Nobody else cares what we name our children.

But illogically? Pregnant Brain is taking over telling me that she's right. There is pressure. And I believe Pregnant Brain.

Although, really there is pressure in the real world to, just because the clock is winding down and pretty soon D-Day will be upon us and at that time the pressure will mean something to write down on the birth certificate besides Zach Junior.

ZJ Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?

Um no.

Maybe that's what I'll spend my tired, loathsome morning doing, looking up names. At least then it sounds like I'm being productive.

I'll start in the A's and work my way down through the alphabet. All we need is one name, so there has to be something in a list that big right?

Most random blog ever.


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