(Apologies to Carl Sagan)

Over the past few weeks, many of my friends and relatives keep talking to me about their crazy belief in ghosts.  Apparently, almost everyone I know has a ghost, or knows a ghost, or knows someone who knows one, or knows someone who has one, or wants one, or, well . . . you get it.  This topic has come up four times in less than three weeks.  Was there a TV show on that I missed?  Have they been watching A Christmas Carol? – ’tis the season I guess . . .  

I don’t care if you believe in ghosts, go right ahead.  BUT, I beg you,  resist the urge to discuss it with me.  I don’t believe in ghosts.  I require scientific empirical proof for everything (read – EVERYTHING), it’s just my way.   And, you really don’t want to talk to me about it anyway, I always end up laughing at you and you end up upset because who wants to be laughed at by a friend or relative? 

Before anyone jumps into the fray, know this – a person who has known me all of my life has spent years trying to dig up proof that would make me believe in ghosts, to no avail – there’s a reason James Randi still has that million dollars.

The last time she had proof, earlier this year, it involved my going to a “haunted” house.  The story was that a ghost lived at this house and it would fling a loaf of bread off of the top of the refrigerator at least once a day.  (No, Amylynn, I did not make that up.)  So, I got dragged over there to witness this for myself.  It seems many “skeptics” saw it happen and were now believers. 

Here’s what happened: nothing  – NOTHING.  What did happen was that I spent more than four hours there eating delicious homemade baked goods because they didn’t want me to go until I saw the flying bread for myself.   No bread flew but I can swear that cake disappeared.

In closing, since so many of you think ghosts truly exist, for goodness sake – call each other, don’t call me!

While Amylynn drives around our fine city playing the “Gas Game”, I play a game of another sort entirely.  It takes place in my mind and consists of coming up with an award that, of all the people in the world,  I am the only clear winner.  One of my favorites is the “Anti-Mom Award”.  I know there are quite a few of you out there that believe you are a contender – but you are NOT.  Tonight, I have sunk to an all time super star low or high – since I’m vying for a prize.

It’s the holidays and most of you who have children know that it’s “Holiday Concert” season at school.  You know the drill, you go sit in the auditorium at your kid’s school, along with all of the other parents and listen to a bunch of children sing, play instruments, cry or whatever.  You all show up with cameras, video recorders, grandparents, non-performing siblings, flowers, tissues and whatever else you can shoe horn into the car.

I never bring a camera, video recorder, grandparents, or whatever.  I always show up late and try to leave the second the last note leaves my child’s mouth or instrument.  The only part I listen to is my child, I refuse to listen to anyone else’s child because, really, I hardly want to hear my own let alone yours. 

Tonight, during the vast majority of the concert, I texted Amylynn.  I let her know that I was going to jam a pen in my ear.  Then I had to text back because I decided to jam a pen into BOTH ears.  I said a little prayer to god (the one who invented chocolate), the gods (the ones who invented chocolate with sea salt), ghosts (don’t ask) and Santa Claus, I really felt covered.  I asked to be stricken deaf – right then and there.  I must have been bad this year because it didn’t happen.

At the beginning of the event, the music teacher annouced really loudly that any child in the auditorium, who was not performing, was to sit quietly and not disturb the performance and was to be controlled by the parents.  Yea, right.  There were so many kids running around the gym that I thought it was lunchtime.  I yelled at several of them and their over dressed, over electroniced parents.  The only thing I hate worse then 4th and 5th graders singing holiday carols off-key is loud shrieking children. 

Before anyone gets ready to comment, I’m not interested in any advice.  I’m not going to change, ever.  I’m never going to look back on these ordeals and miss them.  When Ed says “Honey, let’s pull out the old video recordings I took at the kid’s holiday concerts while you were texting Amylynn” – I’m going to stab him in the ear with a pen.

And the winner is . . . drum roll please . . .   Ava Louis – Anti-Mom of All Time!

I sat the nine year old and the twelve year old down the other day to have a talk about Santa Claus with them – no, not that talk – the one that involves the economy.  I explained how the economy is bad and how Santa will not be bringing a lot this year.  They know about the economy because Ed and I are always talking about it and how bad it is. 

The twelve you old, bless his little heart, said he got it and not to worry.  He hasn’t told me he knows about Santa yet but I’m pretty sure he’s figure it out. . .

The nine year old said nothing.  Now, those of you who are familiar with the nine year old girl  – know that silence is always trouble and cause for worry.  If either of my children devise an evil plan to take over the universe, it’s not going to be the boy . . . it will be the girl for sure and it won’t be pretty for the rest of us.  I don’t know who she takes after.

Yesterday, she lowered the boom. 

Girl – “Since the economy is bad shouldn’t Santa help parents out by bringing more gifts instead of less?  After all, he’s magical . . . unless you’re really Santa Claus.”

She peered unblinkingly into my eyes, looking for a tell tale twitch, a dilation of my pupils, anything really, trying to make me crack.  Sweat started to bead on my upper lip.

Me – “I know it seems like it should work that way, but Santa has a lot more kids this year then he ever has before to deliver toys to.”

Girl – (deeply suspicious) “Why.”

Me – “Because a lot of parents need his help this year, who have never needed it before, because of the bad economy.”

Silence.

Not good.  That answer was total crap but I couldn’t think of anything else.  I’m afraid to go home . . .

The nine year old girl who lives in my house (I wish her parents or guardian would come pick her up, she’s been here for a while . . . like . . . nine years . . .) offered me a compromise yesterday.  We’ve been arguing over the “tent” she has constructed in her room out of blankets, sheets, twigs and human hair.  It is now so large, it covers almost 25% of her floor space.  She sleeps in it.  It looks like a ghetto or District 9 and I have requested that it be taken down.

She refused, which prompted her “compromise”.

Girl – I have a compromise for you.  I can make the tent a little smaller or leave it the way it is now.

Me – That’s not a compromise.  A compromise is when both parties bring their wants and needs to the negotiating table, a discussion ensues during which each party gives a little and takes a little until an acceptable balance is reached.  Your compromise is really more of an anti-compromise.  I had no input and no accord has been found.

Girl – I have no idea what you’re talking about.  You use too many words and too many big words.  You really need to stop that.  I can help you practice.

Me – Practice?

Girl – You need to limit yourself to a few short sentences.  Try to stick to one or two syllable words, maybe one three syllable word.  If you need to use a four syllable word, just don’t, or one per conversation.

Me – I don’t think I can follow those rules.

Girl – Everyone else does.

Me – Amylynn doesn’t.

Girl – Perfect!  When you and Miss Amy are together use all the big words you want, use all the ones you both know so that you don’t use them on us.

The tent issue remains unresolved.  Heavy sigh . . .

As I’ve already admitted, I parent my children by making everything up as I go along. 

A few weeks ago, I was so frustrated with the girl and her poor showing in social studies, (A 62 on a test for jiminy cricket’s sake, who’s child is this? She CANNOT be mine.), that I stupidly tried to get her to study harder by offering her an IPod Touch (She’s been asking for one.) if and when she got a 100 on a social studies test. 

Just how dumb am I?  I didn’t even know what an IPod Touch was when I offered it.  And really, it was more of a joke – but that girl has no sense of humor!  She took the whole thing literally.  I’ve never seen anyone study social studies so long and so well and for so many hours . . .

Some back ground: I don’t really let my children get less than an A in any subject.  If they get an A, I know they learned what they were supposed to learn and then I don’t need to worry.  This really works for me.  Before you call the authorities, my children are perfectly capable of getting straight As – no matter what the girl tells you. 

Anyway, she came home today with a 100 on the social studies test she took on Monday.  I’d be super proud if it wasn’t going to cost me $200.00 for an IPod.

I’ve decided to stop writing historical romances and move on to my true vocation – writing parenting books.  “How Not To Parent Your Children” by Mrs. Snitkin.

Occasionally, I will change our family’s name to something a little more fun then Louis.  I have recently settled on “Snitkin”.  I did not make this name up, it really belongs to someone.  After changing us to the Snitkin’s, I decided we all needed new first names that began with S.  This name changing has all of a sudden upset the 11 year old boy that lives here.  I have been told to stop changing his name and that he will no longer tolerate such nonsense.  He really seemed to mean it . . .

Now – here at the Louis/Snitkin residence we have eye rolling.  Generally, this happens when Ed or I have annoyed the boy or the girl so thoroughly that they give up all verbal response and must resort to a physical protest of some kind.  I know what you’re thinking – you’re wondering why we allow such rude and disrespectful behaviour at our house.  My aunt would certainly like to know the answer to that as well.  The truth is, we really have very little idea how to raise children – so we just entertain ourselves with the whole thing. 

Today, we had a virtual eye rolling fest.  It all started when the boy told me for the thousandth time to stop calling him Sigmund.  I just love Sigmund Snitkin!  Go ahead admit it – you find it entertaining, too.  Anyway, after I called him Sigmund AGAIN – he rolled his eyes.  But it was only a poorly executed half hearted eye roll.  I asked if that was all he had, such a sad poorly executed half hearted eye roll. 

This caused Ed and the girl to jump into the fray.  The girl really rolled her eyes well, but there was still a small sliver of color that we could see.  Ed rolled his eyes so far up that we could only see the whites.  It would easily have been a perfect 10 if he were competing in the Olympics and if eye rolling were an Olympic sport. 

Oddly, the boy did not find this funny and went to his room.  But here’s the thing – when he walked away, he rolled his eyes.  They went so far up that we couldn’t see anything but the whites.  Another 10!  Clearly, the Louis/Snitkin family has a competitive streak.

Someone who knows me all of my life has insisted that I tell where Amylynn and I have been eating those red velvet cupcakes.  First, I have to say that Amylynn has not really done them justice with her description. 

These cupcakes are truly heavenly.  As she says, they are moist but they are so much more then that!  They are delicately flavored with cocoa, just like real red velvet cupcakes should be.  Some bakeries load them up with too much cocoa powder almost turning them into chocolate cake.  Not so with these little beauties.  Their color is also spot on, they are red.  Not brownish red or pinkish red but RED – just like red velvet cake should be.  As for the icing – yum!  The frosting is smooth and shiny, with just the right amount of sweetness and just the right amount of cream cheese flavor to balance each other out.  TOGETHER, the cake and the icing are a dream come true.  And, each one is topped with a small wafer of dark chocolate.  I make Amylynn eat that first before she can have any of the rest of the cupcake!  (Honestly, you couldn’t find a more indulgent friend to spend your time with but you’ll have to find your own Amylynn because she belongs to me and Isabella.)

Please send the Quill Sisters $1.00 cash to find out where to get them.  (Just kidding person who’s known me all of my life!)

They are at Starbuck’s.  But, I believe they are only available at the Starbuck’s that are located inside of Barnes & Noble.  Actually, I think they might really come from the Cheesecake Factory.  I’ll have to look into that and report back . . .

I have young children who like to watch SpongeBob Square Pants.  This morning, like most Saturday mornings, they put on SpongeBob.  They will watch the same episodes over and over and over and over and over, you get the idea, again.  He does teach good values, he’s very nice, kind, pleasant, moral, etc.  All that’s great but . . .

Here’s what I don’t get – he’s a sponge.  A yellow sponge.   From the dictionary: a sponge is porous rubber or cellulose, or any of various other similar substances, often used for washing or cleaning.  He’s essentially a cleaning implement.  No mention of being an acceptable cartoon character.  None, not even in Wikipedia.  When I was a kid, cartoons consisted of talking animals, just like it should be.

As for his square pants – of course they’re square!  He’s a sponge.  A SQUARE yellow sponge.  If his pants weren’t square, they wouldn’t fit.  Geeeeeeeez . . .

I feel better now.  Thank you.

Amylynn and I had a bad experience today.  Thank goodness we were together because had I been alone I may not have made it through the pain and suffering.  First, a little background:

Amylynn’s car has been feeling poorly so at the beginning of the week it went to the repair shop.  This causes me issues because the highlight of my day consists of meeting the Quill Sisters for lunch or a snack.  When Amylynn doesn’t have a car, I have to pick her up and then we are limited on how far we can go because I have to be back to work from lunch in an hour or so.  Anyway, all week I’ve been DYING to go to a new cupcake bakery in our town but it’s too far when I have to pick Amylynn up – SO FINALLY today she got the car back.

I talked her into meeting me for cupcakes and – IT WASN”T OPEN YET!!!!  I swear I read that it was, I swear Amlynn!  She could tell that I was about to cry so when I suggested we go a few doors down for ice cream she didn’t have the heart to refuse me.  And guess what?  THE ICE CREAM STORE WASN”T OPEN EITHER!  Even though we were there during the stores posted hours – what the heck! 

And here’s why Amylynn is one of my all time favorite people ever in the whole universe – she suggested we go to a restaurant across the parking lot.  There they serve, drum roll please, ECLAIRS covered in hot fudge and whipped cream, stuffed with ice cream and a cherry on top.  I let Amylynn have the cherry because I love her and that’s what sisters are for!

Anyone who knows Amylynn well knows that she is ridiculously funny.  Her writing is sometimes no exception, even when that is not what she is striving for.  In the middle of Chapter 4 of It’s Clearly Love:

Amylynn: “I don’t care a rat’s ass about scandal, Francesca.”

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  Pbbbbbbbbbbbt.  (That is the sound of coffee coming out of my nose.  Amylynn made that word up.)

I reread the line three times and laughed harder each time.  I texted Amylynn to let her know how funny it was.  I also let her know she couldn’t keep it.  It stopped me cold, it still stops me cold every time I read.  It’s really jarring and really, really freakin’ funny.  It just comes out of no where!  However, it doesn’t belong there – sorry Amylynn!  You can’t keep it but feel free to use it again the next time you think my nostrils need a coffee cleaning . . .