Don’t be upset by surprise visitors…

“You surprised to see us, Clark?”
“Oh, Eddie… If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am now.”

And, treat those visitors with holiday kindness…

“Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?”

Be thankful for all gifts…

“Oh Aunt Bethany, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh dear, did I break wind?”

And know that a Christmas tree can never be too big…

“Dad, this tree won’t fit in our back yard.”
“It’s not going in the yard, Russ. It’s going in the living room.”

Find something that brings you comfort during this hectic time…

“Our holidays were always such a mess.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How’d you get through it?”
“I had a lot of help from Jack Daniels.”

But most of all, remember what it’s all about…

“It’s the Christmas star, and that’s all that matters tonight. Not bonuses, or gifts, or turkeys or trees. See kids, it means something different to everybody, and now I know what it means to me.”

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At last night’s Hanna Montana/Miley Cyrus concert there was an opening act called The Jonas Brothers. They are a trio of modern-day, slightly-punkish-yet-Donny Osmondesque, teen boys, who were met with ear-piercing screams from 15,000 girls. That’s one thing that will never change. Whether it’s Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, or for crying out loud…even Leif Garrett…there will always be screaming girls.

But, one thing was very different. Because, as The Jonas Brothers gathered together to sing a slow song, they didn’t ask the audience to pull out our lighters and hold them up in the air. They asked us to pull out our cell phones.

Instead of flickering flames courtesy of Bic, the arena was filled with dim, blue light courtesy of Verizon.

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Last night we surprised our daughter with Hanna Montana tickets. It was an early birthday present that we thought she would love. For anyone without a pre-teen daughter, Hanna’s real name is Miley Cyrus…as in Billy Ray’s daughter. Now, if you had asked me ten years ago if I would ever go to a concert with the name Cyrus on the ticket, I would’ve told you absolutely not. As a matter of fact, when my husband and I got married back in 1997, we specifically told the DJ that Achy Breaky Heart was NOT to be played.

But, our daughter LOVES this Cyrus kid. So we were pretty surprised with she opened her present and just sat there and smiled. No yelling? No jumping? No bouncing off the walls? WHAT? Because, when I wasn’t much older than her and I got Jack Wagner tickets…well, I was a mini-maniac. And, when he touched my hand at the concert…sigh…I vowed to never wash it again.

But, our kid was calm and we just sat there looking at her, asking if she was happy. Prodding her to at least pretend to be thrilled. I gotta tell you, I was a bit disappointed.

When I took a phone call a couple of minutes later, she was still just sitting there. But, slowly it hit her, and I looked over to see her eyes welling up with tears. Then she took a pillow, put it over her face and screamed. Soon she was jumping around the room, giving me and her Dad alternating hugs, with, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” in between. She ran upstairs, tried on an outfit for the concert, then hugged her Hanna Montana poster.

What a relief that was. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see her acting like a hysterical fool.

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A few nights ago, my kids were in the bathroom and suddenly things got quiet. Now, every parent who knows anything, knows that silence is not golden unless you’re in the car, where everyone is safely strapped in their seats. Silence in the car isn’t golden, it’s platinum. But, silence in the bathroom is not usually good, so I don’t know why I didn’t yell the frequently asked, “What are you doing in there?!!”

Before I could use my motherly instincts to sense doom, my daughter yelled, “Mom! You’re not going to be happy.”

Now, what could that mean? Coming from the bathroom, I assumed it was that my son had pulled down the towel rack, or that a full trash can had been tipped over. The worst scenario in my mind was a backed-up toilet. We live in an old house, so that happens a lot.

But,no! That would just require a plunger and some elbow grease. Instead, my daughter informed me that after she had pooped and wiped, but before she had flushed, her brother threw an ink-pen in the toilet.

At first, I just stood there looking at it. Like, what am I going to do about this?!! But, I quickly went to work, looking for something with which I could easily retrieve the pen, and then dispose of.

I thought about tongs, but tongs aren’t really disposable. I thought of the box of surgical gloves we have, that I use for projects around the house, or for when my son had his tonsils removed and we had to shove acetaminophen suppositories up his patootie, but they seemed too thin and I didn’t want to think about sticking my hand in there. Not even with a glove on.

So, I did what any logical person would do. I took two bendable straws and positioned one under each end of the pen which had luckily not speared anything. With a keen sense of straw-balancing, I was able to lift the pen out of the pot. I threw it, and the straws, into the trash can I had placed right next to the toilet.

And, there you have my latest Mommy-Invention. A poopy-pen-retrieval-system. It sure won’t make me rich, but at least it kept my hands clean.

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