An Open Letter to 2010...

It's the end of another year and I'm forced to find a way to briefly share what the last twelve months have brought me and my little family. Boy, 2010, you sure didn't disappoint. In fact, you've even just surprised me this evening with a Tree Survey from arborday.org! Thanks for the laugh. 

No. Seriously.

This year has been filled with ups and downs, but thankfully no broken bones. Just seizures and near misses. I guess I can count myself lucky there, especially since I'm certain another broken bone would have given me a flat-out heart attack. Instead, you gave me new friends. A circle of women who are a constant source of entertainment, laughter and support no matter when I need it. You gave me semi-success with my blog, though if I could ask for anything for next year it would be financial gain in this area. I'm still holding out hope that someone will recognize that sitting on your ass really is a marketable skill. You gave us a decent insurance plan, which is going to be hard to find for most people over the next few years. You also gave me a Republican House, which isn't as lovely as a Republican President, but I'll hold out another two years if I have to (you'd best deliver 2012).

You also gave me a team that made it to the World Series, for the first time ever. Of course, they lost, so maybe if you could fix that little problem for me next season that would be all kinds of awesome. You also gave us a small financial crisis, but there's been something a little humbling about that so I guess I can't really be too bitter. 

I should probably take a minute to thank those people who always provided fodder for this blog. Here's to you bad drivers, messy kids, back-stabbing bitches, former "friends," assholes at the grocery store, and sexual deviant neighbors! May I have many more blessed encounters with each of you. For, without your ridiculous activities, I would be in a sad, sad state. 


I'm not good about resolutions, but I always feel obligated to make a few. Of course, I'm sure I will be quickly reminded of how my No Snark Resolution of 2008 went awry, but in my defense, I did really try very hard. Instead, I'm making a few, simple and totally obtainable rules for myself this year. 


1. I will not continue to try to be friends with people who clearly have no interest in being friends with me. 


2. I will not agree to an on camera interview on the off-chance my neighbor, who I hardly know, dies in a horribly tragic way (ahem). 


3. I will work on the relationships that I have, instead of focusing on the ones that I don't. 


4. I will be happy with who I am, no matter what packaging I come in. Except for over the next three weeks, since I have a bridesmaid's outfit that has to fit, lest I find myself dead where I stand when the bride discovers I have nothing to wear.


5. I will continue to remind my neighbors that they cannot get away with letting their dogs poo in our yard. And I may notify them of this with a propane torched bag on their doorstep. 


6. I will buy above mentioned propane torch. 


7. I will enjoy the small things in life.


8. I will laugh at the big things in life. 


9. I will buy more Vera. 


10. I will stop worrying about who reads this, what they think about it, and whether or not I should say 99% of the things I do.

Happy and Prosperous New Year Big Fat Gini Blog readers!

A Message From BFG (who is currently under a pile of ready to wash bedclothes with a faintly weird odor)...

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Decent Kwanzaa! 

Please do not abandon me! The last of our family has left and I have a million presents to put away or exchange (really, purple furry gloves, really?), a kitchen to clean, laundry to fold and kids to feed and entertain! 

Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday and got lots of cool crap from in-laws who aren't passive-aggressive! 

Tuesday Ten

I am literally up to my eyeballs in things to do, and am secretly hoping that everyone else is too so that you haven't noticed I've been gone. So, I'm just gonna kinda sneak in this Tuesday Ten here all ninja like...

1. I love it when people say things like, "oh, everyone is welcome," when what they really mean is "everyone is welcome, except for you." It's like being the only girl in an entire club full of men. It's also lame. If you don't want to associate with me, it's simple enough not to. You won't be the first, or last person to make that choice. I'll live. I promise.

2. The first effing day of winter and it's 80 degrees here. Really Mother Nature? Really? 


3. I'm attempting to make peppermint bark, toffee and salted caramels for my neighbors and extended family. I'm actually testing it out on my neighbors first, because, they will eventually move away. Family, they're kinda forever. And, I don't want to become an anecdote.

4. My daddy is coming for Christmas! My daddy is coming for Christmas!

5. Yes. I have four sons. Yes. They're all mine. Yes. I have my hands full.

6. Dear Old Navy Salesman: Yes. I get the reference on your super hip t-shirt. Mostly because, I'm older than you and that movie came out before you were even born, which means I was cool first.

7. If I ask you to please send a gift cards for Christmas, I actually don't mean the exact opposite.

8. If you're going to tell someone you're a Christian, maybe the best way to do that wouldn't be through an act of road rage. Spitting on them also sends the wrong message.

9. People, just because a movie comes out at Christmas does not necessarily make it a "Christmas movie." So, if Alien XVI is your favorite Christmas movie, you should probably seek help immediately.

10. I've decided there are two gifts I really want this year. First, a Kindle. Second, a Cuisinart Griddler. Because who doesn't want to make pancakes and paninis while reading a book you were able to buy in 60 seconds?

Big Fat Gini Visits The Craft Show...

Christmas.

The season for lame reindeer sweaters, wonky crafts and fruit cakey goodness. The time of year where we can take a plain old wreath, slap a plastic candy cane and creepy Santa head on with a hot as the fires of hell glue gun and call it homemade without so much as a backward glance. For many, Christmas means never having to say, "I'm sorry I gave you that candle holder made out of old buttons and bottle caps."

Each year, it is with great joy that I make gifts for the members of our family. This is mostly because I love them and want to give them each something unique. The other part of it is that with four kids, we're too damn poor for me to buy everyone monogrammed pencil holders and gift certificates to the Sausage of the Month Club. I do actually enjoy the time I spend hand-weaving baskets and chatting with the members of my quilting circle. But, this year, I needed something different. Something that doesn't turn the color of dead trout when melted or have four sleeves. Something classy. Useful. Pretty.

Sure, I've done all of those cliche things. Pillows. Etched glass candle holders. Your last initial crafted from white buttons of various shapes and sizes, all hot glued together in a stringy mess and tied with a frayed plaid ribbon. Blankets. The obligatory food. Once, I even MacGyvered some awesome ornaments out of hat pins, cork and tiny little beads I still manage find embedded in the fibers of our carpet four years later.

Which I guess is a lot better than the hat pins... 

And so, completely out of useful (and inexpensive) ideas, I did what any crafting woman would do and headed on over to the (apparently 28th annual, though this would be the first time I've ever heard about it) area Christmas Crafts Show at the local expo center (I actually use this term very loosely). Still smelling of barbecued meat from a charity event (that's right, I'm somewhat charitable), I wandered in hoping to stumble upon the jackpot.

I'll go ahead and cut to the chase here. What I actually stumbled upon was not, in fact, the jackpot. Or even a jackpot. More like a mix of the weird, creepy, ugly and completely useless (no offense meant to my two friends who had lovely booths full of lovely things for little girls that we cannot use, or the people with food because you are always useful and yummy). There may have also been an evil reference to my not so distant past, though really that also fulls under the category of "weird, glittery and ugly."

Now, crafty ladies (ugh, seriously I just got this image in my head from The Wedding Singer where John Lovitz is singing..."ooooh, sophisticated mama..." where the hee haw howdy did that come from?), I know you try hard. I've been there. I get it. That burning desire deep down in your soul that tells you to add more glitter or to tie on that extra sparkly ribbon. Or, that maybe, if you just cross stitch one more little flower on to that doily, it will be perfect. That voice that tells you that maybe if you make that doll a little more lifelike, maybe if you add bigger beads, it will be a hit and you'll be a QVC sensation!

Take this eBay listing here. The only way I'm paying $49.99 for this is if it will de-uglify itself. Or, make me look like a size two, though I'm not sure how that will happen since those giant snowflakes will stretch right across the most unflattering part of my body. Sure, you're contributing to a cultlike trend. But, are you really sleeping well at night, because I'm betting you're being chased by Jeanne Bice, the Quacker Factory lady.

I'm here to tell you that it is not true. Glitter? They call it the herpes of craft supplies for a reason. Mustard yellow ribbon? Very rarely does it fall into the category of pretty. Wrapping a wine bottle in white lights and stuffing it with potpourri? No. Glowing rocks that heal? Not gonna happen. Pottery shaped like a wolf howling at the moon? Uh-uh. And contrary to popular belief, you cannot charge more just because you've added an extra 756 beads. No. You can't.

Maybe just go with gift cards or cash instead.

Life With Boys...

"You have your hands full," he says to me as I push my cart through his check-out line.

"Yep," I reply, clearly trying to avoid is gaze.

"All boys, too," he says in amazement.

"Uh-huh. All boys..." I say quietly as I inwardly cringe at the amount I've just spent on a week's worth of groceries and put back the handful of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups my three year old twins have managed to grab on the sly ("look, this candy is just like me," Reese declares).

I have just endured an hour of shopping with four children. Two who think they're being helpful by darting out in front of old ladies in order to grab an item for me (so they can haphazardly throw it in the cart, usually crushing something fragile...like Oreos), two who have no desire to be anything but little kleptomaniacs. It takes twice as long, because no matter how determined I am to avoid gazes and questions (and sometimes open-mouthed stares), I am always stopped by a stranger who feels like it is their personal duty to give me advice on child rearing. You know, in case I was totally unaware of what causes pregnancy.

We leave a trail of destruction behind us. Like the time Blake decided to pull the handle on the Jelly Belly display, dumping thousands of them on to the floor (while quickly shoving as many as humanly possible into his mouth).

I rarely talk about life with these boys. It's not because I don't love them (or, because I'm some sort of crazy narcissist...oh, wait). It is because my entire day is spent focusing on the needs of five other people. As I write this, Riley is literally running around naked, yelling "penis, penis, penis!" It is because a leisurely trip to the park suddenly turns into an emergency when your four year old trips, falls and busts his face on the corner of a park bench, possibly needing stitches (totally happened yesterday, but after we cleaned up the forty two gallons of blood, I discovered that he was fine). All I wanted to do was take them to feed the ducks.

Life with them is exasperating. Maddeningly frustrating. Downright exhausting. Sometimes, it is hilarious and other days it is so awful and sad that I just want to curl up in a corner and cry.

There are days where the boys will say something so hysterical that I'm still giggling about it long after they've gone to bed. Like last week, when Riley said, "Mommy, what color is Reese's playdate?" He actually meant Play-Doh.

There have been times when I've wanted to pull my hair out. Like the time I heard Reese yell, "OOOOONE, TWOOOOO, SHREEEE" right before he jumped off the couch on to a pile of pillows he had arranged on the floor totally undetected.

And then there are those days when I find myself carrying in the most random combination of things that I've discovered lying on the floorboard of my car (which is usually clean until someone else drives it...ahem). Like, a circus plate, a banana peel (right, uh, was there not a trash can somewhere nearby dear?), a blood-soaked towel, a handful of cars and a sweater.

(seriously, that banana peel really irked me)

So, yes. I have my hands full. But, my heart is too. I mean seriously, look at these little heathens. How can you not love them? 

A Tuesday Ten!

I wanted to take a second to thank everyone for their kind words today. It certainly was motivation after a not so stellar week. I felt better yesterday for the first time in at least a month and spent my day getting things back in order. It felt good. It feels better to be back among the land of the living and Mr. BFG says I'm a lot more attractive without the permanent pout and storm cloud over my head. 

So, here's to a ego-stroked, happy Tuesday Ten!

1. Reason #1,278 to hate assholes: Over the weekend, my 81 year old grandfather slipped and fell on some ice in the grocery store parking lot. And nobody helped him. Thankfully, it was just a sprained ankle and not anything worse. But honestly, it takes a special kind of bastard to walk by an old man lying on the ground.

2. Golly, I'm sure glad that the $800/month your family of three receives in food stamps each month allows you to buy shiny new gadgets. It makes me less likely to be generous.

3. When you go to a rated R movie, leave the kids at home. I mean, unless you want your child walking around yelling "ejaculate!" Even still, the fact that they are up and down and climbing on the stairs and asking for snacks and playing on your iPhone makes me feel all stabby, so maybe you should get a babysitter. And also, take your spit cup with you when the movie is over, please and thank you.

 4. Yes. I get it. Sarah Palin is an idiot. Ha. Ha. Hey, why don't you make an out-dated, irrelevant Bush joke while you're at it.

5. Not gonna lie, I'm a little bitter about Cliff Lee signing with the Phillies. I'm not ready to be positive yet.

6. Back in March, I got a really great deal on a winter coat from Land's End. I took it with me on a trip to Chicago and it was perfect (you know, for those times where you get the idea to do a double-decker bus tour and want to ride up top down by Lake Michigan where it's something like eight hundred degrees below zero). I haven't been able to wear it since, until last night. It finally got cold enough for me to wear a winter coat in Texas. It's a Christmas miracle! Never mind the small fact that it'll be 78 degrees tomorrow.

7. I lumbered back on the diet bandwagon yesterday. I'd forgotten how much these first few days suck. I'm surprised I didn't create a Hostess hostage situation.

8. There are some things that I feel like are better left to yourself. Photos of yourself in awkward or compromising situations. The fact that you're breastfeeding your six year old. The amount of money you get in food stamps each month. Being proud of your abortion. Let's leave something to the imagination, folks. And by the way, the internet is forever.

9. I just got rid of a ton of baby toys, puzzles and books. I thought I'd be really sad about it, but more than anything I'm thrilled to have big boys. I'm literally thisclose to never having to buy diapers again, too.

10. Nine Days Until Christmas! And nine days for me to figure out what to buy for the kids, make gifts for family and get my house into shape!

We've Got The Funk, Gotta Have That Funk (Ow)...

Hi. 

I'm still alive. Sure, I'm writing this from my cozy little spot in a very deep funk, but I am alive and I guess that means I'm doing alright.

It was a rough week. Actually, more like extremely unpleasant. So unpleasant, that I really don't even want to write about it and make fun of the fact that life was really sucking for me. So, I mean, you know that's probably not a good sign. Pair that with the small fact that I literally have nothing to write about and here we are. I may have officially reached a level of suckitude from which there is no return. What do ya know, I'm a pioneer!

I do want to take a second to thank Amy for her Tuesday Ten contribution and to everyone who was kind enough to leave her some love.

The good news is that I did have a nice, relaxing weekend with plenty of downtime that included watching Beaches, Practical Magic and the first half of Roman Holiday (I had to leave before the end, boo). Oh and an episode of My Fair Wedding (which reminds me, Nikki, those purple boots are ugly and as a Texan and fellow Fort Worthian I'm embarrassed).

I also got to spend some time with friends. Of course, it was while I cracked Selena jokes over donuts while working a garage sale. But, it was therapy nonetheless.

I've had a lot of deep thinking time of the last week and no matter how many times I've started a post, I find that I'm unable to finish it. It never goes in the direction I mean for it to, and so I sit there, completely blank watching the cursor taunt me.

I have no idea where I want to go with this blog. I see everyone else has a theme, a way they go about posting, an actual interesting life and a way to express humor that I guess I don't feel like I possess. Some days it feels like all I have to write about are my kids (one who is currently holding drool covered vampire teeth in my face, as they drip on my floor) or things that annoy me. I guess I could probably cover a lot of ground with that, but will people grow tired of reading about it?

Maybe I should go back to drawing....

That's me. Thinking about what to write. Sure, I have no nose, but my hair is impeccable, right? Especially for first thing in the morning. I was attempting a bow on my head, but Blake seems to think it's a butterfly. Although, I've seen bows much worse glued to the top of little girl's heads. Seriously, some of them look like a birthday gift reject. Stop doing that to your daughters, people. It's just wrong.

Okay. Obviously, drawing isn't my forte.

Maybe I'll just stick to being disgruntled and easily irritated...

Tuesday Ten: Guest Blogger Edition

Fair readers, I'm afraid Big Fat Gini is in a bit of a funk. This is a tough time of year for me and while I could technically spend my days regaling you with tales of misery, sadness and depression (because it's my blog), I would much rather come back after a decent night's sleep all refreshed and ready to share another edition of Craft Show Creepers (and boy do I have a tale to tell) with y'all instead.

There is good news in all of this. You're still getting a Tuesday Ten from my friend Amy (applause)!

Amy is a long-time friend of the family. Her mama is the best friend of my mother-in-law (who is way more awesome than yours so don't even try) and she was also lucky enough to know Mr. BFG during those super fun and awkward teenage years. Amy is a true Southern Belle, living in Mississippi with two fabulous kids and an even more fabulous husband (she also likes long walks on the beach, pina coladas and getting caught in the rain). She is about as awesome as they come (next to me) so y'all be sweet and make her feel all warm and fuzzy!

See y'all tomorrow!

1. Stop posting pictures of yourself and your boo up in the bed...really we don't want to see that!

2. Stop posting pics of yourself in the bathroom...seeing you with the toilet and the paper roll in the background is not hot or sexy. For crying out loud they call it the shitter for a reason!

3. Enough with the duck/fish face pics you just look freakin ridiculous!

4. Facebook is not called "dear diary"...really we DON'T CARE TO KNOW EVERYTHING!

5. For the love of God please stop fighting with your spouse, boo, loved one, kids or whoever on facebook. Get some freakin' counseling. As entertaining as it is to the rest of us to get a glimpse of your dysfunction...really we are just laughing at you!

6. How is posting a cartoon character gonna stop child abuse????

7. Online petitions....no one gets the complete list so just stop sending them.

8. We know it's cold outside...it's December for crying out loud.

9. I don't give a crap whether you like it in the kitchen, den, living room, etc....it's a dumb game...everyone knows you are talking about your purse and it's not gonna stop people from being abused or having breast cancer!!

10. Now have yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

For Jean...

Me, with Grandma, age five or six

I was the first grandchild. Born in California. I couldn't tell you the first time my grandmother laid eyes on me (even though, as a baby, I'm sure everyone could tell that I was super awesome already). But I can tell you that it was love at first sight. I knew that much.

That was my Grandma Jean to me. Love. She radiated it.

There is just no way that I could ever write a tribute fit for someone like my grandmother. I doubt there are even enough words. Eleven years later, and I still feel that little spot in my heart that aches for her presence. So much so that I can barely focus on typing without having to dry my eyes every few minutes. Which wasn't exactly where I wanted to go with this. I don't really have the prettiest cry, first of all. Second, splotchy eyes and a half snotty, half stuffed up nose really aren't very attractive anyway.

Not that any of those things would have mattered to her. She was, no frills. Her uniform usually consisted of a t-shirt, shorts or jeans and tennis shoes. Except for Sundays. On Sundays, she would spend an hour in the bathroom getting ready for church. I would sit on the floor in their bedroom, playing with the soft mohair rug underneath me while she would ask for my opinion on her earring or necklace choices. And I would spend the entire service admiring her while she stood up in the choir.

That is how I remember her the most. Up there in her blue robe, necklace sparkling, taking a minute here and there to grin down at me or checking to make sure I was behaving (which I totally was). And after church, she would always take me around and show me off to those who not only remembered me as a baby, but also knew my dad growing up.

Yes, I was baptized you smart asses. Do you not totally love the wardrobe choices in this photo? They are, in a word, awesome. Right? I love it.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. In May, we would usually make the trek from Texas to Wisconsin for our family reunion. Sometimes, we would drive up for the holidays. Most evenings, the entire family would sit around the kitchen table and play Trivial Pursuit after dinner. Sometimes, my dad would fly me up there for a week in the summer and I'd show up ten pounds heavier, because Grandma couldn't resist letting me have a bowl of chocolate ice cream with my Grandpa before bed. I don't think she realized it then, but it has become one of my most cherished memories from my childhood.

There were always two places we had to go during my visits each year. The first was to a little ice cream shop called The Chocolate Factory in Oconomowoc, where we would split a Turtle Sundae. Grandma would always let me scrape the last of the caramel and fudge sauce from the bottom, and I always got the cherry. And if we didn't go there, we would drive down to the Kiltie Drive-In and have a sundae there.

In the summers when she wasn't working (she was a teacher), we would drive into the city and spend an afternoon in the Milwaukee Public Museum. With it's European Village and Streets of Old Milwaukee Exhibit, it became one of my favorite places as a kid.

Grandma spoiled us rotten. All of us. I can't remember ever wanting for anything when I was with her, and it wasn't just stuff. She lavished us with attention. Even when I would sneak out of bed early in the morning and catch her doing her exercise tapes, she would talk to me and encourage my participation, no matter how much I giggled.

Some other favorite memories of her...

-The way she would pile snow at the bottom of the park slide and let me go up and down a million times, no matter how cold it was. She'd plop be in the bath and let me warm up until the water turned cold and then give me hot chocolate.

-Her sugar cookies. Nobody could ever master them the way she did.

-The sound of excitement and happiness in her voice any time I got on the phone with her.

-Her love of baseball, no matter how many times her team lost.

-All of the times she let me play with, touch, hold, or tote around some of her prized possessions.

-Her love of travel.

-The way I know that my twin boys were a gift, straight from her. Well, I mean, it was probably a collaborative effort (joke?) between her and God anyway...

I was around 16 when she was diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig's Disease. At that point in my life, I was too self-absorbed to really understand. I still regret how little time I spent with her, how little I communicated with her. It seems now, that her decline was rapid. Each time I saw her, it was worse. Yet, the day I walked across the stage and graduated from High School, there she was, in the very front cheering for me. Just like she always did.

Last week, I got a letter in the mail from my aunt. Inside was the note that I'd written to my Grandma, right before my wedding. It wasn't long. It was, in fact, painfully short. Something that I kicked myself for as I folded it up and placed it back in the envelope. That note, it seems to trite. Silly now. My 30 year old self wants to shake that girl, tell her that she's so inconsiderate and stupid. That so many things she thought were important just don't matter as much as she thought they did. Because, it was only a few short weeks after I married that she was gone.

I don't think I've ever come out and told my family how thankful I am for all of the time they gave me with her. I don't think we ever realize it in the moment, but those hours my grandmother spent playing Pick Up Sticks with me on her living room floor gave me just one more memory to cherish...