The Meanest Mom Makes the News!

Last month, Bob Buckley from Fox 8 News in Greensboro, North Carolina invited me to do an interview about my blog. Despite a slight concern that I would be portrayed as Cruella De Vil, I eagerly accepted the invite with the hope that the experience would A) be fun B) include clips that I might be able to show at my kids' wedding receptions in 20 years.

I was not disappointed! This was my first--and unless my kids rob a 7-11 when they are teenagers--probably last time on camera. Mr. Buckley and his cameraman Stewart Pittman were extraordinarily nice and unbelievably professional, especially given the circumstances (my kids were all over them). We filmed in North Carolina (where I used to live) a few weeks ago and the story aired last night:

http://www.myfox8.com/wghp-br-meanest-mom-090130,0,189358.story

My kids got a huge kick out of seeing themselves on t.v. Seeing myself on t.v., however, was just plain weird. Much more comfortable with my Chaucer books I am.


Update: Here's the link to the Boxed Wine post that some of you were looking for. Sorry! You can also find it under Readers' Favorites on the left sidebar.

http://themeanestmom.blogspot.com/2008/09/boxed-wine.html

Product Review

Baby Swim

Rating: FIVE TRILLION STARS

Product Description: Your daughter/granddaughter/weird doll collector neighbor will love this doll that sort of swims. Plop her into any bathtub, neighborhood drainage ditch or unchlorinated swimming pool (chlorinated water voids warranty) and watch her power kick in place. No on/off switch makes this little beauty a parent's dream! This swim team superstar is equipped with a state-of-the-art belly sensor that activates when she touches water, as well as at other random and inappropriate times, like when a toilet flushes, or when you close the refrigerator door too hard. Plastic goggles guaranteed to spontaneously break within 30 minutes of package opening or when your precious darling tries to put them on her own head, whichever comes first.

Price: $39.99 Target

$ 39.99 Toys 'R Us

$24.97 for a crushed, half-opened box found on the clearance aisle in the lawn and garden department of a large supercenter.

Requires: 3 AAA batteries; hedge clippers to remove doll from packaging.

What Would Make this Product Even More Awesome Than It Already Is?

Baby Swim Triplets! Who doesn't LOVE multiples, especially ones that tread water in tandem?! Note to manufacturers: Please make sure that the trio includes 2 girls and a token boy who is anatomically ambiguous and/or open to cross-dressing and gender reassignment if his pint-sized mommy thinks boy babies are gross.

***

Have an awesome toy that you want to recommend/review? Go to it in the comments!

Have a toy that you want ME to review? If I have it, have had it, or can buy it at the thrift store for less than $5, I'll give it some serious thought. I'm particularly interested in toys that are a great value for your money and are super durable. Small parts a plus. Included in a manufacturer's recall= double plus.

Bad Words

My kids LOVE to say "bad" words...without really saying them. Their favorite and recently only topic of conversation is our family's forbidden vocabulary.

"We don't say 'jerk' around here...right?" asked Kellen on the way to Wal-Mart.
I confirmed for the tenth time in two hours that 'jerk' was on our no-no list.

"'Stupid' is also not a nice thing to call someone," added Cortlen.

"Neither is 'whatever major loser,'" said Camber.

I reminded them that anyone who said any of these things "for real" would earn a free meal at Taco Tim's, an in-house chili pepper bar.

Just thinking about the jar of jalapeños in the refrigerator caused Cortlen to claw at his tongue.

"I am definitely never going to call you a poop face," he said in my direction.

The entire back seat erupted in raucous laughter.

Taco Tim's complete collection of spicy condiments spent the rest of the day giving off threatening stares from the kitchen counter.

The First Waffle

The only waffle that counts in our house is the one that comes out of the waffle iron first. The second and third specimens not only taste disgusting, but are infected with waffle # 1's germs.

"I'm not touching that!" screamed Kellen when I handed him his plate.

He treated waffle #2 as if it was radioactive.

"Get out of here!" he cried, as he flipped the waffle off his plate with his fork.

Cortlen didn't mind the taste of toxic chemicals and reached across the table. He ate the discarded breakfast item in three quick bites.

"You ate the second waffle!" wailed Kellen. "Now I have to have the last one!"

The realization that he was the Old Maid hit the little guy hard.

***

Anyone obsessed with being first in line at your house?

Are they real?

Frequently asked about female bosoms, this question also applies to the characters on Disney made-for-t.v. movies.

Yesterday, I shattered my childrens' lives when I explained why, in the behind-the-scenes video clips from High School Musical, the movie director kept calling Troy Bolton by the strange name of Zac.

The concept of acting is a bit too abstract for my deep thinkers.

"His name is TROY BOLTON!" screamed Cortlen at the television set.

After cast members misidentified Troy a few more times, Cortlen unsheathed his plastic He-Man sword. Sensing that my television was about to be stabbed, I turned off the DVD.

"Acting is sort of like pretending," I explained to the confused and distraught.

My words were met with three blank stares and one inquiry about the number of hours left until dinner would be served.

"Like when you pretend to have a broken leg when someone accidentally steps on your foot," I continued.

Three light bulbs flickered, and then went out. Fake injury metaphors only get you so far in my house.

I tried a different example, hoping that the difference between real and make-believe would be more transparent when applied to a cartoon.

"Transformers are just pretend," I said.

I hoped for a flash of understanding; what I got instead was a stunned look of collective disbelief.

"Transformers are too real!" three kids yelled.

I was forced to admit defeat when, after telling the story to my neighbor, she showed me this video:

I want an Optimus Prime outfit so bad.

LeeLou's Baby Shower

My awesome blog designer--Leelou--is almost 8 months pregnant with baby number 3 and is having an online baby shower to benefit two incredible NICU babies who have spent way too long in the hospital. Click below to read their stories:

Baby Kayleigh
Kayleigh's video will break your heart and inspire at the same time.

Baby Mia

Starting February 9th there will be tons of contests and giveaways on LeeLou's blog to benefit these families, so be sure to visit her site for all of the details.

Also...Leelou is having a cutest baby photo contest. There are two categories: one for babies 0-2 years old and another category for toddlers 2-4 years old.

My blog was unbelievably ugly until Leelou rescued it back in July. She and her new partner-in-crime Nicole are two amazingly talented gals and can and do work miracles. I found them through one of my readers and I highly recommend.

Drink Thieves

We are against stealing at our house. Thanks to a cartoon 10 Commandments DVD, we know that God and the ancient Israelites are against it too.

While we all understand (at least we do now) that stuffing a die cast Lightening McQueen car up one's shirt and walking out of Toys 'R Us with it is wrong, we're still working on not filling our water cups with soda at Burger King.

"I couldn't find the water spout, so I filled up my cup with Coke instead," explained Kellen.

When Camber returned to the table, her cup was covered with a lid.
"I got water," she said as she took a big sip. Orange liquid filled the straw.

At least Cortlen was honest.
"I didn't want water, so I got Sprite," he said.

You would have thought I was a suspect on America's Most Wanted the way that my kids looked at me when I ordered them to pour their stolen beverages down the drain.

"We just stole a little bit," whined Camber as she slouched to the drink dispenser and poured out her cup, which was mostly ice.

That was true of everyone except for Cortlen. Based on the contents of his overflowing cup, it is safe to say that he stole a lot.

***
I'm sure your kids have never stolen anything but if they had (hypothetically of course), what would they have taken and from where?

Panda Cupcakes

My neighbor and life coach Helen-Marie thought up the idea and decorated the treats with my kids. I purchased the mini-Oreos. My contribution is substantial enough that I feel comfortable taking full credit for the finished product.

Our Little Bloodsucker

I've received a lot of emails about Cameron lately, and I apologize for being such a slacker about providing more regular updates on his condition. My husband and I have appreciated your ongoing thoughts and prayers. We have been overwhelmed by the amount of concern for our family and we feel so grateful to have your support, love, and encouragement.

The latest news on Cameron is good: his most recent set of labs show an increase in his hemoglobin level for the first time since his birth. Although it's too early to tell for sure, this seems (hopefully) to indicate that Cameron's bone marrow is starting to make red blood cells.
We're cautiously optimistic that he's done with blood transfusions for awhile. I am sad, however, to give up the vampire cape.

It Looks Like You've Been Busy

As the oldest of seven, I grew up believing that a family isn't considered "large" until an extended- length passenger van is required to haul around all of its members. Thankfully, we're not even close to that point. My family still fits in our SUV, as long as everyone sits with their knees together and shoulders tucked into their chests.


(We had a van like this when I was growing up. When I was really lucky, I got to drive it to school).


At Costco the other day, you would have thought I was Ma Duggar by the way that people looked at me and my brood. Granted, my three eldest were hanging onto three of the four sides of the shopping cart, but other than shouting out friendly salutations to fellow shoppers--Move over! We're comin' through!--they didn't do anything to draw attention to themselves, or to me.

During the course of my thirty minute shopping trip, I was stopped by several people of varying ages and mental capacities. Most just wanted to state the obvious--You have four kids!--but others rightly saw my children as the window into my soul.

"You sure have your hands full."
My cup indeed runneth over.

"You are one busy lady."
People do consider me a busy body.

"It looks like you and your husband have been busy lately."

You will be shocked to know that that the last comment came from a balding leprechaun who was standing behind me in the check-out line. He was holding a 300-count box of magic markers.

I flashed the man a sultry grin before chucking a jumbo-sized box of maxi pads onto the conveyor belt.

It's nice to know that I still have the touch.

A Haiku for the Stomach Flu

Day 1

The sound of upchuck
In the middle of the night
Makes my heart rejoice

Here is a bucket
I know that you don't feel good
Please try to make it

Day 2

I am out of Sprite

All I have is apple juice

Take it or leave it

Your hands are not sick
I do not want your tissue
Go throw it away

Day 3
I'm sorry you're bored
Please do not touch anything
Especially my food

Get back in your bed
Sick people do not eat cake
You can have oatmeal

Day 4

I will take the chance
That you are not contagious
And send you to school


***
Have a visitor at your house? Stomach flu? Double ear infections? Chronic chest cold? Rotavirus? Hypochondria?

All worthy of a haiku in the comments I think.

Line 1: 5 syllables
Line 2: 7 syllables
Line 3: 5 syllables

The Maxey Family

A few weeks ago, I told you about the Maxey family from Louisiana. A few years ago, their daughter Madeline passed away from brain cancer at age 1. Last month, their second daughter, Annette (age 3 months), was diagnosed with another rare and equally aggressive form of brain cancer called AT/RT. A few weeks ago, Annette had surgery to remove the tumor, but it is already starting to grow back. She also has a tumor on the base of her spine. Several people close to the family have sent me emails asking for your prayers. As it turns out, we can do something more.

The Maxey Family Letter Project is soliciting letters of comfort and hope for this family from all over the world. The organizers are planning to put all of these letters into a book, which they will present to the family (as a surprise).

Will you consider sending a letter? My kids and I are going to write ones tomorrow during our family night. The website (above) has letter writing guidelines and the email and snail mail addresses where they can be sent.

My heart breaks for this family. I can't even imagine.

I don't say this nearly enough.

Thank you so much for this reading this blog. Writing is pretty much the only outlet available to a person with no hand-eye coordination and limited social skills like myself, so I NEED this blog just as much as you like reading it.

I have no idea where the vast majority of you came from, but I am thrilled that you are here. Really! I laugh hysterically at your comments and have wept (in a good way) at some of your emails. Thank you SO MUCH for your support and encouragement. A big thanks goes out to all of you who added me to your blog roll, put a link button on your blog, and/or told friends and frenemies alike about The Meanest Mom.

Being a mom is, without a doubt, the hardest job on the planet. I love that you take the time each day to laugh with me...and at me!

Thanks!!!

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Cortlen woke up yesterday morning complaining of an earache. He didn't feel well enough to make his bed or put his cereal bowl in the dishwasher, but he did feel good enough to stare at his sister across the breakfast table until she got fed up and kicked him where it counts.

I let him stay home from school anyway.

When he didn't put up a fight when I called the doctor, I figured that he was telling the truth. It is because I trust my son that I got a babysitter for his siblings and drove to the pediatrician's office in a mini blizzard.

The doctor's office is a place of miracles because the minute that we got there, my deathly ill five year-old perked up and announced to the office staff that he was healed. His healing was so complete, in fact, that when the nurse asked him which ear hurt, he couldn't remember.

"How are you feeling today?" the nurse asked as she pointed to a chart covered with faces portraying varying expressions of distress.

Cortlen pointed to the smiling, definitely not sick face.

"I thought your ear hurt," said the nurse, confused.

"Just kidding!" he giggled.

My son's raucous belly laughs continued until he caught my gaze, at which point they abruptly stopped.

"There had better be something wrong with you or there is going to be a problem," I said unflinchingly.

My son's life was spared by the presence of a small amount of cloudy fluid in his right ear canal. The doctor mentioned several times during our short visit that he had never seen a patient so happy to have an ear infection.

"Relieved," I corrected.

The doctor smiled and chuckled warmly, not knowing how close he came to witnessing World War III break out in his exam room.

Any fakers at your house? Tell me all the details so I don't feel like such a sucker!

I Learned It By Watching You

When my kids ask me questions, I've gotten into the bad habit of taking a breath before answering them.

"Mom? Can I have a drink?"

I have learned the hard way that if I let more than a millisecond pass between the end of my child's question and the beginning of my response, then I get asked the same question again, in a slightly higher pitch.

"Mom! Can I have a drink?!"

If I answer quickly and in the affirmative, the question will be rephrased in the form of a statement and then let go: "Mom, I'm going to get something to drink now."

If, however, I neglect to make eye contact with the petitioner, or if I give him/her any reason to believe that I may not stop what I am doing and sprint to the refrigerator that very instant, then I can pretty much guarantee that I'll get to hear what my name sounds like in several languages:

"Mom?"
"Mommy?"
"Mama?"
"Mamá?"


I didn't know why my children feel the need to repeat themselves ad nauseam until yesterday, when, to my total horror, I caught myself speaking in multiples:

"Get into the car."
"Get into the car!"
"GET INTO THE CAR!"

It's a hard pill to swallow, but I have learned that there is some truth to the 1980s public service announcement: parents who repeat things have kids who repeat things.

Birthday Party

My daughter's birthday is at the end of the month and we have begun to discuss party ideas.

"I want a Hannah Montana party," she announced the other day.

"What does one do at that kind of party?" I wanted to know.

My five-going-on-fifteen year-old looked at me like I was a single-celled organism.

"I'm going to dress up as Hannah Montana and sing songs," she explained to the clueless, "And my friends can be the audience."

"That sounds fun," I replied, "Especially for your friends. Do you have any other ideas?"

"How about a High School Musical party?" she proposed.

"Let me guess," I said, "You'll be Gabriella and your guests will be Sharpay."

"The audience," she corrected.

"Let's pick a theme that doesn't involve a t.v. show or a movie," I said in a furtive attempt to avoid imminent disaster. My argument seemed reasonable enough: not everyone, including my daughter, has seen Hannah Montana or knows any of her songs.

After I ruined my daughter's life a little more by turning down her request for a Suite Life of Zack and Cody party (another show she's never seen but heard about from her friends at school), she decided that a "pet party" sounded kind of fun.

Visions of dinners served in dog bowls and pooper scooper relays danced in my head.

"I LOVE IT!" I shouted a little too enthusiastically. My daughter's face contorted into the likeness of a Doberman Pincher.

"Yuck!" I corrected. "Pet parties are no fun. Definitely a no-go."

That pretty much sealed the deal. I left the birthday girl standing in the kitchen while I rushed off to print a set of dancing dog invitations from the Internet before Hannah could break in for an encore performance.

Work Clothes

Last January, I bought a closet full of dry clean only work clothes for the three college professor jobs that I had just been offered and desperately wanted... but would turn down a few weeks later (because I was pregnant).

I have finally gotten to the point where I can look at the clothes without wanting to throw myself off the balcony. My husband says I'm being dramatic.

"Get over yourself," he told me the other day.

The nerve.

Once I calmed down, I realized that my husband had a point: a lot of very stylish professor wear was going to waste simply because I felt sorry for myself. What lifted me out of the depths of depression was the knowledge that as a stay-at-home mom, my home is my office. Moreover, if I am to truly embrace the idea of working at home, I need to dress appropriately.

Yesterday, I wore my Ann Taylor interview suit to the grocery store. I learned two things from the experience:

1. Dressing nicely doesn't always make you feel good about yourself. I felt more alienated from the processed cheese and imitation crab meat than usual.

2. People weirdly and unfairly expect you to act how you look. No one bats an eye when I'm wearing sweatpants and deposit a loaf of bread in the cereal aisle. For some reason, heels makes it tacky.

Stuffed Animals

One of the biggest drawbacks about driving a SUV is that I don't have a back window ledge on which to display my children's stuffed animals.

A few weeks ago, however, I found a way to "make do," and, in doing so, made my kids very happy. I agreed to haul around a few weathered specimens from my kids' extensive collections of furry animals, so long as the faux beasts hung out together, in a trash bag, in the back of my trunk.

The stuffed animals were thrilled to escape the confinements of my basement playroom, but were considerably less excited to learn that their new home was the donation bin of the Salvation Army.

Shamu and his friends were stunned into silence. Fortunately, they found a loud and angry advocate in my five year-old son Cortlen.

"Hey!" he shouted in my direction. "You just threw away my stuffed animals!"

I tried to step on the accelerator, but Cortlen was already out of the car and scaling the wall of the dumpster.

"I'm coming!" he screamed to the contents of the bag.

The donation man looked annoyed. The disturbance at his dumpster was ruining his cigarrette break.

"Do you want this or not?" the man asked, holding up the bag.

I starting shaking my head when I saw the horrified look on my children's faces. It has just occurred to them that maybe I had thrown away their friends ON PURPOSE.

"Big mistake," I laughed as I chucked the bag back into the car. A porpoise, two dolphins, a large single-eyed reticulated python, and a colony of howler monkeys heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"That was close," said Kellen.

"Yes it was," I replied through gritted teeth.


How, when, and where do you liquidate your stuffed animal kingdoms?

Speed Racer

Thanks to the severity of his anemia (from Fifth Disease), Cameron pretty much slept through his first three months of life. Fortunately, he's not doing scary things anymore like sleeping through his blood draws, but he is still pretty groggy a lot of the time.

In our constant battle to find creative ways to simultaneously entertain our older children and keep Cameron awake for more than 10 minute stretches, my husband and I built a makeshift racetrack around the perimeter of the first floor of our house. Several times a day, we strap Cameron into his sister's doll stroller and let the older kids take turns doing laps around the kitchen and dining rooms. To prevent catnaps (and unlawful speeding), we built in a few sharp turns and speed bumps.

At first, the kids fought over who got to push Cameron and for how long. After a few days, however, the novelty wore off. Now it's a chore.

"I need ten laps out of you while I make dinner," I told Cortlen last night.

"I don't want to!" whined the disgruntled driver in reply.

"Life is a highway," I said nervously as I nibbled on my fingernails. "You'd better get going before you get run over."

I meant what I said literally. Camber had been watching our exchange from the living room and didn't like the way that her brother was breathing on her doll stroller. As Cortlen strolled casually down the hallway, he had no way of knowing that he was about to get sideswiped by a fast-moving semi.

Second Seating

At the exact same moment that I summoned my subjects to dinner last night, Cortlen experienced a partial loss of hearing.

While he didn't hear any of my three incrementally more hostile calls to the dinner table from 10 feet away, my darling son could make out just fine what the space commander was saying on the computer game he was playing at the time.

After Cortlen's spaceship was inadvertently blown to smithereens by an alien warship, my son was instantaneously blessed with the miracle of healing.

"I'm ready to eat now!" Cortlen chirped as he sauntered into the kitchen.

He was about ready to plop himself into his seat when he noticed that there wasn't one.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Where's my chair?"

That's when I told him that because he was a no-show for his dinner reservation, he had been bumped to the second seating.

Cortlen had no idea what a "second seating" was, but he was smart enough to figure out that it wasn't desirable.

"Basically," I explained as I took a big, delicious bite of food, "It means that you can eat whatever is left over after everyone else is finished eating...that is, if I still feel like feeding you then."

"I COULDN'T HEAR YOU!" Cortlen screamed as he marched down the hallway to pout.

"Yeah right," whispered Camber under her breath.

"I HEARD THAT!" yelled the spaceship captain.

P.S. Cortlen had to wait 10 horribly long painful minutes, but rest assured, he got his dinner in the end.

A few minutes ago, Cameron woke up from his nap crying and very hungry. By the time that I got to his room, Cortlen was already feeding him the crusty remnants of a bottle that he had found underneath the changing table. Yumsters!

We're snowed in today (hence the second post) and I can already tell that this day is going to be super awesome.

My Sincerest Apologies

Current weather in Philadelphia: 32 degrees and snowing

Before I had children, I was very critical of women who walked around the mall with a trail of hobos following along behind them.

"How hard is it to dress your kids in matching/unstained/seasonally appropriate clothing?" I asked myself.

Now that I know the answer to that question, I feel terrible for judging.

Moms of America: I'm sorry.

I know from experience that you aren't child neglecters, but like me, have simply lost the will to live.

Adopted!

I have three siblings who are adopted from Korea, including my sister Amy, who has been visiting for the past 2 weeks. I don't even think about the physical differences between me and my sister, but I am reminded of them when people cock their heads and wrinkle their foreheads when I introduce Amy as my sister.

On Friday, my sister and I took the crew to the mall in an attempt to do the impossible: buy my daughter a pair of jeans. While I rocked in the fetal position in the corner of the girls' dressing room in J.C. Penney, my sister took Kellen and Cortlen to Bath and Body Works, where she challenged them to slather their bodies with over 50 different samples of scented lotion. At some point during the activity, a store clerk approached Cortlen and asked if he needed any help. Holding up a tube of Country Apple, my son replied, "This lotion is making me hungry. I want it."

The store clerk looked at Kellen and Cortlen and then at Amy.

"Why don't you ask your...um..er.." The store clerk struggled to find the right relationship between an Asian woman and two nearly albino boys.

"Mother!" my sister helped. She pointed to the boys and smiled. "They're adopted," she explained.

Body Mass Index

My new best friend is Lenore, the elementary school nurse. Lenore became my regular friend a few weeks ago when she sent home a note saying that she had trouble doing a lice check on my daughter, presumably because of the large rat's nest that has taken over the back of my five year-old's head. Lenore didn't respond too well when I told her that the nest is private property; I trespassed once with a fine-toothed comb and barely lived to tell about it.

My friendship with Lenore deepened over the weekend, when I received another letter in the mail, this one typed out on school district stationary and signed inexplicably in all capital letters by the nurse herself. Last month, all of the kindergartners were weighed and measured as part of the school's health and growth screening program. Lenore wanted to let me know that based on these numbers, my daughter's body mass index-for-age percentile was 88%.

While I was grateful for this information, I wasn't exactly sure what it meant. I would have scratched my head all day if Lenore hadn't been so kind as to include an explanatory paragraph in which she spelled out her specific concerns for my daughter in clear, non passive-aggressive language:

"Being either overweight or underweight can put a person at risk for certain health problems. A student who is overweight has an increased risk of developing serious conditions including diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, stroke and certain cancers. A student who is underweight has an increased risk for heart problems, loss of bone mass, and anemia."

I liked the fact that Lenore had determined that my daughter was either overweight or underweight, but left it up me to guess which one. Normally, I would think that having a BMI in the 88th percentile wouldn't be a particularly good thing, but then again, if my daughter was ground beef, being in the 88th percentile would be considered quite lean.

New Year, New Me!

One of my resolutions for the new year is to update my style. My look for 2008 could best be described as "I've just been mauled by a mountain lion." For 2009, I'm going for the equally attractive but slightly more understated "I'm slowly being pecked to death by a flock of chickens" look.

It's only the second day of the new year, and I'm already making great strides toward embodying my new vision of mother martyrdom. Yesterday, in the mall parking lot, I hit the bridge of my nose on my car's trunk door (don't ask). The cut took over an hour to clot, giving store employees, fellow shoppers, and other good Samaritans plenty of time to tap me on my shoulder and let me know that my forehead was bleeding.

We're off to a great start! How about you?!!!!

We've Reached That Point of Winter Break

Party like it's 2009

My kids asked me a million times if they could stay up until midnight on New Year's Eve. Since I couldn't think of anything I would rather do than entertain three five year-olds for five hours past their bedtimes, except maybe entertain three sleep-deprived five year-olds the whole next day I said, "Of course you can stay up!"

When the celebrants heard the good news, they squealed at the top of their lungs and started doing laps around the living room. After they had run the equivalent of a marathon, they collapsed on the floor and asked if I had any cold drinks lying around.

As I handed the runners their refreshments, I pointed out that their party plans excluded one of their siblings. That was not only rude, I told them, but also unfair.

"The rule is 'everybody or nobody,'" I reminded them. "If you're going to have a party, then Cameron has to be invited too."

Everyone was fine with the plan until I clarified that I wouldn't be available to chaperone or babysit the youngest member of the family. This was strictly a "kids only" party. During the festivities, all of the adults in the house would be upstairs asleep in their beds.

"What are we supposed to do with HIM all night?" sneered Kellen as he pointed to the wiggly mass in the bouncy seat.

"Don't worry," said my husband reassuringly. "You'll have fun! Cameron is quite the night owl and like most other New Year's revelers, will probably puke at least once before the night is through."

The party animals (who love vomit, but only from a distance) weighed their options and decided (very wisely) that seeing the ball drop was overrated.

Happy 2009.

Anyone do anything more fun last night than get puked on?