I'm no good at being Santa

Remember when you found out about Santa? It's different for everyone, but my story is fairly standard. I came downstairs for a drink on Christmas Eve about Midnight and found my older siblings and mom wrapping my Christmas presents. I'm not sure how I made it to eleven before I figured it out, but I was crushed. (I had known about sex for three years already, but Santa? Now THAT was a shock.)

After you figure it out, the magic kind of dulls and Christmas just isn't ever the same again.

Until you have kids. Then Christmas is unbelievably exciting again! Santa is magical once more, and WE get to choose the presents! It's amazing!

The moment you realize you have to LIE to your kids in order to introduce Santa Claus into their imaginations is a bit of a downer, but still. The lie is so WORTH IT.

Well, I love Christmas as much as the next person. I love it all. This year I even let my kids put up their stockings and Christmas lights and 17 Santa Claus figurines the day before Thanksgiving. They were so excited, and I can't resist, so we turned up the Christmas music and went to Christmastown.

But I SUCK at being Santa. I love it, but I suck at it. There are few things I'm worse at than lying. I know, I know, you're shocked, but covering up the truth of things is not my greatest attribute. I'm pretty proud of that these days, as I think being fake is Satanic, but it doesn't lend well to the Santa facade.

At least once every year I have said something in front of my nieces or nephews that ruined their Christmas plans. This year is no exception. I managed to text "We have a _____ for _____ at my work! Only $6.99!" while her kids had her phone. Yeah. I'm a genius. Other times I've said something right out loud in front of them about being Santa. The poor children have giant eyeballs popping out of their heads, and their moms are looking at me like I just killed their family pet. And there's NO WAY TO SAVE that kind of slip-up. Absolutely no cover-up.

This year I've already messed up with my own kids. My mother in law saw something cool at our house, and I said, "That's one of my only Black Friday purchases. I bought it at Toys R Us last year!" Josh immediately popped up and said, "No you didn't. Santa gave that to us."

Oh. That's right. I forgot.
Well, I feel sheepish.

Joshua is getting old now. He'll turn nine in January. I'm pretty sure I'll ruin everything this year and spoil Santa for him. If I haven't already.

But if I do, I'll have no fear, because I have discovered this: The Truth About Santa. (found on Pinterest.com)

You're welcome.

Thanks Giving

I'm thankful that the company I work for closed the stores for Thanksgiving Day, so we (the employees) could spend it with our families.

I'm thankful that somebody, sometime in history decided to make this a holiday. I'm not sure how accurate the stories are about WHY, when or how, but the fact that we have an excuse to get together makes me happy.

I'm thankful we get to be in Utah for Thanksgiving. Although Thanksgiving with Loretta and Richard was wonderful, I will never stop being grateful for family that's close by.

I'm NOT thankful for the mess in my apartment that requires much cleaning before Christmas decorations. I am, however, extremely thankful I have a home.

I'm also thankful for Asher, my little Christmas Spirit. I couldn't be so in the mood for Christmas without his excitement and anticipation! There's nothing quite as magical as a child waiting for Santa Claus, and he's doing a perfect job reminding me this year.

It's time.

Because I used to look like this (right). 

And now I look like this (left). 

(This is not actually me.)

Because my before and afters are backward, and I'm ashamed of it. 

Because...

Because...

Because I'm tired of cropping myself out of all my pictures. 

That picture in the blog header? Me 4 years ago. This picture? This is me now.

Because I DON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE MYSELF.

Because I used to have enough energy to PLAY with my kids.

Because my excuses are just excuses.

Replace this with 'twitter' or 'pinterest' and you've got me.

Because...

Because I miss the way he used to look at me.

Because I miss the way I used to look at me.

Because...

Because this is a picture of ME. AFTER two kids. And I want my body back.

(all the pictures/posters I used in this post besides the ones of me came from this website)

This house is just always, like, terrifying!

So there I was, feeling all inspired by The Complete Guide to Imperfect Homemaking (Kelly Oribine), cleaning/organizing the laundry room. I haven't even attempted to organize this area before because when I say laundry room, I'm using the term "room" pretty loosely. It's actually just a closet in the kitchen where my washer and dryer (and everything else) are kept. 

So anyway, there I was, scrubbing off the washer's grime, and I heard Asher say from the living room, upon not finding me in the computer chair, "I wonder where's Mom?" In response, Joshua said, "Probably in her bed." They ran into my room to check, and when they didn't find me there, they were thoroughly lost and confused. Didn't even occur to them to check anywhere else. When was the last time they saw me in the kitchen/laundry "room"? I don't even know. 

A few days ago my friend Jenn came over to our house. She was sitting in the living room talking about a house she was hoping to buy, and Asher heard her say, "I want this house so bad!" 

Asher looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "You want this house? Why?? This house is just always, like, TERRIFYING!" gesturing to the mess in the living room. I couldn't even argue. Or laugh it off. I wanted to cry because he's right. This house is always terrifying. 

It's time to saddle up, pull on my galoshes, and get dirty. And by that I mean clean. Because I shouldn't have waited until my son was six years old and able to articulate his feelings about our environment to get a hold of this thing. 

Prematurity Awareness Day & Max Turns Two

Max's 1st Year from Aubrey Ortega on Vimeo.


It's been one year since I made this video for my little fighter. Now he's talking and demanding and climbing and ruining and laughing and crying and ... well, you know. All that human stuff. I can hardly believe this is the same person. He's incredibly smart and strong, and I can't tell you enough how fun and hilarious he is (and many of you pointed out he has an ADORABLE smile, so I should probably acknowledge that too). :)

I know, I know, you're sick of this video. But in honor of Prematurity Awareness Day, and Max's birthday in two days, I'm posting it again. (Also because it took so many hours to make, I can't stand to let it sit without watching, lol!) For more about my adventure with my little Max, read Two Years Later.

Go give the March of Dimes some love at their website. They are saving babies every single day who are born too early, and helping the families of the babies who don't make it.

Helpful links from Butterfly Wings:
ICAN (International Cesarean Awareness Network)
VBAC facts: important info for making smart decisions for childbirth!

(P.S. Been wondering why there's no new pictures of Max lately? It's because he's potty training, so he rarely has any clothes on! We're not really into that kind of exposure.)

Racism, child abuse, and things I wish I could say

Last week there was a girl who came into my work with her 4-year-old son. Her son is sitting in the big part of the basket (you know, the part not meant for children where we all put our kids), begging, crying, whining like he's about to explode, "Pleeeease, Mom! I have to go to the bathroom!" Over and over, I can hear him throughout the entire store. And I keep hearing his mom (who appears to be about 14 - but then again, so do I, so who knows how old she really is) say, "Shut up! You can go at the next store!" but she keeps shopping and shopping... (And by shopping, I mean browsing, because she of course never buys anything.) That poor child has a look on his face like he's about to explode in his pants, and his mom is telling him to shut up... so loudly that I was embarrassed for her. (I'm frequently embarrassed by parents' attitudes in public, so this is nothing new.)

At one point I'm pretty sure she pinched him because he started screaming and said, "Why did you do that?!"

(A common theme among people who hurt their kids in public is that they never answer this question. The child asks them why they were treated this way, and the parent gives them NO ANSWER. Thus leaving them - and everyone else within earshot - with absolutely no lesson learned except that their parent sucks.)

Anyway, this is all kind of beside the point, but you get the general impression I got the first time this woman came in to our store.

(She finally took the child to the bathroom, btw, carrying him like a football all the way in, and told me he's "ridiculous" on her way. I find it interesting that a child is ridiculous for having to do what EVERY HUMAN DOES NATURALLY...)

So this girl came in another day. As she's walking around the toy department, of course rejecting her child's pleas to get out of the cart and look at the toys, she looks him straight in the eyes and says, "It's not fair! Why aren't you a girl?" This girl wishes she could buy cute little girly toys, so she makes her son feel like a failure just for BEING male.

This of course made me angry, but because I want to keep my job, I get to stand there and say nothing.

When I got to work this morning, I discovered the new baby doll. It's so cute! It's a little black baby that plays peek-a-boo with you.

The 14-yr-old Mom of Unwanted Boy came in to the store about twenty minutes later. As she walked past the baby dolls, she said, "Ohh. Now they're comin' out with BLACK babies!" You should have seen the disgusted look on her face. I wanted to slap that look right off her white-girl face. It took everything I had not to say something to that woman. She walked away shaking her head, like she was appalled that we would sell a baby doll with anything but white skin. Quite frankly, I'm appalled there are people like her in this world. I wanted SO badly to tell that girl she was not welcome in our store anymore.

While we're on the subject of things I wish I could say to people, I'm just going to throw these last few out there to get them off my chest...

First of all, to whomever left dirty, wadded-up fishnet tights in my fitting room: starting out my day by picking up and throwing away your nasty, crusty fishnets was not great. Please don't come back.

Second, to the people who bring carts in our store from other stores: this might be the tackiest thing I've ever seen. Stop it.

Oh, and lady who looked at me today with that smug look on her face and said, "NO TAG... I guess it's free?" You are not clever. And no, it's not free. If you treat it as such, that's called theft.

Then there's the super awesome mom who let her 2-year-old child STAND UP on the handle bar of the shopping cart and almost jump to his death. When you told him, "You're going to break your leg," and then just walked away from him, we were legally and morally obligated to say something to him ourselves. When I told your son to get down, I was saving his life. Glaring at me doesn't make you less of a bad parent.

One last thing... This one's for you, Lady. Yeah, you, the one who asked me to watch her possessions and then rudely said to me on her way into the dressing room, "Now don't let anyone take these!" Ohhhhh. Is that what you meant by "watch my things"? Because I thought you just meant I should look at them while people walk off with them. Treating me like a moron just makes you look like a moron yourself.

Thanks. I feel better. 

Pay it Forward

Sometimes I'm amazed at my own selfishness. OK, most of the time. I don't even realize how lucky I am to have a big extended family around for the holidays. Each year my biggest concern for Thanksgiving is how to split time between Husband's family and my own. After reading this post by Jill at Scary Mommy: A Thanksgiving Dinner, I feel ridiculous for even considering this a problem.

I have two big dinners to go to? That's my issue? 

No, but seriously, this is an amazing thing she's doing, and I think it deserves to be passed on. If you are in need this year, or if you are in the "lucky" category and could help, please speak up and let her know. There's no shame in admitting you are in the "need" column this year! And if you have been blessed to the point of being able to help, I know without a doubt you will be blessed again by paying that forward to another family who needs it. 

While we're on the subject of helping families, please let me know if you can help with my pajama drive this year! Spread the word, send some jammies, anything that could help the kids who are cold this winter! Or just donate to your local shelter. There are people everywhere in need. 

I can't do much this year, as we're stretched thin ourselves, but even just a few pairs of pajamas or gloves is enough to help a few little ones. And sometimes just spreading the word is the best we can do, but as you can see by A Thanksgiving Dinner, so many lives can be changed by just a little request. 

In case you doubt the validity of the term "Terrible Twos"

Things Max has done this month that classify him as "terrible" and "almost two":

• Peed in the dishwasher. (full of clean dishes, no less!)
• Jumped out of his crib.
• Since getting a "big boy" bed, he no longer goes to sleep. Takes an hour or more, and he usually spends that time climbing on Josh, jumping on Josh, hitting Josh with things he finds in his room, playing with blocks and cars, and asking me to let him watch his favorite YouTube videos. (Yes. I know.) Right this moment he's in his room, sliding things under his door, trying to get my attention so I'll let him out. Nice try, buddy.
• Tonight as I was putting him to bed, he hit me in the face and said, "STOP IT!" When I told him firmly not to yell at me, he signed "sorry" and made a sad face. 
• Learned how to open child-proof medicine bottles. Tried to pour himself an extra "dose" of Triaminic tonight; ended up pouring it all over the desk instead. 
• Colored on every single surface in this house.
• Smeared his own poo on the living room micro suede chair (now THAT was a fun clean).
• Turned every.single.long.object.in.this.house into a sword.
• Convinced me to feed him cookies for breakfast.
• Thrown more food at the floor and walls than he has digested.
• Broken my favorite votive holder. 
• Ripped Joshua's homework in half. 
• Broken the binding to 3 of our favorite children's books (which lasted just fine through Josh AND Asher), by bending them backward till the front cover and back cover touch. He likes to hear the binding crack. (Mom = ANGER)

Oh, don't you dare go thinking this is a complete list. I tend to block out the things he does in order to continue loving him. 

PTSD is not just for soldiers.

I don't know about you, but the first time I heard about PTSD was related to a rape case. I'm pretty sure I was in psychology class, but I can't be absolutely positive. Since then it's been popping up all over the place - people who were molested as children (promise this is the last mention of such things), people who saw a horrific car accident, etc., etc. These things affect people in significant ways, and the mental health community seems to have embraced this fact.

So why is it that Husband continually gets told by military "professionals", "If you were never sent into combat, you can't have PTSD." 

Because they don't want to pay for it, that's why.

I don't get to know much about Husband's experiences in the Army, as he was a member of the Military Intelligence Corps; security and all that. He doesn't get to tell me things. I've caught on to bits and pieces of what he had to do in his training and throughout the course of his time working at Fort Riley, and all I can tell you is it's NOT PRETTY. The things he's seen would be enough to mess ANYBODY up, but the fact that he started out as such a caring, empathetic person certainly intensifies the effects. See, Husband had to research and then brief other (higher-ranking) soldiers about everything going on with the war, so he was witnessing the events without actually being there IN them.

A lot of people still believe this means he couldn't be suffering from PTSD, and I refuse to accept that. The VA refuses to hear him, won't even prescribe him a sleep aid for his insomnia, because he was never technically deployed. I am searching for people (military members and vets especially ) who have been experiencing PTSD symptoms but have NOT been to war. We are never going to win this war against ignorance if we don't do it as one.

Please help me connect to people who are fighting the same fight for the help the Military promised us. They created this mess, and I intend to make them CLEAN IT UP.

Please go to my new friend Murphy's blog to read Inside PTSD, a personal account by an anonymous veteran. It will change the way you see things, in a good way.

My email: breeamiller @ gmail.com

For a list of symptoms, go here: PTSD-symptoms.orghttp://ptsd-symptoms.org/

Panic attack (or How Overprotective Parents are Born)

I had to call in sick to work this morning. After an unbelievably long, miserable night without sleep - tossing and turning, Max waking up crying, looking at the clock every half an hour - I woke up with a sore throat, runny nose, and a massive headache. Max had trouble breathing all night and I'm having flashbacks of last year's strep throat adventure (5 times in 3 months). So I called my unbelievably flexible boss and explained, and I stayed home in bed.

About halfway through the day I remembered that I'd sent a note card to school with Asher to give to his friend. It said, "Asher wants to have a playdate with {schoolfriend}. Give me a call or text so we can plan a time?" Asher was so excited to play with his friend from school, and her mom texted me the next day to make the plan. 

I said, "She can walk home with Asher after school and then you could pick her up an hour or two later if you want." 

Friend's mom said, "How about Asher comes home with {PlayDate Friend} and then we'll just drop him off at home after?"

So I'm thinking, oh, ok, she's worried because she doesn't know us. She just doesn't want to send her daughter to an unfamiliar house. I agree to let Asher go there, and we plan for Monday. 

Today was that Monday. So around three o'clock this afternoon, I force my sniffling self out of bed to clean the house, because if that girl's mom was worried about our house, she certainly doesn't want to find it in this condition when she drops off Asher. I send {PlayDate Friend}'s mom a text and say, "Just let me know when you want to bring Asher home!" She responds with, "We'll bring him home at 4:45." 

A while later, I look at the clock. 

4:00 pm. 

Josh should have been home 20 minutes ago. He should be walking home alone, and he's twenty minutes late! Panic sets in. I pick up the phone and call the PlayDate Mom. Maybe Joshua went with Asher to {PlayDate}'s house? She sends me to voicemail after two rings. 

I throw on a pair of ridiculous shoes without socks, in Husband's pajama pants and a thermal, haven't brushed my hair once today, and head out the door to see if Josh is just around the corner or something. He's a bit distract-able; maybe he's just admiring some random flower or something? 

Halfway to the school (which is actually very close, only about 3 blocks away), right about the time I think I'm dying from a heart attack, I spot three little kids walking toward me. They haven't been stolen!

Oh good god, they aren't alone. There's someone walking with... OMG. 

The kindergarten teacher. The sweet, old lady kindergarten teacher is walking my children home from school. 

I apologize profusely, and Kindergarten Teacher tells me that {PlayDate Friend} always stays after school for an hour or so; she lives about 30 miles away from the school. 

What?? So, not only am I completely mortified that the teacher (who is old enough to be my grandmother) had to walk my kids home, but now I'm COMPLETELY CONFUSED. Why would {PlayDate Mom} say Asher could come home with {PlayDate Friend} if {PlayDate Friend} doesn't even go home?? 

To make things extra awkward, Kindergarten Teacher decides to walk us the rest of the way home. 

I still can't figure out what happened here. When I sent {Play Date Mom} a text that said, "Kindergarten Teacher walked Asher home to my house, so he's not with {PlayDate Friend} anymore," she said, "Oh, ok." like that was totally normal or something! 

What just happened here?? 

Dear Customers, Vol. 3

I know, I know, it's been overdone. But I'm fed up today, and I'm doing it again.

Dear Customers,

First of all, I appreciate you shopping at my store. I am bored out of my mind there 4 out of 5 days every week, so your presence is appreciated.

If, while you're there, though... maybe you could just speak kindly to the stranger-lady who is helping you with your shopping/trying-on experience, that would be appreciated even more.

For instance, when you walk up to my fitting room, where I'm standing there with very obviously nothing else to do but serve you, and I say, "Hi!" the appropriate response is, "Hi," or "hello," or "how are you". The IN-appropriate response is, "EIGHT." Yes, I do need to know how many items you are taking in with you, but I'm not a take-a-number machine. I'm a person saying hello to you. Barking a number at me isn't going to make me judge you less harshly for picking out clothes that are clearly too small for you. I promise it will have the opposite effect.

Also, you should probably know that even if you ignore my existence, you are still going to need me to buzz you into the bathroom. Pretending I'm not standing there isn't going to make you invisible; it just makes you rude. It's not MY idea to make you "ask permission" to use the restroom, and I'm still a person, not a machine. So a reasonable nod or request would be polite.

Oh, and Lady? You look like an idiot when you walk into the men's room searching for the bathroom just because you're completely unwilling to ask me which way to go. I am there to serve you, but I simply cannot if you don't tell me what you need.

While we're on the subject of the bathroom, when you send your 4-year-old daughter into the bathroom alone, it freaks me out. I stand there the entire time until she comes out, worrying for her. Just go with her; it'll take you two minutes, and I won't have to worry that she's being molested in there. And when she says, "But I'm scared," don't tell her she's being a baby. She's four years old. YOU are the one who should be scared for her.

Oh yeah, and ladies, just because you only weigh 89 pounds and you're teetering on your ginormous heels doesn't mean you don't have to treat people with respect. Your ten pounds of makeup, your teeny little jeans, and your $3,000 purse aren't going to make anyone think you're beautiful if you treat them like garbage.

One last thing... Sunday is not technically bring-your-kids-to-throw-around-all-the-toys day. You have two choices: 1) accompany them through the toy department, or 2) come back and clean up after them. I'm just wondering... Why is Sunday drop-your-kids-off-in-the-toy-dept-and-go-shop day??

Thanks for shopping! See you next Sunday!

Sincerely,

Fitting Room Girl
(trust me, I was standing there; you just didn't notice me)

NaNoWriMo, why must you taunt me?

Last year I discovered NaNoWriMo and fell in love with the idea. I'm an all-or-nothing kind of person, why wouldn't I love this idea??

One of my favorite lines from anything ever is this: "What's a good thing for, if not taking it to excess?"
(Guido, from the musical Nine. Also happens to be my all-time favorite movie AND soundtrack.)

This pretty much sums me up all in one neat little line of a song.

Right before NaNoWriMo began last year, after hours and hours agonizing over how I would accomplish it, I finally decided it wasn't for me. At least not at that time. I'd do it next year. Surely next year would be more calm. (Haha, kind of like, "Next year we'll have more money for Christmas. I'm going to save this year. No really, I am!" Never happens.)

This year I considered it, but honestly I'm already struggling enough with what I have on my plate. And that broke my heart. So I sent out a tweet that said something like, "I really wish I could do NaNoWriMo this year! But I work retail and it's almost Christmas!" People responded to me that I've never even heard of. Random people saying things like, "I have two kids, two dogs, a chicken and a horse, a part-time job, a full-time job and go to school part-time and I'm doing it!" (<--only slightly exaggerated. The chicken and horse I added myself. The rest is a legit quote.)

This, my friends, is what we call bragging.
And bragging, in case you haven't lived a day of your life out in society, is rude. Just so you know.

Back to the point: even without the bragging and the "I'm doing it, why can't you"s, I was already feeling guilty. Why can't I write lately? Why can't I just finish something? Anything?

But I was already feeling guilty about other things, too. Not giving Husband enough attention lately. Not helping Josh with his homework (and then he comes home with terrible scores: double guilt). Not reading to Max. Not cleaning the house. Guilt Guilt Guilt Guilt Guilt.

Of course my family wins the priority war, so NaNoWriMo, you can just quit yer braggin and back off.

I'll have time for you next year. ;)

Why I don't trust my job

I have a job. I don't have a career. I have a job.

And I've only recently acquired this job (July).

As you know, I'm just a fitting room attendant at a discount store that sells basically everything, making minimum wage. I don't get paid the big bucks, I don't have an awesome title or position, and I don't exactly feel respected most of the time.

I'm starting to love my job. At first I liked it, but I was exhausted. I liked it, but I missed my kids. I liked it "but...". Now I actually think I love it. I like it AND I get time away from the kids. I like it AND I get a great discount. I like it AND I get to see all the new merchandise every day. I like it "AND...".

Trouble is, since I've been there, many people have been fired. I've only been with the company for four months now, so you see how this might be concerning? I know places like this have a fairly high turn-over, but it's still surprised me. The other thing that has me concerned is how much I have liked all the people that have been fired. It's basically guaranteed that if I like someone, they will not make it in the company. Not sure it's actually correlated, but I'm noticing a trend here.

I don't know about you, but I'm guessing if we're friends we're similar. I can't stand the suck-up, perfect-for-management type. I have this inability to respect someone who talk themselves up or constantly go around complimenting upper-management. The type that calls you out on all the rules just to point out they know the rules. You know the type.

ANY-WAY, my new favorite person is the assistant manager they brought in to replace the first assist manager we had when we opened the store. I heard rumors that the store manager didn't get along with her, but who knows what the real reasons were. The fact is, my new assistant manager is my favorite person there. She follows all the rules, but she does so with a sense of humor about how the rules generally make no sense. I can respect this. She's nice, but also authoritative. She's professional, but also friendly. She's fun and funny, but also works twice as hard as anyone else in that building. I've been impressed.

So, of course, they're getting rid of her.
The Dwight of my company? Oh, he's staying.
Now there's a sign up at my work: Hiring for seasonal help! Apply online!

Why are we firing good people right and left and then desperately hiring people for Christmas? So you see my concern.

See, I'm not capable of being the Dwight or the Angela of the group.

I don't even have a cat.

Hopefully I'm the Pam. Pam is an eye-roller. Pam has some sense. But she's irreplaceable. Right?

Right?!

Second-Day Syndrome

Has anyone else noticed a sudden decrease in depression over here?

I started noticing it about three days ago. My posts went from completely depressing to not-quite-so-depressing pretty much instantly when I got my meds back. Miracles Chemicals happen!

Apparently, to celebrate this upward motion, I decided to forget my pills yesterday and today. Well, technically, yesterday I didn't forget. I was ten minutes late for work, so I popped a Concerta (to keep me awake at work) and skipped the "less-important" Prozac in the interest of time. (Why do I still think this is a good plan? Backfired on me several times now.) This morning, I was having such a difficult time waking up that I forgot my pills altogether, thus leaving me with SECOND-DAY SYNDROME.

Second-Day Syndrome looks like this:

First, it's going back to bed two hours after you get up. I admit, I cheated and left the kids with a movie and instructions to inform me if Max got into anything, and climbed back into bed with Husband. We rarely get to see each other, so passed-out cuddle time is a hot commodity. Fell instantly asleep and discovered the kids eating all their candy when I "woke up". (DUH. Not my best parenting moment.)

Second, it's the headache. Of course, I'm a coffee addict, so I assumed it was the lack of morning coffee giving me a headache and decided to make 6 cups of coffee for Husband and I. This went terribly wrong and ended in a coffee grounds explosion all over the counter/cabinets/floor when I forgot to put the tray in the machine. *Still sleeping.*

Third, there's the fighting. Husband called from the living room something like, "How do you always manage to do that?" Big mistake, honey. I'm unmedicated! I'm a sleepwalking nightmare who is still walking around in her Christmas jammies and bedhead hair at Noon! Of course I'm not reasonable! This is the third sign I should have taken into account, but failed to notice, even while screaming something ridiculous from the kitchen, like, "I MAKE YOU COFFEE EVERY SINGLE DAY, JERKFACE! AND I'M NEVER MAKING YOU COFFEE AGAIN!!!"

Fourth, I found myself so angry over that little "argument" that I couldn't even say goodbye to Husband when he left for work. In fact, I found myself unable to say goodbye to Asher, who was leaving for Kindergarten at the same time and hadn't done a single thing wrong. I then spent the next hour trying to get Max to go down for a nap, which he refused, and I found myself wondering why I was so unreasonably angry about it.

How have I not figured this out by now?

Fifth symptom: Falling asleep while attempting to read a VERY short children's book to Max. He hit me in the face to wake me up.

This is when I finally realized the problem. It's now 3PM and if I take my medication now, I'll be up all night long. If I don't take it, I'll have THIRD-DAY symptoms tomorrow. (Think Medusa.)

Picture credit

Ah, the joys of mental "health".

It's that time again!

Danger Season for the kids is here again. Snow has already fallen and temps are dropping. This year, a record number of children are living in shelters and even out in the cold. Many of these children have never had a pair of pajamas before. They go to sleep each night in the same clothing they spend their days in.

I know a lot of us are struggling just to get warm clothes on our own kids, but if you are able to grab an extra pair of $6-10 pajamas off the store shelf this month, you could make a homeless child so happy this year!

The Pajama Program inspired me to do this pajama drive each year, and I'll be donating all the pajamas to the Road Home here in Salt Lake City. I have a good friend who works there, and he says they are very low on supplies for the families this year. (Not just pajamas, anything new will help! They need toys for Christmas, clothes of all kinds, pajamas, hats, gloves, boots, etc.!)

I'll be collecting the pajamas (and anything else we can manage to donate!) until November 30th so we can get the warm stuff to the shelters as soon as possible.

Some ideas:

• All-A-Dollar always sells gloves, scarves, etc., for $1 each. This would be a cheap way to get several things at once, without spending a lot!
• ROSS has pajamas anywhere from $3 to $10 for all ages.
• Black Friday shopping. If you're already planning on going shopping the day after Thanksgiving, grab some pjs on your way through the store. They're usually about $4 or $5.
• Tweet, e-mail, blog... whatever you can do to spread the word, get your friends and family in on the collection. You don't have to buy a lot, just get everyone to buy just one! 

Of course you don't need to send the pajamas to me; if you would rather donate them to your own local shelter, that's amazing too. There are homeless children all over our country, especially now, so whatever you can do is going to help them.

E-mail (aubrey.ortega@gmail.com), tweet (@toomuchaubrey) me and I'll get you the address where you can send your donations. Or contact your local Pajama Program chapter! Last year we (me, my friends and family) collected 17 pairs of pajamas; this year, let's double that!