I wake up as my husband shuffles out of bed and into the bathroom.  Before he leaves he kisses my forehead, trying not to wake me even though I am awake.  I go back to sleep.

I hear my 3 year-old leave his bedroom and go downstairs on his own to watch some TV by himself before the baby wakes up.

The baby wakes up.  I can hear him on the monitor, not crying but cooing.  This is the highlight of my day.

I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to make a bottle.  The 3 year-old hears me and runs upstairs to me and demands candy.  I tell him no.  His bottom lip protrudes and he says in his sweetest voice, “pweeze?”  I again tell him no.  He stomps angrily behind me as I head to the baby’s room.

We both greet the baby and giggle when he smiles up at us.  I pick up the baby and we both go to the rocking chair.  As I feed him, the 3 year-old shakes rattles and squeaks squeaky toys in the baby’s face trying to get a reaction.  The baby’s face starts to crumple.  I explain to the 3 year-old that the baby is trying to eat and the noises are bothering him right now.  The 3 year-old has a tantrum and makes the baby cry.  I scold the 3 year-old and calm the baby.  The baby resumes eating and the 3 year-old brings in a toy of his own and plays on the floor while the baby eats.

It’s time to change the morning diaper.  The 3 year-old fetches a clean diaper and waits in great anticipation to see what horrors await us in the morning diaper.  I change and clothe the baby and put him in his swing.  The 3 year-old uses the bathroom all by himself, takes off his jammies and puts them in his hamper.  Then I get him dressed and take him downstairs for his breakfast.  He informs me what he would like and I fulfill his wish.  He eats his gummy vitamins and enjoys his breakfast.

As the day wears on, I put the baby down for his first nap of the day.  I quietly go to my bedroom and try to get a workout in while the toddler is keeping himself busy with toy cars or his play kitchen.  Halfway through the workout he comes blazing into my room like a tornado.  He is being noisy and I warn him to be quiet so as not to wake the baby.  Tantrum.  I go about my workout routine and all the while keep a constant eye on him.  I yell at him for licking the cat.  Tantrum.  He finally gets into my bed and watches me workout quietly.  When I am done, I kiss his temple and thank him for being good.  I feed him lunch.

With the 3 year-old fed and happily playing in his room, I go to take a shower.  As soon as I am naked, the baby starts crying.  I put on a robe, make a bottle and feed the baby.  I put him back in his crib and turn up the baby monitor so I can hear him while in the shower.  He screams the whole time.   I jump out of the shower, dress myself as fast as I can (which is not very fast since I was in such a big hurry I forgot to dry off) and go to the baby.  I scoop him up and snuggle him until he is calm.  We all play together in the family room until it is time to start dinner.

The baby is good enough to sit quietly in his swing.  The 3 year-old insists on helping with dinner.  The words, “Don’t touch that, it is VERY hot” are uttered several hundred times during the preparation of dinner.

The husband comes home.  We eat dinner as a family.

It is time for the 3-year old to have a bath.  The husband takes care of that while I clean up after dinner.  When I am finished, I cuddle the baby for a bit before I read the 3 year-old a book before bed.  I kiss him and snuggle him in and close the door.  He is quiet all night.  Not long after, I feed the baby again and put him down.  He will sleep through the night.  On this, I am lucky.

The husband and I watch a movie together.  We go to bed.  He showers and we snuggle in for the night.

In the middle of the night he kicks me in his sleep and gives me a charlie horse.  I mumble to myself and briefly consider dumping cold water on his head.  Instead I rub the sore spot and go back to sleep.  A couple of hours later, he jerks in his sleep so hard that he dislodges a support under the bed causing a great *THUMP* to echo through the house.  I jump approximately 15 feet in the air and both kids wake up.  Again, I consider dumping water on the husband’s head but instead go to my kids.  I soothe and kiss the 3 year-old and rock the baby.  It takes about an hour to get them both back to sleep.  I get back into bed and go back to sleep.

It’s the weekend and the 3-year old comes into our room and whispers in my face to wake up.  He is scared of his father’s breathing mask for his sleep apnea.  I roll over and gently elbow my husband in the ribs and inform him that his son would like to snuggle.  The husband sits up, removes his mask, and puts the 3 year-old between the two of us.  I turn on the TV and we watch for a bit before the baby wakes up.  I make a bottle and bring the baby to bed.  We all snuggle in bed for about 2 minutes before the hyper 3 year-old starts jumping up and down on the bed.  The husband has fallen back asleep and the jumping does not wake him up.  The 3 year-old sits on his face.  He still doesn’t move.  I get up with the baby and go downstairs.

Not long after, the husband comes downstairs with the 3 year-old.

“I slept great last night!”  He says.  “What’s for breakfast?”

If you ever wonder why I smile so much or why I am easy to laugh, now you know.  I have a great life, charlie horses and all.

Today and yesterday are the first days in two weeks that I have had little or nothing to do.  I’ve been baking my ass off, entertaining family, and being the grand master of jolly in this house.  And people, that shit is tiring.  I sit here at my desk today trying to think of some amusing anecdote to share with you all, and my well is dry.  All I can think about are the cookies I have to bake tomorrow, the presents that still need to be wrapped, the Christmas party Jessie and I are attending next week and the 5 Days of Decadence that start on Monday.

Last night, we ran a few errands and since a few of our stops only included the purchasing of one item, Jessie would run into the store and the boys and I would sit in the car.  I had some quiet time to do some thinking and reflecting, particularly about my holidays past.

My mom was the psychotic merry maker of our family when I was small.  She had to be a bit crazy about it to make up the difference from my horrible grump of a dad who constantly complained about the gift-giving process of the holidays.  He hates giving gifts (even to his wife and kids) and complained about it all the time.  He hated having the house decorated (even though my mom did all the work and he never lifted a finger to help) and he hated the obligatory family rounds we had to make every year.  He was never nice to be around during the holidays.  But last night I recalled a memory of my dad that actually made me smile.  It was Christmas Eve and it was dark outside.  We had just left my Aunt Barbara’s house where my mother’s family had their big holiday get-together and gift exchange.  We were all tired and our bellies were full.  We were huddled together on the long seat of his truck.  I remember it was snowing and I was looking out the window watching the houses decorated with lights pass us by.  My father had the radio on a country music station as he always did.  Then Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” came on.  Until this point, the cab of the truck had been deathly quiet. Nobody spoke; there was no pleasant conversation going on.  But when the song came on, my father turned up the radio and began singing along to it, exaggerating the background diddies sang by high pitched women.  I remember my brother and I laughing so hard that tears streamed down our faces at this strange and spontaneous outburst of silliness from our father.  To this day, when I hear that song, I sing it like my father did that night.  It’s a small thing and a very rare instance of my father not hating us as hard as he could in those days.  It still makes me smile.

While at the BlogHer conference, a friend of mine and I were hanging out with some other people when we noticed an absolute mob.  We inquired about the mob and found out that these people were all hanging onto a big name blogger.  Both of us had heard of the blogger but never really taken the time to read her.  We exchanged a look that said, “What’s the big deal?  It’s just another blogger.  There are THOUSANDS here right now.”

Surely I’m not the only person who has noticed a heightened interest in celebrities, real or fake.  So often I scratch my head and say to myself, “What’s the big deal?”  Sometimes, I just don’t understand the need to make people celebrities.  What happened to the days of celebrities being movie stars and athletes (only the good ones though!) and musicians?  Who are some of these people I can’t seem to escape?

-Lady Gaga.  She’s a pop singer, right?  She’s a pop singer who seems to take every opportunity available to her to do something outrageous and stupid to be the center of attention.  But why?  Doesn’t her title as pop singer ultimately earn her a bunch of fans anyhow?  Now I’ve never listened to her music.  I never will.  It’s not a slight against her, but rather her genre.  But what the hell is with those outfits?  No, I’m serious!  Those things look like crotch-strangling-icky-suits.  ICKY.  There’s too much crotch and too much painful looking boobage.  It’s like she’s trying to one up Madonna.  Oh and then there are the stupid things she keep saying in magazine interviews.  Her vagina is her place of creativity?  Are you kidding me?  Again, she’s a POP singer.  POP.  POP.  POP.  POP.  What effing creativity (aside from her wardrobe) are we talking about here?  The bottom line is this:  Lady Gaga is someone who could have achieved fame and a loyal fan base just by being a little different and with her music.  These crazy/stupid things she keeps doing and saying look like a desperate attempt to hold on to that fame and fan base when it’s not really needed.

-The Twilight kids.  I’ve never read the books nor have I seen the movies.  And that is not about to change.  Look, I’m sure the stories are good.  With a fan base as crazy as this, it has to be interesting.  I’m not someone who thinks all my fellow humans are idiots.  The only idiots are the ones who “Like” the Twilight page on Facebook.  Yeah, I went there.

I am not interested in the stories.  I prefer vampires and werewolves that want to murder people in a horrific and gory manner.  Is that so wrong of me?  But the hype surrounding these kids is nuts!  Now I’m not old, but I’m not really all that young either.  So please explain to me how a vampire who never washes his hair (and admits to such) is as desirable as Robert Pattinson?

Every picture taken of these kids shows them with their mouths hanging open and vacant gazes on their faces.  Is that their attempt to look ethereal or dreamy?  Well it’s not working, it makes them look high.

-Reality show train wrecks.  Seriously.  WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE.  Why are we buying in to news about people having public meltdowns or who celebrate the fact that they are basically worthless?  It’s one thing to watch the shows (which I don’t!) and laugh at them, but it’s another thing when I see pictures of these people hanging out with real working celebrities and posing for pictures.  Is it really that simple?  Do I just go and get all oranged up on spray tan, go to the Jersey Shore and punch Snookie in the face while high on meth while wearing a skirt so short that you can see my yaya?  Is that my ticket to fame?  Why is this working for these people????  I’m so confused.

-Fake celebrities (a.k.a. sex tape celebrities).  All you need is a rich parent and a tape of you having sex with some douchebag to hit the public and Voila!  You’re a celebrity!  Oh you’ll get paid for making appearances and for doing shitty reality shows on E! but does that really make you interesting enough to deserve the attention?  Sure there will be pictures of you all over the place vacationing with real celebrities and you will be on every red carpet posing like your livelihood depends on it (because it does), but does that really make you a celebrity?  To me, that sounds like all you’re doing is leaching off of the celebrity vibes and hoping the light stops on you long enough for someone to notice you.  Please people, stop.  Do something worthwhile that doesn’t involve modeling or singing or acting, because we all know you got those gigs simply by being “that person in the sex tape with what’s-his-face.”  Go to college and get a degree.  Get a job that requires steady hours and concentration.  Be a REAL role model to little girls.  One that says that brains and empowerment can mean just as much, if not more, than looks and popularity.  But I’m talking to a wall, aren’t I?  These fake celebrities only care about looks and popularity.  Otherwise we wouldn’t know their names.

This whole rant started over my confession over not being star-struck over a certain celebrity blogger.  Now, I mean no disrespect to that blogger.  That person obviously WORKS for that attention and adoration.  That person started at nothing and built a name and a brand up around a blog.  That’s great.  And I really mean that.  The blogging superstars had to overcome a lot in order to get where they are.  They had to overcome bias and dismissals that they were merely regular people keeping a diary online.  I think we all know that it’s so much more than that, and that those people who broke out of the stereotypes deserve those paychecks because they WORK for them.  You’ll just have to forgive me for not being all starry-eyed over having one 10 feet away from me.  But then again, the only way I get all freaky fan-girl on someone is if their job mandates that they have a guitar slung across their hips.  And that they play it really well.  And that they write all their own music.  Basically you have the be Jerry Cantrell for me to squeal and hang on to your every word.  (I have a great story about an almost run in with Mr. Cantrell that I need to remember to share with you all some time.)  And that’s it.

…..Okay, maybe Trent Reznor, too.