It’s beginning already. I still haven’t fully digested my Christmas dinner and yet the New Year’s Conspiracy of Weight Loss and Fitness is rearing its ugly head and baring its shapely fangs.

Have you seen the commericals for Balley’s Total Fitness? What about the newspaper inserts for workout equipment? Have you noticed that Slim Fast is running more than the usual number of commericals?

I, for one, will not take this assault standing up. I prefer to sit. With a Starbucks.

Back in the day I used to try “getting in shape” by working out to some exercise show with the gorgeous woman doing aerobics on the shore of the ocean in Hawaii. She had her exercise mat and designer workout clothes not to mention the ability to talk through the entire program. My children used to gather around me and tell me how I was doing it all wrong. It became the highlight of their day to correct my deep knee lunges knowing full well that I could not argue back since I spent the entire 30 minutes gasping for air like a fish out of water.

That kind of crap changes a person forever, you know? So I vowed that my knees would never lunge in the name of “exercise” again. It is the only New Year’s resolution I’ve ever been able to keep.

Instead I took the less sweaty approach of “eat only when physically hungry and stop when satisfied, not full.” I have managed to lose over 100 lbs since the birth of my last child, no thanks to Thigh Master or BowFlex. I just exercised self control.

I suppose the argument could be made that people who exercise are healthier and live longer lives but I don’t care to impress the coroner and who wants to spend their life in 30 minute periods of intentional, self-inflicted pain and torture?

My exercise philosophy is no pain, no pain. I have the glutes to prove it.

The following takes place between 72 and 48 hours before Christmas. Events occur in unreal time.

BEDROOM, SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(The camera pans over the bed. The disheveled sheets are drawn over a Jennine’s head. From a distance, the telephone rings. The exhausted woman kicks her legs into the bed in a grand mal fit and then sits upright. She decides to answer the call.)

Jennine: Hello?
Well Intentioned Friend: Hey! Whatcha doin?
Jennine: Oh, (pause) I was just watering the Christmas tree.
WIF: I thought your tree was artificial.
Jennine: Yeah. I guess it is.
WIF: You know there are only a few more days until Christmas, right.
Jennine: Yeah. My children remind me every five minutes.
WIF: Are you ready?
Jennine: For some football?
WIF: No, Smartass. For Christmas.
Jennine: (dropping a handful of M&M’s on the floor as a diversion) Shoot! I have to run. Broken glass!

Fade Out

KITCHEN- SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(The room is alive with children running around like crazy as the woman walks out to the patio where she lights a cigarette and smokes it quickly while forcing herself to face the fact Christmas is fast approaching. She re-enters the house and quickly scans the room. Her agents, Murphy’s Oil Soap and Comet have gone missing)

Jennine: Who took my cleaning agents??
Terrorist #2: Like anyone could even know? I haven’t used them!
Jennine: I have reason to believe that they were in the kitchen when I went to bed last night.
Terrorist #2: I swear, I did not touch them.
Jennine: You’re lying!
Terrorist #2: You’re going to have to trust me.
Jennine: Get the word out. I need to find them. And quick. Christmas is only three days away.

(Jennine heads to the laundry room)

LAUNDRY ROOM- SAME SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(Jennine starts the washer after setting the temperature of the water to hot. She begins the task of turning sock right-side out and gathers all the white clothes from the pile. She adds a scoop full of Oxyclean to the water and begins coughing violently as the initial dangerous blast of vapor is released into the air)

Jennine: (coughing) HELP! (coughing more) HELP!!! MUST. GET. AIR!!

(Terrorist #7 rounds the corner into the laundry room and finds Jennine bent over, gasping for air.)

Terrorist #7: Mom. You’re funny. Can I have ice cream?
Jennine: You know I don’t negotiate with terrorists! (cough) Lucky for you, I have no choice. Laundry must be done. (breathing heavily) If you finish putting this pile into the washing machine, you can have your ice cream. Did anyone see you come down here? (cough)
Terrorist #7: No. Everyone else is playing Xbox.
Jennine: Tell no one about the ice cream. I’ll run interference. If you tell anyone about your ice cream, I will make sure all your friends know you kiss your mom at bedtime.
Terrorist #7: Okay. Okay.

(Jennine heads to the bathroom)

BATHROOM- SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(Unable to smell from the encounter with poisonous vapors, Jennine has to rely on her other senses while assessing this known terrorist hangout. She cringes.)

Jennine: (sighs) Where are my agents! I cannot penetrate this scum without them!

(Cocking her fully automatic index finger, loaded with accusation, Jennine heads for the crowded family room.)

FAMILY ROOM- SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(Jennine purposely stands directly in front of the television, obstructing the terrorist’s view of his target)

Jennine: (pointing weaponized finger) I’m going to ask once and only once. What did you do with my agents?
Terrorist # 4: Duh. Kevin put them in the linen closet. He didn’t want to clean.
Jennine: I’m sending you to retrieve them. If you are not back in two minutes, I’m closing the socket on your Xbox. You do not want to push me.
Terrorist #4: Fine! Just put your finger away, Mom. No one needs to get pointed at.
Jennine: 120, 119, 118

(Terrorist #4 runs to the linen closet and sets the recovered cleaning agents on the counter before returning to the video game. Jennine leaves the room in search of Terrorist #2)

KITCHEN- SMALL TOWN, MINNESOTA

(Terrorist #2 stands in front of the opened refrigerator looking dazed and confused. Jennine reloads her finger.)

Jennine: I need a secure line from my mouth to your ears.
Terrorist #2: What the heck is wrong with you?
Jennine: Did you or did you not attempt to get out of housework by hiding the cleaning agents, hoping I would forget that we need to clean for Christmas?
Terrorist #2: (slamming the refrigerator doors) You’re on to me mom. I confess.
Jennine: (waving finger wildly in the air) You! Right now! IN THE BATHROOM! You are going to help me in this plot.
Terrorist #2: What plot, Mom?
Jennine: Don’t play dumb with me, #2. You know which plot I’m talking about. The one where Chaos takes over my family 72 hours before Christmas and holds us hostage until the last present is opened. This year we are taking Chaos down and you are going to help me.
Terrorist #2: Mom. You are seriously beginning to scare me.
Jennine: (glancing at the clock on the wall) Today is cleaning. Tomorrow is cooking and Sunday is Presentation. You know the drill. Now GET IN THERE AND WIPE THAT SCUM OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!

(Split screen. Terrorists blissfully playing Xbox. Jennine pointing finger at Terrorist #2. The clock ticks down. Full screen on Jennine)

(As Terrorist #2 grabs the cleaning agents and walks towards the bathroom, Jennine collapses in relief against the refrigerator. She knows that this conspiracy is affecting mothers all across the country and must be stopped.)

48:00:03, 48:00:02, 48:00:01, 48:00:00

Today my son Kevin turns sixteen.

I vividly remember changing his diaper for the first time. My inexperience of changing a boy’s diaper led to him peeing all over my hospital bed but I feared that if I called a nurse to change my bedding, she would insist on taking him to the newborn nursery. Since I could not bear to part with my beautiful child, I put towels over the wet spots and cuddled with him until we both fell into a peaceful sleep.

I vividly remember one evening when Kevin was three years old I told him it was past his bedtime. Kevin came out of his room a few minutes later wearing his little grey suit with the adorable clip-on tie and his shiny black big boy shoes. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, “Momma, you said it was Pastor Ed time!” He thought we were going to church and got ready all on his own.

I vividly remember sitting at the dining room table when he was five years old. It was his first day of school and we were practicing the letters of the alphabet when he set down his pencil, set his jaw in defiance and said “No. I am not going to write letters. Ever!”

I vividly remember when he was eight years old how he would argue with me over every subject that I would attempt to teach him. “That’s not how Columbus discovered America. How do you know?” Yet when his dad came home from work, I overheard Kevin explain what he had learned about Columbus that day.

I vividly remember how during his entire childhood, Kevin would follow his big sister Kaitlyn wherever she went. She would always be so patient, never displaying anger towards him even when he deserved it. To him, Kait was a second mother, his best friend and his confidant. Even though they would both deny it, they are still best friends today.

Kevin, of all my children, is most like me, which is why, at times, he drives me absolutely crazy. He is a fiercely loyal friend. He questions anything and everything, unwilling to accept answers of “because I said so”. He masks his lack of self confidence with humor or bravado. He wants the world to conform to him rather than him to the world. Occasionally he will let down his guard and show his vulnerability and in those moments, I want so badly to turn back time to the days where he needed me to hold his hand as he crossed the street, to keep him near to me and protect him from harm.

As he approaches adulthood, I see his potential for greatness. He will push past his wavering self-esteem and become a confidant man. He will find his place in this great big world. It is the greatest joy as a mother to witness the transformation though I still cannot bear the thought of parting with this child.

Happy Birthday Kevman. I am so blessed to be your mom.

Today I spent some time following the rabbit trail from one mommy blog to another and I discovered the common theme amongst them:

My life is crazy because Christmas is fast approaching and I still haven’t polished the silver or hung the mistletoe. I can’t find Baby a good Christmas present because she already owns every toy ever made by Fisher Price. I shouldn’t even be taking the time to post on my blog. I have way too much to do and way too little time. I’m tired and I can’t wait to be done with this joyous event. Oh and dear reader, have yourself
a merry. f’ing. Christmas!

Mommies across the world are in a state of crisis, people! Why is there no Mommy Relief concert being held? Why is Oprah on vacation now…airing reruns during this time of female need? It makes no sense!

I feel that I must help this panic-stricken segment of our population, so listen up ladies.

Martha Stewart’s persona is not real. She is just like you only she can afford a full time staff to accomplish her mission of making other women feel inferior. So she sets her table with serveware from the Ming Dynasty. Big woop. Can she burp the alphabet and make small children erupt in laughter?

Your mother-in-law isn’t going to drag her gloved hand across your mantel in search of dust and if she does, promptly hand her a can of Pledge and a dusting rag and thank her for her attention to detail.

Love does not have a price tag. Buying your child a big expensive gift does not adequately convey your affection and devotion. Rubbing his or her back as they vomit from eating Aunt Mary’s fruitcake does.

No gift exchange, however pleasant, is worth the distraught feeling you get when you open January’s credit card bill and realize you shouldn’t have spent so much.

No one will remember that your windows were fingerprint-free or that you purchased new finger towels for the guest bathroom. Your guests will remember how welcomed they felt in your home, not your ability to keep it spot-free.

If your souffle falls, wine gets spilled or the dog humps your uncle’s leg while he’s saying grace, everyone will have a good laugh about it in the years to come.

Family is about practicing not being perfect together.

That’s the best gift of all.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it was bound to happen sooner or later and this morning, in the wee hours while everyone else in North America was asleep, I folded our family’s white clothes and get this:

Every single sock had a match!

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning, People. Victory is mine! I drink from the keg of glory, Bloggers. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land.”

This has happened to me once before in my eighteen years of being a parent. I bet you had no idea that everytime I match a pair of socks, an angel gets its wings.

Today heaven rejoices.