Stuck in my craw

It's roughly 4am and I can't sleep. Usually I go straight to the couch and turn on VH1, but this morning I felt drawn to the computer instead. Mainly because I just ate a piece of bread with too much peanut butter on it and I feel like it's stuck right about here (I'm pointing, trust me) and I fear I'll die if I go to sleep before it dislodges itself. I even fixed myself a glass of chocolate milk, thinking I could wash it down, but that was futile. And I don't even like milk, but sometimes I just get a hankerin' for a big ol' glass of chocolate milk and it usually tastes so good. Except I poured too much syrup in it this time and it was so sweet that after the second drink I gagged.

Yeah, this middle of the night snacking is not only bad for you, it's sometimes disappointing.

I'm trying to decide if I should go ahead and start baking my pumpkin pie now or go turn on VH1 . . . both have the potential of either revving me up to the point of getting no more sleep, yet both could easily lull me into dreamland. Of course, with the pie, I'll have to stay awake, even if I start feeling lulled. I better stick with the TV and my original wake-up time for my annual Thanksgiving-run-around-like-a-chicken-with-my-head-cut-off marathon of glee.

My kids went ahead and stayed at my sister's again tonight. Even after their daddy went down to help Bub install the dishwasher. I just knew one of them would want to come home and I just knew that one would be Kady. Nah. Maybe we're just not as popular as we thought.

I got the kids' school pictures back yesterday. Every new 8x10 in the frame prompts a teary fit of nostalgia for me. I'm such a sap sometimes.

Abby's 8-year-old birthday picture was the top one in the frame. She only had one front tooth last year and the other was just barely starting to show. She had shorter, layered hair and I really thought that there could be no better picture of that child. Yet this year's school pictures were just so phenomenal that I am still amazed they are school pictures. I have never liked her school pictures. This year she has both front teeth - perfectly straight front teeth, at that - long hair, a slimmer face and just generally a more mature look about her. She's so dang gorgeous. Behind last year's birthday picture were more pictures of my oldest girl, all the way down to age 5. The last one, at the bottom of the stack, was that darling girl with only baby teeth, bobbed hair and such round cheeks . . . oh gosh, I feel the tears starting again.

Sammy's school pictures pretty much look like last year's school pictures. Same boy, same ornery look, same overbite, same flat top . . . oh stop it, tears!! He, too, has a slimmer face this year, a more mature look about him and I see so much of his daddy in him. The pictures in his frame go all the way back to age 3. That last picture in the stack was a pudgy-faced little boy with a grin that would melt any Titanic-sinking iceburg. I also noticed that in every picture of that child since, oh . . . well, at least 3, he's wearing plaid. I need to work on his wardrobe.

I didn't even get Kady's frame off the wall. She hasn't had her school pictures or her birthday pictures taken yet and frankly, after the tears I shed over her big brother and sister, I'm not sure that looking back at hers would've been a good idea anyway. Hers in her frame go back to birth. I am having serious pangs about all of my babies growing up lately, but she's my baby. My last one. It's so very bittersweet.

I have finally made a decision about sending her to Pre-K, though. Of course, I made this decision without even consulting her father, but he'll just have to live with it. I'm the one primarily in charge of their upbringing - he's just here to bring a paycheck and to do the occasional dinner-time lecture. (Just kidding!) Anyway, back to Pre-K. I was chatting with Sam's teacher yesterday on the playground. I mentioned that I was really having a hard time deciding whether she should go or not and she said she'd gone through the same thing with her youngest child. She was faced with either sending him to preschool or letting him stay with her dad for that year. She chose to leave him with her dad and said she's never regretted it. Her exact words were: "You can't get back a whole year." That hit me so hard. She was right. If I send her I'm losing an entire year that I don't necessarily have to. I am blessed in the fact that I am allowed to stay home with my children. Granted, I'm working here at home now, but still I'm here and that's where I was torn. Okay, so yeah I'm home, but I'm working. With 5 other children. I was worried that I was cheating her out of something by keeping her here with me, yet I was also worried I'd be cheating her out of something else by sending her on to school next year. I've just decided that if she's missing out on something by not attending Pre-K, well, she'll probably survive. Of course, she'd probably survive if I sent her and she missed out on something here at home. AGH!!!! See why I've been stressing!!??

As I talked it over with Mr. Diva tonight, declaring my final intentions of keeping her at home next year, he didn't say much. Finally when I stopped long enough to take a breath and realized that he'd said nothing (Probably not for lacking of trying - I was rambling a bit. Not unlike I am now.) I exasperatedly asked, "So what's your take on it?" She sat there a minute and said in his usual drawl, "All I know is, she's gonna be really pissed off at you. She really wants to ride that school bus." Great, now another thing I hadn't thought of.

It's supposed to snow Tuesday. Well, actually only one TV station said that, but I'm clinging to that for all its worth. That particular meteorologist forecasted a high of 37 on Tuesday with rain changing to sleet changing to snow. I was giddy with delight! Then later when I checked out my favorite meteorologist, he's forecasting a high of 47 and sun. I wish those guys could have a short phone meeting before their forecasts and at least try to get in the ballpark of each other.

I am seriously wondering if the 20-pound turkey we bought is going to fit in my pan. I asked Mom to buy me the new Pampered Chef roaster at my party, but she said, "Honey, I love you a lot, but not $145 for a roaster a lot." Of course, Tatersis, trying to outshine her selfish older sister, said, "Mom, I don't want a $145 roaster - all I want for Christmas is your love." And she batted her eyes. She's such a kiss-ass. Of course, we all laughed because she's so good at jumping in with comments like that. I'd die laughing if Mom came out Christmas Eve with no presents for her. Yeah, bask in the glow of Mom's love, sister, while the rest of us open our presents.

But yeah, that turkey is one big bird. I think I'm going to have to run in to Mom's in the morning and get her big ol' roasting pan. Last year I roasted the bird in my Pampered Chef 9x13 pan, but it was also only a 13-pound bird. That's 7 extra pounds in my oven this year!! All I can figure is, we picked out that turkey at 1am and we must've had the munchies when we hit the turkey aisle.

I took back a Christmas present last night so we'd have money to gamble with at the casino. Does that mean we have a problem? Granted, the present was going back anyway, but still . . .

I bawled like a baby at the end of LOST tonight. I mean, literally laid there on the couch, sniffling and sobbing like a retard. Mr. Diva has grown so accustomed to my random outbursts of crying in the last 13 years. The first time I bawled like that during a movie, he got all sweet and gathered me up in his arms and stroked my hair and comforted me, even though I'm sure he thought I was certifiable. He used to bring me the box of Kleenex and would pat my leg and oh, he knew better than to laugh. Now, when he sees me sitting on the couch with wadded up Kleenex all around me, tears streaming down my face and dripping off my chin onto my shirt, snot involuntarily coming out of my flared nostrils, he just turns around and gets out of the house as quickly as he possibly can. I found him in the barn once, squatted down inspecting the underside of a mower. I was still sniffling and red-eyed from the movie. He didn't even look up from the mower, he just said, "Are you done with all that bawlin' yet? 'Cuz I'm kinda hungry and would like to come back in the house now." Ahhhh . . . how quickly the honeymoon wore off, shriveled up and died. He even had the gall to ask me once why in the hell I would voluntarily watch a movie that I knew was going to be sad. Penny Serenade is one that I'll usually only watch once a year because it's so traumatic for me. I have bawled hard enough to nearly throw up after that one. He can't understand why I still watch it. Hell, I don't even know why I continue watching it, I just do. It's a woman thing, I guess.

My eyes are finally starting to feel scratchy and the wad of white bread and peanut butter has finally dissolved enough that I don't feel like I'm choking anymore. My feet are cold, too. I think I'll curl up on the couch with Mr. Diva's camouflage blanket, the remote and ooh, if I'm lucky I'll find the infomercial for the Little Giant Ladder System.