The Empire Strikes Back

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….

The rebels got a million gifts from generous aunts, uncles, grandparents, and of course, their own rulers. This wouldn’t have been such a problem if the Empress had not been such a neat freak. As it was, she was frantically running about looking for places to stuff the new toys, games, and random trinkets no one has any need for. Many gifts from years’ past made their way into the great recycling bin in the sky.

As the Emperor and the rebels relaxed and ate candy, the Empress stuffed herself silly from stress and enjoyed not one bite because she was certain that she was getting too squishy. Later, she poured over the budget and worried that too much had been spent until she found that other planets spend ten times what she had on their own subjects and then she felt guilty for not spending enough. Of course, she really didn’t want to spend more, she just didn’t want the rebels to feel less loved than their neighbors.

Then the Empress finally sat down to do some origami and watch the rebels do a puppet show in their new theater. And she grew depressed because after the New Year, the Emperor would have to return to work. She desperately wished to be independently wealthy so that she and the Emperor could live a life of leisure; watching Coen brothers movies and sipping fruit smoothies spiked with mango rum and peach vodka all day.

War was coming, the Empress could feel it. All the discontentment would come to a boil soon…

Everything I think I see…

Becomes a load of crap to me.

Christmas is for giving. Not for seeing whose pile of presents is bigger. Not for getting everything you asked for. Not for stuffing your face with yummy yummy food and desserts. And not just for giving to your family or kids. But to those who don’t know where they will sleep on Christmas Eve because they have no home. To those whose kids will not get anything for Christmas because their daddy lost his job. To those in other countries who die because they don’t have clean water.

Do me a favor and turn off the TV (or at least use a DVR to fast forward through commercials) and sit down with your family to play a game or read a book. Maybe even turn on White Christmas with Bing Crosby and count your blessings. Look at how much you have – even if you think it’s not a lot. If your kids have more than one outfit to wear a week, if you have a winter coat or boots, if you have heat… you’ve got more than lots of other people.

I’m getting kind of sick of hearing people ask my kids if they are trying to be good so that Santa will bring them lots of presents. What about the homeless kids who are being good? What about the teenage girls being solid into prostitution? Will they make it on Santa’s “Nice” list? What about the kid whose only wish is that their mommy will come home?

Sorry this is a downer. I am just really done with how commercial Christmas has become – how focused on buying more gifts and getting more gifts we, as a country, have become. Please, slow down and think about how you can help someone – just one family – to have a better Christmas this year. Buy some coats to give to a homeless shelter or a place that gives clothes away for free. Take your kids to hand out homemade cards to shut-ins or a nursing home.

If you claim to be a Christian, use this time as an excuse to pour out love on the people who need it most. This is the time of year when we are supposed to celebrate God’s generosity – in giving his Son to a world that often refuses to acknowledge his very existence; a world that didn’t do anything to deserve a Gift like Jesus. Many of us are lucky because we have enough to bless others with generosity. Don’t let the commercials fool you – there is no “perfect” gift except Jesus. No matter how much you spend on presents for your kids, your husband, nieces and nephews, or anyone else, Christmas won’t ever live up to the expectations presented by movies and TV. Because it’s not about us. It was never supposed to be about us.

I like you. Do you like me? Click “Like” if you do. Please, please, click “Like.”

I can pretend I’m confident just about as well as anybody I know. But underneath, my brain is screaming, “Do you really love me? Do you really truly care about me?” I am constantly on the lookout for the next boost to my self esteem.

The next laugh when I make  joke.  The next compliment on my cooking. The next “like” of my status on Facebook.

Yeah. I know. But Facebook is just this huge weird beast. I’ve never been “addicted” to Facebook. Never spent hours on it. I don’t go looking for people to “friend” or play any games. But I am an addict. Every time I post a status update, I always want people to read my status and think, “OMG. That’s the most awesome thing I’ve ever read. Ever.” And then to click that little word: Like

Because that means they like me. 

Right?

I know. Pathetic.

Apparently, my Facebook posts make up the sum of my worth. My value is totaled up in how many Likes I’ve garnered over the years.

When I had my hysterectomy, I was drugged out of my mind. (Sorry if you were one of the unfortunate people I called in the middle of the night.) And as I was laying in the hospital bed with CSI reruns on the TV, I posted to the world (all 63 of my Facebook friends) that I wasn’t dead. Then I alternately clicked my dilaudid drip and the refresh button until I had a sufficient number of Likes to make me happy.

One night, a while back, someone tried to break into our house and, once we were sure that everything was ok, I got out my phone and started to post something about it on Facebook. It was my first instinct.

Every thing that happens, all day long, I want to post on Facebook.

I clipped my toenails and another one went into my eye. Boy that hurts.

I watched Iron Chef and Mike Symon won again.

Kaylee has a wart on her toe and I froze it this morning. I can’t wait until it falls off.

All because I am dying to know that someone out there likes me. Not my posts, but me.

Sometimes, I think about deleting my Facebook account. I already got rid of half my “friends” – probably subconsciously believing that the Likes I get now will be more genuine.

Then I realize that I would cease to exist to nearly all the 123 people I’m still friends with and I get the shakes.

Without Facebook, how would I know anyone cared? How would I know anyone liked me? How would I know I’m loved?

Blood Everywhere

The first time Ethan had a bloody nose, I was out to dinner with some friends and Tom was home with Ethan. I guess Tom tried to call my cell phone to tell me that someone had been murdered in our living room, but I didn’t hear the phone ring. I can’t imagine how that might have happened when I was out with my friends in a noisy restaurant. Turns out no one was dead, of course, and that was the first in a long line of bloody noses he’s had since then.

(On a side note, I was out with friends while Tom was watching the kids both times one of the kids got diarrhea in the tub. And Tom cleaned them up without begging me to come home, which makes him the most wonderful husband and dad in the world.)

Sienna started getting bloody noses when she was two and between them, if we could just somehow catch all that blood, we’d have enough blood to give someone several transfusions.

So I finally asked the doctor about it since the usual “use a humidifier and Vaseline” advice. We went to an ENT and he said they both had the driest nasal passages he’d seen – especially during the summer. He prescribed a cream called epistaxis and we used it twice a day every day until it was mostly gone. While we were using it, they only got bloody noses a few times. As soon as we stopped, both are back to at least two bleeds a week, usually three or four. So unless we use the cream for the rest of the foreseeable future, they are just going to keep getting nosebleeds.

The next step is cauterization. Ick. Please someone tell me that the Internet is wrong and it won’t hurt them a bit. I am already tearing up thinking of it. I will say, though, it will be nice not to have to clean up blood anymore. I can’t even count the number of bottles of peroxide I’ve used. CSI would have a heyday in our house – “The body was here. Wait. Here. No here.”

If the cauterization works, we will reach a new milestone: One less bodily fluid to clean up all time time. If we could just figure out how to get Kaylee to wake up to pee at night, I think I could safely say that it will be the last bodily fluid cleaning up we would have to do on a regular basis. It kind of makes me want to tear up, actually. Can someone get me a tissue?