The dreaded work Christmas party

My husband recently started a new job. This means his co-workers haven't been subjected to our family yet. I thought this was a brilliant way to ensure my hubby remained employed.

Then, Hubby came home and announced that the work Christmas party was for families. I stared at him. Seconds ticked by. I think I blinked. Maybe, maybe not. Our ensuing conversation went something like this:

Me: Why?

Him: They want to get to know us.

Me: Only because they don't know better. Didn't you warn them?

Him: Silent, but nodding.

Me: And they still want us to come?

Him: Nodding again.

Me: All of us?

Him: Yup. It's at a restaurant.

Me: Whimpering in fear.

I think you should know that the last time our family went to a restaurant was bad. We took them out for Chinese. It went something like this, small children, small attention spans, small grains of rice. Large mess.

The waiters, kitchen staff, and owner, came and stood in a semi-circle behind us, holding brooms and vacuums. They didn't say a word. Just stared. And held their cleaning supplies.

Have you ever been stared at by seven silent, vacuum wielding Chinese people? Not to mention the entire room of less messy guests. Needless to say, we left and haven't darkened the doors of a restaurant since then. At least not with the kids in tow.

These are the types of things new employers should know before they decide to include families, especially my family, in Christmas parties. And, even though we warned them several times, (I made Hubby go back and share a few more details of exactly what they might be getting into) we are heading to, you guessed it, a Chinese restaurant.

Maybe I'll bring my own vacuum and a "I'm sorry" card for Hubby's new boss.

Real Life Version of, There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly. Well, Sort Of Anyway

Have any of you read the book, There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly?

It's a cute story about a woman who swallowed a fly and thought she'd die, so she swallowed a spider to catch the fly. A bird to catch the spider . . . . You get the idea. Well, my friend Peter came home from work the other day and found a mountain lion at the base of the tree in his front yard.

Here is where the book similarity comes in--but without the swallowing part.

The mountain lion was trying to get a bobcat who had climbed partway up the tree. Peter's eyes about bugged out of his head. Then he noticed the bobcat was trying to get his house cat who had climbed to the very top of the tree. There was more eye bugging.

I can hear the little thing meowing piteously, can't you? (The cat, not Peter.)

Peter somehow (the details here are vague) chased away both the mountain lion and the bobcat, rescued poor "Fluffy" (names have been changed to protect the innocent) and retired into his house.

A few hours later "Fluffy" sat washing herself by the window when the evil mountain lion returned, charged the window, and is now officially stalking "Fluffy".

So, in the tradition of, There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly what comes next? A bear to chase the mountain lion? Peter, with a gun, to chase the bear? A game warden to chase Peter? And what was "Fluffy" after in the tree? Maybe "Fluffy" isn't so innocent after all.

What do a three year old, a small bucket, twenty five pounds of cat food, and one rather large litter box have in common?

This question could be answered in a number of ways, all of them horrific. In this case they combined to render my basement into the worlds most disgusting sand box. Let me explain.

Today, the 3rd of September, will go down in the annuls of history in infamy. Today, I babysat my angelic neighbor. He is cute, cuddly, and will be referred to from here on as, "the culprit", or "the toddler of terror". (But seriously, I love him! Even if I gave him such dastardly nicknames.)

Some time ago, I took a break in the restroom, unaccompanied. (Women, despite popular opinion do like to go alone!) In the short five minutes I was otherwise occupied "the culprit" decided his toys and movie were boring, and that he could do better with what he had on hand. What did he have one hand? Well, a small bucket, twenty five pounds of cat food, and a rather large litter box.

If you have never had a three year old, you might not comprehend how much damage they can do in five minutes. Trust me, they work FAST! When I came down the stairs to check on "the toddler of terror" I screamed.

I would put it in quotes for you, but for some reason, "EEEEK!" or, "AAAHGHGHGH!", or even, "*&^#&*@*#!!!!," doesn't quite cover it. So we'll leave it as, I screamed.

There, spread across every inch of my basement, was the ENTIRE contents of the the twenty five pound bag of cat food, and the ENTIRE contents of the rather large litter box (smelly portions included!!!!). "The culprit" grinned over his handiwork and ran to find more.

I think I screamed again. I'm not sure, but it is probable. I put "the culprit" in time out and began cleaning. How do you Clorox carpet? Yikes. And do you want to know the saddest part of this whole thing? I've done it all before--with my own kids. More than once. Now do you see why I really want a house elf?

My Official Complaint Against the Universe Regarding the Scarcity of House Elves

(A house elf)

I want a house elf. Plain and simple. Is one measly little house elf too much to ask? The universe has replied and, yes, apparently it is.

For those of you who might not know what a house elf is, I'll explain. In J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series there is a type of mythical creature known as a house elf. They are small, magical, and devoted to their masters. They live to serve. They clean, prepare meals, and anything else needed. And they never, ever, ever want money for their services.

Some of you might think that children would count as having a small creature or two around the house to help, but no. It doesn't. Those of you who think that must not have read the previous paragraph very closely. (You might want to go back and re-read it just to make sure we're on the same page. I made my hubby do it.) Children don't want to help, they definitely want money if they do help, and they can't do any magic. Well, at least mine can't. Kids are basically the opposite of house elves. Kids make messes, not clean them, and I have four.

So, this is my official complaint to the universe regarding the scarcity of house elves. You can't find them. I've looked. They're not in up-scale stores, bargain marts, or even bookstores. Well, maybe in bookstores, but not in the flesh. Just in ink, and they aren't going to do me any good in a book.

I am left with the sad reality that I may never get a house elf, and I feel cheated. Ripped off. Disillusioned. Of the many wondrous, fantastical creatures dreamed up by humans why, oh why, can't just this one be real?

True, they aren't pretty like fairies, or grant wishes like a genies, but they clean! They clean! Toilets, windows, boy's rooms, you name it. To a mom that is heaven! And they love it. Now, I know it sounds too good to be true, and some of you (or all, depending on how grounded and rational you are) might be shaking your heads and saying, "Yeah. They aren't real," but I'm going to keep looking because if I don't, I'm going to have to be the house elf, and there's no way I'm going to settle for that!

Starting A Blog and Articulate Cats

Never having blogged before, I've decided that starting one is bit like having an articulate cat. Now I know this sounds odd, so I'll explain. We have a kitten who loves milk. Every morning the little, white puff ball with claws saunters into the kitchen, plants himself in front of the refrigerator and starts mewing. We, as his faithful servants, rush to the fridge and get him a bowl of milk.

You are probably wondering what starting a blog has to do with the cat and milk, but hang in there, its coming.

Yesterday we ran out of milk. Our little demon of cuteness wandered to the kitchen and assumed his milk getting position. The mewing commenced. The milk drinking did not.

Now cats, especially young, spoiled cats, don't seem to understand that the fridge isn't magic and that when the milk is gone, it's gone. I even showed him it was gone. He didn't believe me and the mewing continued. And continued. And continued. In desperation I poured the demanding brute a dish of soy milk.

Here's that part that explains the strange connection between blogs and articulate cats.

My kitten sniffed the soy milk, then promptly tried to bury it. Yes, he tried to dispose of it like excrement. I laughed, but he didn't. He gave me a look that clearly said, "Why have you given me this foul thing?" He then turned his back on me and shunned me for the rest of the day.

My fear is that you, as the potential reader, may decided my blog is soy milk. Now, I like soy milk. In fact, I prefer soy milk, but you may not. So, here's hoping you don't try to bury my blog. I just don't know how I'd react to that. I'd probalby get a big glass of soy milk and shun you for the rest of the day.