Our First Morton Family Snow Angels

The Dictator's first snow angel.
She was obsessively precise in her snow-flailing.

So, the other day, in the middle of frantically cleaning the house in preparation of impending visitors, I was interrupted by the Dictator and Anarchist begging to go outside and play in the snow.  It wasn't an unreasonable request, the timing was just hideous.  And everything in me ached to say "no."  After all, it was cold (I don't like the cold), it was almost lunch time, I had to finish cleaning so as not to embarrass myself to terribly in front of my guests (as if they aren't already aware of my housekeeping skills), and going out would require actually getting everyone dressed (the Dictator and Anarchist were still sporting pajamas and bedhead).  But then I realized something: the Anarchist and the Dictator have never actually been outside to play in the snow. 

Now, before you lifelong Michiganders shake your heads in disgust, let me defend myself.  For the first year of the Anarchist's life, we were quarantined inside our house by prematurity-related medical orders and the practical impossibility of dragging her oxygen tank outside in the cold.  Before that, I was pregnant and constantly nauseated.  And last year I was just plain lazy and too poor to invest in snow pants (okay, so that's no excuse).  Also, we're just not an "outdoorsy" bunch.  We like warm, cozy, artificially controlled climates, fuzzy pajamas and sedentary activities like eating...and sleeping.

The Anarchist writhed like a languishing fish out of water to create her angels.
They turned out beautifully, anyway.

This year, however, both girls have finally been supplied with shiny new snow pants, and I was suddenly struck with the realization that the Dictator may well be the only 5-year-old on the planet, or at least in a snowy climate, to never have made a snow angel.  So I felt guilty.  And we spent a half an hour bundling up in ridiculous layers of previously unused outdoor apparel. And we played in the snow. 

For 12 minutes. 

Don't judge.

I couldn't get the Dictator to leave the house without her toys.
They "watched" her play in the snow.

What I Learned On My Christmas Vacation OR An Insider’s Guide to Pushing the Morton Family Buttons

This year, Christmas vacation afforded the Morton family the rare and much-needed opportunity to actually be present in the same room—all of us together—for more than 30 minutes at a time.  Truth be told, I had forgotten what the Bureaucrat’s face looked like, having only been able to view the top of his head as he ate his dinner or leaned over his law books for the past several months.  Turns out the children resemble him as much as they do me…go figure.

Of course, our children resemble us in much more than just physical features (the Dictator has my eyes, the Anarchist has his forehead); our children also have inherited a fascinating mix of our personality traits, both good and not-so-good, so that the combination of personality traits clashing and sometimes exploding in the Morton household this Christmas was nothing short of a fascinating spectacle.  We had to reacquaint ourselves with each other, with our various personality quirks and compulsions, and learn how to live with one another again.  In the process, we fast discovered how best to torment one another, deciding by trial and error exactly which buttons to push to manipulate, annoy, retaliate, or destroy, depending upon our needs. 

The following is a guide to pushing our buttons, should you ever need to seek vengeance against any of us.  Use it wisely.

The Bureaucrat:

• Leave a mostly empty mug of coffee wherever you go.  When you need a refill, get a new mug and leave it somewhere different.  See how long it takes to grow mold on the mugs.  Insist that the house’s growing mug collection is part of its charm.

• Eat graham crackers on the couch.  When graham crackers are halfway finished, sit on them.  Let crumbs collect over time for maximum effect.

• Wait until the Bureaucrat is at a lengthy mid-sentence pause (this should be easy, as they are frequent).  Sigh heavily and urge him to “hurry up.”  Snap your fingers impatiently in his face while doing this to maximize his rage.

• Become convinced you are dying of your head cold.  Attempt to convince the Bureaucrat you are dying of your head cold.  He will LOVE this.

Dictator:

 

• Touch anything that might arguably belong to her.

• Insist that skirts and cloth shoes are not always practical clothing options.  Suggest pants and boots, instead.

• Make dinner.  Place her sister’s cup at her place at the table.  Suggest that violent rage might possibly be an unwarranted response to the aforementioned cup-mix-up.

• Run out of blackberries or strawberries.  Offer apples, pears, oranges, peppers, pineapples, carrots or blueberries instead.  Suggest that violent rage might possibly be an unwarranted response to the aforementioned produce "shortage."

Anarchist:

 

• Sit on the spot on the couch nearest the television.  Refuse to move.

• Use the phrase, “use the potty.”

• Wait until she has consumed a coin.  Remove the remaining stash of coins to a safe, undisclosed location.

• Suggest that she is too small to do anything.

Me:

 

• Discuss at great length, and in extremely minute detail, your plans for some part of some specific activity for the day.  Be sure to obsessively analyze the various ways in which the mundane task (for example, doing the laundry, washing the dishes, packing your Littlest Pet Shop Friends) might be carried out.  Ask constantly for reassurance that your decided way of carrying out said task is the most reasonable.  Repeat regularly for maximum effect.

• Be excessively compliant until two minutes before we have to leave to go somewhere important.  Upon my urgings to hurry, remove your shoes, coat and hat.  Run off to another level of the house to “get something.”  Forget you are supposed to be leaving.  Weep because someone touched your possessions.  Insist that I help you find something.  Start dancing in front of a mirror.  Cry because I’m angry.  Become angry with me because we’re late.

• Put the dishes away, but neglect to put them in rainbow order. 

• Leap out from a dark and secret place and sink your fangs into my calf.  Go on, try it.  I dare you.

and, lest we forget, the Fat Assassin: 

• Pass the upstairs linen closet (in which the cat treats reside).  Ignore repeated, entitled meowing for cat treats.  Neglect to give out cat treats.

• Wrap Christmas gifts.  Refuse to let the Fat Assassin luxuriate all over the overpriced designer wrapping paper.  Kick the Fat Assassin out of the room. 

• Attempt to sort the dirty laundry mountain in the closet upon which the Fat Assassin has made her cozy bed.

• Withhold your fleshy calves for any reason.

New Year's Resolutions...ha ha, yeah, like those ever work...

This year I resolve to be alluringly mysterious.
Or maybe just more organized. 
Whichever turns out to be the easiest.

Okay, so this year I resolve to go on a completely Vegan, raw produce diet, wear exclusively fair trade clothing, never lose my patience with my children, reduce/reuse/recycle everything, take up smoking so that I can promptly make a valiant effort to quit, take shorter showers and save the world.

Nope.  Nope.  I definitely do not.

New Year's Resolutions are a ridiculous tradition.  People consistently break them.  The new year is not really a useful psychological motivator to start doing things differently.  I don't make New Year's resolutions because I'm better than that.  Or lazier.  Or I just don't like to set myself up for disappointment.  Pick any or all of the above.

That being said, I'm totally making a few, modest resolutions this year.  Because when everyone else does it on Facebook, I feel left out.  And I don't like feeling left out.

So without further ado, my 2011 Completely Unrelated to New Year's Non-Resolutions:

1)  I will make an attempt to wake up early enough in the morning that I am not forced to rush the Dictator to the bus stop.  Rushing the Dictator is the most futile and frustrating endeavor known to humankind.  And it results in yelling, crayon-throwing, crying, whining, and tantrums...mostly on my part.

2)  I non-resolve to keep track of all the adorable things my children say so that when they're teenagers I have something to embarrass them with.  Note the new "Pages" section at the bottom of this blog.  That's where these adorable things will be stored...because I also resolve to be that irritatingly doting parent that forces my kids' perceived adorableness on all of my friends/acquaintances.  You're welcome.

3)  I pledge to actually go get a new pair of eyeglasses frames to replace the pair I sat on last year.  That way, I'll be able to see again when I drive at night...and look a little more like Liz Lemon.  Who may or may not be my personal hero.

Donning the ill-fated glasses, back when I could still read street signs.
Note the loving relationship the Dictator and I share here. 
It's because I wasn't rushing her.

4)  I non-resolve to work-out so that I no longer feel winded when climbing (slowly) a flight of stairs.  Also, I hope to reduce the blurred vision and chest pain I experience after my sporadic, but apparently intense rounds of "So You Think You Can Dance" disco-themed cardio by building up my stamina.  Yes, I know this is a terribly cliche New Year's Resolution.  So I will add to it this: I resolve to workout this year when I feel like it.  There.  At least it's honest now.  Isn't that refreshing?

Some of you may perceive this as a Keeping Up With the Joneses New Year's Resolutions sell-out.  To that I can only say, I want to be just like the Joneses some day, because they're the cool kids and they recycle, quit smoking, save the whales and all that jazz.  If you pretend you don't want to keep up with the Joneses, you lie.  Liar.  Pants on fire.

Some  of you may perceive this as a lack of effort on my part...I'm assuming this applies to those of you who are making those extra lofty New Year's resolutions involving veganism, responsible energy consumption, organized closets, community involvement and all that nonsense.  To you I say, best of luck in 2011.  Seriously.  You're going to need it.