I probably shouldn't admit this, but . . .

I've had piece of pumpkin pie for breakfast every morning since Black Friday.
Pumpkin pie with cool whip free.
It's probably like having a whopper with a diet coke, but I don't care.
My pumpkin pie breakfast is a tradition.
It gets me ready for the holidays.
It makes me a little sweeter, and if you must know, I need a little sweetness this time of year.
This is the time when the cards start coming.
Okay, it's not the cards I find depressing, it's the letters with the cards.
You know the ones.
Some of the people who send them, I haven't talk to in over a year. I didn't even talk to them last year, I just got another card from them.
These are the letters that make most of us feel completely inadequate, unsuccessful, and basically like we're total failures as parents.
These are the letters that have convinced me that parenting is a competitive sport.
I like to tell people I'm not competitive.
The truth is, I can't compete.
Suddenly mom's across the nation become better spin doctors then a politician in trouble.
Except me.
I can't tell you that my son has made it to his senior year and is starting to look at colleges without admitting I have no idea if he'll find one to accept him if his grades don't improve. Senioritis has hit him like a brain eating virus. The child never failed a class until his senior year, first quarter, the single most scrutinized marking period of his twelve years in school. He took three AP classes, when he's never had an AP class before, against his father and I's better judgement, then failed one. BUT, my disorganized boy who can't seem to turn his homework in, managed to get a tattoo on his back from the base of his neck to just above hip level. Hence I know he has some organization skills, they just don't apply to anything academic. Not his senior year, anyway.
I can tell you that my middle daughter is about to become a licensed driver, but when I mention rediscovering the cardiovascular benefits of meditation in my later forties, you should know the two are related. It's actually the lamaze breathing techniques I used in childbirth that gets me through the harrowing experiences of being totally out of control in a vehicle moving forty plus miles an hour a hairs breath away from the curb.
I should probably tell you my youngest daughter is far more organized then her older siblings and never ever misses an activity she doesn't want to miss, but the truth is the child is a nag. She hounds me like Dustin Hoffman hounded his brother in the movie Rain Man when he wanted to watch his favorite television show. Whopner at five, Whopner at five is simply replaced with the chants, Gymnastics at 6, soccer at four, Claires house after school . . . she's like a human day planner only she recites her activities alone. I might find her useful if she reminded me about other commitments on my calendar or at least used this skill to help her brother turn in his homework. World studies worksheet on Tuesday, World Studies worksheet on Tuesday . . . now that would be helpful!
MY oldest daughter is doing very well, as far as I know. THAT'S what people should tell you when they brag about their college aged children.
As far as I know, Junior's doing just great.
As far as I know, Junior's attending all his classes, going to bed by 9:30 and never, ever participates in those wild and crazy parties you see in those ancient movies like Animal House.
Oh no, Junior says that never happens at HIS school.
As far as I know, he's going to make the Dean's list. I just don't know yet when it comes out.
I have more optimism then most parents.
My daughters school doesn't have grades.
It's pass/fail.
As far as I know, she's passing everything, because they haven't kicked her out yet.
What do I know?
I can tell you about the new house we bought in May, but then I want to mention that my dining room is still filled with boxes I haven't unpacked, the old house hasn't sold yet, and between the two houses I've personally kept many heating/electrician/plumbing and air conditioning contractors from going hungry this holiday season. It only took me three months to officially move out of the old house and I think that's extremely optimistic to say since it still has a floor to ceiling stash of things I don't actually know what to do with in the garage, including the things I will need to decorate for the holiday season if I follow my youngest child's wishes and decorate this year before Christmas eve. And I might, just to shut her up.
It can't be just me? Can it?
Maybe the only ones who send those Christmas letters are those living perfect lives (are there really such things as perfect lives?) and the rest of us are sitting on our typing fingers or better yet, buying the cards pre-printed with love from all of us to you, and it doesn't even require a shaky signature which in itself feels like an admission that all is fine and dandy in my house.
The truth is, all IS fine and dandy in my house. It's just not perfect, and I refuse to pretend it is.
Raising kids is hard.
Hell, even the dogs don't get along some days.
But we're all going to be okay.
Even my son will be okay, whether or not he gets into his first choice of college, or his second choice of college, or . . . there's always the community college and it's very smart to start there when one doesn't know what they want to do. Even when they know what they want to do. Sometimes it's just the right thing to do, like having pie for breakfast.
We all need a little extra sweetness this time of year.
Some of us, need a WHOLE pie.