Here’s this week’s column, brought to you with all the passion I’ve got in my pent-up mommy account.

“There comes a time in every mother bear’s life when she has to ask herself: Do I fish him out of the river, or stand back and watch him choke?

I, for one, am done with the choking.

Two months ago my husband, our therapist and I enrolled my five-year-old, Rex, in a begginer Karate class. He’s young for his age, distractable, and adorably enthusiastic. But the class was for ages 3-5, how bad could he be?

His first class was positively painful to watch. All that pent up anxious enthusiasm led to goofy, non-Karate acrobatics and absent minded summersaults. But, by the end of his 30-minute class, I could see a definite improvement.

The second class was slightly less painful, with a measurable amount of progress. I was impressed. This was a brand new adventure for him, and he was starting to get it.

Then the third class came along. Unfortunately, the head Sensei lady stood in as a class substitute. She’s your typical Type A personality, perfect for running a tight Karate operation. Not so perfect for little boys who are just trying to figure things out.

Having missed Rex’s earlier performances, she didn’t realize that what she saw was improvement. It might have been small, but it was only his third class. At the end of session, she “invited” us to enroll him in private lessons. There was no other option.

Ouch.

Being the non-confrontational person that I’d like to pretend I am, I held my piece and went along with Dad, who immediately jumped on board. Hey, we want our kid to succeed, if a few private lessons are going to help him, we’ll fork over the extra cash and play ball.

I’d like to tell you that watching my boy giving his heart to this woman has brought me joy and happiness. Instead, what I’ve been seeing this past month is a lady who doesn’t like my kid. He tries harder to obey her than I’ve ever seen him try at anything, yet I can feel her palpable dislike for him. And I don’t care what anyone says, you know when someone doesn’t like your child. It shows.

So, per her suggestion, I dropped him off alone last Thursday for his private lesson. He was scheduled to work with the Sensei from 5:00 to 5:30. At 5:28 when my husband walked in, my child was still sitting quietly by the door, looking out the window. She’d “gotten busy,” “other people needed her at the front desk,” and “we just started a few minutes late.”

Right. Because ignoring him for half an hour is totally acceptable. Hey, as long as his overbearing mother isn’t around, why should she give the kid any attention?

After his lesson (which I watched quietly from around the corner, and which he totally rocked) I took her aside to get a read on his improvement.

“Hey Sensei, so how is Rex doing? We’re anxious to help him get back into his class, just wondering what your thoughts are.”

“Oh,” she said, “Well, I don’t think that will be happening any time soon. He’ll need two, probably three more months before we even consider moving him back into a class.”

At that moment, after watching her impose her hard-core techniques on him for the past month (techniques that our therapist was slightly alarmed by), I knew it was time to fire the Sensei.

A karate chop to the throat also crossed my mind.

There are moments in life when a mother has to do what’s best for her child. Sometimes, doing what’s best means helping them pick up the pieces of life’s learning experiences and setting them back on their feet. But sometimes it means kicking the Karate teacher’s trash all the way back to Hong Kong.”

With two days left to tie up all the last minute wedding details I’ve invented, things are a little nutso around here. The past three weeks have been delightfully insane. They’ve included multiple coupons for JoAnn’s and Michael’s, power tools, favor call-in’s, hot glue guns, and enough spray paint to make Al Gore cry real tears.

All in all, it’s been one of the greatest creative outlets I’ve found to date. In my next life, I’m going to be a wedding planner.

To give you a little glimpse into the insanity, I’ve decided to post a step by step look at the creation of the center pieces. I’ve made 11 of these babies, and it all started with a tree.

This one lives in my front yard.

I headed out, big fat cutters in hand, and trimmed off a substantial bushel of branches to take back to the kitchen, where I cleaned them up. Don’t they look inspiring.

Then I took these flowers from the dollar section and popped the heads off. I pulled out the Burn Man and hot glued them in no apparent order on a few select branches. Cue ambulance.

Here’s where I got really tricky. With a little help from my favorite spray gun and Walmart’s Hi-Ho Silver spray paint, I found the perfect balance of early spring silver buds. Watch.

Pretty, right? At this point I went out to our very small wood pile in the garage and rummaged around. I found a few uncut logs, took them to my wonderful neighbor guy who’s retired with a saw, and had him cut them into stumps. To make a long story short, we drilled holes in the top, wove our magic wands over them, and presto! Really cool center pieces.

I did the math, each of these girls cost us (DeNae) right around $12, minus 7 years off my life for power tool PTSD. But really, so worth the sacrifice in the end. (They’re so lovely in person, the red table cloth doesn’t do them any favors.)

And BTW, if you’re available this Friday morning and March 3rd and would be willing to help, please email me at regardingannie@gmail.com. I could use a few more girls who Like To Do Wedding Crap to help with setup since I’ll be gone on the big day. (Barbaloot, your email address apparently hates me. Will you give me a holler?)

It’s going to be fabulous.

I would love to start out with something witty and enlightening, but I used my funny all up this weekend with my sisters.

Holy crap we had so much fun.

Each year, my mother and two of my older sisters and I get together for a weekend getaway in February. We leave hearth and home behind and meet up for three days of Old Country Buffets and Ross marathons.

This year our mama was particularly festive, she went so far as to bring a Grab Bag filled with  mostly cheap prizes that could be earned with good behavior, coke-through-the-nose jokes (cttn is the new lol), or willingness to try on particularly unattractive clothing (or prom dresses).

Here I am working on my “second chance prom” look. We might or might not have brought in the janitor to help zip me into this dress. And yes, I’ve got all my undergarments tucked away under my armpits. They were kind of ruining the picture.

We took Georgia with us and she was an absolute angel. Minus the time she “got violent” and attacked my mother with kicking and headbutting because I took off to the hot tub without her. Apparently her finely tuned smelling skills told her that lunch had left the building.

All in all, it was an absolutely amazing weeked. I fly home tonight and can’t wait to hug and squeeze my babies and their father. There’s nothing like a few days away to make me conveniently forget all the puking and the biting. Get ready because Mama’s coming home tonight!

PS – Vanessa named me her Monday. Swing over and take a peek, if you’d like.

Here’s this week’s column for The Standard and Vidette. Honestly, I am a such a work in progress (minus the progress).

“It’s a funny thing about New Year’s Resolutions; now that we’re in February, I can think of twenty that should have made the list.

Last weekend my husband and I headed out to run a few errands. This is something he does because it’s his responsibility; I tag along because it means he’s trapped in the car with me and can’t escape. Usually this works to my advantage. Usually.

“So,” he said as we pulled out, “I really think we need to talk about something.” In my marriage, this is never a good start. There I was, all snuggled up next to him with Karen Carpenter crooning away in the background, and he had to go ruin it with a Something conversation.

“What is it this time?” I asked.

Here’s the thing about “Things We Might Disagree On”. These conversations need to happen. They have to happen. If we don’t talk about them eventually, nothing good will ever happen. Also, I hate them.

In his typical, calm, adult manner, he addressed our current hot topic. It took about 13 seconds for me to raise my voice.

“Honey,” he said, interrupting me, “Can’t we talk about this like normal adults?”

“I am talking like an adult! All adults talk like this!!” I said.

“Okay, can’t we talk about this without yelling?”

“I am not yelling! Believe me buddy, you’d know if I were yelling!!”

“Really? Because it kind of sounds like you’re yelling. Perhaps you could just bring your volume–”

“What’s the matter with my volume? I’m a passionate woman! You’ve been married to me for eleven years, this really shouldn’t be such a surprise, especially since we’ve talked about my volume 4000 times!”

“I’d just like to have a civil, quiet conversation without you getting all excitable.  If you’d just learn–”

“Learn? LEARN?? I’ll never learn! Haven’t you figured that out about me by now? This is who I am, and I am excitable! Just because I’m passionate does not make me bad, I like to speak with conviction! If you didn’t like it, you shouldn’t have married me!” Probably not the best moment to remind him of that decision.

Now, this last statement was said with something a little stronger than your typical “conviction”. Words to describe my actual tone might be more along the lines of “hysterical”, or “extremely loud”, or even “good golly can’t I drop her off by the side of the road?”

The worst part of this rather unpleasant conversation was that up to this point, we hadn’t even begun to talk about the actual issue because we were so busy arguing about how to talk about the issue.

Lucky for my husband, it was right about then that we reached our first destination. I threw open my door, barreled out of the car and slammed it passionately behind me. He locked it.

Being the overly excitable soul that I am, there’s nothing better for my excessive zest than a cold walk in the winter air. Something about all that silence made me realize that perhaps, just maybe, he had a really good point.

Just because my natural inclination spurs me to react with fervor doesn’t mean fervor is always right. There’s a time and a place for every emotion, perhaps it’s time for me to cut back a little on the fervor? Was he really asking that much of me? To talk in a nicer voice?

I was back at the car five minutes later, feeling much more subdued and not a little chagrinned at my rather zesty outburst.

I knocked on the window and he grudgingly unlocked the door. I climbed in and looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” he said.

“You’re right. I need to chill out and speak in a calm, adult manner.”

“Honey–”

“No, let me finish. I’ve decided to make it my New Year’s Resolution–” he’s heard this phrase 19 times in the past two months “–and I can change, I can be…vanilla. I will learn how to talk like a reasonable person, even when I’m upset. Now, what is it you were saying?”

It’s amazing what a little dose of discipline will do for a girl. Would you believe we went on to finish our discussion and still wanted to hold hands when we were done? Now that is progress.

In case you missed it, I’d like to welcome Primrose Preschools to my side bar. Emily, my bloggy friend, just sent me this write up she did on an upcoming event. It got me so excited, I am now planning elaborately choreographed routines in my head that I will force my children to perform on video so we can win $5000 and I can get a tummy tuck. I mean, so we can take family vacation. Please, do not try to take us on, we will smoke your blue suede shoes. Just sayin’.

Dance, Dance, Dance!

Submitted by Emily Patterson on behalf of Primrose Preschools

Dance can be a fun, easy way to introduce physical activity into your family’s daily routine.  As a provider of educational child care, Primrose Schools has recognized and is actively fighting against the childhood obesity epidemic. Your family can join in the fight- all you have to do is dance!

The Family Dance-off supports Children’s Miracle Network Hospitals, a non-profit organization that raises funds for more than 170 children’s hospitals.  They take this money and distribute it to where its needed most.  When a donation is given it stays within the community, collectively they treat 17 million children annually for every illness and injury imaginable.

Families are encouraged to record and submit a 30 second video of their family dancing to promote fitness and strengthen family ties.

Participating in the Family Dance-off is easy:

1.       Record a 30-second video of your family’s best dance moves. Let loose and don’t be afraid to get a little silly!

2.       Visit The Family Dance-off site and upload your best take by March 19^th.

3.       Share your video with your friends via email, Facebook, Twitter, etc.

4.       View and vote daily (you can place five votes per day) for your favorite family dance video!

What would a competition be without prizes? Primrose Schools is providing prizes that aren’t only great for your family but for your whole community, with $65,000 in donations to local Children’s Miracle Network Hospitals:

·         Grand Prize: $5,000 and Primrose will make a $30,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         2nd Prize: $3,000 and Primrose will make a $20,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         3rd Prize: $1,500 and Primrose will make a $15,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         All 14 Finalists will also receive a FLIP camcorder

Visit The Family Dance-off site for details on how to take part in the fight against childhood obesity, participate in the competition, and view past competitors!

Honestly, when I see give-a-way’s I don’t usually even comment. Let’s face it, my chances at winning things stink. I know, The Secret will tell you that these statements alone are holding me back from certain lottery success, but I can’t help it. I never. Win. Anything.

Until now.

That’s right, this week my children and I received a package in the mail from none other than the fabulous Vanessa Brown who never grew up, and holy crap, I’m so excited. I won a fairy garden! Rex is freaking out, it’s like a dream come true. And the best part? They’re all old enough to not eat the dirt.

We’re planning to crack it open tonight and get the dirt down, then make a few fairy suggested additions. I love you Vanessa, thanks for making me a better mom.

In case you missed the subtlety in my post-Valentine’s report, my sweetheart cheated on me with me. Just making sure his good name stays good.

So here I was, all set to take Jason on a romantic dinner date for two, when he goes and cancels on me. What the??

Allow me to back up. Jason always does Valentine’s Day. He went into this marriage fully informed that this is one holiday with no holds barred, and has managed to hit ten of eleven years with fantastic surprises. This year I decided it was time to give the guy a break, so I went and planned it myself. We were going to grab a show, get some prime rib, what guy wouldn’t love that?

Apparently, my husband.

He was supposed to be home at five. I called him at four and asked him to swing by the cleaners on his way. But at 4:55 he called to tell me he’d been “called back into work” and “wouldn’t be home until late” and “it’s a really important case, I’ll make it up to you”. Okay, sounds legit.

But my sources (oh yeah, I’ve got sources EVERYWHERE) tell me that at 4:45 he was seen at the cleaners hitting on a trampy brunette (who might or might not look suspiciously like me with dark hair) perched next to his car in scantily clad clothing. It only took her 24 seconds to finagle her way into his car and AWAY. THEY. WENT.

To make matters worse, my sources (who quickly followed the couple) report that said tramp, who goes by the name Natasha, took him to a Jon Schmidt dinner theater (probably not the best place to cheat on your wife), PDA’ed all over each other the entire night, and then shock of all shocks, ended up back in Layton, at the La Quinta Inn (off the Antelope Exit in Layton, newly remodeled with a continental breakfast, rocking pool and jacuzzi, and realllllly nice beds. I hear it’s an absolute steal for whatever you might or might not need a hotel for). Scandalous!

I don’t know about your Valentine’s Day, but I can tell you right now he’s going to have to work darn hard to make this up to me. And if I ever get my hands on that Natasha, I’ll show her what it means to be taken to the cleaners.

Here’s this week’s column, just to get you all warmed up for the big weekend.

“Okay, so my name might be a cliché, but my mostly successful relationship with my man is not. One thing I’ve learned in the last twelve years is that love needs romance, and Heaven gave us Valentine’s Day to make sure that happens at least once a year.

So if you find yourself in the “ho hum” crowd, the group of old together forever’s who don’t need no Cupid because what does he know about commitment anyway, might I recommend a quick body scan?

(Frankly, Cupid must know something about the appropriate use of romance. There are times in my marriage when it’s a really good thing I’m not carrying around a bow and an arrow. I don’t know that I’d use it quite as judiciously.)

Valentine’s Day is a perfect opportunity to feed your relationship. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been together for a week or a millennium, every relationship can take a little heat. Here are a few Annie Valentine approved activities and suggestions for the hypothermic relationship. And, while romance should never be one-sided, I find Valentine’s Day to be a great opportunity for chivalry. Somehow this kind of romance means a whole lot more when the man is the driving force.

1. Surprise your lover. I don’t care if you jump out of the closet with a box of chocolates, or hide under a blanket in her backseat, getting a gift means so much more when it’s arrival is unanticipated. Go ahead, get flowers, but leave them single stemmed, in strategic places around the house when she wakes up. You can attach a note saying, “I love you 12 ways, go find them.” A rose on top of the washing machine says, “I know you care enough about me to pretreat my favorite t-shirt, thanks!”

2. Go the extra mile. Swinging by the grocery store for a last minute card is awesome, but getting a sitter for the kids or making a special dinner reservation is even better. This is your chance to say, “I choose you, I want you, let’s make out in the car like when we were dating.”

3. If you can’t do it on Monday night, that’s okay. Planning a special event means you’ve got to be flexible, especially if Valentine’s Day falls on a weekday. But instead of using it as an excuse to bail, knock your plans forward or backwards and make them happen. (But it’s nice to save a little something for the actual day, just to make sure all your bases are covered. Bases, get it?)

4. There’s plenty of love for single people. If romantic love isn’t on your present chopping block, there’s plenty of alternatives to take its place. Take a grandchild or a sister to lunch, tell them why you love them, and celebrate the fact that you’re not alone on this big green earth. This holiday is for everyone; we all need an excuse to remember the ones we love.

5. Fake it to make it. If you’re playing along out of duty and think this holiday is hogwash, then I say make it a good performance. Most of the time, effort alone will get you much further than you ever anticipated, so give it a whirl and put your best foot forward.

Loving someone is about more than simply staying together. In every relationship, loving someone involves effort, it involves passion, and it means sometimes you put yourself out there, even if your only reward is a simple smile, a look of delight, or the sheer knowledge that you gave someone the best part of you.

And no matter what happens, it’s better to have loved and lost, than to forever sit around watching Seinfeld reruns on your own.”

Jason is out of town for two weeks, and I’ve shocked myself with how fantastic we’re doing. Who knows? Maybe I won’t die of motherhood after all.

I got home the other day and the kids found this on my doorstep. It didn’t have a note, just a scratch piece of paper with my name on it. If you read last week’s article, it won’t surprise you that I cried all over it. Someone out there is really, really cool.