And then it's over...

Merry (belated) Christmas!!

In a whirlwind of Christmas activities I chose to neglect the blog.

No hard feelings though, several activities got the ax this year.

There were no Christmas cookies.

No holiday newsletter.

And my homemade gifts to all the families were less work than usual.

After a full year of blech (this is a sound effect word, I sometimes substitute actual words for sounds, don't judge) I needed to be able to enjoy this Christmas season.

And I did!

There still was a little flurry of activity toward the end, but I was still able to have actual conversations with people in which I could fully participate without scrolling through mental checklists, Corey and I were able to slip away to Lake Placid for a couple days (more on that tomorrow), and I could enjoy our church's Christmas Eve service.

People, you have no idea how necessary it was to (almost) end this year on a good note.

I may still make a huge, ginormous black X over 2011 in my mind forever and ever but for right now I can start 2012 in a pretty state of mind.

...

As long as the Giants beat Dallas on New Year's Day, of course.  More on that Tuesday after I've recovered from what looks like will be a long, cold night in New Jersey.

Christmas Cookies!!!

This post is brought to you by my mom.  On those days when I just don't have it in me I can always count on, "You know your last post was FRIDAY."

Thanks, mom.

I'm really excited about this week.  And for a number of different reasons:

• There is nothing going on at work.  I mean, there's stuff, but nothing urgent that can't wait until mid-January when everyone gets back into the swing of things.
• I am stress free.  I still have things to buy, wrap, and make but it's such a small manageable amount I can practically check everything off my list.  I mean, without actually checking it off because then, you know, it wouldn't get done.
• I'm on drugs.  Just kidding.  Bad joke.  Sorry.

Corey and I are so stress-free we took last weekend, as in the last weekend before Christmas, to travel up to his hometown and make gingerbread cookies with his mom.  It was a tradition that went back many, many years but Corey hadn't participated since we've been together.  He was literally giddy to go.

I'm going to mention a key part of this story here: Corey made three gingerbread men.

Three.

As in three out of several dozen.

The rest of the time he played with the dog, talked football with his dad, and told his mom, my sister, and me we weren't doing it right because none of them looked like his.

This is my life with a perpetual eight-year-old.

We had a good time anyway; me, his mom and my sister.  We were decoratin' fools!

And then we just got foolish.

But in our defense: there were a lot of cookies.  And there are just so many things you can do with a little brown cookie man. 

Eventually we turned some into ladies.

Well dressed ladies, if I might add.

I ended up with a well deserved stomach ache at the end of the day.  After so much decorating I opted to eat the last few cookies rather than paste 'em with frosting and more sugar. 

And then I ate several more the next day...for no good reason at all.

We drove home mid-day Sunday. 

Luckily there was football and laundry waiting for us to really top off a fabulous weekend.

(sarcasm font)

...

And now back to the Christmas grindstone...."weeeeeeeeeee wish you a Merry Christmas!"

Deck the halls with egg nog and more cookies please

And now all the news that's fit to put out on the Interwebs:

Corey and I had a few friends over to celebrate Christmas Saturday night.  It was a twist on our usual invite-everyone-we-know-and-hope-and-pray-none-of-them-spill-red-wine-on-the-couches Christmas event.  Instead we spent a few hours munching on appetizers before heading out to our favorite restaurant for dinner.

It's simple math: less people means less chances our furniture will get ruined.

But somewhere in that formula x = Corey's dropsies and amounts to a bottle of tonic exploding everywhere and our glass Pyrex measuring cup shattering.

...

One of our guests is responsible for making egg nog every year.  And I am responsible for drinking most of it.  This usually leads to complaining very loudly about how hot it is right where I am standing.

Bourbon has this horrible effect of tasting oh-so-good when the burny characteristics are masked over by raw egg.  You have a tendency to forget what you are drinking is going to make you tell secrets and laugh at inappropriate times.

Hypothetically, of course.

Another guest made cheese cookies, which is simply a combination of two of my most favorite things: cheese and cookies.  Duh.  There were chocolate crackle cookies (more of my favorite ingredients), veggies, dips and cheeses. 

Food weighs heavily in how I rank events.  And based on this year's weight gain I've had myself a grand time.

We made our dinner reservation for 9pm.  As in one hour before I usually drift off to sleep without a belly full of eggy bourbon.  I was able to stay awake and jolly through the jokes and stories and holiday merriment, but when the clock struck midnight my buggy turned back into a pumpkin and I nearly face planted into my chocolate lava cake.

My dear, sweet, I-can-function-just-fine-on-four-hours-of-sleep, husband stayed out with his friends while I crawled into bed at 12:45am.  It was a miracle I managed to also crawl into pjs.

Overall, it was a lovely time, we have some pretty great family and friends.

...

Annnnnd now it's time for Christmas frenzy.  Only 14 days to go, people.

Santa's crazy shopper, over and out.

Fozzy, Get Your Act Together

Raise your hand if it just ain't Christmas without The 12 Days of Christmas as sung by the Muppets?

(scans crowd)

(scans crowd s'more)

Maybe you just haven't heard it in awhile.  Allow me refresh your memory:



 Now tell me you aren't ready to coat every square inch of your living space with twinkling white lights.

Merrrrrry Christmas!

Happy Panic Mode!

I am officially overextended.

And now I have to take a day off from work to take care of all of my extras that aren't supposed to get in the way of, you know, the job I am actually paid to do.

But, alas, they have.

**sigh**

1. A friend of mine commissioned me to make a necklace she can give as a gift.  And she wants it before Christmas.  The nerve.
2. Thanks to my friend Jennifer, who is also a fellow crafter, all of my jewelry is sitting in a boutique waiting to be sold.  But thanks to my friend Jennifer all of my jewelry is sitting in a boutique waiting to be sold!  I have no stock.  I need to felt my heart out.
3. Sunday I am going to a cookie exchange.  I need to bring five dozen cookies.  Homemade cookies.  The nerve.
4. Saturday is Corey and my Christmas party, for which I am making a appetizer or two and cleaning my apartment, floor to ceiling, with a toothbrush and q-tip.  I like to be thorough.
5. Friday my entire office is getting together for a potluck lunch.  I signed myself up to bring an entree and appetizer because I felt I didn't already have enough going on.

Tonight I have a meeting, and tomorrow and Friday night I feel like I have something going on that I just can't remember at the moment.  So if I don't take tomorrow off I will have 12 hours on Saturday to complete the entire list.

**dry heave**

And this list doesn't include the shopping, the wrapping, the fretting, more baking, and card mailing that will go on next week.

Oh dear, Merry Christmas!

(say it with me: Jesus is the reason for the season, Jesus is the reason for the season...)

Lovely Branches, Tree (wink)

"(on phone)...we got our Christmas tree tonight and...(to me) hey beetle, how many fights did we have?"

"Um...None!"

"(on phone again)...and we had NO fights!!"

Surprising, I know.  When you have two people who are 100% correct 100% of the time, you're bound to have slight disagreements when handling projects like this.  Or hooking up a printer, putting furniture together, emptying the dishwasher, walking the dog...you get the idea.

After applying several layers of clothes...

"Corey!  Just how many jackets do you have on under there??"

...we drove out to Hewitt's to pick out the perfect tree.  We were in my car and I drove.  If you know anything about us, this is astonishing.

1. I am "the worst driver, ever" according to my darling husband
2. My car is "unsafe" (read: Corey prefers the BMW.  can't blame him)

"For goodness sake Corey, you can stop holding on to the handle."

"It's ok.  I'm....comfortable like this."

...

"Corey, this is MY car.  That means I get to control the radio."

"Yeah, but this is ESPN radio..."

...

"Jeez beetle, you need to get gas!"

"Ugh, I am totally fine.  I have 34 miles left."

...

Luckily, we were the only shoppers in the tree department at Hewitt's.  No one was around to hear the following:

"Oooo, what about this one?"

"No, it's a fraser fir."

"How do you know??"

"Trust me.  I know"

"What about this one?"

"Fraser fir.  What about this?"

"That's the same kind of tree I just showed you!!"

"No it's not.  This is a balsam fir."

"So basically, there is NO difference between a balsam and a fraser??

"Oooo, look at this one."

I have no idea what kind of tree we ended up with, but it smells Dee.  Vine.  It's a little thin for my taste, but it's taller than last year's.  And that's all I was hoping for.

How do I know it's taller?

Well, we may or may not have dug out a measuring tape.  And Corey may or may not have have climbed up the ladder we may or may not have hanging out in our dining room.

Ten.  Feet.  Exactly.

And this was after having the tree guy chop off about seven inches at the very top because it looked like a scary finger.

...

So, after we loaded up the sucker and drove home, I watched as Corey dragged it off my car, up the stairs and through the apartment (read: I took pictures to post here).  A bit of a struggle ensued, Corey vs. the tree, and he eventually got the thing in position to be hoisted up into its stand.

"Will you put the camera down and help?!?"

"Yeah, but I have to document this!"

"Is it for the blog?"

"Yeah..."

"I'll go change."

He walked off and I heard:

"Oh no!"

"What??"

"We lost a crucial piece of the tree!"

...

Now, I have just one more picture to show you, but I was having issues with my phone.  It was going for ethereal while I just wanted to show you what my tree ended up looking like.  I did not win this fight:

I am also fighting with blogger.  Sometimes they don't like to rotate pictures.

I won't get into the whole "light" ordeal.  Let's just say they were done twice and the thing still looks funky.  And Corey and I strongly differ on whether you drape or bury the lights.  It seems to be a combination of drape, bury, and hurry-up-because-my-pigs-in-blankets-are-getting-cold.

But anyway, the tree is up, it's watered, and ready to be decorated. 

Now we just need some decorations!

Cyber Monday: Bah Humbug!

I'm just sayin', if I get one more Cyber Monday email I just might toss my phone in the toilet.

Because it's one of those I'm-gonna-do-irrational-things-because-a-whole-lotta-crap-is-goin'-down-all-at-once-and-I'm-not-takin'-it-so-good kinda days.

But thanks anyway Best Buy, Borders, JCrew, LLBean, Barnes and Noble, Banana Republic, Amish Gourds, Victoria's Secret, Amazon, Alpaca Direct, Ebay and the rest of you for letting me know of your awesome, not to be missed, today only, never again deals.  I really do appreciate seeing the things I know I can't buy.

Maybe next year I won't have this give-me-itchy-red-stress-bumps junk going on at a time when I'm supposed to be merry and bright and I can take part in a $2 deal on Garfield: The Movie.

Maybe...

(frowny face)

But on a happier note I have a whole fridge full of dessert at home!

Happy for me, that is.

(smiley face)

How many brunettes does it take...

Funny things happen when you put three girls in a room with a deflated air mattress.

(You may think you know where this is going, but you really have nooooo idea.)

For as long as I can remember, me and my sisters would climb into the same bed on Christmas Eve and giggle about Santa, about the presents we hoped were under the tree, about how we couldn't fall asleep, and about Kimberlie, who couldn't stop farting, until we finally passed out.

Eventually, we outgrew twin sized beds, but never outgrew the tradition.

Until I had to go and get married.

See, Corey had this strange idea that as a married couple we should start our own traditions.  "Pppsssshhh,"  I said.....or spit, actually.  But he was right, and Katie, Kimberlie and I, again, modified our tradition.  We would hold our annual Christmas Eve sleepover on Christmas Eve Eve.

This is actually where the air mattress story begins.  I just felt the need to give you way more background material than you probably wanted.  That's just what I do.

So here we are.  The three of us.  Ready to sleep, a deflated air mattress in front of us.  I should mention this air mattress requires many, many batteries to inflate (which we did not have).  Oh, or a car charger. 

Where does ass-uming get you, L.L. Bean?

Anyway, as I am ready to give up on the mattress and claim a couch, one of the two sisters (can't remember which one, they both kinda run together) has the bright idea to inflate the dang thing using a car charger.  As in a car charger in a car.  Outside.

So, we suit up and go.

...plug the thing in there.

And then that thing plugs in there.

Oops.  Wrong thing.

My feet.

Ahhh, yes.  The mattress.  Focus.

Now, to get it inside.  Snow free.

...and up the stairs.

Ahhhhhhh, success.

In short (see what I did there?  This story was in no way short...that's what makes it funny), we survived.  So did the tradition.  And the air mattress.

'Tis the season...

...for stomach aches.

You know you did exactly what I did the past three days: stuffed every goodie within reach down your cram-hole until your innie turned outie.

So don't tell me you're not still full from Christmas ham, beef, or turducken because I won't believe you.

...for unpacking toys.

The toys you got for Christmas.

Because you're at that age where you don't care what your friends, family, neighbors, co-workers think of your obsession with remote controlled cars and video games.

...for zero workplace motivation.

No one is working anywhere this week, so there is really no reason you or I should be.

...for seasonal depression.

No more Christmas carols, no more Christmas lights, no more family gatherings, no more presents. 

What does that leave us?  Snow.  And cold.  Bitter cold.  Then more snow.  Then slush and mud.  Followed by rain.

...for counting down to Saratoga track season.

Oh to see those stately thoroughbreds crossing Union Avenue, holding up traffic, and leaving golden surprises in their wake.

By "golden surprises" I really mean poop.  They poop in the street.

...for New Year's Resolutions.

You know, the goals you set for yourself that you can't seem to keep past noon on the second day of the year.

...for swearing to shop earlier for Christmas presents next year, to not wait until Christmas eve to wrap said presents, and to save ambitious baking projects for, let's say, a Tuesday afternoon.

Enjoy this post-Christmas season and have a Happy New Year!!

The time is near

Um, I wish someone had told me Christmas is Friday.

As in three days from now.

I mean, I knew, but I didn't know. 

You know?

I think I just needed someone to say, "You know all that stuff you got wadded up in all those bags upstairs?   Yeah, it needs to be under the tree next week."

And then I wish that same someone had said, "Oh, and you have to wrap it.  Nicely."

Because now I'm stuck between a rock and a booger.

Do I put all my purchases in grocery sacks to save time for the production of hundreds of sprinkly cookies?  Or do I make enemies out of neighbors and coworkers expecting holiday treats so I can spend hours wrapping gifts in fancy paper that will be in the garbage by Friday morning?

Problem solved.



To my family and friends: If I give you a bag that says Hannaford Supermarket on it, that doesn't necessarily mean there are groceries in it.  Just so you know.

Safety Hazzard

Folks, when putting up exterior illumination of any kind please take into consideration sightlines to and from any major highways.

A single glowing snowman will pose no major threat to motorists.

A single glowing snowman that bends, twists, or moves will leave motorists driving 70mph watching and wondering...

"What could he possibly do next?!"

"Is he going to bend?"

"Is he going to twist?"

"Is he going to do a roundoff backhandspring, back tuck combo?!"

The next thing you know their knees are pushed up to their eyeballs, along with the front bumper.

Another example:

A single strand of lights will pose no major threat.

A single strand of lights connected to another strand, connected to another strand, connected to another strand, wrapped around every protruding object in your yard, AND twinkling most definitely will send a car or two into a snowy ditch. 

See, you may or may not be aware that most people, like moths and other stupid bugs, are drawn to bright, shiny objects.  We must look at every single tree, shrub, child, and grazing deer covered in lights.  Call it an instinctual flaw.

And at 65mph (because we all really do drive the speed limit, Officer Jason Winters) during rush hour traffic you can see how  7 seconds of perusing might have some serious consequences.

Do you really want that on your conscience?

You know who you are, gloriously bright house off of exit 15 on I-87.  Yeah, you, right off the curve where that big blue lodging sign is...

The Man, The Myth, The Legend: Santa Claus

He is the obese, probably diabetic, man who wears red velvet pajamas as he breaks into your house to eat your holiday goodies and leave gifts he knew you wanted because he watches you constantly.

Ahhhh, to be young and innocent again.

I don't remember when I stopped believing in Santa and his magical shenanigans.  It must have been a gradual process that began with me silently wondering why my parents were helping Santa do his job.  Most of my presents were from them, not Santa.  The big guy only brought me the boring stuff I needed like sweaters and underwear. 

I now realize they just wanted to take credit for the good stuff like the Nintendo and the bike and the British Knights with pink and white laces.

Corey's story is a little more tragic. 

At six years old he thought to leave Santa the last of his parents' Heinekens with the cookies.  (The intuitive child figured he probably needed to take a load off.)  When he saw the beer back in the fridge the next morning he knew his parents had pulled a fast one.

Awwwwwww....

I wouldn't feel too bad for the kid.  If a six year old could rationalize giving Santa a beer instead of the traditional glass of milk, I'm sure he was smart enough to understand his parents' logic in leading him on for so many years.

My strategy: keep the story going.  My kids will one day appreciate the harsh lesson in vulnerability.  Tough love, folks.  Tough love.

When did you stop believing?

One big hot mess

And I am not referring to an open faced turkey sandwich.

Although, that does sound good....with the stuffing and the cranberry...

Focus.

No, I'm talking about the snow.  The beautiful, white, piled high gift we received on my poorly planned day off.

There would be no stroll through the park.  Falling snow has a tendency to find that one sliver of exposed neck skin and use it relentlessly as a target.

There would be no completed Christmas projects.  The weight of the lovely fluff took out a power line feeding our entire neighborhood.  And unfortunately, computers and sewing machines still run on electricity.

There would be no thrift shop excursion for future craft materials because by then I was just grumpy.

Luckily, however, I was able to shovel thousands of pounds of this glorious miracle of the sky from my parents' driveway, ending the day sore and fatigued.

In short, I am never planning a day off before first consulting Doppler radar....

Or I'll just not wait until the last minute to get everything done.  Whatever.

Johnny Mathis would be sad

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Ev'rywhere you go;

(except for my house)

Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again

With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

(unlike my house)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Toys in ev'ry store

(and not in my house)

But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

On your own front door.

(but not on the front door at my house)

Do you get the picture here, Corey?

Ahhhh, the Holidays

Within the past few days I have spent more time baking two pies than it takes to make an entire Thanksgiving meal.  I locked myself out twice.  I ate way too much.  I learned how to rue.  I shopped at 3am.  I spent 4 hours standing in lines.

I sat outside of JCPenny with my dad at 2:45 this morning for the super doorbuster deal on a cozy pair of slippers.  We were the first in line.  We were the line. 

It was his "spreadsheet of savings" that brought us to the store, an organizational tactic you see in only the most seasoned Black Friday shoppers.  However, it was our rookie naïveté that lead us to believe we would actually have to fight an angry mob of shoppers for doorbuster cargo pants.

Needless to say, we got everything we needed without incident...but not without embarrassment.

Tips for future Black Friday shopping:

• If you will be standing in line outside, wear layers that can be easily removed.
• Designate a line holder while others shop.
• Fanny pack to hold water, mints, bandaids, air deodorizer.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Now here is a list of things I would like to be thankful for next month:

• Wii.   Adults can play video games too (Corey), as you will see in the following games I am also wishing for: Wii Fit, Trivial Pursuit, Super Mario Brothers.
• Nikon camera.  The small one.  So I can put it in my pocket and take impromptu pictures of mullets and mom jeans.
• Gym bag.  The cheap canvas bag I currently use is too small.  And it stinks.
• UGGs.  I am about four years behind in this trend, but it has taken me that long to NOT call them UGGlies.  Size 8.  Contact Corey for styles.  There are several to chose from.
• Title Nine vest.  Boss's daughter has one.  I'd like to copy her.  Contact Corey for more information.
• Long Johns.  I, um, get cold.
• Travel size Bible.  Because I can't nag myself about what I should be doing.
• Salt and pepper shakers.  No joke.  We use salt directly out of the tube it came in.  Very primitive.
• Purdue gear.  To combat all of the Notre Dame apparel I see daily.  Victoria's Secret makes a mean Boilermaker hoodie.
• Apple Macbook.  Yes.  This is pricey, but it would be a good time for long forgotten great-aunt Joanne to feel the sudden urge to revive the familial bond with her sister's daughter's daughter and make up for all the lost Christmases and birthdays.  In turn, I will make up for all the macaroni art she never received from me.  I think that's fair.
• Bernina sewing machine.  The mac daddy of sewing machines.  And why shouldn't I have the best?  My ability to put a pot holder together is totally professional.
• Queen's Greatest Hits.  Voted best band of all time by me.  Worst band of all time: Third Eye Blind.

That's all, dear, dearest friends.  May you have the most wonderful, blessed holiday season!

P.S. For shipping purposes, all major department stores have my address on file.  Thanksomuch.