Hard Work and One Spectactular Weekend!

In my last post, I mentioned that I was burning the candle at both ends and then I fell off the face of the earth.

Not having time to sit and blog is surely one of life’s little annoyances -at least it is for me.  Taking time to sit and write about life’s everyday occurrences is something I really look forward to.  Today, I have mounds of crafting to do before Christmas, but I just had to sit down and write.

The last day I blogged was my husband’s 30th birthday.  We didn’t do very much to celebrate because I had super-de-duper secret plans in the works that had taken up ALL of my spending cash.  I did manage to get a cheesecake together and take it to his work, which I told him I would do.  He told me not to because they might be busy, so I shelved the plan.  Then he called me the morning of his birthday and told me to go ahead with the plan.

I sighed a great sigh because I filled my day with other plans on account of his CANCELLING his birthday cheesecake.  Instead of saying “GAH!” I said, “I love you.”

He read the “GAH!” through my tone.

The cheesecake was made and delivered in the end.

That evening, we had the opportunity to watch our daughter perform in her first EVER tumbling meet.
As the class began their stretching, the teacher would have the go through that actions of “making cookies” in a way that would stretch their little bodies out.
“What are you going to put on your cookie?” She’d ask the students, one by one.
“Jelly beans!”
“Frosting!”
“Sprinkles!”
And then there was my daughter’s reply…
“Pinecones!”

To finish up their stretching, the teacher had them turn into “rocket ships” and “fly” different places.
“Where do you want to fly?” The teacher would ask the students, one by one.
“The ice cream store!”
“Shopping!”
And then there was my daughter’s answer:
“The Land of Oz!”

She waited patiently on the wall between routines.

First she did a floor routine, then a beam routine, and lastly: a trampoline routine. Her beam routine:

The next day, Thursday, was the only day I had to get things done before we left to start celebrating my husband’s big birthday bash, and I was busy from sun up to 1 AM.
I made monkeys and cleaned and cleaned monkeys.

I had to get them finished before we left because I wanted to deliver them to their rightful owners. Once I got those three done, I started on another one. He’s the cute little guy on the far left.
I wanted to try and give him a persona before I gave him away to my husband’s brother. He’s an unabashed monkey lover, and I’d joked with him earlier about making an Adolf Hitler-themed monkey. I decided to give it a try.
First came the ‘stash and angry eyes.

Then came the authoritative black hat with hand-stitched swastika.

Then I stitched his arm up at a permanent angle.
Then I took a picture of my children stuffing their shirts with the monkey stuffing.
“Santa Clause!” They cried out, “Santa!”

Then I added the armband.
Not so cute now…
But definitely worth the time it took to make it!

I wrapped and packed the monkeys that night. Hitler Monkey was packed up with a pair of homemade monkey pajama pants that I had also made that day and which I was tempted to put on and never take off.
Ahhh….. PJ pants.
We woke up early on Friday morning and packed the car up. By lunchtime, we were at Aunt Darah’s house. We dropped our kids off and turned right back around. We drove two hours in another directions to get to my husband’s secret birthday spot.

The England House.

My husband took me there for our anniversary in September, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it since.
As we crawled in bed one night, he started talking about it again.
“How badly do you want to go back?” I asked.
“Real bad,” he answered, “Just as soon as we can.”
So I started working hard. I babysat, I crocheted, I made aprons, I taught preschool and piano lessons, I played piano at the high school… and somehow it all came together.

I was also able to snag us reservations at my husband’s favorite restaurant, The Cottage Place. It’s been voted the best in town for years. Before checking into our room, I had my husband stop off at Wal-Mart so I could pick up some much needed cosmetics. I ended up spending $40 all at once because I hadn’t bought eye shadow or mascara in months. I put off buying these kinds of things, you know, on account of money. Then I have to buy them all at once and I end up needing to really spend a hunk of money, so I turn to Wal-Mart instead of JC Penney. Besides, if you get eye shadow, you need to get glitter. And if you get glitter for your eyes, you should probably buy the shimmery body lotion.
And then you’ll probably end up hating yourself for it all once they ring you up.
But only if you’re a cheapie like me. However, I HAD to have that crap! I haven’t been able to get dressed up for a date in ages!

As I got dressed and ready for dinner, my husband tried to visit with me. He didn’t do a very good job on account of the headache he’d had for four days straight. He was quiet and tired -I felt really bad for him, and I hoped that he would start to enjoy his weekend getaway as much as I was able to enjoy it.
We pulled up to The Cottage Place a few minutes before our reservation time. They were running behind, but it didn’t bother us at all. We didn’t have anywhere to be, and we didn’t mind waiting.
We ended up waiting so long that the restaurant management gave us a complimentary appetizer.
Four of the FATTEST shrimp I’ve ever seen!
They were swimming in anchovie sauce, which I thought would disgust me out of my brains, but it was SO good that my husband and I literally mopped up every speck up sauce with our complimentary bread.
Our meals arrived shortly thereafter. He got the artichoke chicken and I had the seafood pasta. My dish was filled with a few more of the fattest shrimp I have ever seen, soft scallops, and the best salmon I’ve ever EVER had! I’d never tasted anything like it.

The restaurant put us up in a cozy corner table -very cut off from the rest of the restaurant. We were surrounded on two sides by window panes that let us watch as soft snowflakes started to fall outside. I watched as my husband’s mood lightened, and I was so glad that we had come. He fed me his chicken and I fed him my seafood, and we were so full we couldn’t muster room for dessert (probably because we had each eaten six hot wings a few hours prior).
LOOK at those SHRIMP!

My dish, my dish, my dish…

After we were filled to the brim with holiday cheer and OUTSTANDING food, the waitress snapped our picture.
You can’t see it, but I’m wearing heels. I never, ever wear heels so I had to make note of it. At 5’8″, I never, ever heels. Especially because the man I’m sporting is 5’11” (but if he asks, tell him I told you he’s not an inch short of 6 foot).

We pulled back into The England House around 11 pm, and snow was falling all around. I snapped a picture of the back of the house.

I loved the way the camera’s flash reflected off the snowflakes. We nestled into our soft, warm bed and SLEPT SO HARD. When we woke up, there was a soft covering of snow.
The England House was decorated for Christmas, and there was a big, beautiful REAL tree in the front parlor. It hadn’t quite been decorated, but it was so full and fragrant that I had keep from hugging it. The best part? They paid $20 for it. $20! For the best BEST tree I’d ever laid eyes on!

Before we checked in, I could smell that tree from the porch outside. As the owner opened the door, the smell of Christmas wafted around us, and we settled comfortably into “vacation mode.”
Breakfast on Saturday morning was delicious. My body was still digesting dinner from the night before, but I was powerless to resist breakfast. Powerless.
Banana crumble served in a ramekin and a baked egg souffle!

As we ate, a fire crackled in the fire place next to us, and snow continued to fall in large downy snowflakes. The flickering taper candles on our table topped the atmosphere off perfectly.

Our second stay at The England House was as perfect and picturesque as the first. Of course we’ll go back. Of course we’ll love it. Of course the owners will treat us like we belong there. Of course I’ll be responsible for eating most of the chocolate in the candy dish set out in the kitchen.

Here’s the back of the house after the snow.

I love nothing more than escaping reality with my husband. Our reality is really as good as it gets, but it’s still nice to sneak away now and then.
One of the greatest things about The England House is that the rooms don’t have televisions in them. No television means we spend more time talking and more time listening. By the end of our stay, we’re always 100% reminded of why we got married, why we’ll stay married, and why we’ll be back to visit The England House again and again.

After checking out, my husband and I were able to get some Christmas shopping done. We hadn’t shopped together at all this season, and we won’t be able to again -so we had a GREAT time wandering the aisles of Target. By this point in the weekend, my husband’s headache was nearly gone and he was back to his teasing self. I couldn’t get ENOUGH of him!
We bought the kids all sorts of little goodies here and there -nothing too expensive because we’re poor as church mice these days. Luckily, the kids are too little to notice or care.
The drive home was peaceful.
Then the drive home got foggy.
Then the drive home got REALLY foggy.

I kept joking to my husband that I felt like Russel Crowe in Master & Commander: The Far Side of the World.
“I feel like we’re going to get hit on the port side at any given second,” I said. Then I’d imitate a sailor’s whistle.
Then he’d turn his podcast up.

We made it back to Aunt Darah’s house much later than I had anticipated, and I can’t express my THANKS enough for what she did for us! She made it possible for my husband to have the best birthday yet.
I was able to pay for all of it which my husband felt more than a little weird about, but it was SO nice to be able to take care of him for a change! I almost forgot to take my wallet with me just about everywhere we went because I’m so used to him paying, but it was 100% worth all of the work that went into it.
Which -by the by -still isn’t done. I’ve got loads of monkey socks waiting for me on the couch and two little kids that both woke up with coughs and cute croaky voices.

Here’s to a day filled with humidifiers, orange juice, sock monkey stuffing, and a traditional family sing-a-long tonight that I will be attending solo.
Thanks in advance to the husband who has agreed to stay home with the kids so I can play and sing tonight!

Later on tomorrow, I’ll blog about our family get togethers. Last night, we met at Aunt Lil’s house for a smashing Christmas dinner with the tastiest bruschetta this mama’s evah had.
Tune in tomorrow (the other side of three sock monkeys).

I Can’t Wait To Get Up in the Morning and Do it All Over Again

I’m burning my candle at both ends right now.  I’m sure I’m not alone.  I’m sure there’s a million people burning their candle at both ends this time of year.  I don’t mind it because it is only once a year…what I DO mind is the way my kids seem to be melting my candle from the middle on out.

Proof:

For the first time since she was a baby, my daughter threw a SCREAMING fit last night.  When she was a baby, I would let her know that throwing a SCREAMING fit was completely unacceptable.  Last night, I let it go.  I know that she knew throwing a screaming fit was naughty.  Besides, she was just trying to get some negative attention and I wasn’t about to give it to her.  Here’s was happened: I had spent the day working hard on projects and as I worked, my children slowly tore the house down.  Then we went shopping.  Whilst shopping, I bought the supplies for the kids to paint a shirt for their Daddy -who is the BIG 30 today.  My daughter was dying to paint.  She had told me weeks ago that she was going to paint a shirt for Daddy for his birthday.  She asked a million times over if it was time to paint.  I told her she could paint as soon as the house was picked up.

“Make it brand new,” I said, putting it in her terms.  She likes to call clean rooms “brand new.”

“Alright,” she’d say, and promptly get distracted.

“Make it brand new so you can paint,” I’d remind her.

“I’m going to,” she’d say and promptly get distracted.

Finally, the hour of reckoning came.  I had asked her and asked her and asked her.  She was not obeying.  She was not listening.  I had warned her that if she didn’t clean not only would she not get to paint… she would have to go to bed.

The clock struck 9 pm, and I broke the news to her: she had to go to bed.  No painting.

She was devastated.  I asked her if she knew why she was being sent to bed without painting.

“Because I didn’t obey,” she said, through tears.  Watching my sweet girl cry is enough to break me, but I knew I had to stay strong and follow through.  I put her in bed and went to the couch to stitch another sock monkey.  My husband curled up on the floor next to me and put a movie in.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” she wailed from her bedroom, “I don’t wanna go to my bed!  I don’t LIKE my bed!  And I’m MAD AT YOU MAMA!  And I’m MAD AT YOU DADDY!  And I don’t LIKE MY BED AND I DON’T LIKE MY KITCHEN AND I DON’T LIKE MY ROOM AND I DON’T LIKE THE VACUUM!  AND I DON’T LIKE EVERYTHING!!!!!”

At this point, my husband and I both chuckled.

“We’re in trouble,” he said.

“Sounds like it,” I agreed.

Her screaming woke her brother up.  He screamed.  She screamed.

“I’m about to put a stop to this,” my husband said.  I begged him not to.

“Please…” I said, “Let’s let it play out.  She’s dying for us to go in there and we can’t do it.  She knows what she did wrong.”

He agreed.

“I’m SO SAD AND MAD AT YOU MAMA!” She screamed, “I TELL YOU I JUST WANT A STORY RIGHT NOW!  I’m JUST SCARED IN HERE AND MY BED IS SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BUMPY!”

Again my husband and I started to chuckle.  She sounded so irrational, and it was sorta cute.

“MY ROOM IS BUMPY!” She screamed.

Soon enough, she came out.

“I don’t wanna go to bed because,” she choked on her sobs, “I just wanna stay awake and I don’t need my room.”

“Honey,” I said, “Why did mom put you in bed?”

“Because I didn’t obey,” her crying came back full force.

“That’s right.  And you need to go back to bed now, and you KNOW that screaming like that is very naughty.  You had better stop it before you get a spanking.”

She wailed and went back into her room.  A few minutes later, she was sounds asleep.  A few minutes after that, her father was sound asleep.

An hour and a half later, I crawled into bed.  I closed my eyes and started to drift off when I heard little feet outside my bedroom door.

“I just don’t NEED my bed,” a little voice whispered.  Because she had learned her lesson, and because I would die if I didn’t get any sleep, I took her to the couch where she loves to sleep.

Again, I rehearsed to her why she got in trouble.

“When you wake up, you WILL pick this house up,” I said.

“Okay,” she smiled up at me, forgiving as always.

I got her a drink of milk and crawled back in bed.  A couple hours later, my son woke up screaming for me.

I don’t know WHY they’re into screaming lately.  Usually they just fuss, but lately they’ve been screaming outright.  I got up, scooped him into my arms, snuggled down with him in his sister’s bed, and we both went to sleep.  Thirty minutes later, my alarm went off in the other room.  I hopped up to turn it off before it woke up THE BIRTHDAY BOY, but it was too late.

It woke him up.

And I got up so fast it woke my son up.

He followed me into my room and proceeded to crawl all over me.

“I needa gwink a’ milk,” he said.  Over and over and over.

Finally he crawled down and fell asleep on the floor.

I woke up exhausted.

I will spend the day exhausted.

I will go to bed exhausted.

Tis the season.

My little candle melters:

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Rocky Mountain Oysters

I took the kids up to my folks’ house two night ago for a movie night.  I had planned to watch the old holiday classic “Christmas in Connecticut” with my mother.

I expected to be greeted by my mother’s warm smile and always-cheery smelling house.  As far as the warm smile goes, I got it.  But the cheery-smelling house? Not so much. Instead, I found my Dad over the sink with a knife and a bowl full of what I wished was jelly.

Nope.

He had branded earlier that day, and his bowl was full of cow testicles.

He was going to cook them up, but he couldn’t find the mix he usually uses.  Instead of hunkering down on my parents’ leather couch to watch a Christmas movie, I made my dad A Cow Ball Cookin’ Assembly Line.  I filled a pie tin with an egg and milk mixture, and then I filled another pan with a seasoned flour mixture.  As he cut the oysters up, I dipped them in the egg/milk mixture and then into the flour mixture.

Dad then grilled them on his George Foreman.

My kids weren’t at all interested in the black and white Christmas movie.  But they WERE interested in helping grandpa.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don’t read on if you’re squeamish.  REALLY.

I’m BEGGING you.

Dad only grilled a few, but he did make sure the entire lot of balls was cut and cleaned before he went to bed. The kids were by his side the entire time.
After I had seasoned and coated the few he wanted to cook that night, I retired to the living room for a long winter’s movie.
But I laughed, as I listened to dad and the kids, in spite of myself.

“You’re going to squeeze it,” Dad would say.
“Squeezie! Squeezie!” My son would say. He’s been adding and “ee” sound to the end of everythingee these days. (“I want milky, milky, mliky.” “I want juicy, juicy, juicy!”)

As the kids would squeeze, the meat would come out of it’s skin and be nearly ready for cooking. My son couldn’t get enough of picking them up out of the water and THROWING them back in.
I’m going to warn you AGAIN. DON’T WATCH THIS IF YOUR GAG REFLEX IS WEAK.

cookincowballssqueezie

After they were grilled, we all got a taste.

Anyone is welcome to taste. Dad does make a mean cow ball.

After the movie was over, I loaded the kids into the car and drove home. It took about three minutes. When I pulled into my drive, I turned around and saw:

Cooking can really wear a kid out.

Christmas “Cards” are Here

Per tradition, our family usually makes cheeseballs every Christmas for family and friends that live ’round about.  This year, despite the fact that cheeseballs and hot cocoa mix cost about the same… I’m sending out delicious hot cocoa mix.  I’m not bragging on my cruddy cooking skills, but I AM bragging on the recipe.  Oh, ho brother!  It is go-OOD.

Last year, we got so busy that although we bought everything for the cheeseballs, we never actually made them.  The result was the untimely demise of any New Year’s Resolution involving weight loss, as I made and devoured an unspeakably shameful amount of grandma’s recipe for homemade cheesecake.

Oh, my mouth is watering.  Let’s change the subject…

I told my husband, in a fit of guilt over the selfishness of NOT delivering to the neighbors and devouring everything myself, that this year we would get right on delivering goodies.

It had to happen, even if that meant my already-neglected home would fall further down on my priority list -which it has.  And the Bunco ladies will see me for what I really am rather than what I WISH they thought I was when they gather here tomorrow night.

I’m a slob.

See my kitchen table? Absolute slobbery. I’m certain the ladies won’t actually care, and I’m also certain that I’m the only one what actually DOES care. Be that as it may, I’m still clawing my way out of Absolute Slobbery 101. I’m constantly fighting it. It’s my lot in life. Slobbery. Slobbery and brownies.
Slobbery and brownies and glee.

But I won’t sink so low as to buy department store Christmas cards (*sarcastic shudder*) because I keep a hard working personal designer on hand. See her in the picture?
Sad (or is it?) truth be told, we’re poor in finances. Hot cocoa mix was a smidge cheaper than the cheeseballs (on account of the cost of crackers, even when purchased in bulk). I had canning jars on hand. And I had green fabric on hand. And of course I had red yarn on hand (leftover from many-a-crochet santa hats). When I put everything together, along with the family picture my aunt had taken and which I had happily picniked before the kids woke up Monday morning, we had a working set-up going. The only problem? We didn’t have cards.
I sat and thought about it for all of two seconds before realizing that my daughter would love nothing more than to personally design every single card.
And, man… did she EVER. That girl is really something. This was my favorite of all the designs. She drew a Christmas bell, wrote “Hohohohoho” and then she drew a picture of something that looked like a butter knife but was actually something entirely different that I cannot recall at all.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and I say so be it. And thank goodness for that.

If You Could Pop Through The Picture, You’d Hear:

“Babe, let’s put the kids in a chair and we’ll kneel behind it. That way my after-baby belly will be hidden.”

“Sweetie, for the last time… keep your LEGS DOWN. No one wants to see your big girl pants.”

“I can’t take another picture until SOMEONE CHANGES THAT BOY’S DIAPER.”

“I should have worn panty hose, my legs are as white as the snow. Son, look at the camera…”

“Son, LOOK at the CAMERA.”

“It’s okay, I can always picnik it.”

Thrones

The theme for today is thrones: polished white ones and invisible ones.

The things is: my son has taken to calling me “your highness.”  There’s no sarcasm in his voice because he isn’t 14, and it makes me laugh every time.

“Here’s your orange slice, son,” I say.

“Bank you, yo’ highness,” he says.

“Here’s your dirty diaper, go throw it away please!”I say.

“Bank you, yo’ highness!” He replies.

So I’m royal.  I mean, I always suspected it but my son has confirmed it.
(in this picture, he was standing in front of my cart and pulling it all over Safeway. He insisted on it, and why shouldn’t he? I’m royal.)

This morning, my daughter decided to try her hand at royalty and sat herself down on the porcelain throne. She held herself up with two hands behind her as most toddlers do. When she lifted one hand off of the royal seat to reach for the royal Charmin, she started to sink into the royal hole. She gasped and immediately put her hand back on the seat.
“Hey!” She yelled, looking down at the toilet, “That wasn’t very nice!”

One great thing about kids is you always know where you stand -whether you’re a household queen or a toilet.

The Tree is Up

We put our tree up.  It’s fake.  I love it.

That’s the the short version of what happened.

Want The Alicia version of what happened?  Read on if you do/dare:

I’ve always wanted a pre-lit FAKE tree.  Last year, my husband bought me one.  Before last year, we had been using a three foot tree that was shabby.  And not “shabby chic” shabby.  Just plain SHABBY.  When we went and bought a new full-size tree last year, I was jumping for joy.  The only downside?  My kids could unplug it, grab the cord and run circles around the tree and it would spin with them.

While my best friend was visiting during the holidays, I actually had to speak the words, “HEY!  STOP SPINNING THE TREE!”

It’s moments like those that make you slap your own forehead, and then afterward you realize your palm was covered in peanut butter or jello or playdough and you now have a nasty print on your forehead.  It feels about as good as stomping your foot in frustration, only to have it land in dog poo.

This year, the kids have forgotten about the spinning thing (knock on wood), and they had so much fun getting ornaments from me.  I have a few that coordinate and a few collected from the years over.  There’s the fake glass ship we bought on our Honeymoon while touring four historic ship in a harbor in San Diego (one of the ships was used in the filming of Master and Commander.  I nearly peed myself in excitement.  Nearly).

There’s the blue jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas” and the pink jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas.”  There’s the one made out of baked clay (or something): two teddy bears dressed as a bride and groom holding a cake between them that says “our first Christmas 2004.”

While we put the tree up, I put on some Christmas music that was eventually sacrificed in the name of the Suns game. My little brother came over with a box of green apples and a smile.  I busted out the popsicle sticks (jumbo), caramel, and white chocolate and we started making caramel apples.  While they cooled after the first dipping, we finished putting up Christmas decorations and I made some hot chocolate for everyone including my cousin, Jason, who had come to help with the apples (with the simple stipulation: I help, I eat.  Period. And he helped and then did eat).

While the Suns battled against the refs (according to my husband “It’s like 5 against 7 out there!” and “It’s hard enough playing against five guys, but we’re playing 5 guys and TWO ZEBRAS!”), I pulled my husband under the mistletoe to break it in.  My kids weren’t fazed, but my brother and cousin? Thoroughly disgusted.

Tree Spinner #1:

Tree Spinner #2:

So we put up our tree.
It’s fake.
I love it.

On Being Irreverent

We spent Thanksgiving with my husband’s family, and it was wonderful!  It was very small, and the food was (as it always is) SO good.
I couldn’t resist snapping some close-up pictures. The subjects were just too wonderful.

That pup, by the way, is looking right at the Thanksgiving spread on the table.

My daughter was getting impatient for the meal to start and her grammy gave her a deviled egg. She was thrilled beyond belief and brought it to me announcing, “Mama! Look at this Humpty Dumpty Grammy just gived to me!”

I guess as long as he can’t be put together again, we might as well split and share the spoils.

A few snacks here and there weren’t enough to pacify her, and I was happy when she crawled underneath my arms to have me read “The Polar Express.”
We enjoyed a full feast together and tried diligently to talk about things we were grateful for, but it didn’t go over too well.
It turns out the oddball things my husband is grateful for aren’t heartwarming, but they ARE conversation starters. We got off the subject easily, tried to return to it constantly, and enjoyed our meal thoroughly.
After dinner, I happened to glance at a flier and notice that Bass Pro Shop was open. I’ve been on the look out for red heel socks, and I thought they might have some. I went to round up my kids to take them with me because SANTA was there, but the turkey had taken it’s toll on one of them.

But the rest of us packed up and made the short drive. Our first stop was Santa.
He asked her what she wanted for Christmas.
She said, “A DDD player.”

Thank goodness “santa” has an extra one all boxed up in the closet!

As we walked around the store and from thence to Michael’s where I bought YET MORE cinnamon scented pine cones, I got a weird feeling. I watched the crowds of people flock around. I gawked at the shoppers lined up outside of blackened store windows, and I almost choked on the words “Happy Thanksgiving” as I checked out at Michael’s. It felt SO WEIRD to say that to a cashier.

As we drove home, I remarked to my husband that I’d never again shop on Thanksgiving. I then spent the next few minutes boring him with the tedious details of my childhood Thanksgivings in the country. I didn’t even KNOW the day after Thanksgiving was a huge shopping holiday. In my mind, the day after Thanksgiving was the day Dad and the brothers left on their two-day round-up, and the day I stayed up and baked with mom. Mom always made a real gingerbread house, and I stood guard, snacking on leftover bits of gingerbread and candy. Our little town slowed down (even more so. ha.) for Thanksgiving Day and nothing was open.

I then told him that going out and shopping on a day that was set aside as a day of Thankfulness seemed so… so…
I fished for the right word, and finally came up with:

irreverent.

My husband nodded in agreement and spent the next few minutes boring me the tedious details of his big-business-tyranny rant. He was 100% right on all accounts, but I’ve heard it before. Many times. Just like he’s heard me talk about my childhood Thanksgivings before. Many, many times (over).

The day after Thanksgiving, we came home. I knew my Dad was gone on a round-up and I knew my mom was making her gingerbread house. My mom gradually decorates the house after Thanksgiving, but the tree doesn’t go up until December 13th, my brother’s birthday. But WITHOUT FAIL, a gingerbread house is made and assembled the day after.

Since 2005, I’ve been making my own gingerbread house. This year, I lost a screw in my head and made four gingerbread houses. One is a small love shack, and the other three were even smaller -perfect for toddlers to decorate. We spent yesterday baking and putting them together, and I thought warmly of my mother as my kitchen turned from chaos into utter mayhem.

But as I watched my mother’s grandchildren (I invited my niece over) decorate their little houses, my heart just filled to the tip-top. Soft Christmas music played in the background, and the house was flooded with the scent of freshly-baked gingerbread. There was no arguing or fighting. There was only soft giggles and lips smacking and tiny little chatters.

I texted the above picture to my mother and when she called to thank me for it, I said “Look what you started!”
When I think of my holiday memories, I always think of my mom’s gingerbread house. It was unique to our house, and we looked forward to it every year.
Something else I loved about my mother’s decorations was her Nativity set. It wasn’t big and fancy. It was small and plastic. She liked it that way because then all of her kids could play with it without hurting it.
None of us could have anticipated that my little sister would come and along and repeatedly throw one of the wisemen in the trash because he was a “bad guy” but OTHER THAN THAT, we really couldn’t hurt them.

When my husband and I were first married, we used a WalMart gift card we’d received as a wedding present to buy our meager holiday decorations. The only Nativity we could afford was really small and not pretty at all. It was all of $3, but it served it’s purpose for us that year.
and the next year.
AND the next year.
AND the next year…

Finally, last year I was eaten up with guilt. We needed a more reverent Nativity Scene. I vowed that this year would be the year that we’d get one. I’ve been shopping for one for a long time and couldn’t find “the one.” When I did the grocery shopping last week, I had enough money left over to buy a $20 set at WalMart. My hopes weren’t high that I’d love it, but I was determined to set something up this year.
I had to buy a few animals to go with it because it didn’t include any, and it doesn’t have a Shepard either, but that’s okay for now.
When I came home, I eagerly cleaned the house and dusted the top of the entertainment center, I pulled the Nativity Scene out, and I was MORE than pleasantly surprised! The pieces are good sized and beautiful!
My only nagging regret (Shepard aside) was that it was so high up that my children couldn’t play with it. I shook it off and remembered that on top of the fridge I had a teensy TINY set that my grandmother had given me a few years ago. I pulled it out and the kids had a great deal of fun with it. In fact, baby Jesus has been pocketed and taken on a few field trips without my knowing.

On Sunday, I made my way to our storage unit and got all of our Christmas decorations out. I sent our old three-foot tree with my little sister so her college house could have a little tree all their own (shabby as it is), and I popped open our biggest plastic tub to find a world of merry and bright.
Mistletoe!
Stockings!
Hanging Holiday Signs!
Ornaments galore!

And there, on the very bottom of the tub… was a brand new Nativity Scene that I had purchased on clearance last year after Christmas.

And COMPLETELY forgotten about. I pulled it out and laughed and laughed and laughed. As I unwrapped my decorations, I found my dilapidated Nativity Scene from our first years as a married couple and family. I found a beautiful Willow Tree Christmas Ornament that depicted Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus. And I watched in pure joy as my daughter opened the brand new box of porcelain Nativity people and began to stage them. She rearranged them. She rearranged them. She rearranged them.

She gave them voices and plot lines and all manner of adventures. A few times, the wisemen ended up on the roof of the manger scene. Baby Jesus fell out of his manger and the donkey started to talk!
My son followed her lead and began to play with them as well, and as I glanced around my house I saw a teeny TINY Nativity scene. I saw a dilapidated old Nativity Scene that was well used and not at all pretty. I saw a brand new beautiful Nativity on top of my entertainment center. I saw a decoration depicting Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus. I saw the Nativity felt hand puppets I’d made the day before.And I saw my children, side-by-side, playing with a very breakable Nativity Set to their heart’s content. I realized that my house was now fully equipped to take on the Holiday season, and I breathed a sigh of contentment.
And then I saw this.
It turns out that being irreverent?
Hereditary.

A City in the City Makes Me a Mom of Self-Pity

I don’t know what went on at my house in the wee hours of Saturday morning -nor will I ever.

I spent the entirety of Saturday in the city with my family. I was looking forward to a day away from it all (I think because I had actually FORGOTTEN that I have a two and three year old). The day wasn’t full of family fun and togetherness. It was more full of lectures and chasings (not the fun kind) and full blown exhaustion. In fact, I’m still recovering. I can count on one hand the number of times I smiled yesterday. I was just plain too tired to even pretend to have any energy.

The darlings fell asleep in the car seats on the way home, and I happily put them into bed. My husband and I dumped ourselves on the couch in front of some mindless television shows in an attempt to escape the reality of our exhaustion. One hour into it, our daughter came out asking for water. My husband took care of her while I took myself to our bed and cracked open my brand new book filled with Robert Frost poetry. Literally two lines into it, I fell asleep.

Sunday morning, I cracked one blind eye open and reached for my glasses. As I reached, my hands knocked over my poetry book and something else. Something paper. Something I hadn’t remembered leaving on the pillow next to me.

Three index cards, written on by a child, rolled up scroll-style, and held together by a hair tie taken from my bathroom vanity.
I rolled over to see if my husband was awake. I could ask him about it.

But he wasn’t there.

My daughter was in his place.
“Sweetie,” I whispered, “Did you do this?” I held up the papers.
“Oh!” she wiped the sleep from her eyes, “Yes! For you to read!”
“Thank you,” I replied, “Did daddy help you?”
“Nope! I did it to myself!”

That’s what I was afraid of. I threw my glasses on and instantly starting scanning my room. I looked that the computer desk. My favorite pen was lying out on, obviously the one used to make the faux scrolls.

A pile of papers had been thrown off the computer desk.

That was it. Nothing much more. I crept out of bed to see the rest of the house.
As I passed by the kids’ room, I found my husband curled up in my daughter’s Tinkerbell sheets.
Next to him was my daughter’s tot-sized wooden kitchen playset. I keep all of her kitchen dishes and gadgets in a three-drawer organizer. All of the drawers were completely open and completely empty.

“Sweetie!” I whispered, “What happened last night?”
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“I fell asleep on the couch,” he said, “And when I woke up, our daughter was sitting at the table playing with a huge jar full of buttons.”

I had managed to buy enough buttons at Michael’s that day to fill my button jar to the tip top.
It runneth over.

“I got her down from the table,” he continued, “And put her into bed. She refused to sleep in her bed because she was scared, so I put her in bed with you and I slept in her bed.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding, “Where’s the kitchen stuff?”
He looked next to him at the empty bins.
“I have no idea.”

About then, our daughter made her appearance wearing a floor-length flannel night gown.
“I sleep in you bed!” She told us.
“Yeah,” we nodded.
“And I just did! And I got in bed and wiggled, wiggled, wiggled!” She said.
As she re-enacted her wiggles, I watched a few of my make-up samples fall out of her dress.
“Hey!” I said, “Is that my make-up?”
“Yeah,” she grinned, “I got it to myself.”

I have no clue what went on in my house.
None at all.

I’m still looking for the kitchen toys and I’m still finding bits and pieces of make up all over my house.
But what can you do?
With a girl THAT cute, what can you do?