NYE

Another Christmas has come and gone. It's been busy and full of family events, pretending to be Santa and an over-abundance of gifts. Tomorrow will be New Years Eve, the end of the year - again. A year in which I accomplished nothing except for keeping my children clothed and fed. C'est la vie.

We'll spend New Year's Eve with my family in North Carolina this year, which will be fun. We always spend NYE with the kids, doing kid's things. My vote is go to sleep early, but I will try to make it until midnight.

I will regale you with a story of one of my favorite New Year's Eves. On New Years Eve in 2003, we were moving to Dallas, Texas. We decided that we wanted to move to Dallas because it "seemed like a cool city." We left New Jersey the day after Christmas, after an extended stay, and made the trip to Texas. It took us 2 days to get to Oklahoma, where we spent a few days visiting with friends.

On December 31st, we woke up at 5:30 am and loaded in the car and made the four and a half hour drive to Dallas. We couldn't have been more excited. We were embarking on a new adventure. We had $2,400 in our bank account, no jobs...I was 19 and pregnant but we believed that everything would work out. We would live off of love and that $2,400 until we secured employment. Then, we would live happily ever after. The world seemed like it was filled with unlimited opportunities and possibilities. We didn't care that we didn't know a SOUL in Texas (our closest friends were over 300 miles away and our families over 1,400 miles away). We had each other.

We watched the sun come up over the Texas plains and admired the beauty of our new home state. After what seemed like forever, we could see the city in the horizon. It was like a mirage, a huge city in the middle of no where. We were on the yellow brick road on the way to Oz.

Our pre-printed MapQuest directions led us to our apartment that we had picked almost 8 months prior. We signed all the paperwork and they led us to our new apartment. It was not the apartment we had looked at or put a deposit down on. This apartment was 375 square feet and the living room wall was a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror that was riddled with water stains. It was a dump. "This is not the apartment we were shown...." We went back to the office where we got everything straitened out. The office manager was very apologetic and told us that we could move into the apartment we wanted....as soon as one became available.

The dumpy apartment with the hideous mirror would have to do in the meantime. I was upset, but resigned. The ARMY movers showed up a short while later and began to unload our things into our temporary apartment. Our possessions had been in storage for 4 months and I was excited have all my stuff back.

After what seemed like a short time, they declared that they were done. Boxes were missing, our table and chairs were missing, half of our entertainment center was gone, our desk was in splinters. We didn't have a couch, but we did have a futon. The frame was bent and the cushion never arrived. Our bed frame was bent and not salvageable. I made a fuss to the moving guy and he was uninterested. He handed me a stack of claim forms and told me that the ARMY would have to deal with it. He even slammed the door when he left.

We stood in the middle of the apartment and I looked around and realized that we had no furniture. Everything we had struggled to acquire in our first year of marriage was gone. The grief was too much for my pregnancy hormones, I sat down and wept. My husband rubbed my back and tried to be helpful.

I realized that we had just been playing house. There was no more safety net of a military paycheck being deposited every 1st and 15th, we were on the verge of becoming parents in 7 months, we made horrible decisions.

After my outburst, I sucked it up and began to unpack the boxes that had come. I loaded the plates and forks into the dishwasher and unloaded the linens. We worked until the evening and then decided to have dinner at Subway because it was the only restaurant close to our apartment. We ordered our sandwiches and I asked the manager if they were hiring. He said he was and he gave me a job on the spot and told me to come in on Monday. That was the highlight of the day, getting a job at Subway. That might be the saddest sentence ever written.

We went back to the dumpy apartment and my husband pulled out a bottle of wine he had purchased during our visit to Oklahoma. "It's New Years Eve, I'm drinking this wine." The only problem is, we didn't own a corkscrew. We were not legally old enough to drink during our first year of marriage. He declared that surely there was somewhere that we could get a corkscrew and that we should explore a bit.

We headed into the car and went to pull out of the apartment. This was the days before GPS, so we had no idea where we were going. "Let's make a left. It looks like we might find a place that sells cork screws if we make a left." We made the left, then a right, then a few more lefts. We didn't find anywhere that sold a cork screw, but we did find ourselves terribly lost and driving through the ghetto. I was scared. My husband had to ask a man at a convenience store who sat behind bullet proof glass how to get directions back to our apartment.

We made it back to our apartment alive and I sat on the living room floor. My husband walked over to the wine bottle and then rummaged through the dishwasher. I watched in amazement as he pulled out a steak knife and began to stab the cork over and over again. He was pretending to be Jack the Ripper. The cork began to crumble and was all over the counter and in the bottle itself. He poured a generous amount into a mug and sat next to me and began to pick the cork particles out that were floating on the surface.

He took a sip and declared, "This wine tastes like shit." He continued to drink it anyway. We both sat there, silently, in our dimly lit apartment while a cloud of disappointment that hung over us rained down. It weighed heavy upon us.

At 9:20 we decided to go to bed. We slept on our mattress on the floor, with just a blanket covering it because I couldn't find the sheets. I welcomed sleep, anything to escape from this new horrible reality. Our day that started with excitement and hope had dissolved into utter despair.

I was awoken in the middle of my sleep by my husband nudging me. "Honey, honey. It's 2004. Happy New Year." I looked up at the alarm clock that rested clumsily in the middle of the floor. The big, red, glowing numbers read 12:05. Yea, Happy New Year.

The next day was the first day in the New Year. Things started to come together. A new apartment was ready in 3 days. It had a balcony and a small fireplace and a built in for my knick knacks. We found jobs and brought a new cherry red sofa, a table, a new desk. It was a fine apartment for a young family. We made enough money to pay the rent, eat, and have just enough left over for our poverty to be bearable.

Our oldest daughter was born that summer and the month after she was born, I received a check from the ARMY. It was in the amount of $1,200 to replace our lost items. I chuckled when it came.

It is my favorite New Years Eve, because it is a reminder that no matter how bleak and horrible things can seem - there is always tomorrow. You can always start again. A reminder that God has always made provisions for us. It reminds me to count my blessings.

Here is to a wonderful, prosperous, and blessed New Year...and a New Years Eve that is less crappy than the one in 2003!

I'm Ill

                                   

It's 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve and I'm not asleep. I did all the laundry, moved the stupid Elf (and wrote a letter on his behalf to my children), I plucked my eyebrows, and surfed Buzzfeed for an hour and a half.

Why did I do all those things? Because of the Sudafed. Holy Hell, no wonder they regulate that stuff. It's my husband's fault. I got sick this weekend and he went out and purchased soup, orange juice and two HUGE bottles of Sudafed. You opening a meth lab or something? I thought.

It started on Friday. I was feeling a little congested and had a tickle in my throat. I chalked it up to allergies. On Saturday, my throat was a little sore and I was feeling run down but I still shrugged it off. I woke up Sunday morning and I was sure I was dying.

I had a fever and it felt like every single bone in my body was broken. I felt like someone took me out of bed in the middle of the night, ran me over with their car, and then tucked me back in. I had a sinus headache that felt like an ice pick in my head. "I'm dying," I moaned to my husband. He rolled his eyes at me, "You are not dying." I moaned, "Yes, yes I am. Please help me."

I parked my aching body on the couch with a comforter and pillow and demanded somebody put on something "nice that I can listen too." That's when my husband left to get the lifetime supply of Sudafed.

I realized how awesome it is to have older children. I was on the couch moaning and groaning and the kids were very helpful. My youngest got a damp cloth and applied it to my forehead. They made tea, brought me cold water and food. They let me rest.

Good mothers don't get sick. They can't. Who will do the dishes and the laundry? I could do nothing. I was so glad I don't have young children. You can't be sick when you have young kids. I recall being deathly ill at home alone with my two year old and fencing her into the living room with snacks and toys. I let her watch 8 straight hours of Strawberry Shortcake while I counted the minutes for my husband to come home.

Little kids don't give a shit if you are sick. They are selfish people. They still want you to make them mac and cheese, sing along to the Wiggles, and go outside to blow bubbles. You can be blowing chunks, laying on your death bed, racked with fever and they'll be like:

                                                   

I'll take that back. My kids are mostly helpful and caring. They were good on the first day. They gave me 24 hours to rest. After that, all bets were off.

My husband had to go to work on Monday morning and I was alone, sick, with the kids. I was completely neglectful and horrible. I was on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep, only rising occasionally to hack up some green stuff.

My ten year old patted me, "Mom, can I make some Ramen noodles?" It was 8 am, but I did not care. "Sure, just don't bother me for the next 2 hours."

After a nap, I was still feeling horrible. My body hurt, my face hurt. I decided to take some Sudameth and then soak in a hot bath. I checked on the kids to make sure they were still alive and then headed for the bathroom.

I sunk down in the bathtub and the hot water felt so nice on my aching bones. I closed my eyes to relax and a few minutes later there was a bang at the door. My oldest daughter was yelling through the door.
"MOM, is my phone in there?"
"No."
"Can you check?"
"It's not in here."
"MOM- YES IT IS!"
"Seriously, it's not!"
"I'm coming in."
"The door is locked."
"I have a key."
"I'm NAKED."
"I don't care."
"Well, I'm not going to pay for your therapy."
"MOM, YOU'RE HORRIBLE!!!!!"

She gave up, defeated, and I closed my eyes again. I do want to mention that her phone was later located in her closet. BOO-YA!

I was up all night last night hacking and in the morning I was halfway dreaming in a feverish haze. My husband got up for work and I said to him, over and over again, "Tell Pa that he can have the oxen." He ignored me for a while and then finally said, "Ok, I'll tell him. Now go to sleep." He was probably thinking, I need to call Ancora and see if they have a bed for this crazy lady.

I fell into a deep glorious sleep and when I woke up it was 10 am. The kids were watching a movie and eating cheese doodles. Bad Mom Award. I felt soooo much better. I'm still a little congested but I'm on the mend.

Thank goodness! It is Christmas, after all. There are meals to be cooked and stockings to be stuffed. First, I think I am going to take a hot bath....in peace! Merry Christmas, y'all!

Boy Problems

                                               
I had to have a parent-teacher conference with my 5th grade daughter's teachers a few weeks ago. I understood why, she has had a few low test grades that are bring her average down in some subjects. I must follow that by stating that the way they do grades there is that an 84-93 is a B and a 94-100 is an A so if you have an 80 you pretty much are failing at life. That's a whole other post for a different day.

We've been working on it. My daughter is honest with me. She day dreams in class, she doesn't ask questions when she doesn't understand. She's lazy sometimes. Her teachers told me they think she is distracted....by a boy.

I know the boy, it's the boy that asked her to the dance at the beginning of the year. I thought he would cut his losses and move on after she gave him the rejection notice. Nope, he is relentless. She was having a bad day a few months ago and he said to her, "You shouldn't be sad. You're the smartest, prettiest, most awesome girl in the entire world." I mean, I agree with him but he is only 11 and he lives in the suburbs in South Carolina so I think he needs to hold onto his hormones and slow down a little bit. They have been separated in class but he will walk ALL the way around the room to go to the trash can or sharpen his pencil just so he can walk past her. They hang out at recess and lunch. They have puppy love. *vomit*

She likes him but he is not her "boyfriend." Other kids have offical "boy friends" and "girlfriends", I have discovered. The best friend of the boy that likes her is the "boyfriend" of one of her friends, but SHE secretly likes the boy that likes my daughter. I'm telling you - it is more juicy than the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I am pretty neutral about these things so I told her to do what she needs to do at school and get her quiz grades up. I think things are pretty innocent at this point, but not forever. It's all going to go to hell sooner or later with the boy situation. Pray for me. Pray HARD.

I was discussing the situation with my mother and she said, "You always liked a lot of boys. You had a boyfriend in 5th grade didn't you?" I looked at her like she was crazy. "No mom, no I didn't.... because no one ever liked me back."

                              


When I was in fifth grade it was just me and JTT, planning our future together...in my head.
                                            
We would have been a great couple, but alas, it was not meant to be.


I was a little surprised because my oldest daughter is not my boy-crazy child. She doesn't talk about boys, text boys, own a One Direction poster. Now, my youngest daughter is a different story. *Big Surprise*

She came to me at the end of last year - my sweet 7 year old and asked, "How do you get a boy to like you?" I spit out my water and sat up in bed. My first thought was, How the hell am I supposed to know? When you find out, let me know and I'll try to see if it works on your father. I told her that 7 year old boys don't usually like girls. She insisted that I give her something. "I don't know, just be yourself. See if you have any common interests?" The next day she said they played Pokemon together, just the 2 of them. Then when he left - wait for it - he gave her a HIGH FIVE and didn't give anyone else a high five. Based on that, she came to the conclusion that he was in love with her and they were going to have a Disney wedding.

Thankfully, the next day was the last day of school and that was the end of that. She talked about him all summer and was sad he wasn't in her class this year. She still holds onto hope, however. Some afternoons I'll pick her up and she will tell me that she walked by him while they were on bathroom break and he waved and smiled at her. She thrives on these romantic exchanges outside of the elementary school lavatories.

So yeah, we have boy problems. Probably now and for the next 15 years. And just think, this is the easy part! Somebody pass me a bottle of wine.

I Work Out

                                           

You may remember that I once had aspirations to get into shape. To get really toned and learn to break things with my butt. Yeah, that's not exactly turning out as planned. Mostly because I hate working out. I HATE it. I would rather starve myself than work out. The problem is, I don't starve myself. I think. I should probably work out. Nah, let me go eat a block of cheese instead.

People that work out are always like, "After that run/job/weight lifting session, it just makes you feel so good. You just have to get yourself motivated to do it." No. Not me. I workout and I'm like, That was TERRIBLE. I have to do this everyday? I'm going to go eat some cheese now.

The other week, I decided I would stop being lazy and just go to the gym. My dad has a gym membership and I asked if I could tag along. He is a gym rat and he was glad to have some company. So we met every morning at 8 am after I dropped the kids off. In my head, I thought it wouldn't be that bad. I could just run on the treadmill for 45 minutes and listen to Sir-Mix-A-Lot.

We get to the gym and I'm 40 minutes into my run and my dad taps me on the shoulder. "You ready to do abs?" I never told him I was doing abs. I had no desire to go to the ab area, but apparently when I told him I was going to accompany him to the gym he made the assumption that I was asking him to be my personal trainer.

It's my dad, so I gave in and let him show me how to use the ab machines that looked like torture devices. I was doing this one thing and this random guy came up to me and was like, "If you turn to the side you will work your obliques." I was so irritated by him for some reason. He acted as if he was the wizard of Planet Fitness, imparting his eternal wisdom to me. I wanted to punch him. I hated the ab area.

Then we did squats. My dad was said, "Okay, now I want you to do that twice a day at home." I was like:
                                         
DAD!!!! I am a grown woman, with my own home and family. I don't have to listen to you anymore.
I didn't say that though, I told him I would. I lied....to his face.

The next day, we went through the same thing. I ran on the treadmill and then I felt the tap on my shoulder. It was my father, my wannabe personal trainer. "Come on, ab time."

I groaned and reluctantly went over to the ab area. I looked around and the Planet Fitness wizard was nowhere to be seen. I was glad. He showed me how to use a crunch machine thing. "Okay, your turn. Do 30." I got on the stupid machine and and crossed my arms. I pulled myself up with all the force I had in my body. Then it happened.....

                                 

I peed my pants. True story.

That happens sometimes since I've had kids. It's not a typical thing but rarely if there is an unexpected sneeze, cough, or laugh it could happen. It's a pee pee pants algorithm: degree of bladder fullness x level of body exertion divided by the time of day equals likelihood of pee pee pants.

I did my 30 crunches and then I was like, "Dad, I am beat. I need to go home." He was just oblivious. "What? C'mon, we need to do squats and weights." I just started walking toward the door. I was filled with shame and discouragement. I need to find the kegel machine. It wasn't noticeable, but I noticed and that was enough.

The next day my dad was like, "You didn't meet me at the gym this morning. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm just doing my squats at home." I haven't been back since. That was 11 days ago. Screw it, I'm just going to eat less cheese. I'll tell people I just had a baby....8 and a half years ago. Seems legit.

Country Parade

                    

This weekend my daughter was in a parade for gymnastics. It was a little bit out in the country, about 15 miles from our house. I hadn't been to this parade before, so I was excited to see what was going down.

We drove for what seemed like forever to find out where to drop off our daughter. The floats were all lining up and we found where she needed to be and we let her off. My husband was having a hell of a time getting back to the main road. He was mumbling and cursing under his breath. People were just walking in front of the car and not letting him in. Finally he exploded, "What the hell!?!? They are letting kids ride in this parade in their big wheels?" I laughed my butt off. "Ummm....honey, they are shriners."

                        
I couldn't contain myself. He thought they were little children in baby cars.

We finally found a spot toward the end of the parade and waited for what seemed like forever for it to start. In the meantime, I spotted a lady with a baby next to us. I remarked that her baby was cute. Well, that opened a door that I never should have opened. She had the baby on her hip and was smoking a cigarette. She talked in a thick, thick country accent. "She ain't cute at 2 in the morning." She pointed to her other children. "I have a 1 year old, 2 year old, and 3 year old. The doctor told me I shouldn't have any more 'cause they were all born early." Well, smoking and getting pregnant at 3 months postpartum might be why. I didn't say that though, because I didn't want to be judgmental.

She could have ended it there - but no. Of course not. She nudged her boyfriend, husband, baby-daddy guy. He was wearing jeans, a camo jacket, and had a star tattoo on his neck. He looked like the lead singer of Crazy Town. haha
                                   
 "I told him he needs to keep his hands off of me. I always get pregnant on birth control." She took a puff of her cigarette. "I should have named this baby Mirena." I'm a complete stranger and she's just out there, telling me all her business.

I think that I am just one of those people. People that I barely know tell me EVERYTHING. Maybe it's because I look like I'm non-judgmental or because I listen with fascination. I don't mind it, I just don't want to have images in my head that can't be erased. I need a reality show because I come across the most ridiculous people.

I am not making fun of country people. If there is a zombie Apocalypse, I am teaming up with them. They are going to survive. They have guns and trucks and MREs and sheet.

The parade finally came and it was actually pretty good. However, in the middle of the parade a train came through. You know you are at a country-ass parade when everything has to stop when the train comes through. It was carrying coal. We were partying like it was 1889.

Then the shiners came by and I made fun of my husband again.

Our daughter came at the end and she was smiling and waving and then her float trailed off into the distance. We bid farewell to the people sitting next to us. They were both holding kid and the 3 year old was trailing behind. I hope they don't go home to make any more babies, I thought to myself. I'm terrible.

I liked the country parade, I'm going to that one every year. It's much easier to find a spot at the country parade and every time I see the shriners, I will laugh out loud.

I Hate Elf on the Shelf

I volunteer in my third grader's classroom on Mondays. Last Monday, I was sitting there doing flash cards with the kids when there was a knock at the door. The assistant principal walked in and handed a box to the teacher. "This just showed up by the front door. I didn't see who brought it." Her teacher grabbed the box and said, "Oh, I know what this is." She passed the box around to show the children that it was ice cold. It was wrapped in brown paper with bright NORTH POLE stickers all over it. She unwrapped the box to reveal the class Elf on A Shelf.

She sat the kids on the rug and read the Elf on the Shelf book. Then she told the story of how 3 years ago her class visited a kindergarten class that had an elf and asked the elf if they could have one too and the next day the elf just showed up, icy at the front of the school. That's how it happens every year now. She talked about traditions and other holidays and beliefs and turned it into a social studies lesson of sorts. Then she asked who had an Elf on A Shelf a home. Almost all of the hands went up, except for my daughter. Bad Mom Award.

We have not participated in Elf on the Shelf. They didn't REALLY become popular until 3-4 years ago and by that time I felt like we had established our holiday routine. We have a TON of Christmas traditions; the kids open the Advent Calender every day, we do the light show every year, the living nativity, various parades and events. I never felt like we needed an Elf. I am not an Elf on the Shelf kind of mother. The Elf seems like an extra chore for me which is not what I need at the holiday time. The kids never bothered me about it and I have made it this far without an Elf.

That afternoon, I picked her up and she declared, "Guess what, mom? We are getting an Elf on the Shelf." In my head I thought, Oh HELL NAH we're not. "Oh, really?" "Yeah, I told all my friend's that we don't have an Elf and they are all going to go home and ask their elves if they can tell Santa to bring us an elf, just like our class elf." I stewed over this. I dropped her off at gymnastics and then went home to make dinner.

When my husband walked through the door, I said, "We need to go get a f*&$ing elf." I dropped the F-bomb about the Elf. He groaned. "Look, we have no options. Our daughter believes in the magic of the elf and she asked her friends to ask their elves. So, if we don't get the stupid elf not only will we be destroying her magic but her friend's too. We will ruin the elf magic for all." My 10 year old was just laughing her butt off. "You have to move the elf EVERY NIGHT." I gave her the stink eye.

So I went out to go buy a stupid Elf on A Shelf. I hated every minute of it. He cost $30. He is made out of felt and cheap plastic, what a crap rip off. I did not have joy in my heart about it. I paid for the over-priced crappy Elf and I sat in the car and opened the flap. He smiled at me with his stupid elf grin.
                            
"I hate you," I said out loud to the elf. Then I hid him in the back seat.

I picked up my daughter from gymnastics and when she went in to get dressed, I snuck back to the car and got the elf, laid it on the door mat and sprinkled it with glitter. Special magical North Pole Elf Dust. *Sigh*

She came down and started her homework. I knocked on the wall and then instructed my 10 year old to answer the door. She did and then said, "MOM, come here." I walked over and my little one followed. When she saw the Elf on the Shelf she jumped for joy. "It worked, mom. It worked! The Elf magic is REAL!"

I thought, How can she possibly believe this crap? I smiled. "It sure does." We brought in the Elf and she read the book to me and they argued over what to name it. They decided on Green Peppermint.

Now, every night we have to move the stupid elf. I dislike it so much. We have very limited options because he has to be high and out of reach of the dog. Most of the time, I just get up early to move him. Every time I say mean things to the elf. I tell him that he's annoying and that I don't like him. I am an elf bully.

I refuse to stage elaborate scenarios for the elf. You see people on Pinterest and Facebook with this kind of stuff:

   

             

Are you kidding me? I'm like, I moved the Elf from the tree to the bookshelf.... I feel horrible that I'm not into the Elf. I feel like the worst mom EVER. That is not fair. Parenting is hard enough. Normally I'd be working full time. You have to make sure the kids get to school, pack lunch, clean house, shuttle back and forth to extra curricular activities, make meals, supervise homework, grocery shop and everything else....and now a days you have to feel guilty for not giving Elf on the Shelf your all?

The only good part about him is that when my daughter is bad, I threaten to touch the Elf. If you touch him, he will lose his magic. That makes her so mad but it straightens her right up. I'm earning the Bad Mom Award one day at a time.

Do They Know It's Christmastime?

                                                 

Christmas time is in full swing at our house. We got home from our trip this weekend and got started right away on decorating. I decided that we would make do with what we have already, this year. I unpacked carefully and took inventory of everything. The house is covered in garland and bows and ornaments galore. It is our favorite time of year. The only thing we needed was a Christmas tree and garland for the tree.

I always would string popcorn garland with fresh cranberries. For YEARS. After Christmas, I would hang it off of the fence so the birds could feast on it. A few years ago, we were getting ready for Christmas and my husband came to me and told me he hated the popcorn garland. He was very emphatic about it. I didn't know that someone could feel so strongly about garland, but he did. So we just use tinsel garland now instead. I LOVE beaded cranberry garland.
                                                                 

The problem is that it would be $100 bucks to buy enough to cover the tree, plus I always forget to order it ahead of time. One day, I will buy my 90 yards of wood cranberry bead garland, but not this year.

We decorated the house Saturday and that night we planned to sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate and watch a Muppet Christmas Carol. I also planned to try some stained glass cookies that I found on Pinterest.
                             

Well, that turned out to be a comedy of errors. I found a cream cheese sugar cookie dough recipe. I made the dough and froze it ahead of time. I followed the directions. They looked promising. I popped them in the oven and walked away.

A few minutes later, I smelled smoke. It was weird because they weren't in there long enough to burn. I open the oven door and smoke comes pouring out. The smoke alarm is going off and my husband followed me into the kitchen. Something must have spilled in the bottom of the oven and now there was a fire in the oven. I pulled out the cookies. My husband just stood next to me and did nothing. He just watched the flames like:
                                        
I grabbed a bag of flour and threw it on the fire to put it out. I saw my dad put out a toaster fire that way once -  in his underwear on a cold January morning. I still need therapy after witnessing that.

Anyway, the fire was out. I finished baking cookies and all was right with the world. They looked great when they came out. Except that the middle stuck to the parchment paper and I couldn't get it all off. I figured a TINY little bit of wax paper never killed anyone, but I googled it just to make sure. We built the fire and I proudly gave the stained glass/wax paper cookies to the kids. I didn't tell them about the wax paper part. Bad Mom Award.

They bit into them. "Mom, these are the worst cookies I ever tasted. They aren't even sweet. Gross." Whatever. I ate them all. Theirs and mine. With the wax paper. Like a fat woman with some killer PMS. They were good, my kids were just being haters. We watched our movie and had a nice time together.

The next day we went out to get a Christmas tree. We still get a live tree and I remember Lowes having good prices on them. So we went to Lowes and they had 2 trees for $50 and no garland. Home Depot had a tent out and we went over there. We picked out a decent one for $40 and I went in to get some garland. They had all kinds of ornaments, stars, lights for the tree but no garland. I went to a store associate. "Do you have any garland for the tree?" She shook her head. "Any tinsel? Beads? Angel Air? Angel Dust? Crack Cocaine?" Just kidding, I didn't ask for crack. She said, "No, we don't have any of that." I pointed to the shelves which were decorated in red and green shiny garland. "But you decorated the Christmas section with it and you don't sell it?" I wasn't trying to be rude. I was just confused. She said, "No, we don't have any in the store." I was like:
                                      

I finally found some garland at the dollar store and we went home and my husband had the tree up in 5 minutes. I don't know how he does it. When I was a kid we had this crappy metal tree stand from 1967, that was all bent up.

                                       
It took 3 hours, books to balance it at the bottom, "Pass me the Bible and The Pokey Little Puppy..." , and a rope to finally nail it to the wall to get the tree up. I know I tell that story every year, I can't help it. It's my favorite. My parents should have just not fed one of us for a little while and invested in a new tree stand.

My husband strung the lights and we had family over for dinner and to help us decorate it. We told the story of our oven fire over dinner and my sister was like. "You don't own a fire extinguisher?" "No, is that a thing that people have?" She looked at me like I had 8 heads. "Yes, I have one, everyone has one." Really? I don't see fire extinguishers for sale ANYWHERE. "They sell them every where." I felt like a horrible, non-fire-extinguisher-having, negligent a-hole.

Then we went to decorate the tree and a strand of lights went out. "I'm not getting new lights. Jesus was born in a stable, the world is not perfect." So, the tree is not as shiny as I want it to be, but it looks nice with the ornaments on it.

We bid our family good bye but before we did I handed my sister our Christmas card. "You can't even mail it? Are you trying to save on the stamp?" I am stingy, I don't try to hide it. I smiled at her, "No, I just wanted you to be the first one to have it." She examined it. "OMG! You guys are in bathing suits. Your husband is wearing a BATMAN tee shirt. Really?" My husband peered over her shoulder and pointed to the card, "You like my sweat stain here?" I protested, "It's not a sweat stain - it's water from a WATER RIDE. Don't you see what I am trying to do there? I am going for the laid back, beachy kind of Christmas card this year." She rolled her eyes at me. I love her. I dish it right back to her. We diss each other all the time, in a non-threatening sister kind of way. I don't mind at all.

I do not stress about the holidays at all. I do what I can and then I spend time with the family and count our blessings. Well, I should say I didn't stress about the holidays until I was FORCED to get an damn Elf on the Shelf. But that's another REALLY long story for another time....