Mood: Feeling pretty darn proud of myself

Harry’s seranading me with Christmas tunes, the smell of fresh pine is in the air, I’m sipping egg nog and the tree is decorated!!! To top it all off, this is the 100th post I’ve put up on my blog. Who would have thunk it?!

Way back in June when this all started I never knew how long I’d keep it up. I had no idea if anyone would be interested in my take on life. I had no idea how anyone would ever find this little piece of real estate, but that was before I got to know some of my favorite bloggers and couldn’t resist adding a comment or two. Of course, that was also before anyone had ever heard of NaBloPoMo which is responsible for nearly half of the posts on this here blog. What fun! What fun!

Back to Christmas.

With the help of two small elves, one medium elf who got bored and one large one the tree’s up, the lights are on and it’s mostly decorated. I’ve been waiting for the elves to go to bed to finish up. The clumping of ornaments on the bottom third of the tree only gave me visions for what the tinsel might look like. I had no idea you could actually get that many ornaments on one branch. Mrs. Claus must go around after everyone is asleep and spread them out a bit.

I love seeing people’s holiday decorations. From the choice of the outdoor lights (colored v. white, steady v. flashing, strands v. figures) to the tree (real v. artificial, white v. colored lights, theme v. a collection of ornaments, tinsel v. no tinsel, garland, v. none, angel v. star on top) you can tell a lot about a person by their decorations. Think about it. Have you ever really driven up to a friend’s house at the holidays and been surprised by how their house was decorated (or not)?

If you grew up in a real tree family, you probably can’t imagine having an artificial one. If you grew up with artificial, you probably can’t imagine why anyone would go through the hassle of buying a real one. Shakey and I are enjoying a marriage of these two backgrounds. They all said it would never work, but I think we’ve done a great job of adapting our traditions. We have a real tree every year–just like I had growing up.

Actually the tree isn’t the only difference in our background. Yeah, people used to walk on the other side of the street when they saw us coming. You could hear them whisper, “I can’t believe THEY are together. Such a shame!” You see, his family opens their presents on Christmas Eve–mine on Christmas morning. I know, it’s shocking! But America is just going to have to learn to accept diversity in all its forms.

Frankly, our children are growing up living the best of both worlds. Christmas actually begins for them at 4:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve when we sit down to our dinner at my in-laws, then to church (yeah, my family–not so much) and then back to their house to begin the present fest. We then all open presents at the EXACT SAME TIME, bundle them back up, clean up the wrapping and bows and head home to get in bed and await Santa’s visit. The next morning they start all over again. First to see what Santa delivered, then to open their stockings, then a little breakfast strudel and over to the tree for present fest v.2. In this version however we all take turns opening gifts so we can see what everyone received (I told you, Shakey and I came from very different backgrounds). Somewhere around noon we clean up the paper and bows and then get ready to stuff our faces once again. Whereas my husband was all done by Christmas morning and I had nothing to do until Christmas morning, our brood gets to enjoy both.

Who says inter-Christmas marriages don’t work?

Just got back from spending five hours in the ER. Isn’t that so EXACTLY how you like to spend your Saturday? Oh yeah, me too. We’re all fine at Mamma’s house. Just a few blood stains and some stitches to show for our afternoon.

I was chasing after Mr. 2 this afternoon trying to defuse the temper tantrum he had kicked up when Shakey busted in through the door, shoved a plastic bag at me and hunched over in pain. My initial thought was that he had been kicked in the groin the way he was all bent over, but then he took off his hat to reveal a rather large blood stain setting in.

Got Shakey to sit down and apply pressure to his head, got Mr. 2 changed, lined up care for Misters 4 & 2 and had notes drafted for both the back and front door directing Mr. 10 to a neighbor’s. In no time, we were in the ER and I even had a book, a drink and a salad (the contents of the bag Shakey handed me before the pain set in)–ready to wait for HOURS.

Shakey had quite a nasty gash in his head. He made the vain attempt to suggest that he didn’t need stitches–a determination he arrived at by the fact that he wasn’t gushing blood any more–but I insisted. I know, I’m a real killjoy. If he ever goes bald later in life, maybe he’ll thank me for the lack of a giant worm-like scar on his noggin (though if he had one he could get it tattooed to look like a worm with eyes and stuff and freak out the grandkids–darn maybe the stitches were a hasty decision).

So I’ve gotten this far regaling you with the story of my afternoon without sharing the cause of the wound. And here’s where the whole “how much do you share in your blog?” thing really comes into play. Some women–who I respect immensely–protect their husband’s foibles, never tease them or tell embarrassing stories about them to their friends. Unfortunately for Shakey, I am not one of those women.

You know how he cut his head? By closing the back gate of our SUV on it. Yes, my husband is SO STRONG that he managed to close the door so hard that it split open his head through a wool baseball hat. (I had to put that strong thing in there so he wouldn’t feel bad about me telling you that he hit himself in the head with a door that he was closing).

Aren’t you just cringing with embarrassment for him now? I am too. Really I am. But HOW could I not blog about it?!

I am so not getting those diamond earrings for Christmas now.

I need a blog name for the husband. I’ve seen so many good ones used by other blogging chicas, but to use theirs’ feels less like flattery and more like highway robbery. My particular favorite may be First Husband. There is also hubs and Spousal.

When we were first dating PFunky added -oire to the end of his name and that stuck. After we became engaged he became the fiancoire (soft c). The problem is that husbandoire doesn’t work. Maybe husboire? Sort of sounds like boudoir. He might like that!! Probably better than Geek Boy. Hmm…we might be on to something.

Thoughts?

PS–Do you know how easy it is to eat 8 servings of Goldfish while you’re reading blogs? Yeah–an entire bag. Damn Target and their $1 sale on Goldfish!!

At 36, I’m praying that my recent doldrums were not indeed a midlife crisis but just some surge in annoying hormones–I plan on annoying my darling husband and children for a very long time. Either way, I share the following conversation with a friend about our plans for a midlife crisis. We are after all women and you must plan these types of things. You wouldn’t want to have completed your crisis and then realize there was something you forgot to do.

But I digress…

A note about this particular friend. When asked in college what she wanted to be after school she always replied quite matter-of-factly, “Dictator of a small Latin American country.” She now has three children and lives in Texas. So same thing I guess.

Mamma: Will you please tell me that you’ve considered a mid-life crisis! I need to know I’m not alone.

Dictator: I’m planning my mid-life crisis for 45, when my life will be half-over. Right now, it’s mid-thirties chaos.

What sort of crisis ideas do you have? Mine include (1) moving the family to Mexico; (2) getting a full-time job to get away from childcare and housework; (3) adopting abused children from CPS; (4) starting my own business; (5) spending all my savings on long lavish trip. Since I don’t have the courage or stamina to do any of these things, I medicate with alcohol and everything looks better.

You?

Mamma:
1. An affair with Patrick Dempsey
2. A road trip across the country
3. Spending an obscene amount of money on a new fabulous wardrobe
4. Opening a chic-chic shoe boutique

But with the inertia necessary and the size of my ass…I’ll just complain.

Dictator: An excellent list. I forgot about the new wardrobe fantasty, and of course, the extra-marital affair with a superstar fantasy, which I should also add to my list.

I keep telling myself I can have a new wardrobe when I lose ten pounds. I was very happy in August when I could get back into my skinny jeans, after yet another bout of strep throat, when I couldn’t eat anything for several days. But, now that I’ve been able to gobble chips and queso and down margaritas for several weeks, the skinny jeans don’t even TRY to close around my hips.

Thank god for my girlfriends!!