Hospital Holidays

My Christmas plans were a bit unusual this week. Instead of baking and cooking, I hung out with my daughter in the cardiac wing of the hospital. She had cardiothoracic surgery on December 22 and was in the hospital through December 28.

But we had fun. One dear friend brought a Christmas tree. Other friends brought cookies. And our church brought a box of wrapped presents.

One of the gifts was five minute origami. Ariel and I made dragonflies. Though mine looks more like a grasshopper. (I may have bribed people to say mine looked better than hers--mine is the green one.)

 

Another friend came and played card games.

We're hoping to go home (staying at her apartment until the final chest tube is removed) and have a belated Christmas dinner and open presents on New Year's Day.

N.B. Doesn't she look great for someone who's had her chest cut open and broken? Yep, I know my kids are going to be taking care of me when I'm old, so I only post the good photos. :)

Christmas Muzak

I’ve admitted to being a little anti-holiday. But I do like Christmas. I like remembering Christ’s birth, drinking spiked cider, and watching my kids decorate the Christmas tree (a great reason for having teenagers). But I really don’t want to start Christmas early. December 1 is early enough.

Do Christmas trees in all their faux, spangled gaudiness have to arrive in stores even before Halloween? Aren’t American consumers spending enough on costumes and candy?

But the worst thing about the Pre-December Christmas celebration is the holiday music. When I’m shopping for turkey and cranberries, I really don’t want to hear the store’s PA systems blasting “Santa Baby” and “Jingle Bell Rock.” I mean, there’s nothing that makes me less cheery than knowing for the next month and one half I’ll be hearing the Chipmunks squeak out “Frosty the Snowman” whenever I visit a store. I don’t know about you, but nothing drives me out of a store faster than Alvin and his buddies.

There are about six weeks left of the pre-Christmas madness. I’m reminding myself that I can get through them because, aside from the trips to WalMart for food, I can pretty much avoid hearing about Rudolph’s shiny nose by shopping at Amazon. Hmm. Maybe that’s why Amazon has become so popular. Everyone thinks it’s because you can buy Christmas presents on the couch while wearing your pajamas and get free shipping so you don’t have to wait in line at the post office. But the truth is, everyone shops Amazon to avoid the Christmas muzak. 

Scrooge-ish Holiday Rant

Holiday Scrooge Rant

I have so much to be thankful for. And I am. But I’m asking you to indulge me in a brief holiday rant.

1. Why are there so many more cars on the highways? After Thanksgiving, there are twice as many cars on the roads. When we drive home from somewhere, we have to take a circuitous route because there’s no way we can make the left turn into our street between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Where do the cars all come from? Are they extra cars hidden in garages? Do people have holiday cars like they have holiday sweaters? “Ooo, let’s drive the Christmas Toyota.”

2. Christmas cards. (Yeah, I can’t get over this one.) I finally finished the whole letter/photo trauma and took the photo to Costco. However, unbeknownst to me, I saved the photo onto a thumb drive that already contained 3256 photos—none of which were in folders. And there was no order to the photos. I had to literally look through 3256 photos. Once I found the right one and it were printed, I discovered that the photo guy had misaligned the photo. He printed 150 photos of the family with Jacob decapitated.

3. Pine needles. I sweep all the time.

4. Christmas crap. Yes, I’m a Scrooge. I don’t like 5 million Christmas knickknacks—can you say “dust magnets.” Ornaments and a few candles should suffice. But the kids have their ways. Besides ornaments and candles, we have a snowman nesting doll. I’m not sure what they’re for—no one takes it apart. It just stands guard on the piano. We also have a nutcracker, which doesn’t crack nuts. And a smiley snowman toilet cover—this one mystifies me the most. Besides the obvious—do you really want a cover on the toilet seat, which seems unsanitary to me—the whole idea of lifting the lid…well, you get the picture.

5. Baking. I love a celebration Christmas dinner as much as anyone, especially if it’s someone else’s house. ;) But I don’t get the baking, sweets stuff. Does having cookies, cake, etc., really make things more festive? Don’t get me wrong, I bake the obligatory double batch of Russian teacakes. But I’m not sure I’ve eaten one. In fact, I’m sure they’ve gone stale—the kids max out on sweets after the first day of having cookies. Maybe it’s because I’m not a sweets person. I’d rather have hummus and carrots. Or salt and vinegar potato chips. Hmm... That's it! They need to make red and green Christmas salt—that would be festivity I could get behind.

The Dread Holiday Photo

Saturday was “the” day. The dread day of the holiday season. The day we take out Christmas photo.

I got out the tripod and the camera and asked everyone to put on a shirt that had a collar. Everyone did. Ariel tried to color coordinator outfits, and the boys were patient-ish. Matt had on a pair of pants with a huge hole in the rear-end. But as he pointed out, no one we sent the picture to would ever know. Ariel and I pointed out that we could see more than we wanted to. So Matt duct-taped the rather large hole. Which was great until bedtime when he discover that it was stuck to his underwear. I think it’s time to throw those pants out.

Once again, the kids wanted our dog Jezebel in the photo. And once again, it didn’t work out. The gazillion photos with the dog ended up with her looking away on all the photos where we didn’t look weird/possessed/have our eyes closed.

After the camera battery recharged (it died mid photo session) and I checked the photos on my computer, I announced we had to do some photos without the dog. We tried an outside session. But it was windy. And my hair blew everywhere—hair in people’s eyes does not make for attractive photos taken by a camera on a timer.

So now, we have to vote on two photos. Most votes wins. And even though we have six people, there won’t be a tie. Luke will abstain saying he really doesn’t care.

If you’re curious, here are the two entries. (Okay, there are three. And that will really throw off the voting. sigh.)

The Internet Makes Me a Happy Shopper. Sort of.

Photo by Sebastian Ballad from wikimedia

 Let me start off by saying I really, really hate shopping. It’s the crowds. People who wear too much perfume. People bumping each other. The heat of too many bodies in too small a space. Walking around seeing 12,000,000 pieces of clothing, knowing that most of them are poorly made—look, that seam hasn’t been properly finished and will unravel in the first washing.

So I love Amazon shopping. No crowds. I can shop in my pajamas while I drink my mug of morning coffee. No odd smells (unless you count Jezebel nudging me for her morning walk). And if I use my daughter’s prime account, I don’t always have to pay shipping costs.

Shopping bliss. Until I discover that the perfect present is out-of-stock. Or the shipping costs double the price of the gift since it would be shipping from a third party in Outer Boondocks Eastern Europe and isn’t eligible for free prime shipping.

And there’s always the dog nudging me—she still hasn’t been walked. And my daughter who wants me to look over an essay for grad school number three, which wants something different than grad schools one and two.

I can’t forget that I need to start laundry—it’s bedding day. And then Matt and Luke need haircuts before we do the Christmas photo. (Yes, I cut everyone’s hair. And yes, I still haven’t done the photo.) Speaking of Christmas cards, I still have to edit the Christmas letter and get everyone’s approval—this is the time of year where they get payback for every paper/letter/essay I’ve edited for them.

You know, store shopping doesn’t sound that bad.

Five Favorite Pre-Christmas Moments

Here are my favorite pre-Christmas moments.

1. Plugging in the Christmas tree for the first time. Made even better by the fact that I didn’t have to decorate the tree—the kids did it. Made doubly better by the electrical engineering major who dealt with the strands of light that didn’t work.

2. Giving the official “you may listen to Christmas music” pronouncement. Actually, this is my least favorite moment. By December 26, my brain and ears will be melted by carols that Matt plays nonstop on the stereo.

3. First mug of hot spiced cider. Matthew has his own special recipe that he makes during the holidays. All I have to do is buy the cider.

4. Watching “A Dog’s Life, Merry Gentlemen” from All Creatures Great & Small, series two.  My kids are tired of it—I watch it every year. The skeleton scene gives me the giggles every time.

5. Finishing the Christmas cards. When Cal and I were first married, we agreed that he’d balance the checkbook and I’d do all the Christmas cards. Eleven months out of the year, I think that I got the bargain. But in December, I know he did. Today I have to remind the kids that we haven’t done our picture yet…

 If you hear screaming carried on the breeze today, it’s my kids protesting the Christmas photo.

What are your favorite pre-Christmas moments?

Dead-End Posts and Decking the Halls

Does any other blogger have this happen? You’re in the midst of a writing a blog post and suddenly it dies. Wherever the post was going originally, it took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. And the post lies like a dead cockroach in the middle of the living room floor. And you stare at the “cockroach” wondering if you should ignore it and hope your husband removes the carcass or get the broom and dust pan.

(In case you’re wondering, we do get the occasional dead roach body—my husband did pest control when he was in grad school, so he knows how to kill bugs other than to spray Raid. But it involves boric acid and wall joints, which “kills bug dead.” But when the weather gets cold and the bugs want a warmer place to live they crawl through the boric acid and die on the floor.)

Back to blog posts. I’ve never had a novel or short story die. But blog posts do. And usually they defy resurrection.

How do I cope? I usually yell out, “Who’s done something funny this week?” And everyone scowls at me. They don’t think they’re particularly funny.

According to the family, nothing funny has happened lately. Of course, there’s the Christmas music incident. Matthew wants to listen to Christmas music once school starts again. I do not. Really, really do not. Christmas music is under the ban until Thanksgiving is over—by January I’m ready to bang Rudolph against the wall. (Though I may make an occasional exception for Straight No Chaser’s Christmas CD, but only if I’m in an excellent mood.) In any case, Matthew chafes at my restrictions. So he found a way around it. (He’s clever that way.) He gathered up a ton of piano Christmas music and took it to music lessons. He said to his teacher (who is a massive Christmas fan), “I want to learn Christmas music”—this was back in the beginning of October!  She said, “Matthew what a wonderful idea!” And she assigned him a whole book of Christmas carols!! A whole book!

Now for an hour a day, I’m listening to Christmas music. I’m ready to Deck the Halls alright. Just not with boughs of holly. Next year, I’m hiding the Christmas music in a dark corner of the basement.

Rumpelstiltskin

Earlier this week my son Matthew got a Winter White hamster, whom he named Rumpelstiltskin. He's the cutest, friendliest ball of white fur. He has one fault. He's an escape artist.

He escaped from his cage early this week. And while we weren't able to find him, it was okay because he got bored and climbed back into his cage while we were searching for him.

This morning he disappeared again. And so we built a cute ramp leading up to his cage with raisins on it. But he hasn't turned up yet. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about Jezebel (our black Lab)--she doesn't like hamster snacks. Though I do wish she'd sniff him out for us, but she's already met Rumpel and thinks he's beneath her attention.

So our wish for Christmas is to find Rumpelstiltskin.

Baking Day?

As I troll my favorite blogs, I see beautiful photos of Christmas cookies. Exotic ethnic cookies. Decorated gingerbread men. Or cookies filled with nuts or jam.

I look at the cookies and feel guilty. I haven’t baked a single cookie. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I don’t really like cookies. (I know, everyone tells me I’m crazed.) But I only eat cookies to be polite. The only sweet I eat with regularity is dark chocolate—but that’s not really a sweet, it’s a fourth food group.

But I feel guilty because my kids have no cookies. Shouldn’t they be indulging in cookies during Christmas break?

I can make ethnic cookies. I have a stroopwaffle-izer. Of course, the last time I used it, I had to reset the circuit breakers for the entire house. The electric cookie press was from the Netherlands and the person who rewired it for US current obviously made a mistake.

I won’t be making gingerbread because I hate it. It tastes too much like molasses.

That leaves the cookies filled with nuts or jam. I don’t understand the jam thing. I mean, the bright red jam makes the cookie look pretty, but then it tastes like toast. No jam cookies. Nut cookies. Yeah, I could do those. When I was a kid my mom used to make Russian teacakes every Christmas. I suppose I could do those. Or I could assign one of my four minions to make them. Yeah, I could get “good mom” points without having to bake. Time to rally the minions!

Medusa's Come to Call

Today is the last day of November. How did that happen? November can’t be over. All of the things that have to get done before Christmas aren’t.

I do have the Christmas photo done. But my Christmas letter sucks. I have three decent paragraphs in the whole letter. I’ve been waiting for the beautiful muse of writerly inspiration—her name is Calliope. I think she's visiting Steven King. So the only Greek available to help me was Medusa—and she turned my prose into stone.

I haven’t bought Christmas presents for anyone. My daughter is almost done with her Christmas shopping. Even my husband is done with his shopping—though that hardly counts—he buys one gift, mine. And I buy the gifts for everyone else.

Now before you remind me that there are twenty-five days left until Christmas, I have to tell you that we have three surgeries before X-mas. My mom’s, my son’s, and my daughter’s. And don’t forget the pre-op visits. So my days are limited.

And even worse, I promised my kids that I’d have the first draft of my sequel to Screwing Up Time ready to be read by X-mas break. Break starts next week Friday and I’m only halfway. Plus, I’m not one of those writers who can work for 48 hours straight, surviving on coffee, Red Bull, and M&Ms. I’m usually drooling after I finish editing one chapter. (I think this makes me really bad, but I’m figuring that I can edit while I do my motherly post-operative comforting.)

Oh, well, time to pour some brandy on the fruitcake. And spike the eggnog. 

Early Christmas "Cheer"

On Saturday we got our Christmas tree. (We bought a tree early because it was a fundraising event for a crisis pregnancy center.) The tree was supposed to be 6 ft. tall. I would’ve been happy with a 5 ft. tree, but with ten foot ceilings...it looks kind of dumb. So we ordered the 6 ft. tree. They must’ve run out of 6 ft. trees. This tree is at least 9 feet tall, maybe more. It takes up half our living room. Okay, a quarter. And it didn’t fit into our old tree stand. So we bought a new tree stand. Old stand was easy to fill with water, new stand is not. New stand was created by an engineer who was a Grinch and he’s laughing all the way to the bank. With new stand, you can’t tell how much water is in the stand because the stand is so deep. It should have come with a dipstick. Instead, you fill up the stand and water drips out the screw holes—there are eight screw holes. I’ve tried sticking my hand into the tree stand and feeling where the water is, but the girth of the tree forbids access. Not to mention that it’s just too deep—my hands are long and skinny, so if I can’t get my hands in there, no one is. So I mop up the dripping water every fifteen minutes.

Of course, the tree itself is gorgeous. It looks like something out of a movie set—full, perfectly balanced. (It’s leaning a bit, but that’s because we’re a bit frustrated with the stand and the eight adjustable screws.) Eventually, the tree will be fixed. We have too many “picture straighteners” living in our home for the tree to stay tilted.

The other problem with the tree is that Luke started sneezing when we brought it home. He’s kind of been sneezing non-stop since Saturday. Yesterday when he was playing piano he was rubbing his eyes between verses. But before you say tree allergy, I don’t think it’s the tree. Luke doesn’t have pollen allergies. He’s allergic to molds. I’m sure the tree is covered with molds (most trees are). This means that today I get to spray the tree down with Lysol. I wonder if they make Christmas tree scented Lysol.

The tree is still undecorated. I am not an eager decorator. It’s even worse because there’s no way we have enough lights, garland, balls to cover a tree of this magnitude. Even if we don’t decorate the back side.

I’m beginning to think that maybe I’ll drop the hint that we should skip the tree thing next year. But then I’d be known as a Grinch for the rest of my natural life.

Child 1: “Do you remember back in 2012 when Mom didn’t want to put up a tree?”

Child 2: “Sad, really. She’d been such a nice mother up to that point.”

Child 3: “Though there was the time when she made us scrub the sidewalk...”

But that’s another story.

Chicken Pox

Wednesday Matthew said to me, “Mom, would you look at my back. I’ve got all these itchy pimples.” At the words “itchy pimples,” a muscle in my face twitched. A shudder went down my spine. And a voice in my head said, “Oh, no.”

I said, “Let me see, Matt.” So he lifted up his shirt. And my suspicions were confirmed. “Matt, sweetie, those aren’t itchy pimples. Those are chicken pox.” My fifteen year old son, who has had the chicken pox vaccine AND who had chicken pox twelve years ago, has CP again! This is NOT supposed to happen.

Luke, Ariel, and Jacob all expressed their disapprobation in varying ways as they contemplated the possibility of getting chicken pox before/during finals. To keep the peace, every surface of the house has been sanitized and Matt has been banished to our bedroom though everyone realizes that they’ve already been exposed.

Matt, who now has pox everywhere, is getting by on Benadryl, oatmeal baths, hydrocortisone, books and movies. His plan is to watch the entire extended version of the Lord of the Rings. In the meantime, we’re all scrutinizing every red dot/spot that shows up on our skin.

Incubation is 10 to 21 days. So if we don’t get the pox by December 8, the last day of finals, we should be good to go for the rest of the holidays. If I don’t comment on a lot of your blogs in the next month or so, you’ll know why—we’ll be having a Jolly Spotted Christmas.

(Note: If you’ve been waiting to buy Screwing Up Time, now’s the time. I’ve put it on sale for 99 cents for the holidays.)

And here’s something fun. "Christmas Can-Can." Give it a moment--it starts kind of slow.

Let the Holiday Season Begin

For me the holiday season begins at the end of October when I bake my fruitcake. Before you groan or crack a joke, this is not the doorstop brick that your grandmother used to buy. This is an old Southern Living fruitcake, which is actually called "light." Not because it's low calorie, but because it's less dense--leaving more more for the brandy to soak in. YUM.

I start with this:

And end up with this:

Notice the white cheesecloth, it's there to keep the fruitcake damp with brandy. And it's sealed in a Tupperware container.

In early celebration of the holidays, here a Straight No Chaser song. Who knew that a'capella could be cool?

And She’ll Have Fun, Fun, Fun....

For you Beach Boys fans, I’ll say straight out that we didn’t get a car.  But we did get something nearly as much fun and infinitely cheaper...a Kindle. 

E-books are the way of the future (publishers take note, burying your collective head in the sand doesn’t change the reality).  Somehow they haven’t learned the lessons of the music industry.  Perhaps they’ll consider what happened to the monk copyists when the printing press came about.  But I digress.

Back to the Kindle.  It’s light in my hand, sleek, and charcoal gray.  The print is lovely pearl e-ink that causes no eye strain and doesn’t have some weird refresh rate that my brain perceives unlike the nasty computer. (Yes, I know how to adjust the refresh rate.)  Plus, it’s not back lit and so you can read in bright sunlight. As you can tell, it’s a match made in heaven.

Thankfully, Ariel was on hand when it arrived to help me with all the technical stuff (she has a Kindle already).  She showed me how to buy free classics, the ones that are out-of-print and not carried by my local library.  She explained what to do when I mistakenly buy an e-book that I don’t want (she knows me too well).  No panic is involved and it’s quite simple. I’m still waiting for her to show me how to read blogs and newspapers.  But I’m not in a hurry.  I’m still trying to decide whether I want to read The Picture of Dorian Gray, some Dostoyevsky (too depressing), or something totally frivolous.   I’ve settled on frivolous.  I’ve always wanted to read Agatha Christie’s Secret Adversary.  It’s one of her Tommy and Tuppence books.  I love the T & T books.  Ariel says it’s because Tommy and Tuppence are only thinly disguised versions of Calvin and me.  But in my defense, I’m not a spendthrift, and I don’t have a penchant for ridiculous hats. However, I do love to disagree with Calvin, not because I’m contrary but because it’s so much fun.

Hmm. That does sound a bit cryptic.  You’ll have to read and Tommy & Tuppence to figure it out.

Here's the Kindle. Next to it is the padded faux suede case that I sewed.  Much cheaper than the $40+ cases that Amazon offers.

I Don't Have To Dream

This morning we woke up to a white Christmas.  And the snow's been coming down ever since. I can't imagine a more perfect holiday.  Here are some photos.

 Here's our own private Narnia lamppost.

And here I am in Narnia.

Things That No Longer Loom

The things that loom over me have decreased dramatically.  The Christmas letter is done and has met with the approval of all concerned parties.  Matt complained (his word count wasn’t high enough), but my other minions defended me staunchly.  Extra candy canes for those kids. 

The Christmas tree is completely decorated. Of course, tree acquisition was it trauma all its own.  Cal took Matthew and Jake out for a hunt at a “local” tree farm.  The local farm ended up being in The Boonies, GA, and the Mapquest directions were totally wrong—apparently it wasn’t over the hill and through the woods, but through the woods, over six hills, across one hollow, and past the neighbor’s still.  Cal ended up called the tree farm from his cellphone and spoke to someone whom he thinks was speaking English, but whose Southern accent was so strong that Cal said it could have been Tigrinya.  Once we get about ten miles past the Chattanooga city limits, we often run into a language barrier.

Eventually, they found the farm, which had boasted unusual farm animals and well as trees.  The animals were llamas that were so filthy and unkempt that Matt said they looked like hairy giraffes with mange.  He couldn’t bring himself to pet them. And the trees weren’t worth the drive.  Mostly Charlie Brown trees (remember a Charlie Brown Christmas and the sad drooping tree) with weird bare spots.  Next they went to Ace Hardware—we had a coupon.  Ace had a handful of nearly needleless trees and wanted $45. Um, I think not. Then they hit a lot whose proceeds went to a local Children’s Hospital. Sadly, they had only C. Brown trees too.  I guess everyone down here does their trees the day after Thanksgiving.  Finally, they bought a WalMart tree.  Sad, but true. 

It’s currently dropping needles all over the living room floor, but it looks beautiful.  The kids did a lovely job of decorating it. I sat on the couch with Cal, drinking cider and reading the first chapter of Skipping Christmas aloud to the family.  If you haven’t read it, you should.  It’s the perfect antidote to the Scrooge living inside us all.

Oh, and guess what? I only had to vacuum once.  The kids not only decorated; they swept and vacuumed too. Holiday bliss.  

Here's Matt vacuuming the needles.
Notice the candy cane--holiday sustenance.

                  

Here's our electrical engineer making sure the lights will working properly.

And the finished product.  Okay, it looks much better in person.  But you get the idea.

Things That Loom Over Me, Part II

I finished a rough draft of the Christmas letter—although the Matt paragraph remains to be written.  He gave me a list of all the things that I cannot mention.  I’m waiting for the list of what I’m allowed to mention.  Okay, he gave me a list.  It had one thing on it that was usable.  Sigh.

But this means that I have to begin to consider the next great holiday evil.  Trimming the tree.  I don’t know how it goes at your house, but here’s how it is at ours.

First, we bring up what I call the “Christmas Crap” from the basement.  As the two bins are carried up, I secretly do the happy dance that the basement flooding last year destroyed at least four boxes of “Christmas Crap.” Yeah, baby! 

Next Cal and sundry kids go to buy the tree. In New England this was actually fun because we got to peruse the fields and cut the tree ourselves.  Hmm... Now that I mention it, I remember Ariel and I got bone cold as the icy winds blew. 

While they go, I stay home and warm and spice the cider.  It’s an important job involving precise application of the correct spices so I can’t let anyone else do it. Besides if they did, I’d have to go and pick out the tree too.

Cal brings the tree home.  I begin sneezing.  I’m not allergic to the tree, but all the mold and mildew that has accumulated on the tree as it waited in the tree lot.  Of course, the tree does not fit the tree stand.  Multiple trips in and out of the house begin, during which the tree drops mold spores all over the house. I start sucking cough drops and smear Vicks on my chest—my normal allergy meds can’t deal with this. Once the tree fits, I sweep tree needles for the first time.

Next, Jake spends 20 minutes detangling the lights and figuring out why the strings won’t light.  He talks about circuits and conductivity.  I sweep up the second set of pine droppings. Then, I sip my cup of cider. 

Once Jake has the lights working, Luke and Matt put on the garland.  Ariel comments on all the areas that aren’t done properly. She fixes their mistakes.

Then come the ornaments. Ariel discusses with the boys her theory of ornamentation.  It involves color coordination.  Luke’s theory is to make sure a Yankees ornament is visible on every side of the tree. Matthew likes ornaments put on according to some pattern that he has in mind.  Ariel thinks his pattern has  too many ornaments in it.  Matthew ignores Ariel. Jake doesn’t care; he throws a few ornaments on and asks if he can play computer games.  I say, “No!”  I add brandy to my cider and Cal’s.

The ornaments are on the tree. I vacuum needles from the entire living room, telling myself that if I vacuum enough my sneezing will stop. It doesn’t. I decide that I hate decorating for Christmas.

Cal turns out the lights and plugs in the tree. The lights twinkle and reflect in the garland.  I remember the histories of all the odd ornaments. We sit and sing Christmas carols—Silent Night, Joy to the World, O Come All Ye Faithful. My eyes tear up and I remember why I love Christmas.

Things That Loom Over Me, Part I

Okay, so Thanksgiving is over.  However, two big things are hanging over my head.  One the Christmas tree.  But that comes later and deserves a post all its own.  Before the tree looms The Christmas Letter.  When Cal and I got married, he said that he’d balance the checkbook every month if I wrote and mailed the Christmas card/photo.  (We took more pictures on Sunday—and we got a fairly decent picture. The problem is that not everyone agrees on which picture is acceptable. Ariel thinks that the best photo of her is the snorting/crazed* photo and is tired of having the worst picture of her chosen for the official photo.  She’s right. But usually we chose the one picture where Luke and Matt look normal...okay, and the one where l don’t look too old/odd.)

But back to the letter. I thought that when I agreed to do the Christmas letter that I was getting the easy end of the bargain.  (Actually, I think that the reason Cal volunteered is that he saw my checkbook when we got married—sometimes I added when I should have subtracted and vice versa.  I had a lot more money in the account than I thought.  Which was good, but as Cal pointed out it could have gone the other way.  That wouldn’t have been so good. Can you see now why it’s so odd that I have math kids?) 

Sorry—another digression. Back to the letter. I thought that I was getting the easy part of the bargain, but that was before we had children.  Now I have to write a rough draft and present it to all the kids.  Each one insists on “approving” what I say about them.  Actually, Luke doesn’t care.  So that’s easy.  Ariel doesn’t mind too much, though she says that I make her sound more wonderful than she is.  Jake isn’t too fussy—as long as his paragraph is as long as his siblings.  He hasn’t resorted to a word count, yet. Matt is the most hair-splitting.  He would prefer that I not include a paragraph on him.  Since I insist on a Matt paragraph, he gets to approve every word. I’m preparing my argument—sometimes we get down to the nitty-gritty of the connotations and denotations of various verbs.  Yep. Time to break out the thesaurus. Don’t you just wish you could write it?  I think I hear Cal laughing.

* see previous blog post

It's Beginning to Smell Like Christmas!

 Today was the beginning of Christmas.  Yeah, I know that it's two days from Thanksgiving, but Christmas begins when I make fruitcake.  Before you groan, this is not your mother's fruitcake.  This is no dry doorstop.  This is a gourmet fruitcake that bathes in brandy for the next four weeks.

Here's the cake after it came out of the oven just before it had its drenching of holiday spirits.

Four weeks is a long time to wait....

Official Christmas Letter Day

Today is the official “Christmas Letter Day.” It’s the day I send out our Christmas letter/photo to our friends and relatives. This year was slightly easier than last simply because I had a gifted 16 year old take our family photo. (Plus, that meant our kids couldn’t make caustic comments about the insanity of taking our picture.) And it meant that our photo looked professional instead of “Ack-our-mother-made-us-take-this-picture-and-we’d-rather-be-anywhere-else-even-the-dentist!” So assuming that Sam’s Club didn’t wreck the photo, which they’ve done in the past, the picture is done.

The official 2009 letter has also been crafted. And it has now passed Kellerhouse inspection. Inspection consists of each member reading the letter. Then each individual responds in one of two ways. If the child doesn’t like the letter, he/she has a conniption and his/her face splits into two pieces while he/she ponders maternal psychosis as the reason why I included a particular bit of information about him/her. The “approval response” is a shrug of the shoulders. Then I say, “So you’re okay with this?” The child must then audibly answer, “Yes.” It must be aurally perceptible because if the child changes his/her mind later, I can defend myself with the audible “yes.”

Next, comes the printing. Assuming I orient the pages correctly in the Xerox machine, it’s not too bad. But I always mis-orient the paper at least once. Plus, the copy machine tends to develop toner issues, which necessitates taking the cartridge out and doing the “toner tango” every five pages. Then, I have to print the labels, using Excel. In case you don’t know, Excel is a “gift” from the nether regions. Having lived in New England for seven years, we have lots of friends whose zip code begins with a zero—Excel refuses to print initial zeros, so each zero must be printed by hand. (Yeah, I’ve been told there’s a way around it, but no one has been able to give me the details. Apparently, it’s “complicated,” so giving my kids pens seems easier than trying to correct a Microsoft programming error.)

Last but not least, is the actual folding and stuffing of envelopes. This might seem to be the easiest part, but you have to plan on a certain number of paper cuts and a helpful child sticking the stamp on the left side of the envelope instead of the right. Another example of “getting what you pay for,” and since I use what’s affectionately called “slave labor”...

Finally, it’s time for the letters to be mailed. I can leave them out for the postman, but he’s unreliable (he delivers mail only when he’s feeling “led”). Or I can take a drive to the post office and deal with all the Black Friday traffic...or not. Maybe the postman is more reliable this time of year. At least, I can hope.