Dinner means death.
Death means Carnage.
Christmas means CARNAGE!

Dude, we totally ate Babe. Your favorite movie and your favorite dinner should have NOTHING in common.

After a rather freakish display of materialism love and appreciation for each family member, I got busy cooking the dinner I totally could have prepped the night before, but didn’t because I chose to drink a bunch of wine instead. Bygones. We didn’t have anything special, except that I borrowed recipes from people, so even that we weren’t with them, their holidays could be with us, at least at our table. That makes it totally special. I made Gigi’s family green beans, which were good but not nearly as good as when she makes them, and I made Leslie Dillinger’s Gruyere scalloped potatoes. Holy Greasy Jumping Jesus Christ on a Popsicle Cupcake Crutch! Those are some damn delicious potatoes. Leslie, I’m stealing your recipe for myself. Gigi, I’m letting you cook next year. You bring the beans, I’ll bring the cookies.

For dinner, I decided I’d try something I haven’t tried before. Because I like to experiment, that’s why. I thought it would be fun to try out ‘Suburban Soccer Mom Martha WannaBe’. Yep, that’s just about everything I rally against. But I can’t fight it anymore, I like the suburbs and Martha, and soccer moms are crazy hot. And so, my normally white on white table was set with gramma’s china, my dad’s silver, and kitsch.Even the baby got in on the action. She has a thing for Martha. Just ask her Gramma Gigi.We had “Champagne”And since a certain Godfather has taught all of my children to toast, properly, we said “Cheers!” (or Earws!, depending on the person) 4,936 times.
We had a ham that actually didn’t suck, though I expected it to, seeings how the last time I roasted a ham I was still A) less than 23 and B) single. A gorgeous bouquet of flowers capped it all off nicely, and then we ate that poor, helpless little pig.Why, yes, I DO have an enormous ring on my table, thank you for asking. That table is one bazillion years old. YOU try and keep rings from forming on it.

Dinner was lovely and quiet. We did not have to run to Gramma’s and then my dad’s and then Aunt Jane’s and then home before bed. We didn’t have to vacuum before company came over. We didn’t have to put on deodorant (though maybe we should have). We had to sit on our butts and eat too much food and enjoy each other’s company in a way we rarely get to in my house. It was nice, and the nice made it a little easier for us all to ditch the sad we were all feeling on our first Christmas away from everything we hold dear. The staying put was great, the staying put at Gigi’s would have been heaven.

I made dessert, and I learned something.I learned that what takes you 3 days the first time may only take you two hours the second time, and that you should only substitute almonds for hazelnuts if you want your Busch de Noel to, although sweet-looking on the outside, be bitter on the inside to a freakish degree.

And then we took pictures and then we watched movies and then we were so tired one eye wouldn’t stay open anymore and so we went to bed. And that was our amazing, action packed holiday. Go big or go home. Apparently, we went home.
(Nine years olds just don’t take the world’s best pictures)

Dude, my house is a WRECK. Seriously, my mother-in-law would have a conniption fit if she walked in here right now. Thank God South Africa is a really long walk from here.

We spent yesterday getting ready for the big guy, baking cookies and making food for the reindeer. Feeding the reindeer is right up there at the top of my Favorite Christmas Shit list. We made food for them from oatmeal, some left-over cereal, raisins, brown sugar, cinnamon bark and pralines. Yumma. Nummy.Then, it was cookie time. You know how I’m all ‘I can’t bake cookies’ and you are all ‘Pshaw, I totally know you can’? You are WRONG. I made Shortbread cookies, the easiest cookies in the known universe, for the kids to frost and even busted out my fancy cutters. This is how they turned out.They aren’t just burnt; I managed to melt them. We scraped that idea, and thank Baby Jesus (who’s home now, by the way) that mom keeps a box of mini-eclairs in the freezer. Santa got some gourmet shit from us last night.

After the milk was poured and sweet faces were made, the kids were off to bed and I wrapped like I’ve never wrapped before. Like it was 1999. Like a virgin. You get it. (No Molly, I haven’t killed the hamsters yet. Patience, dude.) That closet full of presents turned into a pile of boxes so large, I wished I had a bigger tree. And I have a big motherfucking tree.It seems that Santa found his way into the living room, but perhaps went a little too heavy on the eggnog last night.The chair over-turned, the cold, blank stare at the ceiling….I know drunk when I see drunk. For shame, Santa, for shame.

I got to bed at 1:30, and at two o’clock in the gosh darn morning, those boys woke up. I think the only thing I managed to say to them was, “Um, NO.” They were back up at 7 this morning and the mayhem ensued.

Santa, I kid you not, brought the left side of the mall to my house last night. Every kid got the thing they wished most for. 1of3 got his iPod and some very cool Olympics schwag(half off at Please Mum right now, Canucks!). 2of3 got an iCoaster, which I rolled my eyes at fairly hard, but soon realized was Wicked. Cool.He also got a Power Tour electric guitar, because no 7 year old can have too many guitars. (We’re at 3 right now. Yikes!)

Oh, and they both got scratch tickets in their stockings. Because that’s how Santa rolls around here, that’s what. 2of3 won $9, which is like $9.17 American, or 3 jawbreakers.

We tried, repeatedly, to get the baby out of her bed, but she just groaned at us and rolled over, back to sleep. She slept until 10:15. Which rocked. She got up, played with her dollhouse and Dora toys, clomped about in her high heeled shoes and refused to open any more presents. She still has one under the tree right now.Dad got clothes and golf stuff and some more clothes and did I mention golf stuff? Thank god his kids are more creative than Santa, and got him an Avalanche jersey and a shining new crazy hot pair of skates. When in Rome and all.Me? Oh, I got everything. It’s almost embarrasing. We’ll get to that later.

And then we failed miserably to clean up, I cooked a little (a freaking ton) and the kids tried to break each other’s toys. We talked to the family, all of them, Josh’s and mine, which killed me simply because I want to be home with them so bad it aches, and even Gramma in Africa, and then there was dinner.And that is a story for another day. And a different color scheme. Right now, I have to try and find my floor. Merry Christmas to you all!

Oh dear god, HOW THE HELL could I forget this?

Do you know that the friendly folks at Norad in Colorado Springs track the big guy in red every year? THEY DO. Here’s the YouTube link, if you don’t want to mess with Google Earth. It’s updated every thirty minutes.They use Google Earth and fancy satellite feeds to track him in his travels all over the world tonight. You can watch him in real time. This is seriously THE COOLEST SHIT EVER. It is our one dire-hard family tradition. I totally meant to tell you about it yesterday, but I am an idiot. I hope you catch it tonight so your kids can watch Santa work his magic!

Also, it makes a lovely “Get To Bed So Momma Can Drink Eggnog” tool. ‘Oh shit, guys, he’s in OHIO! He’s COMING!!! SLEEP NOW!!!!’

I am sure there will be something completely inappropriate going up here later, but for now, it’s with the mush.

I have this tree full of presents and all 4 of the people who are contractually obligated to hang out with me all under the same roof for Christmas this year, and you think that would be the best gift of all.

It. Gets. Better.

I can’t believe it either. This morning, my family grew. Not in size, but in reality. My niece, my beautiful niece who lives somewhere very far away, who is waiting for her momma and daddy to be allowed to go get her, well, I got a PICTURE of her today. 4 pictures. She is fine and beautiful and has a smile that could stop a train. My heart exploded. BLAM.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, the phone rang. That in itself is a Christmas miracle. That bitch never rings. But then, oh, and then, I answered it and on the other line was my babiest baby brother, the one who was in diapers the last time I saw him, the one who didn’t know any single stinking thing about us until my other baby brother forwarded him a MySpace message I sent. He’s 23, in the military, stationed in Italy. And he called me. ME.

I think I could die.

So, good luck topping that this Christmas. I don’t care if Santa leaves bubble-wrap*, I just got everything I could ever ask for.

*Honestly, I wish Santa would leave bubble-wrap. I loves me some bubble-wrap.

Christmas has been slow to come to me. Don’t get me wrong, I really like Christmas. Any excuse to lie to my kids makes my cold, dead heart sing. But there’s just some things I don’t get yet.

I get the whole ‘buy everyone a bunch of crap they don’t need’ part of Christmas. I like having the tree, and the pretty gifts under the tree. I like baking the cookies and eating the ham. I love wrapping presents. The look on my kids’ faces on Christmas morning makes every single other thing in life totally worth it.

Will someone please explain the stockings to me already? What exactly is the deal with them? I have just spent 2 weeks, and the mortgage, searching for presents for 4 people who have every stinking thing they could want already, and I DID IT. I got great presents. I was feeling all full of myself, and then I looked at the mantle.

OH SHIT.

I have to fill those up, too?

My husband likes to fill them with candy. This from a man who hates that I give the kids dessert. This from the man who will have to pay the orthodonture bill. I’m guessing his mom filled his with candy. I love candy, but I have no inclination whatsoever to relive the horror we just finished called “Huge Bags of Candy Laying Around”, aka “Halloween Aftermath”. And I bought them everything I wanted to already.

WHAT AM I GOING TO PUT IN THESE STOCKINGS?

Maybe it’s my cheapness talking, but if I’m spending more than $5 bucks on it, it’s going under the tree. More than $5 should count towards the bulk. Anything less than $5 is going to break in less than 5 minutes.

Stockings stress me out. I got them Hot Wheels, candy, stickers, candy, toothbrushes, candy, stuffed elves and reindeer, candy and pencils. I think that’s going to do it. But there is still one problem….I have a 35 year old man who thinks his stocking should have stuff in it, too.

When the boys were little, I used to put a pack of Marlboros and a fancy lighter in his. They boys would frown on that, now. I gave him a lovely, small, grooming kit in his stocking two years ago, so there goes that idea. He already owns 2 watches worth more than the toddler, so that’s out, too. He doesn’t wear ties, ever, and if I put tube socks and Vasoline in there, then I have no right to bitch about his middle of the night “Email Checks”, now do I? I got him really, uber, fancy golfs balls for under the tree, the kind I won’t let him spend the money on normally, and now I am flat out of ideas.

Grrrrrr.

It shouldn’t be this hard. Whoever came up with the stocking idea, I loathe you. You, sir, are on my short list. Pray you don’t bump into me in a dark alley.