I should really title this post A Really Cool Thing That Happened At Christmas, but it just doesn’t have the same zip. This actually happened to me last year so, I reiterate, clearly not a miracle–or at least not one I felt compelled to proclaim from a snowy roof top. (In my case just a roof top, maybe with a couple of leaves.)

I tore off the burgundy fabric I had around the tree.  Its deafening 1990s cries were driving me bonkers; I felt Ricky Martin was going to jump out from behind the tree at any moment and start singing Living La Vida Loca.  Besides, we normally place the tree between two very large picture windows and, in the past, the fabric helped give the tree some much needed girth in that large area.  Now that we’ve moved it next to the fireplace, there is no need to make it appear bigger.  (<—Not the really cool thing that happened on Christmas but, in regards to the fabric, certainly a good thing.)

My mantel is looking better.  I found the garland on the mantel at Michael’s for 70% off, so if you are in the market for some plastic greenery at a discounted price, hop in your sled and mush your way over to your nearest strip mall. (<—Also not the really cool thing that happened one Christmas.)

I think removing the fabric and adding the garland highlights the Christmas angel I have on the mantel, which is where I have the Christ candle.  (<—256 words later, she reaches the point of this post.)  For those who don’t know, the Christ candle is always white, usually in the center of the Advent wreath, and lit on Christmas day.  Last year I was on a mission to find the perfect Christ candle.  My wreath, unfortunately, wasn’t large enough to house in its center any of the candles I found.  So, figuring an all forgiving God wouldn’t mind, I decided I would find a special candle holder (on a $20 budget) and burn the candle on Christmas alongside the wreath.

Seven stores later (you’d be surprised how hard it is to find religious items during Christmas), I found the angel at a Christian bookstore.  This angel is not anything I would normally be drawn to, but I thought she was just beautiful.  I still do.  She’s about 12 inches tall, carved from wood, and weighs a ton.  I picked her up, looking for a price.  $50.  More than double my $20 budget.

I had been to every single store in and around town, so I knew I was going to have to find something at the store I was at or forget the Christ candle.  I wasn’t about to do that, so I asked the woman behind the counter if she had anything that would work.  She said she had the perfect thing, and for the next few minutes I followed her all around the store.

Nothing.  Whatever the perfect thing was, she couldn’t find it.

She decided to look in the back one last time so we walked towards the register, past the angel I admired earlier.  Wouldn’t you know it?  The $50 angel was what the store employee had been searching for the entire time.

“OH!  Here she is!  This is what I was talking about.  I think she would be perfect for a Christ candle!”

I agreed, but in the spirit of Christmas, I was also honest.  “I know, I saw this earlier and it is perfect, but it costs more than I budgeted to pay.”  {blushing}  I thanked her for her time, and told her I would keep looking.

The shop owner turned the angel over, looked at the price and said, “Well, I can sell it to you for $20.  Is that closer to what your budget allows?  I think she is perfect for you.”

I said, yes, I think that would fit my budget nicely.

And that is the story of my Christmas angel.  Certainly not a miracle, but definitely a really cool thing to happen at Christmas.  I wish for you and your families the same; that your holidays, no matter what or how you celebrate, be filled with the peace, love, and, if not miracles, more than a few really cool things.

We haven’t done much this year.  The advent wreath and candles are out, but we didn’t light them or do the readings.  The advent calendar is out, too, but unlike last year, it sits empty this season.  Honestly, I didn’t even put up Christmas decorations until the 7th or so.  Between the late Thanksgiving and the flu, time just slipped away.  All is not lost.  I did manage to sneak in one special treat for the boys on Saturday.

I went to Anthropologie last week to buy Mikey’s teachers their Christmas presents. They made out like bandits thanks to a lovely sale table. On this same sale table I found two very sweet, miniature coffee cups perfect for hot cocoa and little hands. At $3.95 each, I couldn’t resist. Sold and sold.

Anthropologie makes it so easy to give gifts. Their packaging is almost always fantastic, and you know I can’t resist a thick Kraft box.The boys tore into the gifts with such excitement that I started to get a little nervous about how the gifts would go over. Can you blame me? We were giving them coffee cups, not hatching dinosaur eggs.

Luckily, they were very well received, especially after we explained to them that inside those cups would go hot cocoa and as many marshmallows as they wanted. The cocoa they could sip in front of the TV while they watched the Christmas movie of their choice.

They started watching A Charlie Brown Christmas and I served the cocoa. Mikey pronounced it too hot, which means he inherited The Mister’s intolerance for food or drink hotter than room temperature. I am of the opinion that food isn’t edible if it doesn’t burn off the roof of your mouth. Nicholas must have inherited this same preferance because he drank his cocoa (the same one Mikey declared burning hot) through a straw in one pull. I tried to tell him to be careful, that the cocoa was very hot, but he just sat there drinking away, taking a breath only when his cup slurped empty. I see in his future a long and illustrious career as a fraternity brother. The only way I could have been more impressed is if he drank the cocoa while doing a handstand.

p.s.  Did you notice our open windows and short sleeved shirts?  It was 70 degrees on Saturday.  I planted flowers in the yard while Nicholas napped and Mikey helped The Mister with a leaking water meter.  I wore a sweater today to do Christmas shopping, but it was more on principle than necessity.  I thought I would get hot pushing my way through the crowds, but everything was empty.  The freeways, the parking lots, the stores…empty.  Was is empty for you, too?

I am mere minutes from picking up Mikey from school.  In T-minus 30 minutes, Christmas vacation officially starts.  I can’t wait!  There will be much baking, crafting, and merry making.  There will also be present wrapping.  Every year I try to do something different.  Last year was about my love of tulle, and how nicely said fabric matched the homemade marshmallows I made everyone.  I could swear I wrote a post about wrapping presents with tulle, but I can’t find it anywhere.  Oh well.

This year I am all about the Kraft paper, which I use for almost everything all throughout the year.  I’m not the only one using Kraft paper this year.  It’s a popular choice for 2009, and perhaps that reflects a cultural shift in our society.  Following economic downturns, populations will, by consequence, simplify and turn inward, reflecting on their life and the artifices that no longer brings them pleasure.  Zzzzzzzz.  Personally, I just think it’s super cute.  Besides, it gave me an excuse to use my mom’s blue typewriter from the 70s, the very same one with which I typed away many an atrocious short story as an awkward 9 year old.  Me and old blue, we go back.

I was going to use plain Kraft paper, but I came across this postage themed Kraft paper at Staples and couldn’t resist how it matched the packing labels already in my cart.  I tied everything up with a giant ball of hemp twine I bought months ago to package items for a customer.  Then, my favorite part: ol’ blue.  A sweet Christmas message on one side for the recipient.  On the other side, a quote (I love quotes) I felt reflected their personality or passions in life.  Finding the quotes for all my friends and family has been my favorite part, hands down.  I have several books on quotes (thanks to my mom) and countless online resources I turn to often.  I may have found two or three or twenty quotes I like for myself in the process, causing quite a delay in the assembly line and one or two last minute, freak-out wrapping sessions so I could make it to the post office before the angry noon mob.

Eek!  Speaking of noon–I’m off to pick up Mikey.  Yahoo! :)

You would think someone who went to school for as long as I have would have thought of this idea sooner.  Degrees: three.  Commonsense: zero.  After ten years of looking at floppy, twisted stockings, I realized (with the same pride Lise Meitner must have felt when she discovered nuclear fission) I could stuff them with something innocuous until Christmas Eve, whereby toys and goodies would replace said stuffing and keep the stockings looking plump and pretty.

[pauses for applause]

I used plastic bags from the super market, of which I have many. Go ahead, judge me. I use them to dispose of Nichoals’s thrice daily diaper bombs. Uh huh. I knew you would understand. Anyway, four seems to be the magic number. The heel and toe each get one bag, stuffed firmly. The shaft needs only two loosely crumpled bags. I didn’t think the bags would add enough weight to keep the stockings straight, but it worked. Had the stockings continued to twist, I would have added dried beans or rice to the toes. (Now that I am coming up with brilliant ideas and all.)

For my next trick, I will attempt to finish decorating for Christmas before Christmas–or, at least before my inlaws show up on Sunday.

Today is my blog’s second birthday.  Happy birthday, blog!

I’m doing okay.  This is, easily, the sickest I have been in a long time, most likely ever.  I never had a true flu before.  I thought I did but, trust me, once you have actually had the flu, you realize those other times you just had a bad cold.  You also start to understand how it is people succumb from complications every year.  The pain was excruciating.  The only other time in my life I have experienced pain like that was when I was in full blown back labor with Mikey, and at least then I could order an epidural.

Craziness.  Long story short: flu.  Then, on Wednesday, I developed a bacterial bronchitis.  Yes, I developed a secondary bacterial infection subsequent to the flu.  How cliche!  Anyway, I am still recuperating.  Feeling better, but not 100%.  I think today is the first day since last Monday I didn’t wake up with a fever, so that says something.

You know what else is crazy?  On Wednesday we (me, the family, and my 103 fever) made the 8 hour drive to Lake Tahoe.  It had been on the books for a while, and I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint the boys.  I also didn’t know if I had the heart to survive the trip, but I did.  I spent the trip inside, nursed back to health by my parents, while The Mister fulfilled Mikey and Nicholas’s dreams of snow fights and sledding, outside.

The Mister also fulfilled my dreams of having hundreds of wonderful pictures to document the occasion. He’s a good dad and husband, that Mister.

{My brother, Paul, and Mikey working on the Thanksgiving salad.}

{Baby Gabby, aka THE TURKEY}

{Mikey, wearing my snow hat from the 70s and my gloves from the 80s}

The end.

Hi everyone. :)

I’ve been in bed with a terrible flu since Monday.  I just wanted to wish everyone a happy and safe Thanksgiving.  I will be spending mine in bed.  Speaking of which, back to bed I go…

In keeping with tradition, we continue with our series of WORST HALLOWEEN PICTURES EVER.  The Mister and I love the peacock costume and when Mikey wore it, he loved it, too.  But Nicholas?  You would have thought I was poking his testicles with hot pokers the way he was protesting–and if you ask my brother in law, putting a boy in this costume isn’t much different.

Lucky for Captain Testosterone, I had Mikey’s old puppy dog costume shoved in the back of the closet underneath a pile of swim suits and beach towels.  After I shook the dust off, I crammed Nico’s near-three years of toddler into a costume sized for an 18 month old.  Have you ever seen a terrier wear capris?  You have now.

In other news, if you are old enough to, I don’t know, claim dependents on your taxes, don’t trick-or-treat at our house because The Mister and I will call you out on your douche-baggery.  Just ask the twenty something year old guy who strolled up wearing jeans and a sweater.

“Trick or Treat,” he claimed as he held open a bulging pillow case.  The Mister was not impressed.

“Dude.  What are you even supposed to be?”

Twenty something year old guy delicately extended a foot in The Mister’s direction to show him his worn Vans.  “I’m a skater dude.”

“Well, skate or die, bro.  Happy Halloween.”

Want more proof of our hostility?  Track down the Suburban filled with twelve families that would stop at each block, walk a few houses, and then drive 20 feet to the next block.  I’m sure they will advise you to heed our warning.  Hey, we all know I’m the laziest when it comes to exercise but, really?  You can’t walk on Halloween?  If you’re feeling a bit weak, start gnawing on the Smarties bouncing around in that Santa Claus-sized sack of candy and chase it with a Jolt or whatever it is you have rolling around under the seats of your Halloween Chariot.  In other words: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

So, The Mister gives the lazies their candy with a healthy dose of stink eye.  I can almost see the slides of power point presentation on juvenile diabetes escaping out of his ears like steam.  Even then, there was no need for them to worry until the forty year old matriarch of this band of sedentary travelers moved towards The Mister like a barge heading into the Panama Canal.

“Now, come on!  What?  Who?  What are you?”

“Nah, I’m not trick or treating.”

“You’re not?”  At this point The Mister could only look pointedly at her outstretched bag of candy.

“Nope.  I’m collecting.”

“Collecting?!”  Collecting?  Like a bookie?  Is this the mob?  Was she planning to shake us down for some bite-sized Snickers and some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?

“Yeah, for her.  She twisted her ankle.”

Her.  I see.  Just one quick question: WHO IS HER?!  Is Her in the Suburban?  Is Her a child?  A dog?  A figment of our imagination?  Whoever Her is, we know she has a bum ankle.  I can only assume the weight of two hundred pounds of candy collected in 3 hours over 20 city miles crushed Her’s bones like dry twigs.  Much like you, you behemoth woman, have crushed our hopes and dreams that there exist people out there who won’t go to any means necessary for some free candy.

Don’t even get me started on the young couple who were trick or treating with the sleeping 6 month old…