You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, Kid

As I’ve mentioned before, the Man-Cub has a Christmas wish list about a mile long. One of the items on his list is- I don’t even know how to say this other than to just throw it out there - a gun.

And, when I say gun, I’m not talking about an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle, either; I’m talking about an actual hunting rifle, one that he can use when he goes with his father on their annual elk-stalking adventure.

And, I’m torn. Hugh already bought the thing and, every once in a while I catch him opening the closet where it is hidden. I can hear him whispering some gleeful anecdotes about all the good times they are going to have together ( said as he strokes the box lovingly although, he would vehemently deny that part) and, I get it.

I know that men, particularly men from our neck of the woods, love the hunt. There exists a rich tradition in hunting, our ancestors clear back to the times of the caveman were hunters. Fathers bond with their sons over this shit, seriously. And, I’m not anti-hunting by any means; the elk that Hugh brings home each year saves us a ton of money on groceries plus the meat is better for us than some processed beef but, still. I worry because; that’s what mothers do.

It’s what we have done since those very same times of the caveman; the only difference is that, back then, mothers had no cool shoe stores in which to shop away their anxiety over the fact that young Ugg was joining his father for his first hunt, they had to find other distractions like, inventing the wheel.

Anyway, this Christmas, the Cub will be getting his first hunting rifle along with an enrollment form for the next available Hunters Safety Class. In fact, he will have to complete said class before he is allowed to touch the gun which, I realize, might make it a little less appealing as a gift but, you know, safety first.

With any luck, I’m getting a prescription for Quaaludes and an IV drip full of chocolate.

And still; I'll worry.

It Beginning to Look…Nothing at All Like Christmas

All around us, snow is falling. Ski areas are open for business, snow plows are out in force, some schools are closed and we? Are dry as a bone with no sign of snow for the holidays. Yesterday, it rained. Rained! So, I ask you; what Christmas Grinch crawled up Mother Nature’s ass and died? Will she recover from her affliction (ass-fliction? Ha! I slay me!) in time to give my kids a white Christmas and enough snow for our annual New Year’s Day sledding trip?

Time will tell.

Granted, I can’t complain about not having to shovel snow or about not having to mop the mud from my wood floors eleven billion times a day and; not worrying that some useless excuse for a driver will plow into me on icy roads as I go about my errands is certainly a bonus but, still.

Won't you please think of the children, Mother Nature?

Think of the children.

Ok, So Not Everyone Loves Christmas Traditions

But, I do. And this weekend I took part in a plethora of our personal family traditions. Friday night, the kids placed their letters to Santa underneath their pillows for overnight pick-up by the elves. In the morning, the letters were gone, replaced by chocolate coins and enough magic flying dust to appear convincing.

This particular tradition is something that I started as a way of remembering my departed Grandpa Nick who was born on December 6th; which is Saint Nicholas Day. I have been doing it since the children were quite small and it always brings a warm fuzzy feeling to my heart.

While The Girl has recently become aware of the deception in the practice, my heart was also warmed by how excited she got about the event; the Spirit of Christmas is strong in that one. The Man-Cub, thankfully still oblivious to the fib, was mostly stoked over the chocolate because; he is his mother’s son.

Saturday morning, I headed to a local store to ring bells for the Salvation Army. My woman’s club participates in the ringing every year and I have actually chaired the committee for three of the past four years. Sometimes the kids accompany me but, this year they were attending Kaley’s birthday party so I was on my own. I missed them; they were always good company.

And, you know, freakin' adorable.

The weather was surprisingly cooperative, cold but clear, and I did bundle up, for all the good that it did me. Experience has taught me, however, that the amount of money people place in the kettle rises in accordance to how miserable the bell ringer looks and, since I am naturally cold-blooded and looking miserable comes second nature to me; the Salvation Army did pretty well during my stint.

Since neither of my children was available to keep me company, I had to make do with one of the store’s employees who was responsible for cart round-up; I saw quite a bit of her as rounding up carts is apparently a never-ending job and, before long, I was referring to her as Sisyphus in my head. She was a nice kid.


After bell ringing, I went home and baked cookies and made candy until it was time to meet Jana and the kids downtown for the annual Parade of Lights. Jana and I have been taking the kids to the parade since they were in strollers but this year it was just the two of us on the crowded sidewalk as all five kids were riding on a float built by the company that Chris works for.

The kids had a great time being in the parade and Jana and I had a great time visiting while stomping our feet on the hard pavement in an effort to stay warm. Didn’t work but, that’s kind of a traditional thing, too.

Yesterday I was back in the kitchen, baking cookies for a cookie exchange that I am doing with some friends from the internet; I’ve never done this before but am hoping to see it turn into a tradition as well.

After all, any tradition involving cookies is alright in my book.

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

I have a ton of things on my To Do list for today and this weekend. I need to drive to neighboring town to finish the very last of my Christmas shopping. I need to wrap everything that I buy. I need to hit Sam’s for food in bulk to get us through the Christmas dinner, the store christmas party, our annual New Year’s Eve get-together and our sledding trip on New Year's day. I need to get my ass in gear with the baking; I’ve been slacking in that department. I need to mail out my cards. I need to clean my house. I need to spend more quality time with my children. I need, I need, I need.

It’s a never-ending cycle.

What I want to do is to laze about on my couch with the latest issue of some trashy magazine and eat bon-bons while an able-bodied man-servant takes care of everything on my To Do list.

And then, rubs my feet.

With peppermint lotion.

Huh. I wonder if it is too late to ask Santa for a manservant.

The First Stage of Grief is Denial

Starting this evening, I become a Wrestling Widow.

Over the years, I have gotten somewhat used to the situation and, as soon as Hugh gets his official schedule of officiating duties; I up my Netflix subscription to the next level, fill my queue with chick-flicks and stock my kitchen with Cheese-Its and chocolate, all the things that a Weekend Widow must do to deal with her isolation and, for the most part, I am never bored or lonely without him.

Of course, it helps that I generally still have a ton of baking to do for the holidays as well as last-minute shopping and wrapping of presents.

Oh, and let’s not forget that I usually still have to plan our holiday meals, allowing enough time for hyperventilating over the lack of perfection in my culinary expertise in addition to which; the mental debate over whether we should have turkey or ham for Christmas dinner generally takes up a good deal of my time not to mention all the time spent agonizing over whether or not I should bake pumpkin and banana breads when, in all honesty, I am the only one who ever eats them and, really; do I need all that fat? No, I do not. But, still! Pumpkin bread! Banana bread! How can I break with tradition?

And, yes, that debate rages on in my head every year.

So, you see how much time this takes up, I’m sure.

I'll be fine.

Not lonely at all.

No boredom, here.

To recap: I’ll miss Hugh but; I have things to do and, you know, fat cells to feed......

oh my god, I need a hobby.

It's Not Like I Didn't Know This Was Coming

Last night, The Girl and I sat down for The Talk. She'd been "hearing things" at school and had a lot of questions for me and, while I’ve been preparing myself for this since practically the day that she was born; it was uncomfortable for both of us.

I answered her questions as honestly as I could and tried my best to describe to her exactly how her father and I feel about the issue. I told her that it is ok if she is confused and disappointed and even a little bit sad. I expressed my agreement that it seems wrong for adults to do it when they teach their children not to but, that in time, when she is grown up with children of her own; she will come to enjoy the practice as much as her father and I have all these years.

After all, it isn’t really a lie; it’s more like a really well-intentioned fib meant to instill a sense of wonder and excitement in children at Christmas time. And, as long as you believe, then Santa is real.

Wait, what?

Did you think I meant the sex talk?

Please, I just destroyed the child’s faith in the Spirit of Christmas; the easy stuff can wait for another day.

The Nut Does Not Fall Far From the Tree

As you can see, my family and I had a very nice Thanksgiving. Between eating all the delicious food, shopping and catching up with family members and friends there was almost no time at all to play hide-and-go-seek but; we made do.

The Barbie Mansion is a most excellent place for hide-and-go-seek with plenty of places to hide and lots of room to run around. In fact, there is so much room; we had to split into teams of two for the seeking, otherwise, the lone seeker would never be able to cover enough ground.

Barbie and I were teamed up and, when it was time to hide, we chose an excellent spot in a very dark storage room. There was more than enough room for the two of us plus my Dad and, since the room was on a lower level of the house, it took The Girl and my niece, the Rodeo Princess, quite some time to make their way to us. In fact, by the time they did find us, we were ready to be found; not wanting to be the last ones discovered lest we become “it” and have to seek for a second time.

For the record, Barbie and I were the best hiders. Hugh and my brothers-in-law came in a close second and my Mom brought up the rear due to her insistence on hiding in the exact same spot for every game (FYI, Mom; hiding your face in a corner does not make you invisible to other people) and, if you are reading this and finding it hard to believe that eight grown adults would willingly take part in a children’s game, please refer to the above picture; we aren’t quite all there, is what I’m saying.

But, lest you think us totally immature, let me assure you that there were adult games as well, in fact; Hugh and my dad cleaned out the wallets of both my brothers-in-law while playing poker well into the night. At one point, Barbie’s husband had to excuse himself to run upstairs to the safe for extra money and, it wasn’t until the next morning that anyone realized that by the “safe” he meant my sister’s purse.

I’m pretty sure she forgave him.

On the shopping front, I did experience my first ever Black Friday shopping trip and it was, well, a trip. People are crazy, y’all. We got up at 4:00 to be at the stores by 5:00 and people were already engaging in tug-o-war battles over certain items by the time we arrived. Thank goodness I didn’t need anything in particular or I might have joined in the frenzy (although, I did get a little aggressive over a Cricut that was on sale for half off the regular price, Merry Christmas to me!).

The best part of the shopping experience was spending time with the women in my life, including my good friend, Melimel, who made an hour-long drive just to see us. We had a great time catching up.

Saturday, while Barbie and I went shopping, yet again, Hugh and the children attended the State Football game and cheered our Pirates on to victory for the first time since like, um, 1932 or something like that. I am told it was a good game.

And, now, I am home, trying to get the house prepared for the next holiday. I have a ton of baking to do, cards to send out, presents to wrap and, if I prove more tenacious that my husband and children; caroling to be done.

After all, I don’t mind embarrassing myself in public and, if you refer to the above picture, you will see that I come by that naturally.