Merry Christmas Flavors To You!

So now I know what I had been missing this Christmas season.

Starbucks peppermint mocha.

Coffee.

Peppermint.

Chocolate.

My three favorite flavors combined.

Is there anything better than that?

My dog thinks it’s wonderful, too. Don’t get too excited. I didn’t actually give it to her. She sat beside me with her head in the crook of my arm with her sad, little beady (needy) eyes pleading with me while I sipped my delight. She kept sniffing and licking the outside of my cup. I didn’t share. It was mine…all mine!

Ok. Dirt Man gave in and let her lick the drops in the bottom of the cup. She was a happy dog. And it wasn’t enough to hurt her. Believe me, I almost sucked that Starbucks cup dry.

Thanks Starbucks.

And thanks, Dirt Man, for getting me one this morning.

It helped (along with some meds!) get rid of my two day migraine.

I hate migraines. Not just the pain, but the sick stomach that goes with it. And the light sensitivity. And my short temperedness with everyone and everything.

So again, thanks Starbucks and Dirt Man.

And Merry Christmas to all. And NO, HECK NO, I will not be politically correct and tell you Happy Holidays. (Although, I do hope whatever you celebrate, if you celebrate, is happy indeed!)

Here’s wishing you all your favorite flavors of the season! Merry Christmas!

Christmas Cards

Oh, the pretty shiney Christmas cards with lovely sentiments from friends and family.

About twenty-five or so. Not even a quarter of the usual. Some with family portrait cards. Believe it or not, but only ONE annual newsletter.

And one card with a nice family portrait from a family none of us has even heard of.  Not a church, business, or community aquaintance. We have no idea who in the heck these people are, but they look nice enough all spruced up in their Christmas green, white, and red attire.

The guilt hasn’t set in…YET.

I found my falala, but not enought of it to put me in the mood to sign, address, and mail the cards.

I stuck them back under my bed.

Same thing I did about five years ago, when I went on Christmas card strike. Except, I pulled them out every year for five years and shoved them back under there. Then last year, the guilt got to me. And I did it. I sent out cards!

If I don’t feel bad enough to send out New Years greetings, maybe my strike will last six years this time. I’m kind of competitive with myself like that.

So, don’t feel bad when you don’t get a Christmas card form me. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means I’m a lazy butt this year!

Class Clown

When my children were in elementary school, their principal took it upon herself to impose a “voluntary” dress code. She felt that if students were not distracted by their attire they’d become better scholars. Yeah, right. My beef was more about the choice of the attire. She chose khaki pants as bottoms. Sounds nice. Right? Well, try being the mother trying to scrub grass stains out of the knees every night. The students had gym class and outside recess to which these clothes were worn. Point is, I did not require my children to participate. Only a small percentage actually did, and within a few months it was tossed to the wayside. This post is not about the dress code, but is important to note as you hear the following story.

Youngest Son’s first grade class was chosen to be the entertainment at the PTA meeting. They had been practicing for weeks. They were to perform for about twenty minutes. The show consisted of several little songs that included hand movements.

The show started out fine. Except for the fact, that my child was not dressed in proper code. I didn’t get the memo. I really would have put him in it for the show. (My kids had the proper clothes and wore them when they wanted but not daily.) My child was the ONLY child in normal clothes. He actually did have on khaki pants, but his shirt was not a medium blue t-shirt, but a light blue collared button down shirt. Anyway, they were about half way through the first ( I repeat first!) song, singing their little hearts out and doing little hand motions, and my son stuck his hands in his pockets. When they continued to the next set of motions, he couldn’t get his hands out of his pockets quickly enough and was thrown off. So, sweet little angel decided to look into the audience to find people he knew.

Aha, he first spotted his brother and started making faces at him. I’m sitting beside his brother motioning for him to stop. He ignored me. The other little angels continued singing, while my little devil then spots my best friend and her family on the other side of the auditorium. He starts entertaining them with his silly faces, absolutely no singing or hands movements from him at this point. My friends sons start making faces back at him which really got him going. I started sinking lower and lower into my seat as I was waiting for someone (like the principal) to go to the stage and remove him.

He moved on from them and focused on people he knew through the entire room. And unfortunately, he knew a lot of the spectators! By this time, the entire audience was laughing hysterically. At that point, I thought it was actually possible to die from embarrassment.

After the show, I scooped my adorable little angel (yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking, believe me?) up and proceeded to get out as fast as I could. But not quickly enough. Seems a reporter from the newspaper was in the audience, and wanted to interview me. I looked like some criminal on television and blurted “no comment” and tossed a coat on my kid‘s head.

And I thought that was the end of it. I wish! That reporter happened to be the guy who wrote the weekly column where he wrote a snippet of interest from each day of the week. A few days later (after of course, I had shared this humiliation with my boss and coworkers) when I got to work my boss asked me if I’d read the newspaper. I hadn’t. Little angel boy was a local celebrity. The report said that one little boy who was NOT dressed like the other children stole the show. He went on about how he made faces in the crowd and how he tried to ask his mother who was “clearly embarrassed” about the incident. Anyway, it was worded as if he did this because he was not in uniform. Like a uniform would have made him behave. Yeah, right! Were that the case I’d have had both kids in uniform 24-7!

I think it has something to do with the youngest children in families. I’ve found that they tend to be the entertainers, the clowns, the light-hearted happy -go -lucky people of the world. Yeah, I am the youngest in my family. But I swear to you, I NEVER did anything like that!

In going through their childhood pictures, it seems to be a pattern of Youngest Son making faces. I really don’t think wearing a uniform would have prevented his shenanigans. However, had he just not put his hands in his pockets in the first place, all might have been well…might have been.

Crispy Crunchy Chicken Crust

I have a confession. I am the person who picks the crispy crunchy crust off of the chicken and eats it. I’m talking about your chicken. I want everybody’s crunchies.

I asked Dirt Man to pick up chicken on his way home the other day. And there I was (before I even put it on the table) picking the crunchies out of the bottom of the box, and pulling  huge chunks off of the chicken.

If I could only just buy the crunchies…forget the chicken.

Oldest Son usually reminds me of how fattening the crunchies are. And the skin. I don’t care. It’s my favorite part. Besides, I say, if I get fat (fatter, that is!), at least I enjoyed the ride there! He’s just a little too health conscientious for me to listen to. We all gotta live a little, huh? Anyway, we really don’t have it often enough to worry about it.

My mom made the best fried chicken ever. That’s the one meal my brother still requests when he comes in for a visit. When we were younger, my sisters (three of them, all bigger and stronger, so I didn’t stand a chance!) and I used to fight over the crispies. My mother would always scrape it from the bottom of the cast iron skillet and drain it on a paper towel. It was pretty much the first person who found them was the one who got them unless it was me and they caught me. I learned to eat quickly. And to clasp my hand over my mouth. Finally, I got smart and just hung around the kitchen every time my mom fried chicken.

So, next time you take home a bucket of KFC and open it to find that your chicken is naked, chances are I’m hiding somewhere in your house scarfing down those crispies!

Tis The Season Of Fruitcakes

The season of fruitcakes is upon us.

Which kind you ask?

Well, I guess there are a lot of crazy people out there these days. And mean ones too. Holiday shopping seems to get their knickers in knots. I try to steer clear. It seems the closer it gets to Christmas, the worse their manners become.

Anyway, I was referring to the edible kind. We just received one in the mail. I don’t really do fruitcake. But considering that it came from a recently widowed elderly neighbor, I might have to give it a try. It was a gracious and spirited gesture on his part.

I remember that my grandmother made fruitcakes that the adults just loved. They probably had a lot of liquor in them. I remember eating those red and green pieces in it and wondering how they could love such disgusting stuff.

Fruitcakes always turn my thoughts to the “Fruitcake Lady”. Remember her?  She was hilarious. She told it just like it was. Admired her spunk and no-nonsense approach to life.

One year, Dirt Man bought a slew of copies of her book and gave them away as Christmas presents.

Here’s wishing you a holiday filled with whatever kind of fruitcakes you desire!

Seasonal Favorites

There are so many products that we have come to associate with the Christmas season. Some of which we can only get at that time. Some just seem to inundate the market at that time.

First there are things that I can live without. Like the Chia pet. I have never owned one, but wanted one. That was until my sister got one. Her didn’t grow, so I lost interest. Then there’s the great Clapper. Clap on! Clap off! Hate those commercials! They get stuck in my head.

Then there are things I don’t hate but think are just okay like fruitcake and oysters. Dirt Man’s family has a tradition of oyster stew on Christmas morning. I prefer my oysters fried. The kids couldn’t care less. We do oysters, but not necessarily for Christmas.

Then come my favorite chocolate covered cherries. Love those babies! And candy canes. What’s not to like there? Books of Lifesavers were my favorite as a child, and I used to get them for our kids. And nothing like good old fashioned hard candy to take us back in time. Do you see a pattern here with my favorite seasonal items being food? Big surprise, huh?

The ultimate holiday treat is peppermint ice cream. You really can only find this for a short period of time. I love this stuff.Next we go to egg nog. My whole family likes this. I don’t even have to have the “falala” added to enjoy it. My Christmas is not complete without at least one glass during the season.

Last but not least…Clementines. The whole family loves them. Easier to peel than naval oranges and tastier than tangerines. A definite winner in our house.

Do you have favorite seasonal items? Now, you know I’m mostly asking about food. You do know that, right?

Christmas Snoopers

Until I had children, I was an awful snooper around Christmas. I searched high and low for presents. I found a lot of them and faked surprise on Christmas morning. Dirt Man became very creative. He even resorted to hiding stuff in an old stinky boot one year.

My mother was always on to me. She knew I carefully removed and replaced tape. One year she got me good. There was a huge (and I mean huge) box for me. Curiosity was killing me. I could not get into it. The paper was stuck to the box. Turns out my mother had glued three rolls of wrapping paper to it. It was worth waiting for…it was a stereo. Remember those? Back in the old days we used them to listen to records. Don’t know what those are either? Round black things that look like CD’s. They hold music. I am really dating myself here.

When my kids were young, we thought we had the perfect hiding place for their presents. We hid them in the attic which can only be accessed through Youngest Son’s closet. I takes a lot of effort to get up in there. You either have to use a ladder or if you’re a child you could use a chair to climb to the top shelf. Turns out they’d been doing just that for five years before we found out. Then we started putting them in the loft of the locked work shed. Taught them a lesson, didn’t we?! Or was it the other way around?

My friend has the perfect solution for young snoopers. She doesn’t use name tags. She wraps each persons gifts in a different pattern. Like one child has all Santa prints, another has all snowman prints, and the dad has all striped paper. She doesn’t tell anyone until Christmas morning who has what pattern. That way they can shake and squish the packages. They’re free to guess all they want… it might not even be theirs. I think this is absolutely ingenious. I wish I’d thought of it when my boys were little. Someone probably should have used this method on me!

I don’t think my kids snoop anymore. I usually buy what they ask for. And most of the time they actually pick it out or try it on. They usually want money to go buy stuff themselves. I don’t like that because it’s not any fun for me. However, I perfectly understand all about getting clothes that are sooo not your style. Anyone who says boys are not particular about clothes, obviously doesn’t have one. If by chance I get things they don’t know about I still have a fairly good secret hiding place.

The ultimate hiding place for small gifts will be in my underwear/lingerie drawers. My kids wouldn’t be caught dead snooping through those. I don’t think there’s a teenage/early twenties male who’d ever go through his mother’s personal items.

Since I commiserate with you snoopers, I don’t wish you lumps of coal. But for the sake of an exciting and joyful Christmas morning, I hope you don’t find your presents.

The Real, REAL Truth About Santa And The Easter Bunny

I have always had mixed emotions about the whole Santa Claus concept. As a child my parents never had me believe in Santa. I was supposedly let in on an exclusive secret and was forbidden to tell any other children, and I never did. In fact, I was even instructed to pretend I believed around other adults. I felt incredibly honored that my parents didn’t lie to me, but at the same time felt jilted that I wasn’t getting to live a truly magical Christmas. I remember in elementary school how a little girl was devastated that a little boy told her the truth. She asked me if I believed in Santa. I never came out and said I didn’t, I just told her she could always believe in her heart.

This created quite a quandary for me when I had children. If I told my children the truth, they’d miss the magic of childhood. If I didn’t tell them, would they never trust me again when they found out? We went with the Santa version, but were heavily involved in our church and made it a point for the kids to know the reason for the season. The wrapped gifts under the tree were from us, and the unwrapped that miraculously appeared Christmas morning were from Santa. They left out cookies and milk for Santa which Dirt Man dutifully took care of each Christmas Eve.

When Oldest Son was in kindergarten he came to me and asked me if Santa was real. I could tell by the look on his face that he really didn’t want to know the truth, but I didn’t want to lie to him because he had asked me straight out. I opted to remind him that Santa comes through the chimney (we didn’t have a fireplace), had a ton of presents that must be delivered all over the world in a short period of time. I was also concerned about how he’d feel when some kids got much greater gifts and some got lesser gifts. So, I told him to think about those things and we’d talk about it.

My sensitive little fellow went off for a while to ponder what I’d said. He came back and said. Well, I think Santa comes through our attic since we don’t have a fireplace. Then, he looked up at me with such sincerity and said I know why Jonathan gets all those expensive toys and poor kids don’t get much. He continued to tell me that Santa collects money from the parents and then he adds to that and buys according to what the families can afford. And he added the elves make toys for the ones who don’t have any money. He said he hadn’t figured out how he got everywhere but figured with time zones and lots of elves he was able to do it. Then he wanted to know if I mailed the money to the North Pole or if Santa just went to my bank. Before I could answer, he surmised that it would be much easier for him to just visit a few banks.

A few months later, Easter rolled around. That night he told me that he wanted to know the real, REAL truth about the Easter Bunny (and Santa Claus while I was at it) because some kids at school told him there was no such thing and that your parents were both. He promised he wouldn’t tell his younger brother if I told him the truth. So, I felt it was time. He didn’t cry, but he was crushed.

The next morning. He was so excited. He came running in our room with his Easter basket yelling I know the Easter Bunny IS real. I reminded him that I’d told him the truth the night before. He insisted that he had heard the Easter Bunny deliver the baskets, and he showed me a few blades of grass, He explained that the Easter Bunny had tracked some grass and dirt in at the back door. Bless his little heart, he loved the magic as much as his mommy. And another thing he added, I don’t really believe that stuff about Santa though. Oh, really I asked him. Yeah, he replied that thing about Rudolph’s red nose glowing in the dark is just plain silly. Real reindeer have noses kind of like dogs.

We had been gifted a few more years of magic. Finally, one day both boys approached us and stated rather sheepishly that they didn’t believe in Santa Claus but could they still get presents. Christmas traditions continued…the magic remained…we had stored it in our hearts.

A (Sort Of) Christmas List

I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been posting their Christmas wish lists. Problem is that I can’t think of a single thing that I really want. Give me a few minutes, and I might come up with something. Meantime, I think I can come up with some things that I definitely don’t want.

Top of the list is perfume. I do not under any circumstances want perfume. (For your information – no, I don’t stink!) I seldom wear it because most fragrances give me headaches. I have several only-used-once-bottles that are just waiting for homes of appreciative over-doused -perfume-smelly women.

I don’t need any clothes. And as much as I love shoes, I don’t need them either. Don’t faint, Dirt Man, I really said that! Or purses. I can’t believe I said that one. (Honestly, I’d never turn one down!) Well, maybe a pair of pajamas, but not flannel ones. I know I have lots of pajamas, but that is one thing I love. There is no greater treat to me than being able to stay in p.j.’s all day long and doing absolutely nothing.

No jewelry. I don’t wear it much anymore. And I’ve never been a big bling-bling kind of girl. What kind of crazy person wouldn’t want diamonds? Well, I’ve never been too traditional. And I’ve always been just a little bit on the crazy side!

No collectibles. I’ve got enough junk, and no where to keep it.

No maid service. I know I complain about the housework, but at least I know where I put my crap. At least most of it. (I eventually find what I’m looking for, usually after I’ve resorted to replacing what I was looking for!) Besides, I’d clean the house before the maid got here…can’t let her be thinking I’m a slob!

Absolutely no exercise equipment. All of the stuff I have requested and received in the past has been placed into loving homes. Except for the Gazelle who is not currently being used for fitness but as a coat rack! I have good intentions and dreams of being physically fit, but the bottom line is I’m lazy.

Maybe another Yankee candle, citrus sage scent. Yeah, I know I have two almost new ones. But it’s my favorite and you never know if they’ll discontinue it. Discontinuance seems to be the story of my life…whenever, I really like something, the company ends up not making it anymore. Mary Kay is famous for that…and that will have to be a future blog. Or maybe, I just have strange tastes in things.

How about quality coffee beans? Everyone knows I love a good cup of java form my French press. I know I have like a gazillion coffee mugs, but I’d gladly throw on out if I received a really cool one.

And chocolate. That always makes me happy girl. I even share! Not much, but I’d at least let you sample it.

A nice bottle of vino is always a winner. Or a small wine rack. I’ll even toast with you!

Now that I’m on a roll, how about a family portrait? I’m talking about my family actually sitting together and being still long enough to take one. With smiles, you guys. Not like the usual, why -are- they -making- me -do -this pose! It’s really not that difficult. Fake the happiness…I do it all the time when I’m doing laundry or cleaning house!

While I’m on it, how about some world peace? And a fiscally frugal government? I’m really pushing it now, huh?!

Ok then, I’ll settle for a full night of uninterrupted sleep!

I Found My Falala!

I have finally gotten into the Christmas spirit. Though I admit, it doesn’t hold the same magic as it did when the kids were little. It was something quite simple that put me in that “Chrismassy” mood. I didn’t know what had been missing until it happened.

Youngest Son's First Christmas.

I was trying to get my falala going. My friends were giving me grief. A bunch of my FaceBook connections were being overly full of Christmas cheer, with their Santa hats and holiday sentiment. I was ready to block them. I thought about taking a pic with a Scrooge hat for my profile.

Scrooge Hat

Instead, I started listening to Christmas music. ALL DAY LONG!! Then, I started humming along. Karal brought me a Charlie Brown Christmas CD to add to my holiday tunes. I was sort of getting there.

I got up Saturday morning with the intent of going Christmas shopping. I ended up shopping online. Neither son had asked for anything recently with the exception of Youngest Son asking for a video game. Both had asked a few weeks ago for jeans, jackets, and other small items. No one had asked for anything big. Our policy has always been to buy only one large ticket item per child and the rest are lesser priced items. However, we just purchased a new engine for Oldest Son’s car, so maybe he’s thinking that was a pretty incredible early Christmas present. Or maybe they’ve both matured? Or maybe they’re just waiting until it gets closer to Christmas?

Mind you, Oldest Son does not read my blog, so he has no idea the significance of the item he asked for. Are you ready? He asked for underwear! If you read my blog, you know I don’t do underwear. I first questioned why anyone in their right mind would want underwear for Christmas. Besides, he has like a gazillion pairs. The fact that he asked put me right in the holiday spirit. So, yep, I’m giving underwear this Christmas!

I do have a few other ideas up my sleeve, but I’m not telling.

And today, I actually went to the mall to shop. I only have a few odds and ends left to pick up, and of course, stocking stuffers. Last year, I didn’t do the stockings and the boys acted like their Christmas had been ruined.

Then today after shopping, I baked over twenty dozen cookies. Now my house smells like Christmas.

I am listening to Christmas carols and singing right along. I’m drinking my egg nog without the spirit added. I’m feeling kind of Chrimassy. Folks, I’m getting my falala on!