Fresh Start

I love January. I know some people dislike old Jan...maybe it's the post-holiday letdown, or the bleak weather she brings or the cynicism of unkept New Year's Resolutions. But it does feel like a new beginning, no matter how you slice it, resolutions notwithstanding. You've got all that great loot from Christmas to pretty up your home and closets, which forces you to organize and declutter and throw out all your old raggedy stuff because it just doesn't go with the new, shiny stuff, does it? You make an effort to reconnect with the dear friends you missed seeing while you were all whirling around in a holiday frenzy. And you get a new calendar! Ahhhh. I love a new calendar. The blank pages are so pretty and crisp. Uncreased, they fan themselves out at me...full of possibility and hopefulness. I love to consider the ups and downs of the past year, the accomplishments and failures ....and think of new goals and milestones yet to be reached. And I think a lot about my peeps, too - the old and new friends come to mind as I write down their birthdays and their new addresses and their updated emails, maybe adding a new baby's name to the family profile. And I think, I'm so glad I met her last year. I hate that I haven't seen him since his last birthday. I've got to return that book to her, and she would just love the last one I read.... And I also, inevitably, experience the sadness of purging people that, if I'm following the rule of clean closets, I haven't spoken to in the past year. Some of them are easy to let go...like the annoying editor I had to work with at my last job. Or Animal Control, who really fell down on their job of controlling the mean dogs that kept getting out of my former neighbor's fence. But some are harder to let go. Like the one who moved two states away and didn't keep in touch or the one who has gone Home to "have fun with God," as Small Fry will say. I tend to keep those in my calendar. I may not have celebrated their birthday with them in several years, but I leave it written on the usual page because I imagine, if nothing else, I can think of them fondly on that day and maybe send a good vibration or two their way. I can look at their old phone number, and recall the conversations we used to have. I can look at their address and remember the great times we had around their dinner table. It gets a little crowded in my shiny new calendar, but I figure...I can always purge next year. Organization is overrated anyway.

Pay No Attention to the Chick Behind the Curtain

Well, we've been on a little hiatus haven't we? I'm sure, as my Twelve Most Devoted readers, you have taken note and perhaps have been wondering... What Gives? OK, maybe just one of you took note, but whatever. It's just a little case of stage fright combined with several weeks of personal drama not fit for internet consumption. But here I am - Happy New Year, Ya'll!- and I am in that Clean Sweep frame of mind... therefore, I am blogging again. And blog I must. Because it's an awfully good way to clear a girl's mind. And 12 readers isn't exactly what you'd call a stage, right? So I'm just going to get over that. But maybe you could help me out? If you are a member of my real life and you read me here, maybe you shouldn't tell me. Better to just leave me an anonymous comment or something like that. Otherwise, I may start sweating and blushing and otherwise dying of embarrassment. Obviously, I'm highly un-evolved and also a big old fraidy cat. But I'm really glad you're reading. Just don't look at me while you're doing it.

Pride Before the Fall

Habitat for Humanity Blitz Build 2008

I am proud to tell you that I am related to a couple of these people. They are two of my coolest relatives. One of them was not supposed to be on the roof. But here is the irrefutable proof that he was indeed on the roof - for all of the internet to see. He is officially in trouble with his loved ones, namely me. But he's still really, really cool so I guess I'll have to let him slide. Also he doesn't listen to anyone, so you just have to roll with it. No one can wear a Friday shirt like this guy. You have to admire fashion sense combined with technical know-how. It's a rare and precious thing to see. Way to go Mema and Da! You inspire your offspring, namely me.

I Got My Christmas Present Early

Santa brought me exactly what I wanted this year.

No, not the Lego Santa! The REAL Santa...

Cleverly disguised as a birthday present for this guy. Isn't he cute? Doesn't he look cold? He didn't bring a hat. Or a scarf. Or gloves. P.S. You don't know it yet, Cutie Pie, but it's going to SNOW tomorrow.

A birthday present that was just just as much fun for This Girl. Doesn't she look cold? I said COLD, not OLD. Notice, please: Scarf? Check. Hat? Check. Gloves? Check. It's possibly the first and only time in 19 years of being with Cutie Pie that I was more prepared than he was. (evil laugh). I did, however, wear loafers and cute trouser socks instead of boots. Well, I had to look good, didn't I?

We did NOT do this. Because we choose not to compete. Also, our chiropractor advised against it.

Would you look at that? I mean, really. I heart New York, yes I do. And I would have bought the shirt to prove it. If it hadn't been so cold. No, I don't want to marry it. But that's because I already have a cute husband.

And look, now he has a hat. And a scarf. And gloves. And ear muffs. We may be southern but we catch on fast. Don't mock his hat. Everyone had one in New York. No, not just people over age 60 either. Hey, if Brad Pitt can wear one, why can't he?

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

My Baby is Telling Me What to Do

I recently had a weekend alone with my girls, which was actually pretty fun, but also had its trying moments as I'm spoiled by the fact that I usually have my Cutie Pie with which to tag-team. One particularly trying moment occurred on Sunday morning when Big Stuff was giving me the business, and I'd not even had one cup of coffee. I sent her away from the kitchen a) to get dressed and b) because the situation was deteriorating at the speed of light. I looked up, heavenward, and said "God, Help Me!!" Then Small Fry pipes in, "Mama, if you want God to help you, why don't you just prayer to Him?" Yes, yes... Why didn't I think of that? Later, she was talking with me while I got ready to go out. She asked me, "Mama, why don't you have a chart?" (Referring to her "chore" chart, which reminds her to brush her teeth, brush her hair, and put her clothes in the dirty clothes basket). I said, "Well, I'm a grown-up. I remember all the things I have to do." She says, "Then why don't you pick up your clothes off the floor?" Yes, yes... Why, indeed? Thank you, darling. You are much wiser than those preschool teachers give you credit for.

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas

St. Nicholas came to visit Small Fry at preschool today. This was a huge deal, because he leaves TREATS! IN OUR SHOES! TREATS! MAMA! TREATS! In their little shoes placed outside the classroom door, they found "Landy Cans," "Licklish" and chocolate kisses. How sweet is that? I really like Christmas Number 3. At 3, you're old enough to understand the concept, but young enough to be thrilled by the most simple of gestures. When Big Stuff was 3, she asked Santa Claus for a candy cane. That's it. Just a candy cane. Santa was apparently so impressed by this simple, sugary request that he brought her a candy cane the size of my arm. My favorite Christmas picture of all time features Big Stuff thrusting her Candy Cane treasure toward the camera with a look of complete and utter joy on her face. And in keeping with the feast, which is meant to teach us to love others the way St. Nicholas did, Small Fry held back one chocolate kiss to share with her sister - all her idea, swear. She did accuse her sister of eating all her candy afterward, but you take what you can get, right?

Thanks for the Memories

Birthdays still have the power to enchant me. Some people start to dread them after the age of 30 or so. Maybe it's the sand-slipping-through-the-hourglass feeling a.k.a. How Many Good Years Have I Got Left? Some people thoughtfully contemplate the past and the future. I save that for New Year's Day, usually. On my birthday, I still live in the shallow mindset of "Hey, look...presents!" How can you not love a day dedicated to celebrating YOU? ...Where little girls make you cards and gifts marked "Don Open Til Saterday" ...Where sweet friends tell you how glad they are you were born...Where people give you homemade cake and insist that you eat a really big piece...Where hubbies take you out for pancakes...Where mamas and daddies reminisce about the Great Day When You Came Into the World. What could be better than this? Nothing, I tell you. The only thing I don't like about birthdays is when they come to an end. What? You mean I have to wait a whole year until I get one of these again? Grrr. Luckily, because my birthday is in November, my indignation is soothed by the eminence of Thanksgiving (a perfect follow-up to the decadence of birthdays), Cutie Pie's birthday (in which festivities and gifts I get to share if I play my cards right, see how that works?) and then Christmas (Yay! Christmas!!!) There's so much to look forward to that I can't be too sad about the appearance of a November midnight and that princess-turned-back-pumpkin feeling. Oh yes, and there are the memories. I can bask in those for as long as I want!