Just in case you forgot...

You cannot post on blogspot with Internet Explorer 9 -- you have to downgrade to IE 8. And now that I have my lovely, old laptop back, I'm back online!!

When suburban plants attack...

Ah, gardening weather. Time to get out and put some plants in the ground. You know, the ones I bought last summer and have been nursing in pots ever since. I went out, pulled back the weeds and sunk a few in the ground. That's when I ran into something I've never seen before. It's a short, fuzzy-looking, pale green weed with heart-shaped leaves. It's lovely. Until:

This stinging nettle plant, known as the “heartleaf nettle,” has a natural defense mechanism: When touched, tiny hairs deposit burning toxins into the skin.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home...

Having a Black Christmas

Oh, do I have a revelation for you. Remember how I keep trying to figure out where I got my wacky, unrealistic goals for Christmas? I figured out where they came from. Ready? My husband! That poor man is trying to channel the year 1964. Yeah! His father used to make this fun, fun, fun time for the kids, and he's determined to do the same. Strange, sick little man. And by that, I mean my husband, not his father. It's strange the baggage we live with, isn't it?

Next year, it's store-bought cookies for me! They're better than mine anyway. But first I have to get Lewis Black's new book. ;)

So thankful...

So, so thankful.

I know what you're thinking -- she's thankful that it's over, right? No. I'm thankful for lots of things, most of them strange.

I'm thankful for food that's not made mostly of sugar. Lord knows I can't take anymore sugar. For at least three more hours. It's toast for dinner for me. Dry toast.

I'm thankful that I'm not my brother. In Iowa. Visiting his self-centered in-laws. "Let's schedule our 50th anniversary party over Christmas so we can make the kids all travel through the snow to visit us. And make sure they bring their spouses, so we can be free to do what we want when we're finished playing with the grandkids." I called their house this afternoon and told them strictly not to wake him up if he's napping. They yelled until he got up and answered the phone. *sigh* I told him not to stress as they'll be dead soon. If God is kind to us.

I'm thankful that my son didn't blow up suddenly at any point this Christmas. He almost melted down last night over a defective computer game he got for his birthday. As if Christmas doesn't overexcite him enough, his birthday is Christmas Eve. But he had a great Christmas. Even when my mom gave him a blue towel for Christmas. I think it was a gag gift to go with the $20 bill, but you never know with my mom.

I'm thankful for the dishwasher. Need I say more?

I'm thankful that I won't be cooking next year. No one eats the cookies or candies that I make, and I'm okay with that. We can do some Pepperidge Farms and Godiva next year, and no one will mind. I'll probably make some peanut brittle for my lovely husband, a pecan pie for my lovely dad, and a veggie cheese strata for my lovely mom. But that's all.

I'm thankful that my kids' brains didn't collapse, even though I left them to their own dietary devices this year. And they ate peanut M&M's all day. I realized with some chagrin this evening that I hadn't fed them all day and that they hadn't asked for anything. Oops. And I'm thankful that they didn't barf. Oh, and that they won't go bowlegged before tomorrow. Probably.

I'm thankful that my kids are growing up and I won't be going to the 5:00 children's church service next Christmas Eve. Enough is enough. Seriously, who has a "Happy Birthday Jesus" party and gives cake and punch to little kids at 5:15 on Christmas Eve? It's time for good music and candles again. The turning point is the year that the kids stay up later than you do. We're there, baby.

I'm thankful that no one was killed getting the 4x4 beam up into the attic to support the new cozy swing that hangs in my daughter's bedroom. What an ordeal! But my man and I pulled it off.

I'm thankful for my husband who helps me do the impossible. He's my counterweight, the Simon the my Garfunkel. Team Verge can take it down. "Tag me in! Tag me in!"

And I'm thankful for my internet buddies that help me when the husband doesn't get it. Thanks to you all! And merry Christmas!

And to all a good night...

Good news, bad news...

So, there's good news and there's bad news...

Good: My white-paper-bag Solstice luminaria in the driveway are lovely. I haven't set the neighborhood on fire yet or anything.
Bad: My husband put out the trash, directly in front of them. I love him so.

Good: The Boy put up the mistletoe in the hallway.
Bad: I'm going to be bumping my head on that danged jingle bell for the next three weeks.

Good: The lemon cookies turned out pretty well, despite my not having enough honey.
Bad: I'm single-handedly eating all of them.

And on it goes... :) I wonder if everyone else's good and bad mix together quite so consistently.

Like Martha freakin' Stewart!

Didja ever cook something complicated for dinner, just knowing that the kids were going to love it? No, me either. Every time I make meatballs, I think to myself, "Well, there's an hour I'll never see again!" Fortunately, I love them! (I cook the onions first, so they have a caramelized sort of flavor. Mmm.)

On a brighter note, I actually mailed a hand-knitted scarf to a dear old friend today, and included some catnip mice that I made from baby socks. I even wrapped it in an old Hickory Farms box that I re-covered with wrapping paper using spray adhesive. I felt like Martha freakin' Stewart!

Then I took the kids to Target. AND didn't get a mint mocha. Hmph. Next time I fly solo!

The house is still a mess, but I don't care anymore. My Amazon boxes arrived. The house is adequately decorated. The Husband had bought The Boy's presents, and I've taken care of everyone else. The Boy has decorated the gingerbread house. The Thanksgiving cranberries have been made into orange-cranberry bread and put in the freezer.

So, tomorrow morning I'm taking a few hours off -- and getting a mamogram. Oh, I am a wild and crazy woman on the loose!

Christmas in Dixie (Part 3)

You know it's almost Christmas when the maple trees start to turn. Yeah. Not that it's anything like Vermont -- the leaves turn a rusty dark red, while the vines turn yellow. The live oaks only turn a slightly darker green. The elm tree in my yard just goes brown and then naked. It's a lovely time of year!

On a related note, it is not redundant to decorate an orange tree. Just as the fruit becomes orange, blue balls can be added to show your allegiance to Gator Nation. Yayyyy...

Of all the Charlie Browns in the world...

So, we're well on out way toward that Most Wonderful Time Of the Year. Oh yay... And as usual, it feels like we've bought twice as many presents for the kids as they can possibly ever use. And as usual, half of those are birthday presents -- because life is just unfair for Christmas babies.

Oddly enough, this Holiday Season we've spent a boatload of cash on adult, household things. Over Thanksgiving, we put down cash for a freezer and a laptop. Then came the 32" TV for the man cave for The Husband's 50th birthday. Now, we're getting a lawn mower so we can fire the lawn service. And not just any lawn mower either. We're getting a cordless, lithium-ion battery operated mower. You have to understand that we haven't spent even close to retail on any of them, but they all averaged about $350 each. Plus the TV Armor, which wasn't on sale. Anyway, I'm feeling tapped-out. And a little stressed.

Naturally, my laptop has crapped out, so in addition to my annual physical at the GP, my annual OB/GYN appointment, my mammogram, and the 75K mile checkup on the car before the new semester starts, I now have to get the computer's graphic card replaced. My dermatologist appointment isn't until mid-January.

The Husband is finished with his semester and graduation, and the kids are officially finished for two weeks. He's already making it clear that, well, I'm not doing a very good job at gaining their cooperation. Yeah. But we're too old for arts-n-crafts history and baking-soda-and-vinegar science. We can't make cookies as math. And, yes, occasionally, they have to do something they don't particularly like. They may have to read a few pages and answer questions, infer, and draw conclusions. They may have to learn why and when the Puritans moved to the New World. (It was for religious freedom in 1630, but it only took six years for them to banish their first dissenter.) And they may have to understand why we don't really want to go back to our early American religious roots. (Sure, they were in favor of religious freedom, but only for their religion.)

Anyway, we're a week and counting to That Magical Time. The tree is up, the decorations are up outside, some of the useless tchotkes are strewn around, the gingerbread house is made but not decorated. The Boy has been fairly useful. He helped make the Advent chain, supervised the making of the gingerbread house, etc. He's actually more helpful in seeing that things get done than he is at helping do them. I'm not saying he's actually a butt head, but he has a managerial bent. ;)

Next week, I have to catch up on the housework, figure out if the presents are "even" and who I've forgotten. I have The Girl's usual activities, with maybe a token of affection for the teachers. I just pulled the trigger on my Amazon shopping cart, and all that stuff should get here Wednesday. I have to produce presents for my dad to give the kids. I have some of my cooking done and in the new freezer, but I have more to do. I usually make the candy on the 23rd. The 24th is pretty much shot, between the birthday party (around noon), chapel (at 5pm), and Chinese food (around 7pm). Then I have to put a cheese strata and overnight cinnamon buns in the fridge. (I think I can do some of that in the morning.) Then The Husband and I have to anaesthetise the kids, put out the loot, and go to bed.

Why do I hate the Christmas season so much? Maybe Lucy is right. Of all the Charlie Browns, I'm the Charlie Browniest. Maybe I need involvement. Or a real live Christmas tree. Maybe my shoes are too tight. But I suspect that my heart is two sizes too small. What do you think?

Say whaaaaaat?

I should feel inspired by the generosity of others, but somehow...

Exsqueeze me? What's next? Caroling for the clerks at the 7-11? Must be nice to be that crazy... :)

It reminds me of Sylvia's "The Woman Who Does Everything Better Than You", as she takes snacks to the postal workers on April 15 midnight. And yet, part of me thinks, "That's so nice. Why didn't I think of that?"

Christmas in Dixie (Part 2)

Darn, it's going to rain... sometime next week. ;)

Quick question (And a not-so-quick one, too)

Is it really an apology when they wake you from a nap to tell you?


And what can I do with a child who has no sense of shame? Guilt, he has, but shame? Not so much.

Now, I'm not talking about long-term debilitating shame. I'm talking about ordinary social shame -- the kind that keeps you from acting like an ass in public. Seriously. Stomping around and whining about being bored while waiting for church. Flopping around and groaning with exhaustion while sprawled lengthwise in the church pew. Generally acting like an ass. "Look, there are 85-year-olds and toddlers here who sit upright for the entire service. I really expect you to do a little better than this."

Have you no shame? Apparently not. I keep waiting for the epiphany, but it never comes. I can't decide if he's an ass or if he is autistic. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.

Christmas in Dixie (part 1)

Anyone else get bitten by a fire ant while putting up outdoor Christmas decorations? Just asking...

Not that you'd admit it to anyone...

... but do you ever wonder if your kids are stupid or just lazy? Seriously? Daily. And what gives them the idea that if they say "I dunno" enough times, I'll give up? And why don't the homeschool supply stores sell cattle prods?

And on a related note, is it normal to want to curl up in the fetal position and let the kids do whatever they want for a few hours? Or days? And can I blame this urge on a virus? The ostrich flu or something?

According to the San Diego Zoo:

Actually, that’s a myth: ostriches do not bury their heads in the sand! When an ostrich senses danger and cannot run away, it flops to the ground and remains still, with its head and neck flat on the ground in front of it.

That sounds just about right.