Mom (shopping online for Christmas party outfit): Now what do you think of this one? It’s a Georgette.

Me: Doesn’t look very forgiving… (forgiving - hides all the body stuff you are insecure about)

Mom: Yes, but I could push “the girls” way up here (pointing to neckline) and no one will notice what is down below.

Me: *shaking my head*

Believe it or not… my mom is Kathie Lee Gifford’s evil twin… I swear.

Over the weekend Kate “slaved” away at Nana’s house, going to the movies and helping her decorate the front yard for Christmas. The front walk is lined with candy canes, large wreaths adorn the doors and windows, a large elf standing in the yard perches several colorfully wrapped packages upon his shoulders, street signs point the way to “Santa’s Workshop” and the “Reindeer Stables” and a cheerful lantern on a post greets visitors with a bright “Welcome.” The tree trunks are carefully wrapped with lights and the large pillars at the front porch are wrapped with garland and adorned with big red bows… it’s Christmas time at mom’s house.

It is a true work of art especially given that much of the lawn art is handmade and painted by my mom and brother.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and no creature stirred aside from the 2 cocker spaniels and one disgruntled cat.

Until yesterday…

As I took the boys back to school after lunch I noticed that the neighbors across the street from my mom were adding to their Christmas decorations. Last year they had spiral christmas trees and lollipops lining the front walk… nary an elf or santa or light strung tree trunk could be found.

Over the weekend the spiral trees had gone up as did the lights lining the front of the house. After my mom spent the weekend decorating the neighbors had apparently done some “over the fence peeking” and decided to add the finishing touches to their front yard YESTERDAY.

Now, I should (but obviously didn’t) preface this whole neighbor thing by saying that this is one of “those” highly competitive families. The type that have all of their kids in Little League and Dad coaches (admirable, sure) by screaming at the kids throughout the entire game and acting as if an ivy league scholarship depends on the outcome of a Little League game between 7 and 8 year olds. (No offense to those of you whose children are involved in sports, I do know that there are some normal families who are involved for all the right reasons, honest).

So as I rounded the corner I found Mr. & Mrs. Competition adding the SAME EXACT lit candy canes that my mom had lining her walk to their own version of the north pole… which now sadly included not one but THREE FREAKING SANTA CLAUSES. How is that for confusing the kiddies all in the sake of running over the Joneses with a ride-on lawn mower?!?!?

After stuffing candy canes in the bushes and around the giant plywood santa and the giant inflatable santa as well as the wooden santa head on a stake (guess that is the cannibal santa) they proceeded to wrap every tree trunk in their yard with lights (he’s like 7 feet tall are you telling me he couldn’t reach up and hang some IN the trees?) including down the side of the house (they are on a corner lot with a useless strip of lawn running down the side of their house and backyard) that faces my mom’s front yard.

My mom is convinced that this last little item on their list was a personal snub (not wanting to be too hasty, I had already reached this conclusion with the candy canes and multiple Santas) after seeing this she is now realizing when their ill-behaved twin Jack Russell Terriers from hell broke loose from the back yard and pillaged my mom’s cat’s dishes and ended with a giant puke-fest on her front porch that this was done purposely to delay my her annual decorating plans.

Last night she called shrieking that they were outside “gloating” standing in front of their house with all three brats kids in tow gawking at their own yard complete with all the appropriate (or in this case, innapropriate) ooo’s and ahhhh’s.

This means war… mom is now determined to go BIGGER and BRIGHTER than ever, we’re talking National Lampoon Christmas Vacation porportions here.

My suggestion… we go to the roof! Mr. 7-Foot-Tall-With-A-Competitive-Streak is obviously afraid of heights.

Related Tags: Christmas, Christmas spirit, decorations, lights, competition, neighbors, Santa, Santa Claus, Nana

Ahhhh… the aftermath of Thanksgiving.

I woke up Friday morning with every intention of cleaning house, having the carpets cleaned. The plan was to begin preparing for Christmas. Instead I woke up with a massive migraine that left me incapacitated for most of the day. I returned from the land of pain and darkness just in time to enjoy the winter rain storm that had blown in and make a pot of French Onion soup.

This morning my darling husband is still in bed (now 10:30am and counting) although, in his defense, he’s tired. He rented a Rug Doctor and cleaned all of the carpets yesterday… so the carpets are clean but the house still requires some minor clean up before Ethan and I climb up to the storage loft in the laundry room and start dragging down boxes of Christmas decorations.

Katie put in a labor intensive two days at my mom helping her create an enormous Thanksgiving feast (which was absolutely awesome!!!) and is still at Nana’s house. Last report I received she slept in until 11:00 yesterday morning (unheard of for Kate) and was treated to a movie with Nana (Yours, Mine and Ours - which they said was really cute).

Oh to be young and in the safety and resort-style comfort of Nana’s house again… *sigh*

I’m trying to find something amusing in all of this and I have to admit I’m having a difficult time… instead I feel like I am behind in what I wanted to achieve this weekend and if I don’t hurry up and accomplish something there will be almost no point in picking out a Christmas tree tomorrow.

It could be worse… I could have spent yesterday shopping at the mall.

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!!!!!

Just the thought of it gave me chills and cold sweats.

I’m preparing to gorge myself silly today with all the traditional fare… turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatos, fruit salad, rolls and DESSERT!

That’s right… top all of those lovely carbs off with straight, wonderful, sugar in the form of chocolate, ice cream, and cobbler! (Snicker Cream Cheese Pie, Butterfinger Pie, and mixed berry cobbler! All Home-made!)

I don’t like pumpkin pie… never have, actually. Aren’t I terrible?

Still, I will take time away from gaining 5 pounds to think of all my wonderful blog buddies that I am so thankful for and hope that you are all having a wonderful Thanksgiving… and for those of you skinny broads out there I’ll be sure to drink a toast and sincerely wish that you pack at least 2 pounds to each thigh and 1 to your skinny butts! ;o)

My two oldest are 3 yrs. and 4 months apart in age. Which means that they are close enough to argue and side up with one another against their parents. This means that I have to constantly be watching for the tell-tale signs that they have joined forces and are using their powers for evil instead of good.

This is probably an alliance that would put foaming-at-the-mouth survivors to shame… and always ends up getting either my husband, myself, or both of us voted off the island. Never a pretty sight.

I’ve compiled a list of things to avoid doing when you’ve been ganged up on by your own children:

• Don’t scold one in the presence of the other - it only guarantees mutiny. Example:
  Me: “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
  Sibling (not in trouble at the moment): “He didn’t roll his eyes at you - I was looking right at him!”
• Asking stupid questions is never a good idea either. “Did she just slam her door?” reply - “I didn’t hear anything.”
• Don’t say something like, “What is up your brother’s butt?” after sending his sister in to change clothes twice. Guaranteed she’s incredibly ticked at you and will probably only say, “I don’t think HIS butt is the problem, mom.”

The only real solution here is to punish one for something the other did while completely ignoring their protests (and attempts of the guilty party to claim responsibility for their actions.) It’s an age-old divide and conquer strategy that works 98% of the time. When you manage to hang guilt on an innocent party it almost always guarantees the innocent party becoming completely, murderously, livid with the guilty party - as soon as they are at each other’s throats balance and proper control will once again return to the household.

I had to restrain myself yesterday. (Hard to believe, isn’t it?)

I had a very important package arriving via FedEx.

Every time the dog began barking I ran to the door, hopping the baby gate and nearly breaking my neck… EVERY TIME.

I began to fantasize about calling FedEx

Dip Answering the Phone: Hello FedEx

Me: Hello, I’m having a package delivered, umm today, at least according to the website, it’s in the truck at this very moment.

Dip: How can I help you? (because in my fantasies people are always polite and anxious to help!)

Me: Well, I’m figuring that the delivery guy has got to have a cell phone, right?

Dip: Of course!

Me: Well, I’d like you to give him a jingle (because in my fantasies I always revert back to swingin’ 50’s lingo)
and tell him not to by shy about knocking. Tell him that gorgeous, colonial door knocker (a present from my mom) is not just there for looks… he should definitely, enthusiastically use the darn thing!

Dip: Will do, ma’am, I’ll call him right now!

Me: Thanks, you’re a peach! (It’s my fantasy… I can refer to people as fruit!)

To the young lady who dumped my son:

You have far too much life ahead of you to start off ending romantic relationships with the, “It’s not you, it’s me… I hope we can still be friends” excuse.

Ethan has seen just as many episodes of Friends, Seinfeld, and even Dawson’s Creek as you have. While you are absolutely adorable and appear to be sweet and very bright - you aren’t Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox or even a pre-Tom Cruise Katie Holmes. Which means you probably need acting lessons, better writers or both.

Since your mom and I have been friends for years and will continue to be so, this means that there are going to be occasions when we’ll all end up seeing each other. I think you might end up wishing you had chosen a more original reason to break up.

Best Wishes,
Amy
aka “Annoyed Mom”

Ahhhh, yes, still in the Thankful spirit here.

Yesterday I must have listened to “Come Fly With Me” by Michael Buble a dozen or more times. Really. I absolutely love that song and I love his version of it. I’ve heard people call him the *new* Harry Connick Jr. - that really doesn’t fly with me (ha! Pardon the pun there) because absolutely NO ONE could replace or be a newer or better version of Harry, but enough fan gushing for the moment.

“Come Fly With Me” has got to be one of the most romantic songs ever. It reminded me of our trip to Las Vegas a few years ago. Mike had never been there so we spent the evening hitting all the sights and walking all over the strip. One of our last stops was a trip up to the top of the “Eiffel Tower” at Paris. After we were going through the Paris casino and happened to trip into a cigar and jazz bar called “Napoleon’s” it was dimly lit with candles and filled with big overstuffed velvet couches and intimate little tables. We plopped onto a big, velvet couch and ordered drinks (he ordered a whiskey and I had a mudslide). There was a great little band and they were playing old standards (my favorite) they did an awesome rendition of “Almost Like Being In Love” which is one of my favorite Sinatra songs.

Anyway… so as I was listening to “Come Fly With Me” I was chatting online with Kate who was down at the office with Mike. I told her to tell her dad that the music I was listening to reminded me of Napoleon’s. I was intentionally being a little cryptic because I wanted to see if he actually remembered (you know how men can be).

He told her to tell me, “that’s cool. I’ll come home and pour a glass of whiskey and enjoy it with you.”

An obvious sign that he remembered our evening at Napoleon’s. ;o)

Sometimes, husbands aren’t all bad.

Ok, Thanksgiving is just next week and in the spirit of giving thanks I am doing a little shameless promoting. Not for myself, but for three people I truly admire in the blogosphere … I am thankful for the laughs I have had reading the blogs by these three talented ladies and even more thankful that on occasion they stop by and post a comment or two here.

Bonanza Jellybean, Zube Girl, and Painting Chef have teamed up for a unique spin on the advice column. It should be a lot of fun I hope you’ll visit!

~ Allow me to preface this post by saying that I know there are a lot of people out there who are irritated that stores had Christmas stuff up before Halloween or Thanksgiving (Halloween is too early, even for me). I know that we aren’t even past Thanksgiving yet, but I happen to love this time of year, so you’ll just have to bear with a few Holiday themed posts. Thanks for your… ummmm… tolerance, I suppose.

We are going to go pick out our Christmas tree Thanksgiving weekend. To some that might be early… for us, it’s just perfect. We usually don’t get our tree until the first weekend in December, but that is because we typically have to wait for my husband’s company Christmas bonus, complete with an entire evening of rich, oil company owners patting themselves on the back for huge profit margins while expecting their employees to kiss their asses. (whooo! Just a little leftover bitterness there… sorry about that!)

Anyway - we are WAY beyond that, thank goodness, because my husband is on to bigger and better things.

So, back to the original point here… oh yes, we are getting our tree a week early!

I mentioned that to the kids the other day and Kate got excited and Ethan was just a little ho-hum about it. When I asked him if he planned on getting excited about Christmas at all this year, he responded with this little gem (no Dora slandering involved for once):

“I can’t get excited yet because all the stuff hasn’t really started.”

Me: What do you mean?

Ethan: It’s not quite Christmas until we go to the tree lot and Dad tells you the tree you picked out is too big and you get mad. Then you guys fight about the tree and you stomp around the tree lot until Dad gives in.

The Moral Of The Story:

A Christmas tree is important enough to fight over, in fact, the annual fight can even become a holiday tradition. When you can’t get your husband to agree to your tree desire… pout and stomp around the lot until he gives in.