It’s Christmas… the season of peace, love, hope, and happiness. The season where everything seems to be a little brighter, everyone seems a little more nice and even helpful than any other time of year.

Except, I’ve had three run-ins with lousy customer service and there are at least two other things I’m considering ranting about. The problem is that it’s Christmas and I just don’t feel like I should be spewing negativity.

Even though there have been times I feel like I have been ambushed by overwhelming stupidity, not mine, someone else’s, of course, I just don’t feel that this time of year is the time to air grievances. Counting blessings and all that sort of thing… That does NOT mean that I wouldn’t fully support Miss Britt’s plan to designate an island to send stupid people to.

Even in my search for Christmas peace, kindness, and serenity, I have not been a shining example of such things. And, even though I love the warm, mushy feelings this time of year usually inspires, it didn’t stop me from leaving a rather tense comment on a dear friend’s blog in response to someone else’s comment (that was directed at me). Vague enough for you? Sorry about that.

The thing is, I’m pretty cool with being insulted occasionally, but I sort of got the feeling that this person was slightly insulting my son and that is something I won’t tolerate, not even a tiny bit. It’s a Mother Lion thing.

In a sense, I think the Mother Lion thing is pretty appropriate to the season. I can’t believe for even a moment that in the manger Mary wasn’t sizing up the three wise men and thinking, “Did any of you wash your hands before you showed up trying to touch my kid?”

Lights in the front yard… let’s not talk about the section that burned out at the corner of the house that will be replaced TODAY. (insert me seething here) Or the fact that we only have lights across the gables on the first story because if anyone walks on the roof it will void the new roof warranty. (insert copious amounts of cursing here) - and, finally, nevermind the fact that I still have two orders that should have been delivered A WEEK ago to complete my front yard theme.

Instead, this is what I’ve got SO FAR…

The tree is another story. I only had to go to ONE lot this year… ONE!!! There have been years when that number was closer to 5 (or 6) because there are just too many crappy trees out there. But, not this year… this year, it was ONE lot and the PERFECT tree. The obvious downside is that many of the ornaments are breakable and thus had to be put higher up on the tree because of the resident toddler. This means that I have a tree that is slightly less evenly covered than I prefer. (insert minor amounts of seething and cursing here)

All in all… the first Christmas in this house is off to a wonderful start!!!!

You won’t imagine what dirty little secret I found out about my son a week or so ago.

No, really, you won’t.

He’s a traitor. The little rat is a complete TRAITOR. I’ve tried to teach him right from wrong. I thought I had done a good job.

I’m embarrassed to even admit this… really, I am.

The kid… *gasp* *sob* watches Meredith on the Today show. Every.Morning. You might be able to imagine how gut-wrenching this is for me. I’m absolutely heartbroken.

You should see my house.

I’m a complete Christmas FREAK. I’ll be posting pics soon… the front yard has been decorated, I have wreaths everywhere and tomorrow we’ll be out looking for the PERFECT Christmas tree.

Although, I’m afraid I’ll probably annoy Joe with the new blog decor. Not only do I listen to Bing Crosby… I adore White Christmas… and now, I’ve decorated my blog with Bob, Phil, Judy, and Betty.

Pfft.

Scroogie-Poo can just get over it, dontcha think?

It’s HERE!!!!

It’s FINALLY HERE!!!!

Thanksgiving…

Homemade cranberry sauce
Mom’s stuffing
Mashed Potatos
Sweet Potato Souffle
TURKEY TURKEY TURKEY

And

Dessert.

I’m going on a diet in January. I swear I am.

Happy Thanksgiving all! I hope yours is wonderful and brings you tons of warm, sweet, gooey, delicious memories for years to come! Most importantly, I hope you eat like a pig and don’t gain and ounce. (now that is a holiday wish people should appreciate!)

There are very few people I feel completely comfortable having conversations with. It seems to me that conversations are really just like bad relationships in miniature form.

There’s the start, which is kind of like a honeymoon phase. You are talking to someone that you haven’t had a conversation with in a while and so it’s fresh and new. Then it picks up speed and you hit that peak, the peak is great, you think, “Wow, I don’t sound like a complete dumbass and this person and I really have something in common.”

That’s where I’d like to be like George on Seinfeld and leave on a high note. “Thank you, goodnight! Don’t forget to tip your waitress!”

Then it’s all down hill… pretty soon you are stammering and really don’t have anymore of yourself to offer, you don’t want to take it to the next level and suggest a conversation another time…

Finally, you are stammering and trying to find a quick, clean and polite way out of the conversation so you can move on with your life. It’s not a coffee moment when you enjoy a good conversation over a cup of coffee, it’s a diet coke moment, it’s great, it’s fizzy, but eventually it goes flat and you are looking for a good place to toss your can.

I’m far better with email than I am in person. That being said, in a small group (read - MICRO) of people, I do better, have people to bounce off of and can avoid the uncomfortable one-on-one where I am looking for a way out when it’s gone flat.

I can list the people on one hand that I can have normal conversations with and at the end feel completely comfortable saying, “well, I’m done here, it’s been nice… but I’ve got to go…”

She’s one of these people.

Which is why this is what it is.

My MIL’s birthday is today. We took her out to dinner Sunday night and my mom, stepdad, and brother came. It was a lot of fun, the food was great. The moms were chatting none stop, which is always nice - unless they involve someone else in the conversation.

They were talking about the church my MIL goes to and some of the people that she knows. They were comparing notes and it turns out that one of my MIL’s close friend was married to a doctor. Turns out that doctor is the same doctor who delivered yours truly, this sort of thing can NEVER go in a good direction.

I can’t remember the exact conversation because I was having this wonderful fruity drink, ok, two of these wonderful fruity drinks.

Mom: Oh my gosh, he delivered Amy!

MIL: Really? I’ll have to tell ________ that! Amy! Did you know that __________’s husband delivered you?

Mike: You remember him, don’t you, honey? (joking, obviously)

Me: Why yes, I do, we had some wonderful conversations and I’ve sent him a thank you card at my birthday every year!

*Moms rolling their eyes - then returning to their conversation sans us*

MIL: Well, you know he beat his wife, don’t you?

Ethan was sick and the day Rumsfeld resigned he wasn’t at school. When he came to school the next day…

Teacher: Ethan, where were you yesterday?

Ethan: In Washington for the elections…

Teacher: Really?

Ethan: Yep, I made Rumsfeld and offer he couldn’t refuse.

Yep, my son puts the smart in smartass.

——————

Monday, if that weren’t bad enough, it’s also foggy. It’s been foggy all weekend. Which means that every kid in town is anxiously tuned into the news (probably the only time 70% of watch it) waiting for the announcement of the “Fog Delay” list.

My kids got up and checked the website to see if their districts were calling a delay. Delays mean they don’t have to show up until 10:30am and 11:20am (high school).

So far… nothing. Which means I’m annoyed because, truly, the fog is really bad this morning. I can’t even see the house across the street.

Between Christmas shopping, prepping for a baby shower this weekend, and of course, business… I’ve been swamped. I’ve been a really bad blog buddy and haven’t been able to comment as much as I like. Let’s be honest, that’s basically been the case since my husband moved his office into our house. I still try to drop by and read as much as possible… but, well, let’s just leave it at, “I’m really sorry and I’m going to try to get back into the old routine really soon.”

New renter alert… visit A Pile of Dogbones and drop a hello, make sure to say I sent you!

Ok, so Wicked H over at Avert Your Eyes had this post on her siblings and it reminded me of a favorite family story about a different type of backseat adventure.

I have three uncles on my mom’s side. My mom is the baby and was regularly abused for being the baby and the only girl. Not that my mom has ever whined or wept bitterly about this. Aside from the WWII re-enactments in the backyard (this was the late 50’s and the world was a very different place) where she was always the nurse and ALWAYS the casualty of friendly-fire within the first 5 minutes of the game. This would be my uncles’ way of “playing nice” with their sister.

My oldest uncle I have mentioned before. He is nothing short of Father Christmas to me, having given me a truly magical lesson in the simpler joys of Christmas mystery and delight when I was very young.

My other two uncles are satan’s hench men. Horrible, self-righteous, lying, manipulating, abusive, disgusting pigs. I’m being as nice as I possibly can. I’d love to shed some light on some of the most vile, dispicable, behavior known to man, but it’s not my place to get into it.

Suffice it to say, these men are the lowest form of human being.

I say that so you won’t feel an ounce of remorse for the following story. In fact, I hope you get a sort of wickedly, perverse delight in it.

I’m thinking this would have been the early to mid 60’s although, my mom has never put a year on it. But, I imagine this would have to be the case. On Sundays my grandparents liked to take an afternoon drive and look at model homes. My mom and the youngest of her three older brothers, R, would be held hostage in the backseat with remnants of the weekend’s homework assignments to finish up for school on Monday.

Mom and R would sit in the backseat while my grandparents toured the model homes. On one particular occasion, R was being his typical shit-self. He would lean far over the front seats and come flying back down landing hard on the bench seat while my mom attempted to finish her homework. Distracting, to say the least.

Finally, frustrated and unable to write anything because of the bouncing baboon next to her, MM (my mom), decided to take action. Everything slowed down and there before her was her brother’s ass ready to come down onto the bench seat, again. There, in her right hand, was a rather dull pencil…

MM looked at the pencil and looked at her brother’s ass, there wasn’t much time to make a decision, but I am 100% convinced the right one was made that day. She took her hand and placed it on the bench seat with the pencil point UP just as R’s ass came thundering back down.

Let’s say, that to this day, a boy has NEVER leapt up from a backseat so fast.

MM said that it took several hard tugs (all with R. screaming like he was being murdered) to pull the pencil out where it literally was protruding out the back of his pants and was, without a doubt, lodged successfully into the deepest regions of his ass…

This, my friends, is what you call “tearing someone a new asshole.”

MM was laughing so hard she was sobbing. My grandparents scurried out of the model home to see what was wrong with their kids and immediately drove them home. Later in the bathroom behind a closed door my grandparents examined R’s new orifice. All the while my mom sat outside listening and laughing so hard she was still crying.

MM didn’t get into trouble because my grandparents were convinced it was an “accident” and that she was “overwhelmed” with guilt, why else would she be sobbing and unable to catch her breath?

I’m willing to bet that R has one heck of a scar to this day. And, that is the LEAST he deserves.