Yeah. That'll Happen Again Next Year.

If you have lottery numbers, play 'em now. I'm writing two blogs in two days. Hot damn! I'm on a roll!

Every year Jeff and I talk about writing a Christmas letter. We make great plans for it and NEVER follow through. Well, technically we never actually start so that would make following through difficult. Our "plan" consists of witty banter back and forth while he's home for lunch. By the time he's home that evening we both realize how foolish we were to think we were actually going to get the letter out. So, what's the backup plan? A "Happy New Year" letter, which becomes Easter, etc. If you're reading this blog and thinking I don't care about you because you don't get a letter from me annually that is the result of several hours of me frantically digging through the archives of my brain for things that happened over the last year to/for/because of my family, don't. It would probably come across more like a schizophrenic's version of themed poetry. So we should probly all just be ok with the status quo.

Hey, check out my profile. I updated it.

Before Christmas, just after Thanksgiving, my Christmas hormone kicks in. I'm happy. Overly friendly with complete strangers. I make several mental notes about t-shirts I need to have made for people I know because "its just SO them!". I behave in such a way many of those close to me have scribbled in the margins of their Christmas lists "intervention for Ang...". I fill or cover any areas I can reach or at least get to via a good, lucky throw with Christmas lights. I break out the Christmas scented candles. No. The rest of the year nature does not, in fact, smell like that. I decide baking cookies with the girls is EXACTLY what we should do. I honestly think the messy process won't give any of us the development of a new personality. And Christmas music is listened to at all times. I approach Christmas like doomsday preppers approach the end of the world. But, I use more scotch tape.

Cue Christmas madness. We bounce from house to house. We eat and eat and eat. We watch the girls' minds get blown by the Christmas presents their family members have so graciously given them. Bedtimes fall to the wayside. Pistachios begin counting as a green vegetable. And somewhere around here, in all of this magic and happiness and family, all freakin' hell breaks loose. My patience shrivel to nothing. Jeff begins speaking under his breath and seeking patterns. The girls scream through the time-space continuum and turn 16. And hateful. They roll on the floor in public. They threaten the elderly. They lock me in closets. Jeff still seeks patterns and fuzzy surfaces. And then...I lose my shit. Publicly, privately, makes no difference to me. If you've never been to Disney World but have heard the stories of the 'happy' families there, don't feel left out. Stand near me about this time of year and you'll see all the Goddamn magic you need. Complete with fairies trapped in jars. Every year, I try to raise the bar on my shock and awe approach to coming down from the holidays. I'm not going to describe it here. You don't need to know.

The next phase is de-Christmasing the house. Hating myself for wrapping strings of light around everything we own. Laughing at the me who decided to incorporate some of the Christmas décor into our regular home. Stripping the skin from my cuticles shoving packaging into contractor trash bags in an overly aggressive kind of way. Looking at the girls' gifts that have yet to escape their plasticky prisons as things that if returned could buy me something shiny.

At no point in ANY of this, beginning to end, do I feel the need to be a better person next year and be a Red Cross bell ringer. FYI.

So, now we're up against New Year's Eve which has been handled a number of different ways over the years. When we were much more youngish, we would attend the Bismarck Mandan Symphony Orchestra New Year's Eve Gala with my parents. We got dressed up, danced to live orchestra music, ate amazing food. Then, we got married and moved to Madison. Our New Year's plans vacillated between house parties and bars. After we had kids, New Year's was another night in, but with champagne. Or not. Now that the girls are older, we're spending New Year's with friends whose daughter is Ava and Phia's "Bestie", thanks Tom and Brenna! We're looking forward to a New Year's eve with friends. One that is comfortable, but fun and festive just based on the guest list. There will be tasty foods, champagne, friends. I think I can say with certainty that its going to be our best ever way to end a year.

So that January 1, 2013 I can start stockpiling my holiday spirit for next year.

Did I mention I updated my profile?

Thank you, Sir. May I blog another?

I have been encouraged friendly like to blog, thank you Trish and Teresita, and I have been guilted to blog; you know who you are. Jeff. And here is the result of that nudging: *I'm sitting at the computer in the dining room. When I sat down it was quiet. Now, Ava is playing Lady Gaga Kidzbop style for me. I'm not allowed to look directly at her, but judging by her shadow, she is rocking OUT. Sophia is quite forcefully showing me how her puppy eats carrots. Celery. Now celery. Celery! MAMA!! Yes. Celery. Neat! Nnnnutssss!!! He eats nuts. Look. Look. LooK! (extra emphasis on the 'K'. Try it at the office. Got my attention.) He eats nutsssss! Ok,yes, nuts! Awesome! We have now maxed out the volume on the Leappad. And I think Ava is having a seizure. Don't LOOK! Ok. Not a seizure. She dances just like me! And, Phia is showing me, pay close attention here, how to write each and EVERY letter in the alphabet. After she writes the letter, we still watch because then her Leappad gives us a word that starts with that letter. And THEN, her puppy acts out the word. But, we have to see it ALL or we miss out on the point and have to do it again. Ava is spinning now. Spinning like she may never stop. If not for the Christmas tree. I did that once. Except I was rollerblading. And I didn't actually make it to the tree. Any friends out there who remember this story are now invited to draw their very best depiction of this event of athletic prowess and post it to Facebook. The winner gets a prize! So, why does it take so long for me to follow one blog with another? For the same reason I don't follow one "shower" day with another. God gave me a family. A vibrant, active, LETS SHARE THIS MOMENT ALL OF US TOGETHER RIGHT NOW family. Sitting quietly is not actually listed as an option in my mom papers. Kidzbop actually paid money, I think; not sure how the exchange of money happens with this "music", to have children sing a song whose main lyrics are "I whip my hair back and forth! I whip my hair back and forth!" Hey, um, guys? Someday that kid is going to be in a position of power. Does that concern anyone else? My sister and her two kids, who admittedly are adults trapped in children's bodies, came home from the Cities for Christmas. My nephew, who is 8, and I were watching a bit of TV when a really bad commercial came on. He asked me what the point of the commercial was. And I, forgetting his REAL age, said "Well, its just a silly commercial where they are playing with words that have a couple meanings." He said, "that wasn't silly. that was stupid." So, I said, "well then, I guess you better grow up to be the guy that writes better commercials." What does my nephew then say with exactly ZERO hesitation? "No. I'm going to grow up to be the guy that FIRES the guy who makes the stupid commercials." Ok. So, um, no Super Friends for you? Having been directed to blog has actually worked fairly well. It would seem I write better when I think less. Minus the complete lack of flow and direction. And point.