“How I Spent My Christmas Vacation”

I’ve read that when a tree is chopped down, its age can be determined by the number of rings in the cross section of the trunk. I also understand that the worse a particular year was for said tree, the thicker the corresponding ring appears. If our family tree ever gets chopped down and the cross section of our trunk examined, the ring for the Christmas Drive 2007 will appear particularly thick.

Following are the highs and lows of our Christmas Vacation. I’ll allow you, the reader, to determine which is which.

• Four in the morning, in the Middle of Nowhere, NE, and the words from Husbands mouth are “Uh oh, we are having some major car problems.”
• Waiting 1 1/2 hours for the tow truck to arrive, and our subsequent ride in the police cruiser back to the nearest town.
• 2 1/2 days in the Middle of Nowhere, NE waiting for our car to be repaired
• On the road again! The sweet sound of our car starting!
• Laramie, WY: I-80 and I-30 both closed due to inclement weather
• Another night in a hotel. If you are counting, that is night number four spent in a hotel.
• The next morning, we are on the road again, when traffic stops because of a jack-knifed semi a quarter of a mile ahead. We spend just over three hours with our car in “park” on the I-80 outside of Rawlins, WY.
• Fresh baked sugar cookies, mint brownies, honey almond bars, homemade soup and rolls and hugs and smiles from my brothers and sister.
• Two words: Christmas Elves (Hi Sara! Hi Scott! Hi Ed! Hi Ryan! Hi April!)
• Finally, a decent haircut for the Husband!
• Reconnecting with old friends as though no time at all had passed since we last saw each other. (Hi Dallas! Hi Shannon! Hi Kate! Hi Linette, Doug, et al!)
• Sunday dinner at Kim’s!
• People seem genuinely happy to see us . . .
• We met our new nephew and nieces!
• Stella learned to fly from her daddy’s arms to her uncle’s arms and back again. Seriously fly across the room.
• Extreme and unexpected generosity of family. We are still in a bit of shock.
• When we asked the boys what was the best part of their Christmas, they exclaimed without hesitation “Tubing with Uncle Rhett!”
• Jazz 98, Mavericks 90 (Hi Dallas!)
• XBOX update (Hi Again!)
• M 16, fully automatic. Super fun. Police training simulations. I could have stayed there all night.
• Games, games, and more games. Celebrity challenge, Settlers of Cataan, Dominos, and Cranium, just to name a few. Ah, the games.
• Professional eyebrow wax.
• A delicious treat consisting of orange segments, a fistful of peanut M&M’s, a handful of Oreos, and Gatorade.
• Time, not enough time

Good-bye

If you are still reading, you are about to get a Parenting Nugget of Wisdom. On the way home, certain children (who shall remain nameless) were fighting and punching and screaming at each other. Their father pulled the car to the side of the freeway, yanked the worst offender out of the car and into the blowing snow, and and offered to allow said offender to live in the ditch if he/she did not enjoy our family. The child made the wise decision to remain a part of our family, and now we all talk about how great it would be to live in a ditch out by the highway. Unless you want to get teased and teased, you should never parent while you are in a highly emotional state. You will inevitably say or do something silly, or at least say or do something to merit you’re being teased and teased.

So the good news is that even after cramming our family of five into our five seater and spending seven out of the last thirteen days stuck in said car or waiting for said car to be repaired, we arrived home without incident and Husband and Wife continue to be madly in love with each other and totally enamored with the kids. We even got in one more game of Cranium before sending the rugrats off to bed.

Love to all and good night . . .

Ice Ice Baby

Welcome to the Midwest!

This tree is in our backyard. That is ice, people, not snow.

Um, yeah, when they say ice storm, they mean ICE STORM!! We are cold, the power has been on the fritz all day, and our whole world is under an inch of ice. I went out to scrape it off the driveway before the snow started, but our $3 plastic shovel was not up to the task.

It’s not just the sight or the bone-chilling cold, but when the wind blows through the trees and the ice cracks, it’s like nothing I’ve heard before. Combined with the grey skies that haven’t seen sun in weeks and the silence before and after the ice cracks through the world, the sound of that cracking ice is downright eerie. Spooky.

I'm ready for some sun!

By the Number aka Go Figure

Twenty two years. That’s how long The Gingerbread Tradition has thrived in my family.

Six is the minimum number of hours it takes to assemble and decorate a Gingerbread House. This does not include the time it takes to mix, roll out, bake and cut out the pieces. Nor does it include the time it takes to make the candy for the windows. This work is already completed by Gingerbread Day.

Once is the number of times I have laughed until I peed my pants while we ate almost as much frosting as we used on our houses.

One hundred is the decibel count (according to our husbands, especially Quinn) when Aunts and Cousins start singing along with our good friend Karen Carpenter. We get even louder when we start in on the Charles in Charge theme song.

Three is the number of Gingerbread Houses that were made the first year in Auntie Kim’s kitchen.

Last year there were at least twelve.

Thirty seconds is how long my decision not to make a Gingerbread House this year lasted after I announced it to my family. All of them, including the Husband, were devastated by the news.

Two is the number of friends I invited to make their Gingerbread House number One.

Two is the number of friends who want to come back next year.

Zero is the number of regrets I have about changing my mind, keeping the tradition alive, and spreading our Gingerbreadness across the country.

Thank you so much, Robin and Teresa.

In which I confess to crimes from my past

I was an eighth grader at Thompson Junior High School in Bakersfield, CA and my youngest brother was preparing to make his appearance into the world any day. For some reason long forgotten I had signed up to volunteer at the nursing home up the street.

I nervously watched The Woman across the desk eyeing the note with my mother’s name signed at the bottom giving me permission to be tested for T.B., a requirement before I began my volunteer work.

“Your mother wrote this?” Each word dripped with suspicion.

“Yes ma’am.” I lied.

I watched her hand reach for the phone and squeaked out my phone number when she requested it. I held my breath as she explained to my mom who she was and why she was calling.

When she smugly said “That’s what I thought” I found my voice and asked her to allow me to talk to my mom.

“Mom,” I began. “Don’t you remember? I wrote the note and asked you to sign it . . . no, you didn’t actually write it, you just signed it.” It didn’t take much to bully her into believing that she had signed the note and just forgotten about it. I felt evil and manipulative as I handed the receiver back to The Woman. She wasn’t fooled, she knew exactly what she had just witnessed, but with mom on the other end of the phone backing up my story, there was nothing she could do about it.

I continued the charade when I came home and told my mom that she must have forgotten signing the note because she had so much on her mind, what with the new baby on its way and dad working so much. Then I went to my room and didn’t come out all night.

I didn’t miss a single week at the nursing home until I finally had to quit a year later because we were moving.

I never forged my mother’s signature again.

The End

P.S. I have apologized to my mom for this, and she says I am forgiven.

Overheard

Otherwise titled “Proud moments in Parenting”

Jack: Mom, who is the smartest person in the world?

Me: Your mother.

Jack: Seriously, mom. Is it Stephen Hawking?

Me: Maybe, he is pretty smart.

Creed: I know who the FIRST person in the world was.

Jack: So do I, it was Adam.

Creed: Yep, but then Eve was the second person.

Jack: Yeah, ‘cause they needed to breed.

“Daddy was the horsey and I was the cowgirl . . .”

“ . . . and I fell.”

That’s what she said when the E.R. nurse asked her how she broke her arm.

Humerus near the elbow, for anyone who’s interested.

Lovely Lady Bump @ 16 weeks

Self portraits are hard! I wish a tripod would find its way to my doorstep. A new lens would be nice too, and a camera bag.

Not much of a bump yet, but I neglected to adequately document the progress of the growth of my belly during my first three pregnancies, and I am determined to stop making that mistake. I would have loved to see pictures of my mother round with me in her belly.

I had an appointment today with my O.B., and everything looks great. I miss brie, and blue cheese, and feta, but my doctor assures me that it is still the national standard to advise expecting mothers against consumption of such cheeses. Boohoo, I guess I have to console myself with swiss, cheddar, and mozzarella. However, if Aunt Kim (or anyone else) makes baked brie while I am home for Christmas, I reserve the right to have some.