Okay, last holiday post

So, the holidays are almost over. I really really hate when this happens. January, in particular, sucks the big one when all the eating, drinking and being merry we’ve done for the last 6 weeks is no longer acceptable. The only thing we have to look forward to is cold and snow and… more snow and cold. And MLK Jr. Day.

All in all, it was a good Christmas. Our boys, who have not been able to sleep apart for the last year or so (even though they have their own rooms), received a bunk bed from Santa. Their response?

“Gee, thanks, Santa. And... where are the Legos?”

And, after I attempted to put the sheets on the top bunk, I was asking the same thing.

My Christmas traditions haven’t changed much since getting married and having children. Aside from missing Christmas Eve with my extended family, things have pretty much stayed the same. I still spend most of Christmas Day in my PJs at my mother’s. We still eat Eggs Benedict for brunch, we still joke about how the hollandaise curdled that one time, we still have assigned seats for present opening, and, even though my mother spends most of the day complaining, it’s still a little slice of heaven.

Since I am not the Great Giver of Gifts (my mother had previously held that title until she gave the boys bedding as a gift [my sister currently holds that title as she presented them with Nerf guns this year – and thank you, Meemee, for that one]), the boys like it at my parents’ just as much. The place where they get more than just underwear and socks. And educational toys. Their bounty is… bountiful plentiful at my parents’. So much so, I don’t know where we’re going to put it all once it is out from under our Christmas tree. And, even though I expressly instructed my family, “NO MORE LEGOS,” we are, again, knee-deep in little plastic jagged-edged pieces I can’t seem to not step on.

I wonder if the boys would notice if half their gifts disappeared by the new year?

Because I work in an office above a shopping center, I shop for myself. Often. So, I gave my husband a much needed break and asked for only one thing for Christmas: P90X2. I have been pretty lax about exercising for the last, oh, 3 or so months, knowing I’d be getting the P90X2 for Christmas. And I had plenty of rationalizations for skipping exercise:

• I’m getting P90X2 for Christmas. I start my new workout regime in the new year.
• I’ll just sit here on the couch and do butt clenches. That counts as exercise, right?
• It’s too cold (warm, rainy, snowy) to get to the gym. I’ll do 100 crunches before bed. (I didn’t.)
• My yoga instructor took the last 2 weeks off from classes. Surely, I can, too.

But, now that the holidays are almost over and I did get what I asked for, it’s time to start P90X2. I watched the “Watch This First” video yesterday and, I have to admit, I’m scared. I’d never seen so many warnings on an exercise program. I feel like I should get a full body check-up (including blood work and body scans) before putting the first DVD in the player. How’s my heart?  Have I updated my will?  Will it all be worth it if I never see my children graduate?

But, I’m going to do it. I enjoyed tolerated did the first P90X and now kind of miss Tony, so I’m looking forward to doing it willing to do it again.

I hope I survive.

Until then, we’ll be hosting New Year’s Eve at our house. A fun group where the kids outnumber the parents, we’ll all be in our PJs, eating, drinking and being merry one last time before I quite possibly end up in the hospital for liver strain.

Let the games begin!

Another holiday post

So, every year at Christmas, I host at least one party.  I love having people at the house.  It's a lot of work to pull off a good party, but I enjoy it.  Since my dear sister lives in Texas, she doesn't get to see our friends that often.  I normally throw a party when she gets home where she can see everyone at once.  This year, another friend is hosting that party, so that left me with no party to have.  I even got out of hosting Christmas Eve with the husband's family this year. 

I couldn't go without a party this season (at the very least, to cover other people in glitter), so I invited a few of our new friends over on Friday for a Euchre tournament.  Since our basement flooded and TV blew up (all over Thanksgiving weekend - yeah, that was awesome), we had recently replaced the carpeting and TV down there (which effectively made the basement the greatest room we'll never use).  We threw the Wii and the kids in the basement so we could eat, drink and be merry on the main floor.

I go through a routine every time before having a party.  I panic over the menu, I worry about the things that still need to be fixed in our house (is it possible to replace the dining room carpeting before the party?), I curse living with all boys (can't they at least try to aim?). 

Sounds fun, right?  It must be awesome living with me.

But, by the time people show up, the house is in pretty good shape, there are wonderful smells coming from the kitchen and the alcohol is flowing freely (or it could be that because the alcohol is freely flowing all those other things are happening).  At any rate, it's all good.

And, these people are great.  They like to drink, they like to laugh, they like to play cards.  What could be better?

A week before the party, I discussed the menu with my sister.  Because she's a fantastic host, I get all my ideas from her.  My plan was to offer heavy appetizers for us and pizza for the kids.  My sister gave me recipes for a hot spinach and artichoke dip, olive cheese puffs, artichoke appetizers on party pumpernickel and a feta cheese appetizer.  It was my first time making 2 of those things and I didn't kill anyone!  Success!

My husband's birthday was the day before the party.  He had been hinting for about a year now that he wanted the XBox 360 with Kinect.  I had to admit it looked pretty cool, so I didn't judge my 38-year-old husband for wanting a gaming system for Christmas (not much anyway).  My idea was that we could use it at the party, so I also got him the dance game.  Because what guy doesn't want a dancing game?

After I lost every. single. hand of Euchre, we brought out the XBox.  One of our guests had to chug an entire beer to be coerced into dancing, but he did it.  And man, it was fun.  As much as I love to dance, I've now realized I'm a terrible dancer.  Well, according to the XBox anyway.  But?  Fun.

And, even though I nursed a slight hangover most of the weekend (I am not a morning after hangover person, I am usually a second day hangover person, wtf?), I had a great time.  And somehow, because of the success of this party, we are now hosting New Years Eve.  Yay! 

I gotta practice my booty bump.

I want to dance! (aka It's so beautiful, I want to cry)

So, my mother, SIL and I took my 7-year-old and my 6-year-old niece to see the Nutcracker on Saturday. It had been a long-standing tradition (read:  we went more than once) of ours to see the Nutcracker ballet growing up.  Back when this city had a ballet company.  And people actually ventured downtown for something other than work.  You know, the good ol' days.

Over the years, traveling ballet companies would make their trip to our desolate city to perform the Nutcracker and we'd (sometimes) go.  I had my first amaretto sour at the Nutcracker. 

Ah, the good ol' days.

Of course, I couldn't possibly introduce my 7-year-old to the wonders of amaretto sours.  We'll save that for next year (kidding!  Don't call Child Services on me.).  But, he had learned the story of the Nutcracker in music class (I need to write that woman a thank you note), so when I told him they were coming to town, he said he'd go (read:  he said, "I'll go if you want me to.") 

Such a good kid.

So, we went.  I've seen several performances in my life.  Some beautiful, some a little creepy (who is that Doppleheimer guy anyway?  Oh.  Drosselmeyer.  Whatever.  Sometimes, he's been a little creepy, wringing his hands maniacally.).  This one was good.  No creepies.  The stage was decorated beautifully, the costumes were lovely, the dancing was wonderful.  Made you want to be a ballerina.

(I took ballet as a child.  One season.  During our performance at the end of the season, I got horrible stage fright and refused to leave the ballet bar.  I was sure all the parents were looking at me.  Hey, I was FOUR.  What did I know?  Alas, my dream of becoming a ballet dancer was over.)

Instead, I watch.  And acknowledge the amazing things those dancers can do.  Nowadays, instead of just appreciating the beauty, I admire the incredible stamina they must have.  I mean, for me to get into some of those positions would take a lot of yoga.  Or alcohol.  And I'd most likely really really hate myself in the morning.

I wanted my 7-year-old to appreciate the beauty.  But, he's a boy and the silly bear (who must've only been in the matinee version) was what he enjoyed.  In the middle of the second act, he leaned over and whispered:

"Mommy, I'm kind of bored."

Oh well.  I guess my dream of him becoming the next Mikhail Baryshnikov is over.  Which I'm sure my husband is grateful for since ballet is, as my sister put it, g-a-y.

Notthatthere'santhingwrongwiththatofcourse.  

The name is Frank. Frank Elf.

So, we have an Elf on the Shelf.  Or, rather, my mom had some elves that looked like the Elf on a Shelf, so she gave them to me so we could play the game this Christmas season.  You know, to help the boys be on their best behavior for 6 or so weeks so I wouldn't have to threaten them with no Christmas.  Instead, I have someone else threatening no Christmas.  "I didn't tell Santa you were bad, it was the Elf on the Shelf."  Whoever came up with this elf thing was a genius!

For those who don't know of this tradition, the purpose of the Elf on the Shelf is to ensure kids are good so parents can spend time buying and wrapping presents instead of peeling one screaming child off another every 5 minutes.  For said children, the elf is the eyes and ears of The (Big Fat) Man, taking in the daily activities of each house.  Each night, the elf uses his magical powers to fly back to the North Pole with status updates of these good and bad children.  For example, if my 4-year-old kicks the 7-year-old in the face (yes, that happens a lot), Santa is going to know about it.  And each morning, upon the elf's return, he likes to play tricks on the families by hiding in a different spot.

So, basically, it's just one more thing we adults have to remember to do every night.

The first 2 weeks we had Frank (I was hoping for Lou, but Frank it is), he hid in our kitchen cabinet.  Along with the other elves my mother gave me.  In a pile.  Yeah, I suck at this stuff.  Honestly, it's just another thing I have to do.  With the decorating and the shopping and everything else, I lost the will to add one.  more.  thing.

Really, I'm not a bah humbug kind of person.  I love Christmas.  I love the music and the lights and the shopping and the baking (or, more to the point, the eating of the baked goods my husband makes) and seeing the Nutcracker and all that crap.  I was all gung ho this year, too.  As we speak, I'm almost done with my shopping!  Being a notorious Christmas Eve shopper, this is an amazing feat for me.

As a general rule, I try not to get into the Christmas spirit too early.  Otherwise, I'm burnt out before Christmas arrives.  So, ever since I left retail (which celebrates Christmas from the 4th of July on), I hold off listening to any Christmas music until 2 weeks before Christmas.

But, this year, I went off the reservation.  Since I was Christmas shopping, I had to listen to the music to get in the mood, right?  So I did.  The last 4 days, I have spent all my spare time shopping and decorating.  I have more glitter on me on any given day than all the strippers in the world combined.  I spent 2 hours on Friday at Toys R Us alone.  And Saturday, my mother, SIL and I closed down 2 shopping venues.

We are in it to win it.  I have shin splints and sore arms, but my monthly cardio quota was met in one weekend and it's a small price to pay for giving the boys the perfect gift. 

But, if I have to hear Johnny Mathis sing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" one more time, I might actually kill someone. 

So, as you can imagine, the Elf on the Shelf got the shaft.  But, over the weekend, I realized what fun we could have with this guy.  I love the magic of Christmas.  And, with my 7-year-old already questioning the existence of Santa Claus (with a "Just tell me the truth, Mommy" - damn those older elementary kids for planting seeds of doubt!), I had to do something.

Okay, I suck at it.  Friday night, I decided to move Frank from his kitchen cabinet to the top of our lamp.  And my wonderful (painintheass - kidding, my brother!  I love her!) niece caught me moving him.  And then told her cousin the next morning.

Sonofa...

I think I saved it.  I told them adults sometimes need to help the elf if he asks.  And he asked me to move him because he ate too many cookies and couldn't move himself.

Right.  That was why.

After my marathon shopping on Saturday, I hid my loot in my closet and went straight to bed.  And then remembered I didn't move the damelf.  So, I went back downstairs and threw the elf head first into an almost empty box of Cheerios, making it look like he got caught having a late night snack.

I'm so clever.

Okay, I'm not.  But, the boys laughed, and that's all that mattered.