The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #7

If you missed the butterfly book post, please go here before reading this one.

The next present my husband opened from my aunt was, well, a little strange. It was in a ziplock bag. When I think of items that need to be in a ziplock bag, which are then wrapped in Christmas paper and given as a gift, of course the first thing I think of is...

Art!

Unframed, unmatted art.

Of a flower.

It's a watercolor/drawing/oil pastel/something of a rose. It's pink. My husband's favorite color.

...

Sorry, it took me a moment to pick myself back up off of the floor. Where I had been rolling around in laughter.

It's related to Kentucky. You know, the place my husband has been once, for the funeral. Which is where my aunt met my husband. Maybe it is for that memory? That would not be weird. If there had not been a funeral, I guess.

*Crickets chirping*

Moving on...

My aunt lives in Kentucky. So, that therefore could make sense. Sure. Like how we'd give something with the St. Louis Arch to someone not from St. Louis... Oh wait, we don't really do that. And when I think of Kentucky, this is not what immediately comes to mind.

My mom said, "I think it has something to do with the artist. My sister likes the artist or something."

Then my mother went back to collecting bows from opened packages to give to me to reuse, as if what she had just said explained everything.

I decided to be proactive. Because I had to find some meaning in this gift. I attempted to look the artist up online. Both her signature on the piece of art and my aunt's "helpful" labeling tab (I guess the big blacked out part was the price?) were difficult to read. I think it says Mary Benge. No results. I tried about 10 alternate spellings and then went back to Benge.

I added the word flower to her name and my search brought me to cemeteries with women of this name and how to send flowers to their resting places.

Who the heck is this lady?

Maybe it's not a lady... Is it perhaps an elephant that paints with its trunk? Because THIS IS AN EXCELLENT PIECE OF ART THEN. LOOK AT THAT DETAIL! WOW, ELEPHANT, YOU DESERVE SOME ACCOLADES! PEANUTS ALL AROUND! HOLY SH*T THIS IS AN AWESOME GIFT!

Crap. The Internet, land of everything, has nothing on an elephant by this name painting Kentucky roses.

Alas, I am pretty sure a person created this.

There are just so many unanswered questions. Why flower art? Why put it in a ziplock bag? Why did my aunt not frame it? Even a frame at the dollar store? No? Why was the dollar store out of frames, which would have at least made this a tad more gift-like?

Maybe she has us confused with a couple that has a wall full of framed flower prints. Does she think a lot of people use floral decor? Is this like a generic gift to her? We like flowers. Who doesn't? One plus one equals the perfect gift for my husband?

Is the art related to the Butterfly Book? Because after I realized my eyes weren't playing tricks on me and my husband had indeed received this picture of a rose as a gift, I did this:

Maybe we're supposed to store it in the fake Butterfly Book!

It fits so perfectly!

I am a genius!

The rest of my family kind of sighed at me but I think I was onto something there. The grater and basting brush were decoys. Obviously.

I don't even think my husband said 2 words. Perhaps because I was losing my mind. I seriously did not get anything like this from my aunt. I got some pink socks and some Bulgarian rose perfume.

Okay, so I now realize it could have been worse and my husband could have received the pink socks and a rose-scented fragrance.

The moral of the story is my husband now owns a butterfly book with a secret compartment that houses a pastel drawing of a rose. It's in the office. Of course. The one man room in the house. Next to computer programming language textbooks and some Futurama action figures. Goes so well! The presence of these presents (ha! presence of presents!) makes me a level of giddy that I did not know was possible without medical intervention.

But, we're not done yet. Post #8 will complete the trifecta of awesome that my aunt gave to my husband for Christmas.

Oh, Christmas, how you made me say "HOLY SH*T" more than any other time of the year!

Bad Isley!

Well, it's January 25th and every day for the past 4 or 5 days, I've said something along the lines of "today is not my day" and muddled through. I don't have much to be down in the dumps about, but I'm just not the happy and pleasant person I would prefer to be.

Lots of little things have been bugging me. Things I need to do but haven't started on (basement, I'm looking at you).

Things not working out the way I wanted. Missing Idina Menzel as I mentioned in my last post. Getting 4 pairs of curtain panels delivered and having every single one be not quite right. Need to return those. Just add it to the list.

General annoying the crap out of me stuff like a rapist going to the Super Bowl, having salads for supper (ewww), and falling on black ice in the wee hours of the morning a foot outside the front door. I'm fine for the record, just a couple bruised knees and that wind knocked out of you feeling.

Last night, Mav got me up about every 90 minutes, to the point that when the hubby was off to work and I was up again, he asked, "Have you had any sleep at all?" I just sort of shrugged and mumbled something I am sure was incoherent.

I slept in and when I woke up, I felt a little better. I called the plumber (boo-yah!) and opened the curtains to let some light into the house. I decided to take a shower and put on non-pajama clothes.

When I pulled back the shower curtain, Isley, our grey and white cat, was in the tub. Hanging out. I was swishing mouthwash because I'm ever the multi-tasker, so I couldn't tell him to move. I gently nudged him with my foot, which he took to mean, "Let's shower together." Because that's not weird at all.

Once the water got going, he decided to leave the tub. Usually, he sits on top of the toilet seat lid (which is down) and hangs out. I started to hear some strange noises. I kept pulling the curtain back to check on him. He was right at the shower curtain, on the floor, eyes wide. He was playing with something, batting it around on the floor. I didn't see anything, so I didn't think anything more about it. Sometimes they'll chase a piece of dirt or lint. I don't know why we buy them toys.

Now, today is the anniversary of my gram's death. I can't believe so many years have passed. Last year, I barely even noticed it when the day came and went. I was so freaking proud of myself. See, I thought, I am okay! I didn't have any type of meltdown or even a good cry. I lived with my grandma for a lot of years. I feel like I had a whole lifetime with her, like that time in my life was enough to to fill up all things for me. When I met my husband, I was amazed. I thought, "I can't believe I get a second life!" I think as the time with him goes on, it is easier for me to let go of the time before him.

This is a big difference from, say, the first year, when her birthday came and my husband (then my boyfriend) had his ex-girlfriend's wedding to attend. That should not have been a big deal but the fact that he was not going to be with me on her first birthday after her passing made me completely lose my sh*t. He ended up not going (hello, this is why I married this man, he does the right thing even when it's completely ridiculous) and spent the day with me instead.

As I was saying, I felt pretty good this morning. Then, I got out of the shower. I glanced at the floor to see if Isley had been playing with something large and left it out for me to trip over. I didn't see anything on the floor out of place.

I raised my head, and I immediately saw what was missing and what presumably had been making the noise at the hands of Isley. Oh God.

My husband and I don't own a lot of expensive things. Really, the one thing we have worth anything, and granted, a lot of its worth is sentimental, is my wedding ring. It has 10 (albeit small) diamonds, 2 rows of five.

My one nice piece of jewelry.

That I love.

Which was my grandmother's.

That I only take off when I shower and sometimes when I am cooking.

I wear it with a very simple, cheap band, which was still sitting on the bathroom counter. All alone. Next to the spot where my grandmother's wedding ring had been. Sure, my $5.00 Kohls ring is totally fine. The one I have about 5 spares of since it has to last me until both my husband and I are dead.

Isley must have gotten my grandmother's wedding ring and had been batting it all over the bathroom. That was the noise I had been hearing in the shower. Of course, Isley was now nowhere to be found. The scene of the crime was totally empty of kitties.

I started grabbing up all the bathroom rugs, looking in the drain, down the heating vent, behind the toilet. I got on all fours and looked under the cabinet. I started grabbing everything and anything and it was not there. I figured out pretty quickly that it was not in the bathroom. I still made a quick vow to not let anything (not garbage, dirty clothes) be moved until it was found. Nothing in the house was going to be moved until that thing was back on my finger.

I had a quick vision of never being able to take the trash out again or use the sink.

I pushed my feelings away as much as possible. I could feel my pulse race. There was no denying it. Panic was setting in.

I only wallowed for a few seconds, letting the dread sweep over me. I continued tossing things around the bathroom, gaining speed and making a major mess. The mere thought of calling my husband at work all in a tizzy over this made my mouth go dry and my head hurt. I did not want to still be that girl from her first birthday all those years ago, dragging him into all this emotional stuff again.

I finally gave into the fact that my wedding ring was not in the bathroom. I threw open the door.

Started looking in the hallway. Nothing.

The office, which is almost directly across from the bathroom. Nothing.

Bedroom, which is next to the bathroom. Nothing.

On the kitchen floor. Nothing.

I turned the corner into the dining room, all the way across the house, and there it shined under one of the dining room chairs.

I let out a huge exhale of relief. Put it on my finger as fast as I could. I had been up all of an hour and already had experienced more than I wanted for the day.

I've decided to take this as a good sign. Not focus on losing the ring. I found it, right? It's a reminder I see a thousand times a day of both my marriage and my grandma. It's a symbol that has been a part of the happiest times of my life. Years of happiness that I had with her and that I am still having with him.

Today is the day when I guess I needed to really be whacked in the head with that sentiment. Message received, Grams. Please don't do that again!

I will be wrapping up the 12 days of Holy Sh*tmas very soon. Just haven't been in a good enough mood to crank those suckers out. Forgive me and we'll be back to dating posts very soon.

Disappointed!

So, after our record snow day earlier this week, the second (albeit smaller) wave has hit. Big flakes with a lot of speed hitting the ground right now. I could see them out the window while still in bed this morning through the small crack between the curtains and without my glasses on. We were supposed to go to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra for the first time today! IDINA MENZEL! NOOOOOOOOOO!

See the road out there?

My point exactly.

I'm pretty disappointed and have been trying to be cool about it. We knew for a couple days that we may get hit with more white stuff. I want to be a responsible adult who realizes if this is upsetting to me, then really I don't have a whole lot in my life to be upset about. I guess I've just been so looking forward to it. I've had the tickets for months and bought her album and listened to Rent and Wicked a couple hundred more times. Not to mention we had crazy good seats.

It also does not help that a month into 2011, we have yet to go on one of our dates. Yesterday, I went to the grocery store for a half hour. A week and a half ago, the hubby took me and some kitties to the vet. Before that, I had a couple weeks where I didn't leave the house at all. I have had a car full of stuff to take to the Goodwill for about a month and a half. The point is not only am I not dating, I have a slight case of cabin fever.

*Pouts*

What am I going to get to do today instead? My choices seem to be football or get to cleaning the basement...

The husband, for his part, has been very sweet about everything. He's letting me linger in my disappointment but trying to cheer me up. Lots of hugs. Made me 2 cups of tea.

Another thing that really bugs me is we spent money on these tickets. We don't just have extra fun time cash sitting around. I hate wasting money. HATE. IT. There are so many things we need and that we have to wait on and plan for... When you have as many pets (and ones with special needs to boot), it becomes a main expense. And just living in general with all the bills to pay... I don't know how other people do it.

I keep telling myself that not going means we're saving thousands of dollars in collision costs and in hospital bills. It would be our luck to get into a car accident on the way there or back or for me to fall and break every bone in my body as we walk in this winter wonderland in my high heels.

Still, we paid for the tickets. When I complained about this, my husband said, "Think of it this way. She's getting the money as if we're there, since we bought the tickets. So she can keep touring and come back someday."

I don't know how or why exactly, but this made me feel better.

Which is insane, since I'm pretty sure Idina Menzel, for example, can use both sides of her kitchen sink and doesn't have a towel in one side as a reminder that you need to use the other side. And that she hasn't been waiting to call the plumber due to finances and will finally be calling next week with that heading up a very long list of other plumbing issues. Ones we've just lived with while waiting for something else to break that would warrant a visit. Leaky faucets, leaky showers, a magic disappearance of hot water from the downstairs... All fine to live with until something we need breaks, like, say it with me, the kitchen sink.

Yeah. Pretty sure she's not in the same boat as we are, yet I'm still glad our tickets counted. Even though I know she probably won't come back. Stupid snow!

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #6

Halfway through the countdown, we arrive at the entire reason I decided to do this little list. My aunt's lovely presents could not have made us say HOLY SH*TMAS anymore if they had tried.

There are 3 items, each will have their own post starting with this one.

Keep in mind that my aunt has met my husband once, at my grandfather's funeral. Where my husband was a perfect gentleman and a completely normal guy. Which he usually is anyway, but it's important to really stress that here.

It's hard to know where to start... The expressions as he opened them... The way each one was one-upped by the next... My miraculous ability to not pee my pants...

THESE ARE ALL GIFTS TO MY HUSBAND. NOT TO ME AND MY HUSBAND. TO HIM. ALONE.

Drum roll please...

Let's start with this lovely book.

Pretty.

Granted, my husband has taken me to the Butterfly House on a date, but as with most men, he did so entirely for my benefit. It was not something he particularly enjoyed. And my extended family definitely doesn't even know I have a blog, so they were not aware that my husband had been to a butterfly attraction. We didn't go until last year, which was way after the funeral where my aunt met my husband.

I asked, "Did you just get a book about butterflies?"

He said, "Looks that way."

He scratched his little goatee as he does when he's deep in thought.

Oh, sorry, my bad. It's not just a book about butterflies.

It's Butterflies of the World Volume III.

Because he loved volumes I and II so much.

Wait... wait for it...

Psych! No butterfly literature for you!

It's a fake book! With butterflies all over it!

But, it wasn't empty...

Inside were...

I mean, of course.

The real question is how could the faux book

not contain a grater and a basting brush?

Right? Right?

Because when he's not out collecting butterflies, or at his I Love Butterflies support group, or at home reading about butterflies, he's in the kitchen, grating their wings and basting their little bodies doing citrus prep and basting our main course for our tasty, tasty suppers.

My husband makes a wonderful cup of tea. And he can do a frozen pizza justice. Other than that...

*Crickets chirping*

Did I mention yet how much I love my husband? I really do. He is a great guy. That said, he can't even put the groceries away because he doesn't know where anything goes. This is not a man who cooks.

Let me make this clear. My husband does not even refill the ice cube trays when he takes ice from them. He. Doesn't. Even. Make. Ice.*

My brother innocently asked, "Why does Aunt Crazy Pants (name changed!) think you like butterflies?" He followed up without waiting for a response with the not so innocent, "DO YOU? Like, seriously?"

My husband, who could be practicing for a career in politics during this holiday with my folks, said, "They're not my favorite thing, but this book is a nice place to store stuff."

We turned to my mom, since this is her sister, and all she could do was hold up her hands and say, "I have no idea why she thinks he likes butterflies. Maybe she meant to put your name on that." She looked at me like this was surely the answer to all the puzzling, puzzling questions.

I then asked my husband as innocently as I could, "Did you have some type of butterfly-related conversation with Aunt Crazy Pants at some point at the funeral?"

He shot me a look that said, "No, I did not. Thank you for asking, My Love."

At this point, I decided to drop it and said something along the lines of, "We could use a grater!" and we all silently with our eyes look back and forth from one person to the next and agree not to mention this ever again. Not my mom, or dad, or brother, or husband, or me.

Oh, if only her next present didn't make this one look totally normal. Maybe then we could have forgotten all about this. But when you put together a trifecta like my aunt did, there just is no getting over it. Ever.

*The ice thing will come up again if I ever do a post about the very few quirks my husband has that drive me nuts. Some might call them pet peeves. Let's stick with quirks. Sounds less naggy.

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #5

A couple months before Christmas, my folks ask us for a list of things we would like. We then spend a week or two thinking about this. It's automatic. We can come up with nothing when asked, but any other time could make a list easily. Maybe a book we wanted but didn't buy because books are expensive, perhaps a certain movie we loved in the theater now on video, what about a small kitchen gadget like a meat thermometer...

Still, when asked, all of a sudden we're all goose eggs and blank stares, minds full of empty old western-style towns and tumbleweeds rolling softly down the main streets amid little tornadoes of dust.

After much deliberation, we then come up with a short list and email it. We then promptly forget about the whole thing. Which is why when I opened this next present, I was surprised. Pleased, but surprised.

Heavy box. I tore into it and saw 5 or 6 boxes of cake mix. I do love cake. It was still a strange thing for my mother to get me.

I said, "We have all special occasions covered for the next year!" Then, I turned to my husband and said, "We're going to have to look up random celebrity birthdays and National Day ofs and make our own celebrations to use up all this cake."

Opened a few more presents... Another weighty box. Low and behold...

My mother had given me TWELVE boxes of cake mix

by the time all the presents were opened.

Ignore the fiber cereal in my cupboard and shut it because I like that cereal and stop judging me right now.

The take away from the photo is that every box of cake mix in there was wrapped up for me for Christmas by my mother. My health conscious, calorie aware, brushes her teeth at 6 pm and doesn't take another bite of anything until the next morning mother. My thin, "let me chop you up an apple" mother. This is a woman who has never had to have "eat salads" as her yearly New Year's resolution. She's always encouraged me to be healthier, which is great, to a point. This is the antithesis of the mom who eagerly bought me diet pills at 16.

Now, I know I'm not the thinnest girl. However, I did lose 75-85 pounds a couple years before I met my husband. Granted, it sort of happened by accident, but I have kept most of it off.  

Another box and I found 2 cake pans, one filled with more mixes. I pulled a couple out and there was something in the bottom of the pan, under all the mixes. Which is when I found something that made it all make sense.

"Oh, that's right! I did ask for the Cake Doctor books!"

My mother then said, "You didn't know the books were in the boxes with the mixes?" She just shook her head at me like I was nuts. Thinking she got me a bunch of cake mixes without some kind of relevant, related gift. Silly daughter.

Then, we finished unwrapping all our presents, and my mom said my aunt had sent a box this year. Now, we don't normally exchange presents. The last time we saw her was at my grandad's funeral a couple years ago.

Which was when my hubby finally got to meet the extended family.

It was in Kentucky.

Welcome, Happy Wife's non-white, non-southern husband.

It sort of went "Happy Wife is married? Wow!"

"Where is her husband? WOW!"

Nothing like a surprise at a funeral!

It actually went pretty well considering but it was a tad strange. That is another story for another day. A day when I am looking to be disowned, I guess.

Anyway, not only do we not see my extended family often, we don't talk on the phone or even email. So, let's say distant relations. Let it be known that my aunt and uncle are very nice. Eclectic. She went to clown college at one point. When I was 16, she let me bring my best friend on a plane to Lexington, Kentucky, for a vacation, and we had a wonderful time. She was a tour guide back then. Very fond memories. My only 2 cousins are her sons, who are older than me and who I've never been very close to. Don't even get me started. They're kind of nuts. They were already grown up and living elsewhere the time when my friend and I came to visit. To my knowledge, we've never shared a Christmas with my aunt and her family.

So, my aunt just sent a box out of the blue to my folks' house with a couple things for everyone. It was a nice surprise. She sent one box of Bulgarian chocolates to my husband and one to me. One of her sons and his wife are living in Bulgaria, so it made sense. I opened up the couple other presents for me. Some pink socks and some Bulgarian rose perfume in a pretty little bottle. Wait until you see what she sent my husband... I nearly peed my pants. But that is for the next post.

Right now, you have to keep in mind ALL THE CAKE that is happening from my mother as I opened the stuff from my aunt. Wowzers.

I...

With the...

Wha...

Really?

Ouch.

My cake mixes would like to duel you to the death, Aunt's Christmas Present.

Now.

And it will be a bloody, violent, images-to-scar-your-retinas duel.

Oh, yes, those are indeed Weight Watchers books.

Um (long pause), thank (longer pause) you (elaborate sigh)?

Is this supposed to start a fight? Okay, sure. I'll play.

I'll hit your spot, all right!

Then I'm gonna comfort the classic right off of you!

I'm going to take these vegetables and -

And breathe, and breathe, and relax, and breathe...

I have nothing against Weight Watchers. Good for anyone who can lose weight that way!

I also have never been in Weight Watchers. Not even close.

Not that I've never tried to lose weight. Sure, I have. I'm human. A pudgy human at that. I never made it very far. I remember very clearly one time, I was attempting to diet in my early 20s. I was about 3 days in and I was living with my grandmother at the time. I was standing in the kitchen, counting the number of blueberries as I put them on my plate, since there was a specific number I was allowed to have with supper.

Grams begged me to stop. I forged on for probably another couple hours or something. Then, I fell of the diet pretty fast, and there was a noticeable change in the house and in my grandmother. Colors were brighter, jaws no longer clenched, the world was new.

My grandma said, "Please promise you you'll never go without cake again. It's not right. You're just not you without cake."

She was right, of course. Besides, what is life without cake once in a while? Sad is what it is.

It really says something that I did not take this gift from my aunt personally. There were definitely some years when this would have really hurt my feelings.

I haven't felt thin since before the 6th grade, when a gym class physical revealed to me and the class that I weighed 130 pounds. I was also tiny - no meat on my bones at all, but I remember it very clearly. It being how horrified I was throughout my entire itty bitty being. Even at my thinnest as an adult, I have never felt thin and I doubt I ever will. I could be 80 pounds and I would still see a fat person in the mirror.

I guess being married has changed me more than I realized. All I did when I opened this was crack up laughing. No matter what imperfections I have, my hubby loves me, and he also loves the way I look. It's hard for me to even type that but I know that it is true. Even during my ugliest moments, he looks at me and I can tell that he really does love me. Somehow, this in turn makes me a lot easier on myself and a lot more comfortable in my own skin.

The Weight Watchers books were so strange, so random yet so specific, that I didn't have time to calculate a reaction or to put on some type of face. And yet all that came out was real laughter. I could not have found the spectrum of Christmas books more completely insane and hilarious and awesome! HOLY SH*TMAS!

*Note: I made a cake after we got the hubby's biopsy results. The cake and frosting were my first attempt with the Cake Doctor Returns and it was possibly the best cake I have ever made.

*Second Note: We have not opened the non-Cake Doctor books yet. Sorry, health. My bad.

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #4

I am a geek in many, many ways. I'm multi-leveled in my geekdom. I'm all onion-layered. I like both Star Trek and Star Wars. Bad SyFy channel and good SyFy channel (shut it, it exists!). I love games like Elf Bowling and the original Dragon Warrior, the soundtrack of which I hear sometimes in my dreams. Don't ask about Alien Disco Safari. The first rule of Alien Disco Safari is... Oh wait, I might have that confused with something else.

My husband is also a geek, but he is of a different vintage than I am. He is one of those very intelligent guys, interested in sci-fi but only high quality sci-fi (he doesn't sit through DinoCroc with me, for example). He is very immersed in technology in general and one video game in particular. You know the one, with guns and the soldiers and the factory and flags or something.

In other words, I'm not a "cool" geek. I didn't see all the Star Trek movies until after the most recent one came out and I do not speak any Tolkien-type languages. I have never played the Halo or Farmville. I'm not good at math. Or history. The one time I was in a comic book store, which was not by choice, I was definitely out of place and wasn't familiar with 99% of what was in there.

I hated the movie Avatar.

I love playing the old school Battleship! board game and the Family Feud and Whammy on the wii.

Above all things, though, I am book-y. As is my husband. Our libraries did not have much overlap despite their volumes. In other words, when we got married, we both brought a sh*tload of books into the house, with few repeated titles. His were all historical and biographical, or about computers and computer coding, science, and astronomy.

Mine were a weird mix. My favorite book is Frankenstein, which I have at least 3 copies of, but I like just about anything. I even like to read poetry. Rumi can calm me down even on my worst day.

Did you know the bald guy from Smashing Pumpkins wrote a book of poetry? In other words, I even like bad poetry.

And plays. I love Tom Stoppard. I like reading plays and I think I am the only person who does, as evidenced by the shrinking or non-existent section in all bookstores. They used to have entire bookshelves with plays on them! For purchase! In the public!

I like the classics (say "literature" in a stuck up, snobby, high pitched lady voice, it's fun!) but I almost always revert back to things that are more recent. General fiction, Harry Potter, Jen Lancaster, Laurie Notaro, Andy Riley, Tracey Chevalier. I could go on and on and on.

The thing I love most is a book that makes me laugh. Jen Yates' Cake Wrecks was the book that brought me joy in a terrible time in my life, and it led me to read my first blog (of the same name). That book made me cry tears of laughter, and her blog makes me laugh on a daily basis.

When it came time for Christmas, books were the easiest thing for us to think of, since they are the things we often want but seldom buy for ourselves.

My family definitely filled up a good portion of a shelf for us this Christmas. See how I made the books into a little chair shape? Nice.

Books, books, books! Mmmmmm-hhhhmmmm, doin' my dance now, feeling the rhythm of literacy, gettin' jiggy, mmmmmm-hmmmmm, it's God's birthday, work it out, uh-huh, that's right now...

*Collapses due to sudden narcolepsy*

Husband fans me with Mike Birbiglia's book, and I come to, regaining my composure almost immediately. I whisper, "Yes, Mike Birbiglia! I will sleepwalk with you" and my husband leans in and asks, "What, Honey, I can't quite hear you" while I pretend I didn't say anything...

And, I'm back, doin' my dance, shakin' my groove thang, uh-huh, doin' the shopping cart, doin' the twist, doin' the robot, doin' the macarena, doin', um, what is current? Solider boy?

I had to google that. I guess what I meant was Soulja Boy. Really? I just, uh, ah, er, wha?

*Throws peace sign rapidly and with head bopping not quite in sync with any type of music anywhere*

Did I mention that this geek has zero dancing ability? And obviously no concept of time. What was cool in the 80s is cool now, right? Air keytar! The Running Man! Not spelled Rahn Neeing Mahn, as I guess it would be today.

It all just makes my dancing that much more awesome! Like the books featured in this 4th post of the 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS! The ones not about history! Oh crap. I just looked again at the cover of War of the Ros-

*zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz snore snore sniffle sniffle cough snore zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #3

Today, we finally got the results of the hubby's biopsy. I mentioned this briefly back in this post. You know, the thing giving my hysteria hysterics.

The hubby got the call while he was out picking up cat food and immediately called me. Benign lesion! Benign! Benign!

Benign!

Nothing to worry about for us right now! BENIGN!

Let there be college football in HD and baked potato skins stuffed with cheese, sour cream, turkey bacon, and scallions, all in the name of HE'S GOING TO LIVE!

I keep randomly hugging the hubby and telling him, "YOU'RE GOING TO LIVE!"

He keeps laughing at me and saying, "I told you it was nothing to worry about."

YOU WERE RIGHT.

This may be the only time I am happy saying those 3 words.

Tomorrow, there shall be cake! Because YOU'RE GOING TO LIVE!

And today, the 3rd post from the 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS. Happy happy joy joy makes me think about my husband, and home, and pets, and penguins. So, penguins!

My family gave me a giant stuffed penguin (cue me copying the little girl from this movie) for the Christmas penguin tree/kitchen area. My brother gave me a funny/cute penguin book.

And my father, always going above and beyond, got me this very coveted (by me) Hallmark ornament that lights up, moves, and plays a Christmas song. I have many of the less expensive, older penguin ornaments from this series on my penguin tree but knew when this one came out that it was just too expensive to buy for myself. No matter how much I may have wanted it. My father shouldn't have but I'm glad he did! *Giddy claps*

When I turned it on, Pandora (obvious naughty one) and Aphrodite (hiding under the chair, not as obvious naughty one) came running to check it out. Very elaborate!

And by elaborate, I mean the ornament AND the kitties' evil plans. Which I guess involved just staring at it really closely, since that was all they seemed to want to do. Of course, I took it away from them before it could go any further than that. My penguins! Mine!

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #2

I have something to admit. As difficult as it is, I have to face up to it. I have a great love other than my husband! *gasp*

She came into my life long before he did. *fans face all lady-like with hand*

I've slept with her for so many years -

*faints*

Okay, okay. You got me. She literally sleeps with me. Not sexy sexy "sleeps" with me. It's about as risque as an old lady knitting, rockin' in her chair on a porch.

Maverick says, "Hi, Mama! Time for eating?"

Mav has been my baby since she was 8 weeks old. Which was a long time ago. She'll be 9 this year.

No matter how many ailments or health problems she gets, she just patiently puts up with me until my vet and I figure it out. The diagnosis list continues to grow as she ages. Epilepsy, hypothyroidism, ear infection after ear infection.

She still gets excited every single time she goes to the vet, all wags and licks, ears up and eyes wide, even though the past 2 years have been a steady stream of painful biopsies on a plethora of cysts and tumors that magically appear all over her body.

*Singing like The Black Eyed Peas*

"My bumps, my bumps, my lovely lady bumps"

Instead of being scared of what she knows is going to happen, she's thrilled to see our vet and his two techs. Every inch of her body says, "I LOVE YOU!" the second they enter the room.

I have to see her through everything because she's been at my side for every up and every down. She's seen me through losing people I love and she's loved, through my life threatening reaction to an antibiotic and the 3 months I then spent on super steroids and bedrest, through recurrent MRSA infections, through finding my husband and then moving us across several states to be with him.

She's tolerated every change, every twist, every turn in the road. Whether a walk in the park or day on the couch, she has spent her life at my side, always happy, always sure.

As the years passed, my not-so-keen-on-dogs parents and brother have realized that Mav is more than just some random pet. Still, I don't think they know what to say or what to think. It's not the life they'd pick for me, I'm sure. I think sometimes they think that without Mav, I'd be all footloose and fancy free, traveling the world or something. They've done their best not to dwell on her, neither discouraging nor encouraging her presence in my life. Letting it be was the best they could do.

Which is why when my birthday came around 2 years ago and they gave me this, I was really touched. And kind of shocked.  

A Weim Shirt! From my family!

This shirt was the first time I really felt like they were accepting and acknowledging what Mav means to me. I wear it all the time. At home. Because, as I remember my grandma saying when she picked a female Mav out of the litter of puppies, "The boys' stuff is all out for the world to see and it always bothered me" with all her lifetime of male Weimaraners. This shirt kind of demonstrates that a little too much for my tastes.

I didn't understand when we brought Mav home why my grams had stopped having dogs. She'd had them for so many years. All Weims. She simply told me it hurt too much. Once, about 20 years after her last Weim and a few years before I moved in with her, she said she saw someone driving around with a Weim in the backseat while she was driving out to get her hair done.

She skipped her set in stone weekly appointment and followed them around in her car for over an hour.

She was probably 70 something at the time. You have to picture it. A crazy little old lady, barely visible above the steering wheel of a giant, 4 door, green Chrysler, tailing some family all over South Bend, Indiana, because they happened to have a dog in the car. Because it was a Weim.

I, the girl who had never had a dog, thought that was insane.

Didn't take long for me after we got Mav for me to understand. She was my dog immediately.

Really, how did I ever have a chance? Look at that face.

I know whenever it is Mav's time, no matter how ready she is or I should be, I won't be ready. At the same time, I know that every day I have had with her will be worth what I go through when the day comes and she is gone. My husband and I had another Weim join our family a year after we got married. We had 2 years with her, and when she passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, it was devastating to me. I understood why my grams had stopped having Weims.

Because of Mav's health, the loss of our other dog, and my state of mind, my family started letting me bring Mav when the hubby and I would come and visit. There are not words for how this makes me feel.

I know they would prefer a no-Mav policy, but for me, they bought a slipcover for the couch and started saving plastic bags for dog clean up by the back door. They talk to her in a sing-song voice when she's in the room, smile at her, and pat her little (giant) head. They don't do this for her. They do this for me.

My folks have really showed me over the years what it means to be a part of a loving family. They've shown me what it is to be married and what it is to support and stand by the people you love.

Maybe they didn't plan on having a daughter like me.

One who has a Weim calendar.

In every room.

One who drinks out of a Weim mug while looking

at framed art prints of Weims.

One who's best days have come simply and without much fanfare.

At home, with my hubby, my kitties, my girls.

Maybe it was always only a matter of time

before I built my own family

with the human love of my life

and a menagerie of 4-legged children.

I know it's crazy for me to ache for the one that is gone and to spoil and dote on the one who is still here in the way that I do.

For whatever reason, my husband and my family continue to stand by me, even when I'm difficult, or lost, or sad. They hold me up and believe in me even when I don't believe in myself. And they accept that this girl will always come with a Weim. 

My family even reads this blog once in a while, and they are definitely not blog people. They read about my husband and I having our puzzle date. Then, they gave me this present for Christmas.

Oh God, it's a Weim puzzle!

I know, the Weim girl getting a Weim-related gift? What's so amazing about that? Just trust me on this one. Besides, it packs a double punch...

Oh, blasted puzzles! Always trying to challenge me! I will be a puzzle person! I will!

And the level of happy, warm, HOLY SH*TMAS feelings that ran through me when I opened this?

Nothing could have reminded me more that I am exactly who and exactly where I'm supposed to be, surrounded by the family I was meant to have by blood and by choice, in the place where home is more much more than a simple word. If that doesn't make one one cheerful to the point of using colorful language to describe a high holy day, then I don't know what ever could.

Best. Christmas. Ever. The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #1

Okay, so I go too big and too bold when it comes to Christmas. The hubby puts up with it very well. One could say he even encourages all the crazy, for my sake. In return, I stuff him and his coworkers full of cookies and light the house up so brightly that we don't have to use lamps anymore.

The hubby is not a big gift guy. I think this is because it wasn't something he ever really had growing up. Therefore, I feel the need to SUPER rectify that. I could buy him a pair of socks and I would put them in a large box, wrap the box in some kind of beautiful shininess, lace a sparkly ribbon in a matching color around it, and fluff out a sizable bow. If it's Christmas, I then add a little grouping of different sized ornaments by the bow, as a accessory to the bow. My present accessories have accessories. Yeah. I'm that girl.

It doesn't help that I also overdo the amount of gifts. Every year, my family and I say, "We'll tone it down this holiday" and then we proceed to ignore that plan.

This year, I actually did cut way back for our Christmas at home. *High fives self* Decorated 3 rooms instead of the entire house. Just got the hubby a couple little surprises instead of a sea of gifts under the tree. I also didn't go too far off the beaten path and got him things I knew he'd really like. Sometimes, I tend to think something is a brilliant gift and it is... To me in my mind. Not in the recipient's. So the hubby got a Cardinals tee shirt, a Cardinals garden stone (I got him a kitty garden stone last year to be funny and adorable, and now I think it's possibly a thing), stuff like that. Got the cats some toys, the dog a festively decked out stuffed turtle.

For Christmas at my folks, however, I let the Christmas fly with no mercy. Has a bird on it? A duck? Lighthouse? All right up my mom and dad's alley. BAM! File folders with birds on them, bird feeder in the shape of a lighthouse, duck-shaped soap dispenser, lighthouse quilt, book about birds, glasses with ducks painted on them, plant hooks with little birds carvings...

My little brother (okay, so he's 26 now and is 6'7", but he'll always be my "little" brother) has had a rough 18 months, so even more than usual, I wanted to bring the cheer. BRING IT. IT IS BROUGHT. I couldn't stop myself. BOOM! Anime. Japanese food ordered online. How many different types of noodle meals and bags of snacks and little wrapped candies with zero English on them can you pack in a 8x8x10 box? A lot. Now times that by 4 boxes. Weird Al tee shirts and bacon flavored popcorn. Dr. Horrible on Blu-Ray. Space Invaders doormat that lights up when you walk on it. Please. These gifts practically buy themselves.

I didn't just magically turn out this way. Christmas has always been big in my small family. It's not like we go expensive necessarily, but we always had a pile of presents. And as adults, sure, I would love to spend less during Christmas, but we didn't do too bad this year. Of course, the pile of presents already at my folks' house rivaled what I brought through the door.

Since we've been married, from time to time, the hubby and I open something from my parents and then share a look. It says, "Okay, so, thanks for giving this to us for us to take to the Goodwill." 9 million delicate, easily tangled beaded strands for general decorating (aka in non-Christmas colors)... Are they trying to kill all our cats? And my sanity?

Most of the time, though, my folks give us stuff we'd never have thought of or picked out, and we end up loving those gifts.

This year was full of some really good Christmas presents. There were some that I have to say blew my mind all over the place.

So now it is time for the 12 days of HOLY SH*TMAS. 12 blog posts, each one highlighting something we received for the holidays. Some hilarious, some wrong, and some just plain wonderful.

Okay, so I don't know if I can get all the way to 12 posts, but I like the whole 12 days of Christmas feel, so go with me.

Countdown begins *throws Nascar flag down* NOW.

#12

I told my folks that the hubby needed work shirts. He wears collared, 2 or 3 button at the neck polo shirts, usually with short sleeves.

Like so.

They got him several nice, solid colored, normal polos, each in a quickly recognizable wrapped shirt box. A black one here, a red one there. I barely even looked once he got past the second shirt. We all knew by the shape of the box what the theme was for his gifts. Of course, then he opened this one:

Singing *Oh say can you seeeeeeee"

No, really, can you see? I'm asking you a question!

 MY EYES! MY EYES! THEY BURN!

Now, my husband is a dark blue, a regular grey, a plain white-type polo shirt wearer. No pink, no purple, no stripe too elaborate. I don't know what middle ground we missed, but there has to be something between a solid brown polo and this wearable work of art.

My father immediately stuck up for the shirt, possibly because I started laughing. I was laughing because 1) well look at it! and 2) my husband didn't know what to do. He just sort of looked at it for a second, holding it in his hands, taking more and more of it from the box as if it might be a mirage.

"It has F-18s on it!" My father was very proud. He repeated "F-18" several times.

My husband worked on the F-18. A shirt with F-18s? Wonderful! The planes! Manly! Related to personal information! Showin' care and love for the son-in-law!

It took me a little time, and in the photo, I made him hold up the sleeves so they were easier to see... Yes, yes, there are F-18s on there. Of course, really, is that what you saw when you looked at this picture? It's like a Where's Waldo of planes set in a patriotic schizophrenic's nightmare.

My husband, ever tactful, regrouped almost immediately and said, "This will be great to wear in July!" For Independence Day. Completely sincere.

I cannot argue. If ever there was a 4th of July shirt, I thought to myself, THIS IS IT. Also, I was trying not to choke on my own stifled laughs. Serious face. Come on! Serious face. I can do this!

Of course, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Baby, this is an everyday shirt if I've ever seen one!" Because I'm going to hell.

That is when I realized this shirt looked vaguely familiar.

Above my head, an imaginary old lightbulb attempted to crackle and fizz to life.

Then, it emitted a low, warm light.

Zzzzzzt! Full, blinding light! Holy, holy, holy...

I'm 99% sure my dad has this exact shirt in his closet. Oh, you have no idea how badly I wanted to bring that up and then for them to wear them on the same day at some point during our trip. Somehow, I knew to keep that one close to heart there. Besides, now I can secretly have that shirt at the ready whenever we visit with my dad, so that I can MAKE the matching happen without FORCING it. It's a thin line. One that keeps me out of the fiery depths of Satan's playground? Yes?

Hell or not, how handy is this shirt? So many uses!

Need a spare flag? Can't tell you how many times I've been somewhere and we've needed a flag. Windy day and federal buildings lose a flag here and there. Happens all the time. Big flag on a big shirt, perfect for your impromtu flag needs.

How about when you're at sporting events blasting the national anthem? Taking your hat off at the baseball game? Lazy. Real Americans go the extra mile, remove the hat, and then HOLD UP THEIR SHIRT FLAG! Don't even think about Nascar. You'll have a seizure of awesome and your drool will be red, white, and blue.

Or, kill 2 birds with one stone (non-eagles of course). Escape with greater speed from the guy waiting outside the grocery store with a petition for you to sign while you have a cart full of thawing frozen items and milk AND make your honking count as double when you pass strikers on lawn chairs holding their hard to read signs outside businesses. Done and done. This shirt is making the world a better place and the hubby hasn't even taken the tags off yet.

Sometimes, you don't have that extra little umph that you wish you had. Solution? You just need to see an eagle. Get you some self-confidence. Dream the impossible dream. It's majestic, and predatory, and it soars through the skies! Just like you! You and the eagle are one!

Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyy on the wingsssssss of an eagle!

And cue the Rocky theme.

Or anything by CCR.

More? Hell yes, more. We haven't even touched on the knowledge this shirt is sharing. Happy Wife is terrible at history. The husband can verify this because I spent half of every episode of the Tudors asking if whoever was on screen had been a real person and if each event protrayed had actually happened. Granted, that is English history, or something like that, and I'm unfortunately just as mentally on top of our own past here in America.

The husband, well, he is all in love with history and if it was legal, I think he loves it so much he'd marry it. His ability to retain important facts, historical and otherwise, makes me love him and also sometimes want to strangle him.

In other words, the husband can have an entire conversation about the Constitution. I'm sure he's actually done this with people. I definitely have not. This shirt makes that wife/husband conversation a possible reality, a conversation that I cannot get out of, whereby he can prove his facts to me by pointing at his shirt.

Bonus: I will always have something to read now when we're in waiting rooms, and if I'm forced to walk behind him somewhere, I can make the most of my time by studying up since all the goodness that is across the back of this shirt?

Yeah, it's all repeated again on the back, too!

That sound? You heard that?
Oh, sorry. That was just me loading my gun.

I'm running out of options. It's this or sudden-onset narcolepsy. It's bound to be more painful if we're in Sam's Club or the movie theater and I keep passing out from boredom. I do not want to be in the grocery store and hear over the intercom, "Someone check on those loud thunking noises around aisle 3!" and then hear a crowd gather as I repeatedly hit the tile floor face first.

It's more humane to put myself out of my misery. A future, full of conversations about the U.S. Constitution, which will inevitably lead to another of my hubby's favorite topics: American Presidents. Ooooooooh, then maybe past wars and important battles! What about American history in relation to world history! OMG!

*Gun clicks*

"What? I can't have this here, Officer? I'm sure the other customers here at Kohls understand that I have a 30% off coupon this week and that I have forced my husband to come and try on shoes. Officer? Hey! Let me go! Honey! Get over here! Officer, I can tell you my rights! They're listed right here, and here, and here! In your face!"

This is a don't arrest me shirt, for sure.

In conclusion, this shirt gives me the warm and fuzzies. Look for it being worn by my husband on future dates. Sometimes a star just has to shine, Honey. Let that star shine. For America!

New Year's Resolutions

Welcome to the materialistic post that precedes the 12 days posts of the HOLY SH*TMAS countdown. Maybe next year my New Year's resolution will be to be less materialistic? This year, the prerequisites are the same as usual.

Exercise more!

Eat salads! (Notice how that doesn't say more salads. Just salads. Missin' from the diet. Because they're gross.)

Take my blood pressure daily!

Keep a food journal!

And so on. To say that they are half hearted resolutions would be giving them half a heart more than they are receiving.

My real resolution is that I am trying to STOP announcing to my husband that I have to pee whenever I get up to do just that. Commercial break? "I have to pee!" Returning from errands. "I have to pee!" Getting up from the computer? "I have to pee!"

Yeah. Point made. Every time I walk through a room, and he's in said room, it seems I need to tell him I am well hydrated and dealing with the repercussions of that. I know it's not a pretty lady thing to do. I know. I just can't seem to stop.

And we need to step up our dating game and date the pants off of 2011. This month, we're going to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra for the first time. Ooooooooo. Ahhhhhhhh. We also need to really focus on more at-home dates. I have a hot river rock massage kit from the clearance section at Borders that has been on a shelf for over a year. That sh*t is gonna happen. Word.

We also still need to see Tron. Yay. No, really, I'm not rolling my eyes right now and giving myself a neck massage to get all the Tron-induced tension out of my head.

Okay, I totally am. Tron. I better get some nachos or something special for that viewing, Man. Something. A pretzel or something. Sour Patch Kids? What goes with "something bothers me about Olivia Wilde" and the realization that she's maybe why I stopped watching House? Twizzlers?

Oh Christmas Season, How You #!%* Me Up

That four letter mash up there in the title is for mess, yes? Sure.

There was the pre-Christmas planning, our Christmas at home, our road trip and subsequent visit for holiday time with my family, the recuperation from our family fun time and getting back in gear after we returned home...

No matter how many lists I made, how many things I crossed off on my to-do list daily, I still managed to barely make it through this festive season. I sent maybe half of the Christmas cards I meant to send. My cookie jar, cookie-less 99% off the time (gasp!). The snow storm came and pushed back our timeline for travel and still, I ended up packing for our big trip at 8 pm the night before. About 10 miles into said big trip, the car's cruise control went out on my husband. Then the automatic locks went all wonky. I also forgot during the trip that we were driving on Christmas Day. I was hungry for 400 miles. Because nothing is open on Christmas Day.

All in all, our holiday went well. I didn't take many pictures because I'm a moron. We had a really nice time with my folks and brother. Time in their home and in ours was warm and peaceful. The pets enjoyed the merriment. We only found one or two sparkly hairballs the entire month.

Oh, there was some drama. A regular, run of the mill, average, every day check up doctor's appointment a few days before Christmas for my husband turned into a lot of swearing and hysteria from the wife. A change in travel plans to allow for a specialist appointment. Now we're waiting for test results which will be available "in a week or two"...

And talk myself down from shoving all my glittery garland up the medical community's collective arse. And breathe. And breathe.

Thanks, nursing, for making me sure something is never nothing. For opening my eyes to the fact that anything can happen at any time. I make a conscious decision every morning to wait for the results before reacting to them.

I've thrown myself into different tasks. Super cleaning. Organizing. More super cleaning and organizing. Anything not to dwell. I mean, hell, we finally watched the Hurt Locker. That Netflix DVD has been sitting on top of the television for months. I didn't even cry.

We watched the Sorcerer's Apprentice after that, and I shed a tear there. Stupid Nick Cage. You'd think I'd be cheering during your death-ish scene but no. Sniffle, sniffle. I don't like you so why do I watch anything you're in? I don't know. Maybe because you're in every other movie. Please stop making movies so I can see actors I actually enjoy watching.

The only time I'm glad Nick Cage exists is when Andy Samberg does an impression of him on Saturday Night Live.

Where was I? Oh yeah. The Christmas Season. We survived. Now onto 2011! Time for some hardcore dating!