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

I can't believe I made it to the final Christmas post! Before March! I consider this a victory.

The last thing on our list is something we use everyday, that has opened up our house to us, that has made my husband giddy.

Yes, I said giddy.

He's a software engineer. I didn't know they could get giddy.

My folks got us an upgrade to an HD receiver for the television we have in our downstairs family room. A room we barely ever visited. We just always watched tv upstairs on our old tv. The DVR was up there. As was the kitchen and bathroom. We just hardly ever spent time downstairs. HD seemed fancy and pointless to me.

Now, we'd tried to have Direct TV come out (by we, I mean my husband) and give us HD in the downstairs in the past. It did not work. The guy refused to drill a hole in the wall and said he wasn't allowed to drill holes. He was not really your most helpful installation guy. My husband thought he just didn't feel like doing another job that day. The guy left as quickly as he'd shown up.

The hubby then went out to see if someone other than Direct TV could make this happen. He had an estimate written out by a local place called the Sound Room to drill the hole.

They wanted $6,000 dollars. Six. Thousand. To drill a hole.

It was the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen. It was so ridiculous that it was comical.

And it made me think I should get started in a new profession. I can make a hole in anyone's wall for 6 grand. Pass the ax, please.

We do not have an exciting or strange house. It's a regular, older house. The holes weren't going to be made anywhere questionable or difficult. In fact, there were plenty of holes that had been made for the Direct TV we already had and for the cable the guy who lived here before us had.

It had been about a year since the pointless Direct TV guy had come out. The hubby called Direct TV again after Christmas and set up an installation time. It was like they hadn't been out here before. Fine. Let's go with that.

I worked in our basement clearing out an entire corner so that the guy wouldn't have to move a thing. He had access to everything. There wasn't one box of Christmas decorations in the way, not one half full laundry hamper, not one 12 pack of pop on the counter down there.

My Empty Corner

The day before, the doorbell rang at 8 am. I had been cleaning the house for the Direct TV guy. I was luckily downstairs (not to mention awake). I was in my pjs and had to put on a winter coat to get the door. There was a lot of inappropriate comfort happening especially in the cleavage area.

I also, of course, had a pile of clean laundry on the couch directly behind me. I had folded everything except a large pile of fancy underwear. Those were spread all out, waiting to be folded. They could not have been more in view.

It was the exterminator at the door, who had never showed up before without calling me, emailing me, and snail mailing me appointment reminders for his visit every four months. Every appointment. All 3 reminders. This time, no notice. Sweet Jesus.

He did his job and thankfully made no comments about my unmentionables to horrify me even more. He left quickly and I spent the rest of the day finishing up cleaning. I had the house in great shape for the Direct TV guy.

The next day, I had shaken off my panty faux pas from the day before. Pretty much forgotten about it. Was a little more concerned about the Direct TV guy since it seemed like my husband was in the kind of mood where if the Direct TV guy came and said he couldn't do it, he might not be able to leave the house until he did.

My husband came home early from work to wait for the guy. He got here, nice and professional guy, took a look around. Gave us the green light with no drama. He said he might have to charge us an extra 50 bucks to drill one of the holes.

We were both fine with that. I thought.

I sat upstairs in the office with the dog. The husband stayed with the guy and checked in often with me. He kept sticking his head in the door whenever the repair guy was changing locations.

"He's putting the new dish on the roof!"

"He's drilling a hole from outside into the basement!"

"He's running the cable into the house!"

3 hours of this.

Then, my husband came up and said, "I made the hole from the basement into the family room and saved us the 50 bucks!"

I said something encouraging and didn't think about it. Notice he used the word "made" versus a word like "drilled".

About half an hour later, my husband came back up and said everything was finished. We had Direct TV! IN HD! Installation guy was gone. Time to see it all! He was so excited. It was pretty damn cute.

I went into the basement. The first thing I saw was the hole my husband had made for the cord.

Wow.

Just wow.

Did you guess the weapon of choice?

A saw, of course. Hand saw, non-powered.

God, I love this man.

He was so proud. Which was also pretty adorable. At the same time, I was scared the 3 foster kitties in the basement would escape into the wall. He hadn't thought of that.

So, I did my part. The hubby made the hole. Happy wife covered it up.

With appropriate labeling.

Why, yes, I did cut off a side of the box the receiver came in

and nailed it into the wall over the hole.

Then, I added the last element to complete the project.

Finally, it's good for something!

Stupid nursing degree.

From another state.

When I had another name.

Ah, memories.

As I completed this little do-it-yourself home improvement, I noticed the one thing that I had overlooked in the basement.

One thing I had left out. Well, one type of thing anyway.

The day before, I had washed all our clothes and hung them to dry. Gave myself plenty of time so that I could put them away long before the installation guy came. But one item that I washed takes longer to dry.

I didn't see them. I was blind to them. Hanging by the repair guy's head for the hours while he was in the basement. He probably hit his head on them. Repeatedly.

Oh God.

I yelled at my husband," DID YOU NOTICE THESE?"

"Yes," he said.

"DID YOU GUYS SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THEM?"

"No... I didn't know what to say and I don't think he did either so we didn't say anything. Like a code."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE THEM DOWN?"

He looked at me like I was crazy. Like he's not allowed to touch them when they're on hangers. Like he knew I would not have wanted him to remove them.

I was completely horrified. Do you see what I did not see for an entire day leading up to this? A day I spent straightening slipcovers, fluffing throw pillows, dusting picture frames?

  

Here's a wider view of the small corner where

the repair guy spent the afternoon working.

Right at forehead level. So the guys can hit their heads

on them repeatedly during this whole HD process.

A collection of giant lady bras.

I walked by those about a hundred times that day.

Who knew my underwear display from yesterday

was really just a preview of what was to come?

Please shoot me. I was perturbed at myself the rest of the evening, although watching tv in HD took some of the sting out of it.  I have to admit he was right. The world is better in HD. As is Hoarders, Hawaii 5-O, Top Chef, and all the other stuff I watch. Even now, we both remark on how clear everything looks on the HD.

The happiest husband means this was the best. Christmas. Ever.

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #11

My mom had heard about our silverware situation for months. The old stuff we were using that had belonged to my grandmother (and it wasn't her nice silverware - just her day to day stuff she'd had forever) had started to rust. To bend. To drive me insane.

I hunted for new silverware but couldn't find anything we liked at a price that didn't make me do a double take. We even tried a +100 piece set from an online site we like on the off chance it was the answer to our problem. And, it cost us a rousing $19.99.

Aside from the actual silverware, the cheap set also came with a really nice set of knives. That were worth the 20 dollar price tag. The actual utensils were awful. The silver flecked off of them and they'd bend all the way back in oatmeal. They did not survive one week's use.

Knives, somehow awesome.

Silverware set, horrible.

So I did what any reasonable housewife would do. Tossed out the too-rusted-to-save pieces and set out to make our silverware last until our death. In other words, I gave up. Decided on a lot of meals that could be eaten with one's hands.

Hamburgers, anyone? Then, my mother gave us silverware for Christmas. That was lovely and dishwasher safe and substantial feeling in your hands. Not girlie either, for the husband's sake.

Not bendy silverware. Also, not rusty. Check and check.

Sometimes, Mom knows best after all. How she picked out something I had such trouble choosing is beyond me.

All I know is we can now eat pasta. Rice. Cereal with milk. We can spread butter on things. Poke baked potatoes in the oven. Stir hot chocolate. Make cakes instead of cupcakes because we have forks!

The world is a beautiful place!

The12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #10

My husband and I received a great collection of books we've never read for Christmas.  And the movie based on said books that we had wanted to see in the theater but never got around to seeing.

Nerds rejoice!

I lesbian you!

The sad part is we've watched the Scott Pilgrim movie since getting it but neither of us has cracked open one of the books yet. America! Bad!

But...

Movies...

So...

Easy...

Such immediate gratification...

Books...

So...

Much...

Work...

My goal is to read the first one by next Christmas. Heh. Heh. Cough.

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #9

We're gonna breeze through these final couple Christmas posts. Because Christmas feels like a faded memory and I can't bring myself to start getting excited about 10 months from now.

Although I do miss the warm glow of lights in the house, and cookies, and festive music. Bright paper and ribbons meticulously wrapped around gift boxes. Holiday themed tee shirts and Emmet Otter.

Okay, so that actually was a nice moment there. Haven't really been thinking about Christmas since it's not even March yet. Now I have a gentle feeling for the future that will probably be here before I know it. Definitely before I'm prepared. Putting aside the stress that wants to comes with that thought...

Coming in at number 9 is a fall-themed quilt I saw in a magazine. And I believe 19 bucks any size.

Due to our budgeting, even that small price tag was beyond my parameters. Since I didn't actually see it in person, I didn't think very much about it after I saw it but managed to casually mention it to my mom. There were leaves on it and I was wishing at the time I had more fall themed stuff to get out. The quilt had a lot of brown, green, and dark red colors, which are my colors.

Here, Alas is getting comfy on it on the foot of our bed.

I was so surprised when I opened it. It came in a big quilted tote bag (bonus!). I loved it right away but had no idea how much we would really love it. It's pattern is also not so boldly autumn that we can't use it at other times of the year.

We got it home and it immediately became the quilt that we drag all over the house with us. We cuddle under it while we watch tv on the couch, we throw it on the bed when we go to sleep at night. It washes up easily and has been so great! LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! Thanks, Mom!

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Post #8

The trifecta is almost complete. Do not read this post until you go here and here to see the 2 gifts that preceded this third gift my aunt gave my husband for Christmas.

Again, my aunt doesn't know much about my husband. She met him once. He wore a nice, dark colored suit to my grandfather's funeral. Said all the right things. Was kind and easy going, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.

In yearly Christmas cards, I've surely talked about him. Said he was enjoying his job as a software engineer, probably mentioned he plays on 2 work-related baseball teams during the spring and summer.

This is a man who likes video games. Sportscenter. The Simpsons. He loves fighter jets. He reads thick books with tiny print about history and programming languages. FOR FUN.

He will turn to me while on the computer and say there is a video I have to see, and then he'll send me a link like this. He always does this when I've found a link that I've watched about 5 times and need him to see. Like this one. He is never moved in quite the same way by such videos as I am.

Sorry. I just watched that again. The old lady kills me. I cry every time I watch this. Wow. I need therapy.

Anyway, my point is, my husband is a guy's guy. He is not a romcom guy, a guy who ever shops for clothing, or a guy who cares about how I decorate the house. If I ask him which curtains I should buy, he basically says whichever ones get him out of this situation the fastest. He hates shoe shopping, listening to me talk about shoes, and having to weigh in on which shoes I should wear whenever we go anywhere. He doesn't watch Project Runway with me, has no idea who any reality star is, and has never seen an Oprah show in its entirety.

He had just opened a butterfly book and a rose art print from my aunt for Christmas. He held the final gift from her in his hands. He looked at me and smiled. He could tell it was a book. He loves books!

He then opened this.



Holy sh*t.

My dad asked, "What book is that?"

My husband turned it over in his hands,
then read the binding on the side out loud.

"It's an enchanted dream journal."

...

"Enchanted"

...

"Dream"

...

"Journal"

...

"Is that what it says," my dad asked incredulously.

"Yep."

That was exactly what it said.

...

It was a journal with lined pages to write on, each page framed with more drawings of the hippy-dippy-type fairy lady from the cover and some inspirational quotes.

The example in the photo is of a page

with a quote from Albert Einstein.

"There are two ways to live your life.

One is as though nothing is a miracle.

The other is as though everything is a miracle."

The miracle is that I didn't sh*t myself laughing right then.

I do not know how, but my husband handled this and all of it with an easy going attitude. He set the dream journal aside just as he had the poster of Albert Pujols my father had gotten him. The hubby just laughed and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I could not stop myself from trying to make it make sense. Maybe these gifts to him were to make us laugh? To make me laugh? To counteract the Weight Watcher cookbooks she had gotten me? To work in conjunction with them, since I laughed so hard I must have burned off most of Christmas dinner?

I could not get over it. I just kept asking how these gifts were picked. Why? WHY? My brother and I shared a few minutes of back and forth on maybe our aunt thought the only man who'd marry me would have to be gay. Which is sort of plausible, if you haven't met my husband.

My mother defended her sister, "Oh, no! She didn't mean that!"

Because it should be my mother who is offended by this.

I immediately asked, holding the dream journal out towards her, "THEN WHY?"

My mother said,"Maybe she thought the lady looked like you." Her tone and posture indicated this made our arguement invalid.

Sure. I mean, we're practically identical. Our twins-type appearance would make anyone want to write down their dreams. Especially anyone in love with me. I mean her. Us, since we're the same.

Maybe my aunt shops while high on 'shrooms. Or prescription pain meds. She did have a hip replaced. 

I don't know. I just know that whatever rainbow led her down this road, this was perfection.

The Trifecta Of Awesome

Long live the trifecta!

I hope my husband writes in his dream journal that someday, somehow, someway, this trifecta will be beaten by another grouping of absurd and delightful gifts from my side of the family. He only has a lifetime left for this to happen. Isn't he just the luckiest man to be with me?

Just look at that photo one more time. Imagine if your spouse's family gave you a bunch of similarly confusing gifts. I mean, what would be equivalent?

I guess if my in-laws gave me a burka (which none of them wear), possibly a detailed and mulit-volumed DVD (VHS!) set documentary about the navy seals, and some really expensive camping gear. That would about do it. Of course, they would have to accept my husband and I were married before being interested in giving us presents, so I'm not going to hold my breath. The only thing my in-laws would like to give me is the itinerary of the woman they've sent for who is supposed to marry their son, so that I can pick her up in a timely manner from the airport.

Wow. I just made my aunt's presents so much more awesome. Welcome to the family, Honey! At least we're all excited you're here! So excited we want to document your dreams! We care about your dreams!

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!

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.