Holiday Cheer

This time of year reminds me of when I worked retail. Way back when, I was a buyer for a department store chain in New York City. It was tons of fun- and I would spend oodles of money in short spans of time (I once wrote orders for $4,000,000 in 2 days) but I had to work so much that the rats in the New York subway had a better quality of life than I did.

Anywhoo....when the hours got long, we tried to amuse ourselves with practical jokes. One of my favorites was around Christmas time. It was the height of Teletubby fever- and these scary stuffed animals were flying out the door. We had classic management back then--- a real mahogany row of executive offices, flanked by steely eyed secretaries, and a chairman who smoked cigars and was famous for his temper tantrums. You never spoke to management directly. They called a Senior VP, who called your Divisional, and then you were called into an office and chewed out for not reordering/ordering too much/ being a moron. It was a very uplifting experience.

One December afternoon, I got bored- and grew tired of listening to my officemate beg her vendor for a reorder of Teletubbies. I scooted over to the men's buying office, and cooerced one of my friends into this prank:

Pretending to be the chairman's secretary, I called my officemate. When she answered the phone, I said in my best Mary Poppins voice: "Please hold for Mr. XXXX (grumpy, cigar smoking, chair throwing chairman).

I then threw the phone to my buddy, and listened as my officemate nervously said hello. He returned, in his best, cigar smoking, belittling fashion:

"Annabelle? My kid's having a birthday this weekend, and I want to get him one of those f#@king' Teletubbies. Bring me a Tinky Winky to my office Immediately!" and with that, he slammed down the phone.

As she quickly tried to locate her tinky winky and make her way to the elevator, we smothered our laughter into samples of men's scarves. This was almost as good as the time my boss convinced me one of my vendor's was the mafia. Almost., but not quite.
"

Dear Diary

Note to Self:

Why, oh why did you burn a CD of Christmas music and put it in the car? Annie and Lucy are now obsessed with the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's rendition of "Heat Miser" and run around the house singing "Toooo Much." If I hear Jinglebell Rock one more time, I may take a jingle ball and....well... I'll save that one for when I'm in better company.

How, how on earth do we have ANOTHER birthday party to go to tomorrow? And why does it start at 9:45 am? And please, let the newly divorced, freaky dad be absent from tomorrow's festivities. He's making all the moms feel creepy. Do you think the jumpee place will serve vanilla lattes with the pizza? Because at 9:45 am, I like a little espresso with my pepperoni. I'm just saying.

Have fun at the party!
Love,
Self

Romance, Redefined

My husband can be quite the romantic. For those that know him, this news may be as startling as finding out that Britney Spears reads Parenting magazine, but it's really true. When we were dating in college, he sent me so many flowers, that I used to overhear my roommate on the phone with her boyfriend hissing "She got them again! Get over here pronto, and pick up some flowers on the way." He even surprised me one morning, pre-kids, by compromising his masculinity and buying me a Celine Dion album. He left it on my seat in my car, so I found it when I went to work the next morning. Alas, eleven years and 2 kids later, traditional romance has taken a backseat to poopie diapers (he HAS left these in my car, only to be found AFTER I promised to give a Vice-President with no kids a ride to his hotel, but that's a story for another time). But, it does not mean romance is dead.

Instead of jewelry, my hubby cleaned up Thanksgiving dinner completely by himself. This is the post-kid equivalent to receiving 2 dozen red roses. He also extended the duration of an out of state interview so we could spend an upcoming holiday with my family. When I couldn't believe this was HIS idea, he said "I just want to make you happy." This, ladies and gentlemen, is the post-kids equivalent of receiving a four carat pave' diamond ring. Now, if only he would learn that if he took the kids out for breakfast completely on his own, and then to the park one early Sunday morning, this would equate to the post-kid equivalent of reliving our honeymoon.

Doctor's Office

My kid is a champ. She braved her way through five whole shots, with barely a whimper. She hugged our doctor, drew her a picture of Pooh bear (what else?), read from a book and checked my reflexes. On our way out, she stopped by the waiting room and asked everyone waiting (it was quite full) if they would like to see her owies. She got her pants about halfway down before I was able to stop her. She then walked around the waiting room, pronounced each baby "pretty" and gave a 12 year old boy a kiss. After this visit, Mommy needed Tylenol.

Christmas Time... Is Here...

It's official- Christmas has finally entered the building. We polished off the finishing touches on the tree last night, and then kicked off the season with our annual "Charlie Brown Christmas" DVD last night. Now my kids are running around, pretending to be Charlie Brown and sing Vince Guiraldi- pretty brutal rendition before morning coffee, but who am I to judge?

We've got a fun filled day ahead of us- Annie's 4 year old checkup. Since I chickened out on her shot last year, that means she'll get a measly FIVE shots this morning. She asked me last night if there would be any, and I didn't have the heart to lie to her. She's a little brave soldier, but after the third one, she may turn into Linda Blair.

At yet another birthday party on Sunday, my little Lucy told a very funny joke--- for a 2 year old. The kids had just finished gorging on pizza and cake, when Lucy toddles over to where all of the grown ups are huddling.

"Mommy? Me hungwy." Lucy says.
"Really Lucy? What are you hungry for?" says Mommy.
"Me hungwy for cake."
Crowd roars. (I guess you needed to see Lucy's face, already covered in chocolate cake, to drive home the funny-ness).

Now, Lucy has learned the power of working a crowd, and telling a joke. At random times, she'll come wandering up and say "Cake" and expect the masses to dissolve into giggles. Oh boy- just what this family needs: more bad comedians.

The Real Holiday

I must confess....today, affectionately called "Black Friday" is one of my all time favorite days of the year. Not because I get up at the crack of dawn to go shopping (no way!)... but because for me, this is the real holiday. In years past, Matt and I hosted both of our families for Thanksgiving. We've never had a large house, so having 20+ people over was always kind of a big deal. It involved days of cooking, rearranging furniture (one year we took everything out of our living room and set up one huge banquet table) and oodles of logistics and last minute prep. By the end of it- I was creaking around like an 80 year old woman and wondering why I ever did this.

Then Friday would come. Most of the family have gone to their respective homes, and the much smaller group spends the day in our jammies, eating leftovers, watching movies, drinking wine and playing board games. H-E-A-V-E-N.

This year, my parents drove out from California with their cocker spaniel, Goldilocks. We've had four nonstop days of giggles, good eats and fun. My parents haven't seen my girls since June, and they couldn't believe how much hair Lucy has. My girls reveled in Granny and Grandad's attention- and nothing makes a mommier happier than enjoying the free babysitting grandparents offer to go and get other things done. (Christmas presents wrapped!)

My Mom spent the last two days cooking with me- one of my favorite things to do with her. We work well in the kitchen. Someone always has your back- your pot gets stirred at the right time, your dishwasher emptied and I never got that last minute Thanksgiving heartburn that has plagued me in years past. Plus, to make the holiday even better- my husband single handedly cleaned up the entire dinner. He has definitely made up for last year's faux pas of cleaning closets, paying bills and ignoring the food. I Heart him.

So, to all you Moms out there that are not at the 4am Jc Penney doorbuster sale, Happy Real Holiday to you. Enjoy your Leftovers, hug your loved ones, and take comfort that there 364 more days until we have to do this all over again.

Thanksgiving Revisited

In honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I would re-post my blog from last year's turkey day. This year promises to be different-- I've got the chief Turkey maker with me this year- thank God for Moms. (and we're not letting Matt inject the wine this year).




Thanksgiving 2006...

For me, cooking Thanksgiving dinner is like giving birth. Supposedly, women have a chemical in their brain that makes them forget the pain of childbirth- otherwise, we'd all be like China, and only have one kid.

Thanksgiving is like that for me. Somehow, in the beginning of November, I actually get excited to cook this monstrous dinner, and I somehow forget all of the pain and suffering that it usually brings. Then, on the actual day of turkiness, with the Macy's Day parade blaring in the background, and I'm dressed in my stinky jammies and haven't brushed my teeth yet or had a cup of coffee, but oh by the way, I've already made 2 pies and diced 12lbs of onions, I suddenly remember: this stinks.

I used to take the 2 days leading up to this hell-i-day off from work, so I could "prepare." That doesn't happen anymore. One of my bosses is teething, and is so grumpy that the only way she'll stop crying is to be bounced on my hip. My other boss must continually be reminded to take potty breaks (see earlier blog post) and that involves me reading the Fisher Price Little People book to her ad nauseum. Add to this party of frivolity a rather festive husband, who never takes a day off- and thought this would now be a good time to clean out his closet (NO JOKE) and pay some bills until he was "gently" reminded that his services were needed in the hip bouncing and potty break department. Said babysitter was then enlisted to help me inject the turkey with wine, and he took it upon himself to sample the marinade. I'm not sure who was more sauced- it's still up for debate.

When you actually break down the staples for this dinner, you realize you're screwed. Especially if you only have one oven, which in my current kitchen- is the case. (I hope, dear renter of my beloved kitchen in San Diego, that you thoroughly enjoyed my professional range. I miss that double oven more than Coronado Beach). Somehow, you have to get the following things WARM to the table with only one oven: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, gravy, green beans and cook a pie or two in the interim. It sounds like some lame-o David Blaine stunt.

Plus, to complicate matters, I happen to love to cook. And Thanksgiving is just not that much fun to tinker with. Turkey is pretty boring, there's only so much you can do with stuffing- and no matter how much of a sophisticated palate I think I am developing, I still feel compelled (and am not ashamed to admit) that I LOVE a good sweet potato casserole and jello salad. (Yeehaw y'all!)

But Every stinkin' year, I make this day as hard to deal with as possible--- cranberries from a can? A pox on you. They must be home-made, and gently tossed with orange rind, lemon rind and green apple. Turkey in a roasting bag? For shame! It must be injected with wine, then basted with melted butter and more wine every 20 minutes! (Potty breaks only last 15, so we're good there). Pre-seasoned bread crumbs? How pedestrian! One must suffer by cubing and drying their own bread.

So, for all of this turkey snootiness, you think it would garner some good praise at the big showdown, yes? NO. Not if your husband invited a couple of fellow medical folk that didn't know, or care what the difference is between pepperidge farm and my loony bin of home-made craziness. Immediately after sitting down to dinner, they all launched into their routine of tossing around big Latin words and something called "crit numbers" that did nothing more than remind me of how kind it was of Mr. Cruikshank to let me pass his chemistry class. After 30 minutes into the meal, someone finally made an off-hand remark about the food, and I realized 2 things:

1. I'm serving hungry man tv dinners w/ stovetop next year. As long as we serve plenty of wine, no one will know the difference.

2. I needed some humble pie w/ ice cream to bring me back to reality. No more green beans with cognac or inebriated, injected turkies. But I will have seconds of the jello salad.