“Will you be in heaven with me, Grandpa?”
That’s what I asked my Grandpa when I was just 3 years old. The story goes that from that moment on, he never touched another drop of alcohol (he was an alcoholic) and he asked Jesus into his heart. He started going to church every Sunday. The idea of not being in heaven with his first Grandchild was his Come to Jesus Moment.
I’ve heard that story since I was a little girl. It’s always been one of the most cherished memories.
But ever since my Grandpa passed away, I feel in some ways that my Grandma has used what was once a treasured memory against me. She asks me often why I don’t go to church. “You’re the reason your Grandpa came to know Jesus. And now you won’t go to church!” She’ll say. (Often.) I have felt so judged
On Christmas, she gave my daughter a bible. Inside was a handwritten note from her.
“I want you to read that letter in front of the family.” She said. I felt angry with her. I assumed she was trying to shame me publicly in front of my family for not going to church.
I asked my sister to sneak the letter into my bedroom so I could read it privately before reading it in front of the entire family as my Grandma had requested.
As I read, I felt the anger melt away.
I may not agree with the things she says, but for the first time since my Grandpa passed away, I am at least able to understand where she is coming from.
We’ll Go Ahead and Pretend Like This is My Christmas Card, Since I Didn’t Actually Send Christmas Cards This Year. :-(
Tomorrow morning there will be 18 people sitting around the Christmas tree by 8 am.
We will have breakfast for everyone– biscuits and gravy. Sausage and eggs. A variety of muffins and fruit. There will be coffee, hot chocolate and orange juice.
We will open presents as we eat and drink.
There will be happy faces, maybe some disappointed ones. There will be laughter, maybe some tears. There will be lots of hugs, maybe some arguments.
There will most likely be spills that will stain (not) our carpet.
But it will all be wonderful and good.
Tomorrow can’t get hear soon enough.
Whatever your plans are for tomorrow, I hope you have a Merry Christmas with those you love the most.
My Little Author
“But Mom! I need more paper than that!” She says.
“G, girl. This is mommy’s printing paper. 10 sheets is more than enough.”
“Mommy! I want to make something very special. Please, can I have more?”
I sigh heavily, as I reach for a handful more. “This is all, G. I don’t want you wasting all of my printing paper.”
She takes her stack of paper and runs to her room. She closes the door just a bit. I can hear the sound of the crayon box hitting the floor.
I go about my work.
A few minutes later, I get up to grab a glass of water. As I walk past her room, I see her laying on the floor. She has the papers stacked just so. She carefully puts a line of glue down the left edge of one paper.
I watch her as she does this over and over again.
I finally make my presence known.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m making a book, Mommy.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” I say.
I leave her to finish her book.
An hour or so later, she walks into my room and hands me the book she just made. “this is for you, mama.” She says as she walks away.
“Come back! I want you to be here while I read this.”
“But Mom!” She replies. “I need to make another one!”
I let her go on her way. I open the first page.
I see my toyz.
I turn the page.
I like my iskreem
Next page.
I wot to go to the prk.
Last page.
I like you.
I get up out of my chair to go tell her how much I love the book she wrote for me. I find her on her floor, gluing more pages together.
“I loved your book, G. It was so great!”
She stopped gluing, looked up at me and said “You liked it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh, good! I want to write books when I am an adult. I hope everyone likes them.”
I instantly felt guilty. “I don’t want you wasting my paper.” I had told her.
I had accused of wasting my precious printer paper. I was annoyed that the construction paper she had in her room wasn’t good enough. She just HAD to use (waste!) my precious printing paper.
Except she wasn’t wasting at all.
She was creating.
My girl is a writer. She writes books. She can have as much paper as she wants, any time she wants it.
The Last You’ll Ever Hear About This Party.
“So, how did the Christmas party go? I’m dying to know!”
I can’t tell you how many emails, im’s and dm’s I’ve gotten about my party. (11) It’s crazy! People want to know! And I have meant to write about it for about 2 weeks now, but as you may know by now, I’m not the most disciplined writer. (But that is going to change in 2010. I’m going to write so hard and so well. You’ll see.) However, today is my first day of vacation and aside from cleaning the entire, filthy house before company comes over tonight, (look at me! Opening my home to company AGAIN!) I have nothing but time to write.
So.
The Ugly Christmas Sweater Party.
The invitation that I sent out went a little something like this.
“Please come to our house on the 12th of December for a Christmas party! We’ll have cookie decorating for the kids! We’ll make s’mores by the fire pit! We’ll walk to see the Christmas lights! We’ll drink egg nog and wine! There will be a nacho bar! Wear your ugliest Christmas sweater and we’ll have a prize for the ugliest one! IT WILL BE SO MUCH FUN!”
(I was really excited.)
The response from everyone went exactly like this:
“We can’t wait! It will be so much fun.”
“Our whole family will show up in Christmas sweaters!”
“I am having all of my friends looking for a sweater now!”
“Nachos! CAN’T WAIT!”
With the exception of 6 people, everyone marked “attending.”
We went to Costco and bought everything we needed for The Perfect Nacho Bar (including the Triple Slow Cooker Buffet, which I am still obsessed with.) We bought Pennsylvania Dutch egg nog, wine, tons of sugar cookies, frosting, candy, everything we’d need for s’mores. We set up the ping pong table in the garage.
The day of the party, the first text message came.
“we won’t be able to make it.”
Then another one.
“Please don’t be mad, but we can’t make it.”
Then, another one.
“We’re going to try REALLY HARD to be there, but we probably won’t make it.”
Then, ANOTHER ONE.
“My wife has to work til 8, so, we probably won’t make it.”
Then.
It started to rain.
And not just rain. POUR. It was pouring.
We hoped it clear up, because if it didn’t, there would be no s’mores, there would be no Christmas lights.
The rain never cleared up. In fact, it got worse. Streets were flooding! The first couple to arrive said they almost turned around because of the rain.
At 5:00, we had 4 couples here. 3 of them were family.
(10 had RSVP’d.)
I was the only one wearing a stupid ass Christmas sweater.
The party had failed. It wasn’t anything like I had planned.
People flaked. The weather didn’t cooperate. I looked like an asshole with my sweater.
But, you know? If I’ve learned anything over the past 3 years, it’s that life doesn’t always go the way you planned it. Shit happens. I had a choice. I could pout about everything that went wrong (and pretty much everything went wrong.) Or I could make the best of the situation (not to be confused with The Situation.)
I made the best of it.
It wasn’t the kick ass party I had dreamed it would be, but it turned out to be a lovely evening with friends and family. An evening filled with great conversations, lots of laughter.
And nachos. Pounds and pounds of nachos.
We’ve already decided we’re doing it again next year.
The Christmas Sweater Makes the Song Better
When I saw Neil’s The 2009 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert last year, I felt bummed that I hadn’t participated. I swore that next year, I’d do it.
“Next year” has arrived and well, I did it.
So awful! I know! But! I had the best time doing it.
(My husband, on the other hand, did not. I kept forgetting the words and kept asking him to delete and start over! And he was like “this better not turn into an hour event. I have The Sing Off on pause! Hurry!” Which, basically meant that he’d rather listen to complete strangers sing on TV (more specifically, complete strangers who call themselves “Max Factor” because they are His Girlfriends. All of them.) then listen to his wife sing. But, whatever.)
All this to say, head over to Neil’s to check out the concert! So many awesome performances! It will honestly be worth your time, so go! Now!
Shattered Nacho Bar Dreams
Over the past few months I’ve been evaluating the way that I live my life. I’m not proud of many things in my life and I realized I was shutting people out. So, I decided I was going to make some changes. The first major change was to start opening up my home to family and friends. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m ashamed we’re still renting a home. Even though this home we live in now is much nicer than The House With The Ugly Cabinets, it’s still not what I would want in a home of my own. I could tell you a million things I hate about this house and wish I could change, but, you know, Not My House. I’m tired of living this way though. I’m tired of feeling ashamed about material things (or lack of them.)
So.
I decided to throw a Christmas Party for the first time ever.
I invited old friends, new friends, family.
I came up with a theme! Ugly Christmas Sweater Party! With a nacho bar! And s’mores by the fire pit! And a walk to see the neighborhood Christmas Lights! And cookie decorating for the kids!
I even bought a Triple Slow Cooker Buffet! (Which I did not pay $100, but $50 at Costco. RESPECT THE COSTCO CARD!)
Me and PigHunter spent an entire day thrift shopping looking for the perfect Ugly Christmas Sweater.
I’ve been more excited about this than I’ve been about anything in a very long time.
“Who cares if you don’t have a beautiful house.” I keep telling myself “No one will notice, they’ll only notice the love and laughter!”
Seriously. I’ve been saying things like that.
I’ve sent a couple reminders about the party, as well as directions to my house. But I noticed something kind of odd.
No one was responding to my messages.
“They’re just busy!” I’ve been telling myself.
Then today. I got a message.
“We’re not going to be able to make it. I have to work longer than I thought, you can be mad at me for a while. sorry.”
Then, I started to panic. Maybe everyone is going to cancel! I mean, no one is responding to my messages, maybe they’re all waiting to cancel at the last minute.
So, I sent one last message.
“Please let me know if you’re going to make it. I am starting to get nervous since no one is responding.”
I’ve got one response since then.
“We MIGHT be able to make it, but my wife doesn’t get off til 8.”
(Which, basically, is a NO.)
Then, someone else says their baby is sick and well, if the baby still has a fever, they can’t make it.
I know of 2 couples that are coming FOR SURE.
My sister is one of them.
I’m feeling pretty upset about this. Not so much that people are canceling. I get it, things come up, kids get sick. It happens and that’s life. I just feel kind of stupid for opening myself up to be hurt like this. THIS IS WHY WE DON’T INVITE PEOPLE TO OUR HOUSE.
At this point, I’m not sure what to do.
Do I cancel and reschedule for next week? Do I just keep it on and enjoy the few people who do show up? Do I cancel altogether?
I am not sure yet.
In any case, I keep telling myself “it’s their loss!” because, seriously, they’re missing out on a Triple Slow Cooker Buffet Nacho Bar.
And also, ALL OF THIS:
Edited to add–
I love how you guys can almost always talk some sense into me. The party is still on. And it’s going to be awesome. Now, can I just got a few prayers that it stops raining at some point during the evening? I really need for God to make that happen.
It’s My Blog and I Can Post Videos of My Kids If I Want To [/defensive]
A little holiday cheer, courtesy of My Awesome Kids.
I Believe This is What They Call “A Breakthrough.”
200.8
201.4
202
200.4
These are the numbers that have flashed on the scale for the past month. It’s been mentally frustrating to not be able to break the 200 pounds mark. To be honest, it’s been so discouraging that I started to give up. I wasn’t going to the gym regularly. I wasn’t watching my sugar intake like I should. It just felt like it was never going to happen, so why am I killing myself trying?
Then, I came across a video on YouTube about insulin resistance. I was reminded yet again of what could happen to my body if I don’t take care of it properly. I had become so focused on “the numbers” that I temporarily lost sight of what is really important.
My health.
Not getting diabetes.
I was slipping back into my old way of thinking regarding weight and body image. And that is UNACCEPTABLE. If I allow myself to think and behave in that manner, my health will deteriorate. That’s the reality of my life now.
Luckily, I saw the errors of my way and snapped out of the funk.
I started working out regularly again.
My body has responded in a way I was beginning to think it never would.
The photo is titled “Here Comes the Rain.” This post is titled “Testing. Again.”
Is this thing on again?
P.S. Stop being an asshole, dreamhost.
To Sum it All Up– Naked, Soapy, Joy, Upgrade.
Last month me and my husband celebrated our 19th wedding anniversary. People tend to assume that we must be Really Good At Marriage. “19 years!” They say. “How DO you do it?”
Here’s the thing. We’re not very good at marriage. I mean, we love each other, obvs. We love our family, double obvs. But we don’t nurture our relationship the way that we should.
Let me give you an example: The last time we had spent a weekend alone together was when I was pregnant with our second child– 13 years ago!.
There really isn’t an excuse for this, other than the one we use every time we even THINK about planning a weekend getaway.
“We can’t afford it.”
This year, we promised each other we were going to plan a weekend in Vegas for our anniversary.
“No more excuses!” I said. “We’re doing this!”
Then, work slowed down for PigHunter. And unexpected adjusted tax bills came in the mail.
So, I canceled the trip.
Even though we had money saved.
Even though it was going to cost next to nothing.
“It’s the responsible thing to do!” I said. And PigHunter agreed.
But really, no. It wasn’t. We weren’t taking a luxurious cruise that was going to cost thousands of dollars. We were going to Vegas, where I could get a room for $60 on Hotwire.com. I mean, seriously, what the hell, Us?
Our marriage was worth that $60 room.
I booked the room, got a sitter and off to Vegas we went to make our marriage stronger. ( and when I say “make our marriage stronger” I mean “play quarter slots and have lots of naked sex.”)
The drive to Vegas was smooth, no fights, no arguments. Only lots of excitement about naked sex and quarter slots. And possibly, buffets. However, once we arrived in Vegas, things started to fall apart.
“You know how to get to The Strip, right?” I ask as we entered Vegas.
“No. But I assume the signs will tell us where to go.” He said.
“True, so we should just see our hotel when we’re on The Strip, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.” He replies, all High and Mighty-ish. “We’ll find our hotel.”
20 minutes and a Lots of Cuss Words later, we were at the end of The Strip and our hotel was no where in sight. Thanks to my G1, we finally found the hotel. However, that’s when the REAL fun started.
We pulled into what my husband, who has a Masters in Knowing All Things, was SURE was the Harrah’s parking lot. I had suggested perhaps, maybe, we were in the wrong place. He assured me that he was right, I was wrong. “I think you’re wrong.” I said. “but, WHATEVER.”
We parked and as we walked to the hotel, I kept asking “are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Suddenly, he was only “95%” sure.
We got into the elevator with all of our suitcases, camera’s sweaters and jackets. I saw a sign that said “Imperial Palace.” I pointed, all “YOU WERE WRONG” like. “So, you still think we’re in the right place?”
He wasn’t willing to admit defeat just yet. So, we got off the elevator and started walking. Even though we both knew we were at the wrong hotel. I finally had enough, so I verbally communicated my feelings, (something along the lines of “I’M SO PISSED HOLD MY BAGS I HAVE TO PEE YOU JERK.”) he tried not to laugh, we turned around and left to find the correct hotel parking lot.
Long story short. We found it. He dropped me off to check in while he parked.
“Next, please” the man at the check in counter called out. I handed him my credit card, he looked up my reservations.
“Would you like to upgrade to the jacuzzi suite?” He asked
“How much?” I asked.
“$75.”
I thought about it. And as I thought about it, I felt what can only be described as Joy in the Pants. The Cheap in Me was all “don’t listen to the Joy (in your pants.) Be responsible! Say no!” But the Joy in my Pants was all “NAKED SOAPY BODIES FUN NAKED!”
Joy in the Pants won.
I upgraded the room.
I didn’t tell PigHunter about the upgrade. I figured I’d let him be surprised once we got up to the room. I opened the door. We looked around and he goes “wow, this is really roomy. I can’t believe we only paid $60 for this!” I giggled. “I upgraded to the suite… check it out.” I took him by the hand and led him to the jacuzzi.
Instant Joy in HIS Pants!
He didn’t even care about how much! He just cared about “how long til we were both naked and soapy!”
It took about EXACTLY 6 seconds of looking at the jacuzzi for the Joy in my Pants to turn into Fear of Bacteria and Disease. The excitement of I felt (in my pants) when I heard the words “jacuzzi” and “suite” had temporarily shutdown the OCD portion of my brain because not once did the thought of Other Peoples Sex register while I was handing over my credit card to upgrade. But now that I was there, face to face with it, that’s all I could think about. And there’s nothing that will kill sexual excitement quite like threat of getting an STD.
Meanwhile, PigHunter was standing there wondering “how long til we’re naked in this thing?”
I convinced him that we should go out for dinner before getting naked and (possibly, catching a disease.)
We headed out looking for some of the places that twitter had suggested. However, somehow, we found ourselves in line at the Harrah’s buffet. (Which, by the way, WAS THE ABSOLUTE WORST. Next time, I’m listening to twitter.)
After dinner, we decided to take a walk. Just outside of the hotel, there was an outdoor bar. A cover band was playing. “Oh, let’s go!” I shouted, as I grabbed his hand and led him down the stairs. Cover bands are one my favorite things about Vegas. Let me rephrase that. Old Ladies in tight leather pants dancing nastily to cover bands is my absolute favorite thing about Vegas. And man, were there plenty of them at this place. It was pure Vegas Magic.
We stood there for at least 30 minutes, watching, pointing, laughing, but also admiring. I love people who don’t give a shit what other people think and just enjoy themselves. You know?
Something you should know about my husband is that he doesn’t like to dance. (Probably because he is stuck in the 80’s when it comes to dancing.) The only time we have ever danced together was when we used to go line dancing in Orange County. We’d do the Cowboy Cha Cha together (and also the Boot Scootin’ Boogie. NO LIE.) That was years ago. We haven’t danced together since. So, imagine my surprise when I asked him to dance to a Cheesy Cover of Poison (as in Bel Biv Divoe’s song, not Brett Michaels band.) and he said “yes!”
We took the floor and that’s when the real magic happened.
My husband began to dance.
I tried to let him be himself, I tried to just be glad he was out there with, I really did. Who am I to judge? I can’t dance either. However, I also don’t move my arms like I’m dancing at a Hoe Down. So, I kind of felt like I should say something. I walked over and gently grabbed his arms. “Simmah down with the Hoe Down Arms, babe.” I said. He laughed and did it even harder, which made me laugh. (I’m so glad he has a sense of humor. If he had walked up to me and let’s say, grabbed my ass and said “Simmah down with the Ho Ass Movements” I would have BEEN SO PISSED.
I decided to embrace Hoe Down Arms and just have a good time. They kind of grew on me, to be honest. The more I think about it, the more I believe the world would be a little better if we all could be so lucky to have moves like this.
I’m not going to tell you the Juicy Details about all of the sex we had later that night, but I will say that I was able to get over my fear of disease to enjoy the jacuzzi, but only after I made my husband rinse it down for an hour with hot water. (Even then, I was still worried and disgusted and SHUT YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW IF YOU’RE EVEN THINKING OF TELLING ME HOW MANY DISEASES I PROBABLY HAVE NOW.) What I will tell you is that the $75 I spent on the upgrade was possibly the best money we’ve ever spent. Two weeks later, we still can’t stop talking about that night and are already planning another trip to do it again.
