You be the judge

Who can tell me what's hilarious about this picture? No, It's not that my Christmas wrapping paper is still at the ready as we all turn to face the sun, wearing our traditional and festive Vernal Equinox garb. That's just sad.

But look a little more closely. As I was shoving a pile of laundry out of the way so the vacuum could have a path, I glanced down at the cover story of this magazine (which I think was slipped into my bags as I was leaving the fabulous mother-in-law's place one night -- because she is never one to drop a hint when she can roll it up in a magazine and swat your behind with it).  People, I almost fell over laughing.  Or maybe it was crying.  I can't remember which.

My advent calendar is like my life: always running a little bit behind.

Here's our pretty tree from a couple of years ago -- after the gifts had been opened.

Well, so let me share a list of all the things I have not done yet during this Advent season:

• decorate the Christmas tree with all my lovely ornaments, each of which has special meaning to me, but which I may or may not be able to find currently
• put lights on the Christmas tree
• acquire the Christmas tree
• bake any sort of scrumptious Christmas-y treat
• put twinkly Christmas lights up outside my home to welcome family, friends, and maybe a wassailing stranger or two
• wrap any Christmas gifts for my family and friends
• purchase any Christmas gifts for my family and friends
• hunt down the Christmas stockings and stocking hangers
• write a hilarious, not-too-braggy, chock-full-of-pictures Christmas newsletter to include with my Christmas cards
• mail any Christmas cards
• purchase, craft, or recycle any Christmas cards

My Christmas angst level is high, y'all.

It feels like I say this every year. But -- I am always able to slide into the pew in time to sing carols before Midnight Mass, and somehow the little baby Jesus is always able to celebrate another birthday.

And I have also realized that Santa has my back; it's just that I need to learn how to recognize his elves when they are all around me.  Somehow the treats get made (the sunny girl is my go-to baker); the presents get purchased (come here, Amazon-dot-com, so I can kiss you on the lips) -- and wrapped by Coleen and by the girl in charge (who has a system, of course). The Boy Scouts come through every year, with a tree, and greenery, and luminaria to welcome those wassailers and friends.  My family's Christmas mornings are always wonderful, and our Christmas Day is mellow (we all lazily read our newest books), and we continue our festive season the very next day with a kick-ass Boxing Day party.

So -- get thee behind me, Christmas angst!

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And here -- with no angst! -- is a "catch-up" batch of wintery and Christmas-y books for Advent:

DECEMBER 14:

  

Twelve Kinds of Ice, by Ellen Bryan Obed, is a nostalgic and old-fashioned seeming book about the different kinds of ice one family experiences as winter progresses.  From a delicate skim of ice on a pail to true skating ice, the narrator and her sister find a way to find joy and anticipation and fun.  The delicate and precise illustrations by Barbara McClintock match the tone of the writing -- the book evokes all the different feelings of winter.  I'm so glad to have found this book!


DECEMBER 15:

Kevin Crossley-Holland wrote a trilogy of books that re-tell the King Arthur story that the tall boy loved when he was younger, so I was curious to see how he "re-tells" the Nativity story.  His book -- How Many Miles to Bethlehem? -- is wonderful.  The language is sometimes whimsical and sometimes sweeping and majestic, as Crossley-Holland narrates the story through the voices of the various participants and observers.  And the artwork!  Oh my goodness, it's so gorgeous!


DECEMBER 16:

In A Perfect Day, Carin Berger creates a snowy world using collages made of ledger paper brushed with paint; the texture and depth in the illustrations seem to be a way of representing the unique quality of the light on snow.  The story of the children who emerge from their homes to play together is told very simply, but the pictures give the story a richness that will have young readers and pre-readers poring over the book themselves for hours.


DECEMBER 17:


A storybook called The Nativity seems pretty straightforward, and the reader might assume that it will take a reverent tone when it describes this most important of all births.  And the story is absolutely told with a serious voice -- taken from the King James version of the Bible.  But the illustrations by Julie Vivas are just the slightest bit kooky, so that everyone will delight in looking at the pictures.  Mary's belly is really, really big; the angel Gabriel has bright red hair, shimmery wings, and big work boots.  It's hilarious! I just wish, wish, wish I had been able to share this book with the urchins when they were little -- but I am happy that my sister's small boys will get to enjoy it (guess what they're getting for Christmas?!)

It's beginning to look a lot like . . . oh, who am I kidding?

Ask me if I'm ready for Christmas.  Go ahead -- I dare ya.

I do have a Merry Christmas wreath, but this is only because the fabulous neighbor sent her Boy Scout son over to sell me one; she knows me and figured this would be the only way I would get one.  She was right.

Meanwhile, the sunny girl's Halloween hat looks great, stashed in the corner of my dining room, right where a Nativity should go. 

 

The autumnal garden flag got put out just before Thanksgiving, so I feel like I haven't gotten a full season's work out of it.  At this rate the Christmas flag will go out the day after Valentine's Day.

Here we gaze across a vista of laundry that needs folding, to the mantel where our stockings should be hung.  By the chimney.  With care.  But first I have to find them.  And put away the Easter bunny.

Note the lack of a Christmas tree.  It's looking bleak, y'all.

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Today,  the Advent calendar shows us a book that my family has loved forever.  The Cranberry books tell about the small town adventures of a group of friends who live in Cranberry, Maine.  In Cranberry Christmas, the friends are worried that they will not be able to ice skate on Christmas Day -- one of their favorite traditions.  Thank goodness, Mr. Whiskers finds an unexpected way!  When the urchins were little we had all the Cranberry books, plus Old Black Witch -- a favorite from my own childhood, also written by the Devlins.

Remember: as far as anyone else knows, we're a nice, normal family!"

So back in April the tall boy came home for the Easter weekend, which was fabulous.  And he brought HER with him too, which was also fabulous.  The only concern for me was that we really like this girl -- so we have been trying very hard to keep her from finding out that we're not normal.

Good thing for us, she actually likes playing the kind of uber-nerd board game that lasts for hours, if not days.  This one involves trading things like hides and salt for grain and iron -- and then purchasing "civilizing" abilities like pottery and coin-making and philosophy.  It's not Monopoly, people. 

The Easter Bunny made an appearance, of course.  It addition to way too much chocolate, the baskets this year were filled with bubbles and squirt guns.  Of course, the sunny girl and the girl in charge immediately filled the squirt guns with bubble juice, and SHE joined right in as they all attacked the tall boy-- but the report is that the effect was less than thrilling.  Everybody got crayons too, because that's how the Easter Bunny rolls.

And here's what our pretty Easter dinner table looked like -- before it was loaded with ham and potatoes and spinach salad and asparagus and carrots and deviled eggs and French rolls and butter . . . and the husband made me move the lovely but inedible flowers.

SHE celebrated a birthday while she was with us, and we all went to the Easter Vigil Mass (and to a swell party afterward).  She met the grandparents, and Grandpa fell a little bit in love with her.

So -- all things considered, I think we still have her fooled.

Basement renovation: Here's why

So our basement is still one big collection of jackhammers, sawhorses and halogen lamps; we blow dust off of any food we're considering eating before we put it in our mouths, and we have learned to jump into the shower early, before all the work begins each day -- we never know when the water will be available.

But it's so worth it!  Because here is what our basement used to look like:

At some point, some previous owner put up plaid wallpaper that matches nothing. There is no excuse for this except maybe the early enthusiasm in the seventies for all things that could be seen as colonial and bicentennial, but somehow also gave off a "swinger" vibe, which overwhelmed supposedly intelligent people who should know better.  To complement this, navy blue wallpaper was applied to an adjoining wall.  There is so much wrong with this . . . .

Of course, being the procrastinating family, we complained about this ugly wallpaper for eleven years, while yawning and fixing ourselves more coffee.  It began to lose its sticky and peel from the walls before we did one thing about it.  But still.

So this level of our home boasted a bedroom, but no bathroom -- not even the so-called "powder room" so beloved by realtors everywhere.  Some previous homeowner somewhere along the way decided it would be way more fun and useful to require people who used the bedroom to climb two flights of stairs to take a shower; instead of a bathroom they installed a rustic, Daniel Boone-esque wet bar.  There's that navy blue wallpaper in the background.

Actually, after talking to friends we feel kind of lucky.  My Contractor and her husband are the proud owners of a 1970s tiki bar in the basement of their house -- palm frond roof and all.  We merely had to contend with striped wallpaper that was purchased -- on purpose! -- to match the plaid wallpaper used elsewhere in the room; apparently it could have been so much worse.  But still.  The wet bar had to go.  The down side is that the tall boy and his buddies will no longer have a mini-fridge to stash their contraband beer in -- but the tall boy would never do such a thing anyway,  so everybody is happy.

And!  All of the carpeting will be replaced, which is such fabulous news!

 You would be wrong if you thought that the entire family is nostalgic about these stains, which represent the maniacal temper tantrum I had when I discovered, the night before my sister and her family were to arrive for a visit, that the dog pee stains left by Toby, the Round Mound of Hound, may he rest in peace, were impervious to every product I tried.  That's when I dumped straight bleach on the carpet.  Which, in case you were wondering, does a great job on the urine-ish smell -- but is very unpredictable when it comes to knowing what color the carpet will end up.  A little tip from me to you.

Yep -- this basement renovation is a very good thing.

Help! I'm being buried alive!

Look at this, people! All of these catalogs have arrived in my home in the past week. Yes -- I said "week."

I counted 'em up: the grand total = 93 catalogs.

So let's think about the math involved here. In seven days I received ninety-three catalogs. OK, let me lick my pencil . . . carry the 11 . . . solving for pi . . . . It turns out that I received an average of thirteen catalogs -- every single day. Am I crazy or doesn't that seem a wee bit excessive to you?

Now don't get me wrong. I love to read a catalog in the bathroom as much as the next girl. But have mercy, catalog publishers! If I read all of the catalogs, how will I ever find the time to keep up with my People magazine and National Enquirer? And by the way -- I thought we were all working together to save the planet here. I find it kind of hilarious that I have to pay my bank an extra $4.00 per month for the privilege of receiving paper copies of my statements, but Pottery Barn and Coldwater Creek and Levenger are willing to send me the most glamorous and slick magazines (often twice in one week) absolutely free!

Let's see what else we've got here:

I love getting the Restoration Hardware catalog, even though there is not a chance on God's beautiful spinning Earth that I could afford anything in it, except maybe the vintage Bingo game. That actually looks pretty cool.

You know this family is going to get an opportuntiy to make some purchase from the fine, fine people at Softball Sales. Good thing we heard from them, too -- because the girl in charge needs a new bag.

It makes me a little sad that I no longer have urchins who would love to get something from the Chinaberry catalog; once upon a time we would have placed a giant Christmas order with them -- fabulous books for the little urchins, people! But these days, the tall boy's wish list has Isaac Asimov, Stephen King, and Jim Butcher on it, while the girl in charge is immersed in the Game of Thrones series, and the sunny girl is yearning for anything steampunk. We're just not gonna find these items in the Chinaberry catalog. They are aimed more at the Pat the Bunny crowd.

I do still love the folks at Bas Bleu -- they never fail to point out a book or an author to make me happy. My heart was completely warmed yesterday when the girl in charge handed me the most recent edition of the catalog, with several pages turned down. Love that girl!

Should I be concerned about the reputation I must be developing amongst the catalogers? I received not only Wine Enthusiast . . .

. . . but Wine Country Gift Baskets -- on the same day! Hmmm. . . . and no catalog from the Coca-Cola Company. I should lodge a protest!

And I'm sorry -- I just find this the silliest catalog ever -- a catalog of Catalog Favorites. So is this like the Readers' Digest condensed version of all those damned catalogs I've been getting since late September? And just how do they know these are my own personal favorites? Is there a softball bag in this catalog? I don't think so! Rubber Ducky p.j.s? Not a chance! Lego Death Star? Oh, please!

I'll just stick to ignoring my ninety-three catalogs, thank you!

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And on Day Five, behind the door of our Advent Calendar we find Peter Spier's Christmas!. This is actually a book that our family also enjoyed, when the urchins were very little. This is another wordless book, with illustrations that are so intricate and involved that children will pore over it for hours and hours, noticing fabulous details in every corner of every illustration. Our copy of this wonderful book fell apart years ago -- and sadly it is no longer in print. I'll bet, though, that diligent sleuths will be able to find it at a used book store. I have had great luck at abebooks.com.

Thanks, Ava!

Time lapse phtography OR Turns out the hellhounds are really just knuckeheads

When Watson sleeps, he really means it. Getting his belly scratched tends to bring on a fit of narcolepsy . . . .

. . . and he loses the battle with gravity . . .

. . . but, hey! As long as he's comfortable!

Sorry about the crappy iPhone photography -- and just ignore the slovenly housekeeping, won't you?

It's a start

So I cleaned out my little linen closet, and people, it wore me out.

You're seeing the "after" picture; I didn't take a picture of the "before" closet because it would be too embarrassing and because my camera had apparently been eaten by the closet.

But when I did find the camera I recorded just how many bags of crap gently used linens I hauled to the Salvation Army. All of this was in the closet -- plus the stuff I put back in, which completely filled that same closet.

It's some sort of miracle of physics.

Snapshot: Why I suck

This tragically accurate (and let me note -- completely unstaged) picture tells you everything you need to know about me:

1. Newly purchased P90X workout discs (pricey) and glamorous "Extreme Home Fitness Nutrition Plan," being eaten by a delicious bag of potato chips. The girl in charge and I are starting this challenging! yet awesome! workout program ("Extreme workout! Extreme results!"), just as soon as we finish watching all of our backlogged NCIS and Gilmore Girls episodes. Honest!

2. Festive Merry Christmas tablecloth. Hello, January!

3. I've always had a thing for Sharpies, but it feels like the Sharpie Fairy scatters them all over my house like glitter, except more permanently staining. I seem to trip over them in the oddest places. Ask anyone, including Coleen's heart-faced girl, who, at the age of two, found one on the floor of my bedroom and proceeded to scribble in bright blue all over the pristine white belly of a sleeping Annie the Wonder Cat. Just one more way that my slovenly housekeeping has created one of my all-time favorite memories.

4. Blog posts, unwritten.

5. Bills, paid. Maybe.

6. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Hello, dream lover!

As far as I'm concerned, we're ahead of schedule.

OK, so this time last year there was too much crap piled up in my living room to even think about adding a tree to the chaos. So I'm feeling pretty good that this year, the tree is in the house and upright. Don't get pushy about lights and ornaments -- I can only do so much!

The sunny girl did put up some gel-filled sticky thingies on the windows. So that's festive.

Our Advent calendar is an annual tradition, but there have been December 1sts that have been calendar-free because I just could not lay my hands on it. Those were the years we played a game I like to call "Advent Catch-Up" when I did find the calendar. This year -- win!

It's not even time for our Christmas stockings, but I know where they are, too! You have no idea how big this is. Ask Grandma Donna about the Christmas Eve when I couldn't find the stockings, so I hung six Santa hats on the mantel. One of the "hats" was actually a cloth wine gift bag decorated to look like a Santa hat. That bad boy hung there with all the other hats, like it knew what it was doing. Pathetic, and absolutely true. How cool is Santa, though?! -- he didn't even mind!

And best of all, the merry old basket of Hershey's kisses has taken up its accustomed place by the front door. This means that the merry old Hershey's kisses wrappers have taken up their accustomed places all over every floor of the home.

Some Christmas traditions live on forever.

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Behind the Advent calendar door on Day 14, we find Silent Night, written and illustrated by Will Moses. Coleen turned our family on to this gorgeously illustrated book; Will Moses is her favorite artist. With the lyrics to the lovely carol as section headings, it tells the story of the Miller family as they prepare for the Christmas Eve birth of a baby girl. It's a great bedtime story.

The Great Pillow Caper

So I know that none of you have this problem, but here's the thing. While I was thrilled to host the husband's sister for part of the Thanksgiving holiday, it did mean that I finally had to face my dark nemesis, the back bedroom (cue scary music). Do you do this? I had fallen into the trap of feeling like, hey! It's a room that rarely gets used for actual sleeping -- so I'll just shove these few things in there until I can get to a more thorough housecleaning later. And do you think I have ever embraced the notion of a thorough housecleaning? Please.

People, I cannot tell you how awful it was without humiliating myself. And have mercy, but I took no pictures for the same reason. Let's just say I found crap I had been missing for months. Oh, who am I kidding? Years.

Well! The girl urchins and I went on the attack! I was so happy to have them on my team -- when you're facing such a fierce foe it's a powerful thing to have daughters who have your back. And at the end of our labors, the room was so sparkling clean that I rewarded myself (and my future guests) with a pretty new comforter and pillow shams. Aren't they cute?

My west coast guest left Friday morning, but I looked forward to seeing my sister and her urchins on Saturday night -- they were getting the soldier back to West Point (he loves it and rocks at being a cadet -- thanks for asking!). And I had a pretty room to offer her, too! Win!

But here's the thing: the tall boy casually mentioned on Friday that he had invited his bestie (also in town from the west coast) to "come over and hang," and that he would probably spend the night. Fabulous! we love the bestie -- he's charming and funny (obsessed with that rocket, as you'll recall), and he promised to play the piano for us, because -- talented? You don't even know.

Well. I have no idea what kind of capers and shenanigans they got up to (actually I do have a pretty good idea . . . ), but the next morning they inhaled platters -- platters -- of ham and biscuits. The bestie (a fraternity man, don't you know?) charmed us all, drinking coffee and talking cars with the husband while wearing khakis and a blue blazer. At breakfast, y'all. As I hugged him good-bye I couldn't help thinking, literally: What a nice boy.

But then I went downstairs to get the pretty little bedroom ready for my sister. I was so excited because I knew my sister would be so proud of me -- she had actually seen it at its worst, so I was happy that she would get to see it at its best. And to my horror, I discovered that one of my new pillow shams was . . . gulp . . . missing! (Do you hear the Psycho violins?? I did!)

I sweetly asked the tall boy if he had mistakenly put my brand new pillow somewhere else. "What pillow?" he said to me.

"What pillow??"

People, this is a verbatim record of my response (and my urchins' reaction):

"You get that dumbass Peter on the phone this instant and you tell him he needs to fork over my pillow right now!"

Gales of hysterical laughter from all three of the urchins.

"I'm not kidding, tall boy. You and that dumbass Peter have two options. Come up with my pillow, or buy me a new one! And it came as part of a set, knucklehead, so get your money! "

Shrieks of laughter. Urchins weeping and clutching their sides as they laugh and laugh and laugh.

"And I swear, if that dumbass Peter is already on an airplane back to school I'll follow him myself to get my pillow back. I'm not kidding, tall boy!"

At this point the sunny girl had an asthma attack, she was laughing so hard. My sympathy was not aroused.

Then I stomped off to my car, to go Christmas shopping. I was in quite the festive mood, as you can see.

And then the tall boy came running out, wetting himself with giddy laughter, carrying . . . my pillow! "Where did that dumbass Peter hide it?" I asked wearily. "In the file cabinet!" The tall boy could barely get it out.

In the file cabinet. Of course.