Tuesday, December 6, 2011
I'm wicked late for this year's Christmas card. There are issues with content. There are issues with format. And then the camera batteries died. Above is one of the rejects from this year's session. Team Testosterone looks festive, don't you think?
There's been much talk about Advent calendars. Behind them you'll see a calendar my mom made for me. I grew up with a similar one. You velcro the ornaments to the tree and are supposed to put the star on top Christmas Eve. Try telling that to Mr. G. I keep reading about people putting together Advent calendars that involve opening wee gifts and trinkets and treats. The whole logistics of putting such a thing together (times THREE, natch) blows my mind. So reader, let's make a deal. I'll never tell your kids our kid-sized four-wheeler, pool and the boys' man-fort out back if you never speak of Advent calendars with daily gifts to mine, okay?
Blue jays and cardinals are hitting the bird feeder.
Had lunch with J and her darling baby T yesterday. I will so miss her when she returns to work after Christmas. Seriously, girlfriend makes me laugh so hard.
I awoke this morning to the sound of an ornament hitting the floor, but the tree still stands upright.
St. Nicholas filled stockings with tiny Lego kits and chocolates last night. This morning Mr. G informed me that "St. Nicholas gave me a Ninjago set, but it's okay because he'll tell Santa because they live together." It slays me how kids makes sense of these things in their own way. I guess I always thought St. Nicholas was Santa, on a teaser run to let you know where you stood on his Naughty or Nice List.
The hybrid is a GO! Squee! We don't do new cars around here, the hybrid is barely used, and the first new vehicle for probably 6 years. In our discussions about whether to buy this car, we realized that the Momvan is over 8 years old. That startled me for some reason.
Tonight is the season finale of Sons of Anarchy.
Nine days until the Stevens Point book launch party, when I hold a copy of Whipped, Not Beaten in my hands.
So much to look forward to. Spill it, reader. What are you anticipating?