How did the Twinkie get pregnant?

If you do not know the answer, boy oh boy, have you been missing out. Although, truth be known, I was really more of a Ho Ho kinda gal -- Ding Dings just never quite hit my sweet spot. But a Twinkie? A little piece of hydrogenated sponged heaven.

Where am I going with this?

*DeepBreath*

At the risk of alienating an entire geographic region from this wee site, I must confess that I am not a big fan of TastyKakes. I have tried. Oh my, how I have tried. Furthermore, Mojavi may ban me from her social circle now. But really - TastyKakes? The cakes are a bit dry and the creams are too sweet and not very flavorful. Little Debbie? For reals, that little harpie knows how to do cream fillings. And nothing matches Hostess in terms of moist cakes.

So, in conclusion, I do not like TastyKakes. I give up. I hope Hostess and Little Debbie will allow my wandering eye back into their good graces.

There. I said it.

Are you happy? Why not? What hell is happiness anyway?

Being happy doesn't mean everything is perfect. It means you have decided to look beyond the imperfections. --Unknown

The Journal of Joe Peacock had a recent post that made me think....and think....and think. I thought it was inspiring enough that I wanted to share it here and encourage everyone to read it. (Hat tip to Average Jane for the link - this is not a site I read. Also, hat tip for Google Reader and the ability to share items.)

The post features a really goofy picture of a really goofy looking guy who took his cat to a professional photographer with him. But? The goofy guy just really looks freakin' happy. And Joe Peacock writes a nice post about it:

I hope that among the horrible crap that 2008 (and other years) has brought you that you can find at least one thing in your life that you can just grab and hold and smile about every time you think of it. I hope that you find joy in moments, if not in life as a whole. And if you aren't there - if everything's miserable and you can't find small victories each day, please do try to find one. Maybe your cat. Maybe pick up a pencil and doodle something that will make you giggle. Maybe write a blog entry on the net about the silliest thing you've ever seen.

Maybe this picture of Walter and his cat.

Who knows. I just hope you find joy where you can. And when you find it, I hope you hold on to it. Cherish it in your heart and keep it deep within you, like a coal which warms you from deep within. Never let that ember burn out. Always stoke it and give it plenty of air to breathe. Hold on to your joy. Never let it go, because there are plenty of forces in this world which would be glad to take it from you.

Definitely read the entire post, I thought it was worth the time.

At the same time reading that post, I was receiving an email from Goofy Girl with an incredibly thoughtful quote from Stephan Hoeller:

A pearl is a beautiful thing that is produced by an injured life. It is the tear [that results] from the injury of the oyster. The treasure of our being in this world is also produced by an injured life. If we had not been wounded, if we had not been injured, then we will not produce the pearl.

I spent much of 2008 being unhappy for some reason or another. Some of which was out of control, some of which was very much in my control.

I am not one for New Year's Resolutions, but I am totally up for Life Resolutions. I am going to try harder to get off of my lazy butt and to quit complaining. That is all.

I suspect it will be enough.

Why bother? (v.2)

I had a celebratory post planned for this week about how I had officially run out Official Excuses for not going to the gym. I am done business traveling, done gestating, done breastfeeding full-time, and done dealing with separation anxiety from two toddlers. Yes, the plantar fasciitis has been an issue, but I stick to weights and the elliptical machine, so it has not been so bad. I was going to wax poetic on how lovely it is to drop the Double A's off at the nursery, where they are so very excited to just scamper off into the distance. I was going to talk about how sweet it has been to just soak up some tunes on the iPod and have 60 minutes of uninterrupted thinking.

Then.

Yes, you must have suspected there would be a "then". No?

I kicked our trash can a good 2 feet across our kitchen. Not on purpose, mind you. Oh no, but rather I did it because I am a klutz. The same bufoon who tripped in the kitchen just yesterday and fell on her knee. Also, I am Lazy Mom who left a rocking chair perched precariously on her couch (so the housecleaners could vacuum) and was watching her youngest progeny begin to pull it off of the couch. In my haste to grab the rocking chair, I totally ran into the trash can.

So. Now, I cannot walk without hobbling, I cannot bend my toe and said toe is turning a rather disturbing purple color. It also feels like the toe is "missing" or "disconnected" - a Phantom Toe, perhaps?? Dr. Google informs that even if the toe is broken, there is not much a Real Live In Person Insurance Accepting kinda doctor could do about it anyway.

I would take a picture for everyone to have fun diagnosing amongst yourselves, but as I have traded in pedicures in lieu of a housecleaning service, you would do well to thank me for sparing you the ugliness that is now officially known as my Left Middle Toe.

Why bother?

Truly, there is no sweeter candy than that which has been pilfered from your child's hard-earned stash.

Anyway.....Johnson County, Kansas, the county in which I reside, has had record turnouts for advanced voters, which leads me to believe that November 4th is going to be mayhem. I have a plan - we are walking to the polling place (it is only a half mile down the road) and I will have the brand-new DVD portable player fully charged and stocked (DVD player was purchased for a canceled roadtrip, not for the elections. I swear.)

So, yes - I AM, indeed, voting. Even though my Blue Ballot will likely be lost amongst a sea of Red Ballots and ultimately, will not really matter.

I debated titling this post "What if?" That was my response to X's pointed question of "Why Bother?"

Um. I will not be participating in this year's NaBloPoMo - you crazy kids have fun with that. Two years in a row have burnt me out for this year's. However, I am enacting my own little event called NaBloPoWe and will be posting for the first week of November. I am hoping this will jumpstart me out of the blogstipation from which I have been suffering.

Are you where you want to be?If not, why? What will it take to get you to where you want to be?

I just finished Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. In short, I loved this book. Loved it. This novel hit a sweet spot for me -I was desperately in need of a Thinker and it was cleverly written in first-person plural (the voice of "we") while possessing some amazingly spot-on observations of the so-called professional world of Corporate America. I found myself laughing, nodding my head vigorously in agreement and even getting teary-eyed at some parts that brought back so many memories of my former professional life. When I finished the book, I will admit that I did miss a bit of the camaraderie that can happen in the working world. Fortunately, I was able to take many of those former comrades with me to this new I have cobbled together. Goofy Girl, Average Jane, It's Only Me and Surrender, Dorothy are all leftover co-workers from my working days.

One of my favorite pieces in this book, simply because I loathed doing timesheets:

Input meetings made us happy because they meant we had work to do. We worked in the creative department developing ads and we considered our ad work creative, but it wasn't half as creative as the work we'd put in to pad our time sheets every Monday morning since layoffs began.

And this bit, as one character writes in an email to his co-workers:

.........What I'm doing is trying to generate a buck for a client so as to generate a quarter for us so that I can generate a nickel for me and have a penny left over after Barbara gets what the court demands. For that reason, I love my job and never want to lose it, so I hope no one reading this finds me smug or ungrateful. I'm only trying to suggest that as we find ourselves in this particularly unfortunate, miscontrued, ungodly juncture of civilization, let's not lose sight of the nobler manifestations of man and of the greater half of his character, which consists not of taglines and bottom lines but of love, heroism, reciprocity, ecstasy, kindness and truth. What a bloated bunch of horseshit, you will say. And good for you. I welcome you to shoot me up close in the head. Peace, Tom."

Yes, Ferris did not create a very tight story arc and the action weaved in and out of its timeline somewhat haphazardly. However, the ending was worth it and he wrapped up the story very nicely and quite appropriately. This book left me thinking and in fact, still has me thinking today.

I have always been very frank about how happy I am staying home. I feel so incredibly blessed that I am doing exactly what I have always dreamed of. However, I am glad that I did get the chance to have a crazy career, one that I could be 100% devoted to before I had kids. When I left it, I felt that I was not missing anything and still, I feel that I am not missing anything after 3 years of being out of it. While I do miss having co-workers and the adrenaline rush from traveling, meeting new people and pushing to meet ridiculous deadlines, I do not miss the tedium of getting up, fighting traffic and working for the Man. And I love the simple, lazy days spent with my kids because have to hassle with pesky school schedules. Overall, it is nice to be so happy and to not want for much.

Are you where you want to be? If not, why? What do you need to do to get where you want to be? One of my favorite quotes ever is "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?" Roll that around on your tongue and in your brain a few times. Think about it. Long and hard.

While I am happy where I am, this is not the end of the road for me. These kids will be heading to school and then to college someday. I will need to find something else to occupy my time. I have some ideas and I am turning them around in my noggin. I have some time before I need to make decisions and it will also depend if we are living in Kansas City or elsewhere as to what I decide to do.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

That quote is my inspiration and hopefully, will guide me to something as fulfilling as what I am doing right now.

What fresh hell is this?

In July 2005 while in Vegas during our last Kid Free Vacation shortly before Arun was born, X and I had a fabulous steak dinner with my friend J and her husband J at the Wynn. As we enjoyed our lovely meal, we discussed the ridiculous state of real estate and subprime mortgages. You see, J and J are in the "mortgage business". That is what they do. Furthermore, X and I had just sold our townhouse in the DC/VA area because we suspected that a real estate bubble was at hand with the silly manner in which our townhouse had appreciated in value.

I think that first paragraph should illustrate an important point. If four yokels such as X, J, her husband and I knew about the impending disaster three years ago, then it is safe to assume that others were privy to such information. Perhaps. Bear with me on this vein of thinking, folks. Let us say that, hypothetically, of course, that maybe, just maybe, Senator Obama, Senator McCain and Senator Biden had an inkling that maybe, perhaps, banks should possibly rethink their policies regarding subprime lending. (Palin gets a pass on this one because at the time, she was most likely up in the frozen tundra hunting moose and teaching her children that the word "Trojan" is Greek for "sin" and is synonymous with "a bridge to nowhere but hell".)

The response from the Obama and McCain campaigns is disappointing, to say the least. What a joke. Or rather, I wish they were joking. Let us just hand over 700 billion Big Ones with no restrictions. No salary caps, nothing. Awesome!

Do not even get me started on BeelzeBush.

Furthermore, let us not only jab our fingers in the direction of the Fat Cats running these banks. How about the folks who signed the dotted line for all these loans? No one forced these folks to take out loans even though in many, many cases, they had no business commiting to such debts (particularly those with "interest-only" payments which makes me want to blow a gasket even contemplating why on Earth anyone would take such a loan, much less give it.)

Even more sad? Nothing I have said thus far is profound, for sure. Everyone is pretty much saying that same damned things as I am.

I have included such a few resourceful links about all of this that do a more eloquent job, for sure:

A great explanation using Tickle Me Elmo as an example.
Interesting article on why we may not be in a recession.
A nice little diddy on Bubblenomics.

Now, please excuse me while I go bang my head on the nearest wall.

Can you talk to me?

.......piped the small voice from the back of the car last night as we made our weekly trek from Lawrence back to Olathe. And? So I did. While Anjali fell asleep, Arun and I discussed our favorite animals (snakes! spiders!), which ones are good to eat (chicken!) and which are not (frogs!), his Halloween costume options (rocket!) and his current strategy for going to the moon (which involved obtaining some wings, transforming into a bee, then flying there.) As difficult as Three Years Old is turning out to be (the constant defiance, the incessant whining and the relentless demanding is straining my very last nerve to shreds), I do adore the imagination of a three year old. Anything can happen, in their wee noggins. And I relish hearing what they believe could.

So.
First and foremost, I would like to take a moment and frantically wave "Hi!" to Kenna from Lawrence. Last night, I was at a Walgreens there and I heard someone say "Are you Rancid Raves?" I turned around and met a reader who recognized me. *stutter* I was very flattered, of course. But now? Kenna knows that my glamorous existence is vicious facade and that I am really just a dumpy housewife from Kansas. Darn it! Instead of dripping in diamonds, I was dripping in rain, after having frolicked in my mom's yard with the kids.

So.
I was very distressed yesterday. I received an email from a dear friend asking me why I had not replied to any of her comments or Tweets lately. My response? In short, I suck. I have been such a lazy loser with my email correspondence. I still have not really figured out a good method for dealing with my bloated inbox. I clear out messages, then it seems to slowly grow to astronomic proportions yet again. Innernets, how do you handle your emails? Do you reply as each message comes in? Do you file things away into a special folder for "needs response"? Do you designate a specific period of time daily or weekly to catch up? How? I need to get this in line. And now.

Part of the problem, is that I am simply lazy. The other part, is that my time online is unplanned, unscheduled and at best, sporadic. If I can grab a few minutes, then I do. If I cannot? Eh. No biggie. Anyway, I felt absolutely horrible that my friend's feelings were hurt and it was a significant wakeup call for me. Therefore, this weekend, I am going to catch up on my email. And next week? I will respond to every comment (which includes an email to which I can reply.)

However, Twitter? Will probably not change. I am really a broadcasting type of Tweep and rarely reply to Tweets. This is not helped by the fact that I tend to Tweet and check Twitter via my phone, which hampers my efforts at replying in a timely manner.

No, this is not a post complaining about how incredibly busy I am. I am certainly not any busier than anyone else out there. I am terrible at organizing my time. That is all. To add to all of this, I have been sucked into the social maelstrom that is Facebook. Oh My God. It is my friend TLC - she has tracked down tons of our old friends from high school. Then, I tracked down some college friends.

Oh. Speaking of TLC, notice how I linked to her ass? Oh yeah, she has a BLOG now, folks. We infected her and she could not resist our little cult we have going on here. The Koolaid goes down quite easily, no? I am thinking of roping her into some sort of "memories based on a picture" sorta thing. Stay tuned. In the meantime, check out her current post. The one that made me cry - I saw what TLC went through since we experienced so much of both of our childhoods together. I have been the stepdaughter. However, I love my sweet, lovely stepmother so much, it hurts. But, I did not appreciate her when I was younger. I fervently hope that TLC's stepgirls learn the same lesson that my own sister and I did.

I just hope they learn it sooner.

Who's counting?

Four years ago, I published my very first post on this wee blog. The most accurate way to re-cap the past four years?

It has been fun.

That's all. Although, to indulge my Inner Maudlin, I will say this: I had no idea that writing would become such a creative, cathartic outlet for me - I was merely jumping on a bandwagon that looked entertaining (hence, the subtitle "The Outdated Drivel of a Pop Culture Sheep".) I also love, love play on words and the oft-scorned writing technique of alliteration, which led to the blog title "Rancid Raves" (aka Rants and Raves.) A special thanks goes to Average Jane and Surrender, Dorothy. Your forays into the Blogosphere inspired me to begin my own and I am forever grateful that I began blogging.

To this day, my favorite posts are the ones celebrating my children's milestone birthdays (Arun's six month and one year posts. Then, just last month, Anjali's first year post.) I hope they appreciate my humor someday and end up with that important ability to laugh at themselves. For truly, if they cannot laugh at themselves, they cannot laugh at others. That is the Golden Rule, is it not?

To celebrate, I am taking a page from Caro's book and requesting that you leave me a gift. What is a favorite post of yours from your own site? I have been the recipient of some thoughtful Linky Love this past week, now it is your turn.

That's it, is it not?

Innernets, your votes have been tallied. Housecleaning it is. I should confess that I do have a super-secret Babysitting Weapon - my mother. And to boot, she lives in Lawrence,KS. It is a cinch to dump the kids off at her place, then hoof it to downtown and hole up in a coffee shop for a few hours (or days?) On Saturday, I did this and found myself hanging out in a new, little tea shop called Teapouro. Then yesterday, my sister and I did a double swoop-down on our mom and left ALL THE CHILDREN with her so that we could frolic downtown together. We had lunch at Milton's and then went shopping at the Phoenix Gallery and the Toy Store. Seriously, I think it has been at least a few years since my sister and I have had a conversation that did not involve at least one instance of at least one of us bellowing at our kids to just Lock Their Lips. Admittedly, our mom look a wee bit haggard by the time we returned, but she was none worse for the wear. [Stage Left: Evil Laugh]

In other news, I would like to give a shout-out to Elmo. Oh, sure, we have had our differences over the years, but truly, the Great Red One is totally rockin' our house these days. Arun is obsessed with the whole Elmo's Potty Time video. My general theory regarding toilet training is "when he is ready, he will let me know." Overall, I am hoping he is "trained" (I HATE that word. Bleh.) by this November. So. Um. I do not normally seek advice, but I am definitely open to it on this subject. We talk about it and I ask every now and then if he would like to perch his royal bum upon his Diego-Embossed Throne. So far, no takers. Eh.

Does this come with leggings, too?

Thank you, thank you again for all of your kind comments. Aunt Peggy passed away last night.

After talking to the nursing home, some family members and the funeral home, it was well past midnight. I feel oddly grownup today - particularly after the funeral home conversation. I was already really tired which was only excaberated by the fact that Anjali has her first tooth trying to burrow its way out of her gums. Poor baby. Who wants to sleep with that kind of stuff happening in one's mouth? So, no - I cannot blame her, but wow. I can see now that I am so spoiled because I am simply not used to sleep deprivation like this. Co-sleeping rocks this house, but even that sometimes does not help a teething baby.

Okay - I promised fun topics, no more doom and gloom.......So, I am going to turn this to a Aunt Peggy Approved Conversation. Fashion. My Aunt Peggy loved fashion and I will never forget how the shoe salesman at Sak's Fifth Avenue would light up when he saw her face. Oh hell, yes. She knew what she was doing in the shoe department.

I need a new swimsuit. Let me preface this by saying that I love, love to swim. My dream would be to have my very own pool. One in which I would not have to be too concerned about Pelt* Maintenance or Chub Rub. Know what I mean? However, we are not a rich people and therefore, I have to subject the general population to my body in all its white, pasty glory every time I go to the pool. For this, I would like to extend my sincere apologies in advance.

Anyway, this is the swimsuit I like:

It is a helluva lot more than I would normally ever be comfortable spending, but I think I can work it out as a birthday gift. I should note that I can use it year round because our gym has indoor and outdoor pools. Furthermore, I am not even going to pretend that this is anything but an Old Lady Swimsuit. I do not care. I have had my bikini days - way, way back in the 20th century (1980s to be exact. ahem) This is a new millennium and I want to feel comfortable going to the pool. I want to feel comfortable knowing that I have not scarred some kid for life after I take the towel off. I want to feel comfortable bending my big butt over as I pluck my children out of the water.

What do you think? Have you seen something better? If you like this one, do you think I should do the top/bottom in the same color? Or different colors?

* © Monkey In A Suit

Care to join me on Memory Lane?

The Eyebrows Have It
Before she was even born, I made a solemn promise to my baby girl. I will take her to a good salon the moment it becomes apparent the caterpillars are threatening a mutiny on her face.

It is the least I could do considering my part in the poor girl's Heritage of Hirsute.


1989

Early 1990s

Mid 1990s

Is this some bizarre form of nesting?

I just fertilized, watered, and weeded all the landscaping in my backyard.

But only after I had completely trimmed my rose and hydrangea bushes, of course. Otherwise, that would just be CRAZY.

What if you're happy and you don't know it? Can you still clap your hands?

Ironically, all the crap that I have been grousing about lately is actually on the periphery of my Life. Really. Things have actually been going well. Since last week, I have felt up to 90% my usual, which is about as good as it gets when I am pregnant (meaning, for a Pregnant Chick, I feel FANTASTIC!) As such, I have been getting so many things done around the house, my head is spinning. We have our neighborhood garage sale coming up in April, so I have plenty of incentive to view all my clutter with a cold-hearted eye and a ruthless hand. Furthermore, if we do have to move next year, that will be one less thing to pack, right? So, there you have it.

In the home front, I haven't lost sight of the fact that we are so very lucky to even own a home. And it's not like it is falling down around our heads. Yet. Furthermore, last night I just received the county's appraiser letter telling us our home's value jumped up quite a bit. Gulp. As it was, I suspected our house had been under appraised when we bought it. I knew it for sure when shortly after, the house across the street sold for a helluva lot more than the appraised value of ours. Double Gulp. Last fall, I found out why all this had happened when the county inspector came by with a questionnaire and at the point, discovered we had a full, finished basement. Something the Previous Owner had neglected to tell them. So, um, yeah. Don't cry for me Argentina.

New topic: I watched a special regarding the paparazzi in Hollywood the other day and was left feeling quite disturbed. What bothered me is this - I remembered seeing tons of pictures of Britany Spears carrying her older son while out and about shopping with Paris Hilton. I only saw the printed pictures and they seemed pretty harmless. The documentary I watched showed live footage of the situation and I have to say, I was pretty upset by what I saw. Britany was clearly trying to cover her son, flashbulbs were going crazy and people were right in her face. Her son was terrified. Hmmm..... They didn't show THAT in the printed media. Probably what bothered me most is my own part in this whole thing. I do read a few gossip sites. I do subscribe to US Weekly. It's a subscription that comes due soon and I was debating it anyway, but this adds to my dilemma. It's very easy to claim that celebrities choose that kind of life. But do they really? Do they choose to be followed into grocery stores and then have their purchases sneered at because they have a predilection for Cheetos? Shouldn't they be able to just go shopping, get gas for their cars, pick up a coffee, take their kids to the park, go for a jog without a throng of flashbulbs and strobe lights (used to thwart other photographers)? Oh sure, there are some celebrities that are clearly aping for the cameras, but then there are others who obviously want their privacy. And they have no rights. None, whatsoever in Los Angeles.

Okay, I do enjoy US Weekly - I like perusing the red carpet coverage and seeing all the different designers unveil their creations. However, I don't enjoy reading the articles because clearly, the stories are complete bullshit. I do read some gossip blog sites, but find them a tad tiresome because when one of them becomes fodder for mockery, folks get upset and cry foul. That seems ironic to me somehow.

So, I have become increasingly uncomfortable with my participation in the whole paparazzi thing. Maybe, since I've become a blogger, I can see how vulnerable it can become for a person after witnessing some of the madness. But at least I have options, if I ever felt like something got out of hand, I'd close shop faster than you can say "Thank GOD, I don't have ads". Celebrities don't have that option.

Mock Me If You Can

Airplane!

Fig Balsamic-Glazed Duck Breast

Or something like that.

Hope in a Can

Best laid plans.

Truel-nervous-very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am: but why will you say that I am mad?

Bonus points to whoever guesses the obvious source of the quote from the post title.

All joking aside now. No one in their right mind, no matter how cynical or sarcastic would enjoy hearing an animal scrape its way to a sure death. The thing is, there was NO saving it. By the time we would have gotten a crew out here to tear apart the chimney setup, the squirrel would have been dead anyway. When he is gone for good, I'll start the fires going. The Critter Guy said that will help send the smell up the shaft via the rising hot air. Good thing I love incense, eh?

Just Monday I mentioned how boring my life was and how that was a luxury. A luxury that I do appreciate when it happens and I meant it. This has shaped out to be a very, very crappy week - crumbling teeth, dying rodents, heartbroken friends and a myriad of other things that I can't discuss here right now (maybe in a few weeks).

This week is precisely why I love, LOVE my 30s. If you were smart and mature in your 20s, then bloody good for you because I sure as hell was NOT. I was an utter fool. I had no Perspective and a week like this one would have had me curled up in a ball on my couch. But now I know that all these crummy things will pass. My husband, my toddler and my baby are all in good health, as am I. We have a nice life and a comfy home (which will soon smell, but even that'll pass). It's nice to have Perspective. I highly recommend it.

That said, please excuse me while I go have myself a good sob anyway.

What's your limit?

Last night, Goofy Girl and I met for a yummy dinner at Garozzo's with our kids in tow. When we made our wine choices, I snickered. As I lovingly caressed my precious, precious glass of Doctor Approved Pinot Noir, I mentally thought, "Fuck off, Meredith Viera. Babysit THIS". Then, Goofy Girl and I polished off our glasses and tore the house down. Crazy times, my friends. Cuh-razy times.

To those of you living in a cave, I am referring to the whole Today Show episode with Drinking, Drunkard Mothers. Melissa of Suburban Bliss totally took one up the ass for The Team and we owe her - a drink, perhaps? Personally, I doubt I will ever serve alcohol at our playgroup, but that's because we meet in the morning. Unless I am on a lake, at an all-day concertpalooza or in Las Vegas (or all three - Viva Lake Las Vegas!!), I usually prefer to start my boozing after lunchtime. There's a reason why naptime starts around 2pm, no?

Anyway, we are having a teeny, tiny , small SuperBowl shindig this Sunday that will include a few friends, alcohol and a smattering of children. I guess I will have to issue drink tickets to all The Vaginas to keep their consumption at a responsible level and then shuffle them off into the garage so the children don't witness the Madness. Fortunately, the Penises with their extra, Y-Chromosome Enhanced livers should help keep everything in control.

What's perfectly perfect?

I am really, really stressed out right now. But not because of the holidays. Oh NO, quite the contrary. Due to my superior skills in the Art of Procrastination, I am scrambling to finish up some educational requirements for maintaining my CPA license. Requirements which must be finished by Dec. 31st. gulp. So yeah, I may be an idiot, but damned straight - I'm a licensed one.

I will give my family credit - they are pretty non-stressful during the holidays. I am hosting both Christmas Eve and Christmas this year, but really - it's no big deal other than I have to make sure the house is clean. Everybody brings food to such gigs, so the most I am doing is throwing out a meat n' cheese tray on Christmas Eve and then for Christmas day, doing a turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberry relish, and my Great Aunt J's Weird Whipped Cream Salad with Grapes, Cranberries, and Pecans.

Actually, as a kid, I don't remember my parents rushing around attempting to create a "perfect" holiday for us. Perfect holidays just happened - just as sweetest childhood memories most often do. As long as the turkey isn't dried out, the reception is clear for the football game and everyone gets a gift or two (it's the thought that counts, right?), then all is good. Sure, as a kid, I got a massive amount of toys and that was fun, but what I remember most is watching my grandma with my great-aunts and uncles laughing, telling off-color jokes and reminiscing about their childhood memories. Just as they'll do this Monday. So, my goal for my own children is that they not grow up watching their mother freak out during the month of December. We'll have some sort of traditions, I'm sure, but I have no idea what they will be because I'll just let them happen. As it should be.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, too.

Perfect.