Santa Claus - Myth or Legend

This week, everyone all over blog-land is posting about favorite Christmas memories. 

Usually, unless I am trying to win something, I don't like to be a copycat.

But since I have the most ultimate Christmas memory of all time, I figured I just had to share it with you.

Hopefully I haven't already spoiled it and talked about it on here.

If I have, and you have already read about my most magical Christmas ever, please overlook me. 

My memory isn't what it used to be....

Apparently, the pre-preggo brain isn't coming back any time soon.

Yes.  Yet another of the side effects that no one tells you about when you get pregnant.

It is my firm opinion that during your first maternity visit your doctor should sit you down and tell you everything to expect while you are pregnant, including but not limited to:

Giant, flabby arms.
Hips the size of Gulliver's.
An insatiable craving for all things carbs.
More puking than you ever saw on "You can't do that on Television"
More slime - I WILL NOT explain this to you.  If you have been pregnant, you know. - than you ever saw on "You can't do that on Television" possibly even more than an episode of "Double Dare"
Amazing (man-like) hanky panky.  (Yes, I said it.)
A post-pregnancy body that looks something like a beached walrus, whiskers and all.

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But anyway, back to the topic at hand...

The Big Guy...

The Festive one...
This one...

Not to be confused with this one...

So yeah.

At the time, my sister and I were probably 8 and 9.

We were right at that age when you start to wonder if there really is a Santa. 

Very few of our friends believed in Santa anymore and we were about to jump ship with them.

And then my parents came up with the craziest scheme ever.

On Christmas eve, when we were all tucked in our bed - we still shared a bed - go figure, and our parents were reading us "The Night Before Christmas" when we heard a noise. 

A magical noise.

The tinkling of jingle bells outside our window.

Within minutes, our front door opened, and Santa was standing in our living room, which was a straight shot from our bedroom. 

We could actually lay in bed and see him.

Which is exactly what we didn't do!

Instead of the amazing response my parents were expecting, my sister and I both jerked our heads under the covers and burst into tears! 

Something about the children being "nestled all snug in their beds...".

We were both convinced that if we weren't asleep, Santa wouldn't leave us any gifts.

So we were attempted to pretend to sleep.

Only our parents had the crazy notion we should get up and SEE Santa.

Um, NO.THANK.YOU.   I want Gifts, Mom and Dad!

So what did they do, but pick us up and carry us over to our doorway to try to convince us to go see Santa.

Well, make that one of us. 

They picked one of us up and carried us over to the doorway....

The other one, who shall remain nameless, *ahem*Sarah*ahem*, proceeded to wrap her arms and legs around the banisters of our canopy bed.

Ensue Sobbing. 

Ensue Screaming.

Ensue Nashing of Teeth.

Finally, Mom put me down long enough to run out and smooth things over with jolly ole St. Nick.

And apparently to tell him to get the heck outta there before we brought down the rafters around us.

She came back to assure us that he had left our gifts.

And he left quicker than he came.

And mom let us come out long enough to see that our gifts were indeed there. 

The only thing to make the night that much better was that my uncle contracted Santa to come surprise our cousin as well.

Only, when he arrived at her house, instead of Jingle Bells, he shone a red light in her window.

I.e., Rudolph's nose.

And she proceeded to puke.

Not once, but twice.

Nice, huh?

Thanks Parents, for scarring us for life.

I still have eye twitches when I see someone in a red suit.

Jay to the Kay!

Contrary to what you may believe, we all went on to love and believe in Kris Kringle's antics for many years to come.

Which may or may not have been a surprising shock to my driver's ed teacher when he tried to convince me that Santa wasn't real.

So yeah, as far as Christmas memories go, this one definitely takes the cake.

Or tosses the cookies.

Whatever.

My point is that this memory will forever be engrained on my memory and will forever bring a smile to my face.

Now, I know your question for me is will I choose to torment my child in the same manner.

And my answer for you is, HECK YEAH!

Don't worry, I promise pay for any therapy Little Man finds necessary after the fact.

Car Seated

On Friday, while the rest of you are probably "safe and warm inside of the farmhouse" (20 points if you can name that movie), Techy and I will be braving the annual parking lot that we like to call Christmas Traffic Lane.

That's right, bright and early on Friday, December 24, also known as Christmas Eve, also known as the driving day - after having danced the night away at our friends' wedding - Techy and I, along with the entire rest of America will be loading up our gifts and pets and kids and sitting in traffic for hours on end while attempting to reach our destination before Christmas Day.

And my major concern for the trip?

It's a car seat one.

As in, with only 4 days remaining until Little Man turns 1, do we keep him rear facing and endure the endless annoyance of having an almost-toddler that you can't reach or see behind you, or do we brave the endless danger of turning him front facing?

See how happy this child is rear facing?

Um, yeah.

This picture is a lie.

Driving with my almost-toddler 6 minutes away is a pain right now.

Much less, 6 HOURS away. 

The convenience side of me says travelling with a forward facing baby would be so much easier on all of our nerves and ensure a higher probability of a safe and easy drive.

The mommy side of me says that if anything were to happen I would never forgive myself for not waiting the 4 days to turn him around.

The realistic side of me says that we will probably spend alot the day going so slow it won't matter whether we are rear facing or not.

Any and all comments will be greatly appreciated.

And on Friday, while you are relaxing with your family, you can just think of Techy and I screaming at one another over the sound of a crying baby and a howling dog and smile.  Because it isn't you, you lucky thing!

2 Holes

When I was a Junior in college, I decided to be a rebel.

Keep in mind, I went to a private, CHRISTIAN college with very strict rules.

Being a rebel didn't take much.

I was just coming out of a difficult breakup and trying to move on.  I.e., CHANGE.  In any and all ways possible. 

I started hanging out with different people, changed the way I dressed, and dated any male that moved (let's just say I was desperate for attention.)

I would say it was a fun year, but definitely not my best.

My parents (read: protective Daddy) had taken us as little girls to get our ears pierced.

When we were in high school, my sister begged for 2nd holes, the resounding answer was a firm no. 

But I never asked.

And my junior year, I came home at Christmas time with this.

(Pardon the fuzzy cell pic.  Do you know how hard it is to take a pic of your own ear?!)

And to my extreme disappointment, no one even noticed.

Except for my mom.  Who told me she loved the look.

??

But to be honest, I guess it didn't really matter.

Because I noticed.

As silly as it seems, the decision that I made that day to get my ears pierced a second time started something.

Something that I had never experienced before.

It started a little fire I like to call confidence.

Confidence to make a small decision as a grown woman.

Confidence to change my style.

Confidence to be the person I wanted to be without being afraid of what someone might think.

And confidence to move on.

The irony of it all is that for the last several years, I have hardly ever worn anything in those second holes. 

Call it life.

Call it laziness.

But part of me wonders if it isn't confidence without reinforcements.

Nowadays, if you catch me wearing anything in those second holes, it's more a fashion statement than a personality statement.

And I am so glad to be on this end of the 2nd hole. 

(That's what she said! - Thank you Michael Scott for forever ruining the word "hole" for me....)

The End.

Settling Down

Remember that week when I wrote not 1 but 2 frantic blog posts about how my life is spiraling out of control?

And then...

Then I opened up my Google Reader to see this.

Right after I got a text message from my friend Carrie that said something to the effect of, "I am going to have to teach you how to say 'No' to people."

Last night was a successful night in terms of marking things off of my to-do list.

Sewing was completed.

Daily workout completed.

2 gifts were decorated.

And I was asleep by 10 p.m.

I forgot to tell you that catching up on rest was on the to-do list. 

My goals for tonight consist of working out.

Decorating more gifts.

And packing at least one bag.

Wish me luck! 

Only 3 days until the big travel day and 4 days until the big day.

At least all my shopping is done! 

Merry Christmas, ya'll!!!

Just Breathe

Now that the busiest weekend of my life is over and I still have 4 days until I leave for Virginia, I almost don’t know what to do with all my free time.

*INSERT GIANT SCARY LAUGH HERE*

I finished a lot of my goals for the weekend, but I still have a giant to-do list to complete before leaving for Virginia.

Including, but not limited to

daily workouts

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sewing

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decorating more gifts

packing

Both this

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And this

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mailing out Christmas Cards

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Making a bride's day complete by doing a bad version of the electric slide at her wedding

(yes, that is my dancing face...scary, but true...)

and the list goes on and on….

I think I may be losing my mind.

Here is where I note the fact that since I am pretty darn close to my pre-pregnancy weight, Techy is starting to nag me about baby #2.

That being said, I may forego all workouts and dieting for the next 2 weeks in order to buy some time.

(Obviously, just kidding. My OCD would never let that happen.)

And here is where I make the scary admission that my OCD has me panicking about workouts while I am away.

Especially since I worked so hard last week and only lost 1 lb.

I am sure it will pick up after the holidays, but for now, I am a little crazed...just a little.

Hope your ride is a little smoother than mine!


*May it forever be noted that you will never, and I repeat, NEVER catch me running on a treadmill in anything as unsupportive as a bikini top.  Nevermind the Canary colored pants.

Weigh-in

Just to make myself feel a tad bit better, I weighed in this morning.

Looks like a 1.2 lb. week.

Which is pretty weak. 

But I will take it! 

Because it's something.

Which is better than nothing.

Postponement

Due to my lack of time to paint my toenails...

And maybe a pack of Ramen, I am postponing this week's weigh-in.

Because when I got on the scale this morning, it said, "You ate 2 buckets of salt last night, Moron!"

And kicked me off.

So, until I have a chance to flush the sodium and water weight out of my system, I refuse to acknowledge that I didn't lose any weight this week.

Which is why I am drinking a ton of water, and running tonight.

Maybe I'll post tomorrow, maybe I won't, but I will be weighing in tomorrow.

And your curiosity can be relieved.

Thanks for your understanding....