Not that I would know. Or anything. Anymore. Moving on…

Well, it looks like the whole lot of us is headed to California for Christmas. I’m not giving out exact dates here, and to any burglars reading, we’ll have a house-sitter. A big, mean house-sitter. And a big dog. When I say big dog- I mean really big. And an alarm. So stay away- just so we’re clear. I mean it. I won’t be held responsible if my dog eats you.

We haven’t been to my family’s for Christmas since Beanie was a newborn and blogging was but a twinkle in my eye. Everyone loves Christmas, but I especially love Christmas with my family. Like everyone, we have our traditions and our quirkiness, but I can absolutely guarantee no one else has decorations like my mom. Does your mom have a  ceiling height spinning (yes, it really spins) Christmas tree? How about a bronze statue of Walt Disney that has his own Santa hat for the holidays? Or a set piece Mickey Mouse that is bigger than my children, also with attire that change for the holidays? How about a front yard so full of lights and Disney characters people come by the minivan to take pictures of their kids standing on her lawn? No? Ha! I knew it.

(I would put up a picture, but that would violate the Tracy M/Her Mom peace treaty of 2005.) 

My mom loves Christmas. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING in her house changes for the holidays. From the artwork on the walls, to the bedding on the beds, to the socks on our feet, to the plates on which we eat. She has two Christmas trees, and it’s routine for the fresh tree to have anywhere from 3-6 feet cut off because it just “didn’t look that big” out in the forest. We all just roll our eyes.

I want my kids to experience this kind of Christmas, because while I’m good at a lot of things, I just don’t ride the all-encompassing wave of the holidays quite like my mom. I’m satisfied with a string of lights around the porch and a pretty wreath on the door, whereas my mom causes rolling black-outs with her draw on the grid. My kids are going to love love love being at Grandma and Grandpa’s. So am I.

So, email me if you want me to pencil you in. I won’t have a ton of free time, but I plan on taking at least an evening and meeting up with friends. (Bek, that specifically means you!) And, Robber-person, if you even think about it, this is my preferred dog:


That is not a doctored or photo-shopped image in any way. I have owned three (yes, three)  English Mastiffs; Fooflaroo, Winston and Jackson. They could all hold a soccer ball in their mouths- even my girl, Foof. They look really dumb, but do not be fooled. Mess with me, and you’ll be messin’ with 250 pounds of big, dumb, protective doggie.

Wow. That was a strage little detour- Christmas plans, my mom’s house, and then my dog who can eat you. Guess that’s what you get when I type at 2:42 in the morning.

On a squishier note, thank you all for your kind words lately as I wallowed in my old oak apple tub of self-pitty. I have so much to be grateful for, and when I take my shoulder from the wheel to sit and whine in my weed garden, I get myself into trouble. It’s ok to feel down, I totally accept that, and I’m glad I have such an awesome sounding board and venting spot. That should be an Uncle Remus tale. The Venting Spot. They could add it to Splash Mountain. Anyway,  we are richly blessed, in spite of our current economic and personal difficulties. I just have to decide which garden I’m going to tend. Blah Blah Blah. Nice lady.

Oh, boy. Tomorrow is going to be such a blast! It’s almost 3 a.m.- that means Beanie will be up in a little over three hours, and his AIM teacher is coming in the morning for his home visit! Maybe I’ll do up some wicked purple eyeshaddow to match the fabulous bags I’ll be sporting under my eyeballs. Cool!

I’m thinking I’ll try and bake some bread too- HAHAHAHAHAHA! Time for bed, Tracy. Step away from the keyboard, now. Back away, and no one will be tasered. Over and out.

(Addendum: It’s 8:06. I finally went to bed { or rather, the to the couch} at 5:30. There are two loaves of fresh bread doing their yeasty goodness of a second rise on the kitchen counter. Beanie woke me up at 7- so you do the math. Awesome.)

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