as per request...

Enlarged photos of our Christmas Card Extravaganza...

Enjoy.

For cereal. Have a bodacious Holiday.

Merry Christmas...

Because Walmart wanted almost one hundred dollars from our already light pockets for Christmas cards this year, we decided to email ours instead. Besides, it's trendy to "be green", so, we're going for that too.

And in the spirit and tradition of our ever unconventional Holiday greetings,

I now present you with this...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

circa 1989

(...this is a joke, by the way. My husband does not have a mullet and a mustache. Nor do I run around in tinsel colored sweaters and leggings. Just FYI)

operation: rogue orange retrieval...

A friend politely suggested we make a serious effort to remove the lodged orange from the heating vent. Because, it will indeed invite bugs, critters, and, believe it or not...the undead.

There was no way I would be sleeping soundly with that information.

So, we decided to delve into the unknown. A world creeping beneath our floorboards, humming with hot, stale air and thick with dust. And by "we", I mean, not me. I mean him. Master of the house.

I wasn't about to plunge my arm into that dark and dingy abyss...

The operation required the following:

One flashlight

One shop vac

One compact mirror

An assortment of miscellaneous kitchen utensils

One fish net

One random dowel

One flashlight

One bottle of clear eyes

A roll of electrical tape

And a Miller Lite, for encouragement...

INSTRUCTIONS:

First, remove heating register grate. Wrench the upper half of your torso into the vent. Realize you can't see. Back out. Place flashlight at the bottom of the vent pointed in the direction of the orange. Fashion a see-it-all mirror out of electrical tape, dowel, and compact. Resume crushed position in heating vent. Repeat this phrase:

"By-God, I think I see it!"

Back out. Fashion long extension arm out of cluster of kitchen utensils. Enter vent again. Blindly feed the extension into the heater and fumble around inside until you have a mental imagine of where you are. Somehow squeeze second hand into the vent, holding the see-it-all mirror contraption. Realize you'll never reach. Keep trying anyway. After 30 minutes...

Come up with a better idea.

Find a fish net. Fasten the fishnet to the end of the utensil arm. Try a swing and swoop method. Try again. And again. Okay...try one more time. Give up. Ask wife for a beer. Receive beer. Curse once...maybe twice. Enter shaft again. Exit shaft immediately. Turn off heat and wait for hot air to subside. Find bottle of clear eyes. Apply liberally.

Get shop vac.

Feed hose through vent. Wonder how you managed to fit inside anyway. Tell wife to "HIT IT" and wait for suction action to begin. Try to pry suction action away from wall of vent. Try again. Pull hose out and fasten new hose attachment. Lose hose attachment in vent. Realize you are now fishing for two lost items. Use second hose attachment to scoot the items closer towards you. Repeat this phrase:

"By-God, I've almost got it!"

Scoop hose attachment out of vent. Slide mirror into vent and behold the orange hath rolled. Get a sudden burst of energy. Fasten fish net to hose attachment and slowly nudge and prod orange until it is within a very uncomfortable arms reach. Reach into vent with arm. Reach. Reach. Grab. Got it. Pull dusty old rotten orange out of vent and toss into garbage delightfully. Take out of garbage so wife can take a picture. Take picture unwillingly. Toss in garbage again. Never let wife put anything near heating registers ever, ever again.

                                         

And that, friends, is your step by step tutorial on how to remove a decorative citrus fruit from your furnace.

Now you know.

And, you're welcome.

In case you're wondering, I did learn my lesson. Never put things where they don't belong. Do oranges belong in heaters? 

I now know not.

bruised bums, egos, and less underwear than yesterday...

This weekend we picked out our Christmas tree. We decided since it's our very first real tree (last year we had a fake one), we should go all the way and cut it ourselves.

It was a perfect day! The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a decent temperature for an excursion in the outdoors...that is, if picking out a tree were like picking out what flavor ice cream you want today. Which, to me, it isn't. I think we spent a good hour tromping around the farm trying to find the perfect one, so the nice cool weather quickly turned into a bitter cold and, because I wanted to look 'cute' for our first encounter with our new houseguest, I was wearing a skirt and a very non-warm coat.

After debating between four or five trees, we finally committed to an enormous, looming, nine-foot evergreen. It was scrumptious.

Todd was worried that the bungee cords we brought wouldn't hold the tree down. I told him not worry about it. We drove 30 MPH on the highway anyway.

I was right. Nothing happened to the tree.

Also on the agenda for this weekend was shrink wrapping the windows. Whoever conceived this idea is brilliant, our house is suddenly warmer, but really, it's quite possibly the most annoying, irritating chore ever...ever, ever. The double-sided tape never sticks to anything, except everything you don't want it to. And trying to cut those enormous sheets of plastic by yourself is impossible, your arms end up in all the wrong directions and your face squishes up like you just ate a lemon. It's annoying, and difficult. Toss a 9 month old puppy into the mix and you've got major issues.

Lena was driving me nuts. She was always under my feet, leaning up against me, and I just know she was thinking,

"Mom, why are you paying so much attention to this window and not me??"

One particularly difficult window to overcome required me steadying myself on a dining room chair. I  teetered on the seat, stretching myself as far as I could reach...streeeetchhhhh, reachhhhh, go, you're almost there, GOTCHA!...finally got the damn thing to stick.

Just as I'm about to step off the chair, I notice Lena laying directly underneath my descending foot. I pull away to bypass crushing her, but I stumble and come crashing down. I managed to miss crushing her spine, but I miscalculated how close I was to the back of the chair. I was close, close indeed. So close that I now have a major bruise on my rump from landing so hard on the ornate backrest of our antique dining room chair.

Later that day I was on the computer, catching up on celebrity gossip. My clean laundry was waiting patiently in a basket nearby for me to fold and put away. Lena was being abnormally quiet. She was adapting well to the monstrosity of a Christmas tree in our living room. We put all of our shatter-proof ornaments near the bottom of the tree in case she got an appetite and tested the sparkling glassware for her supper. Lena didn't even pay attention to the tree, or the ornaments, or the lights. She did, however, think that the tree stand that held three quarts of water must have been a new watering hole. A buffet of drinks before her, she lapped up every ounce left in it. I replaced the water and scolded her.

(Lena, the Christmas Elf. Notice the orange in the heater, I reference that in a bit.)

At some point I noticed that my house smells like dog. Not just dog, but that smell that overcomes you when you open the door to the vet and it's as if someone slapped you across the face with canine slobber laced with half digested kibble and you get that tickling feeling in your nose that means stray hairs have lodged themselves in your nasal passages and you'll never be able to breath the same unless you're able to let out a good productive sneeze, but that doesn't help either because after you sneeze you just have to breath in deeper, and then it gets stuck in your throat and all you can think about is the nasty saliva that must be embedded in those dog hairs, so you gag, and then gag again, but nothing happens because you're unknowingly trying to prevent yourself from breathing in any more of the air surrounding you and then you pass out and die.

At least, that's what it reminded me of. 

Which is why we haven't had company over for awhile.

Anyway. I tore myself away from the smut gossip website and started to think of ways I could freshen up my home and make it smell like Mrs. Claus resides here. I love the smell of oranges studded with cloves, so I made five of them. Our house is old and has these gorgeous heating registers that blow out a ton of air. I investigated one and thought it might be a neat idea to tie an orange on the inside of the register. That way, whenever the heat turns on, we'll get a huge gust of spiced orange wafting past our noses.

I needed Todd's help holding the grate. He looked at me like I was crazy, but agreed, something needed to be done with the foul aroma of our living quarters.

Before he allowed me to do this, however, he laid down some strict instructions about the care of our new furnace decor. I was to be very careful with the dangling orange and keep an eye on it every day. If it started to shrink, I needed to remove it pronto before it slipped out of it's green, festive noose so it wouldn't fall into the dark oblivion of the heater.

"Don't worry, I'm not a child, I'll keep an eye on it."

For a whole two hours I basked in the scent of spicy citrus, priding myself of what a cunning, cunning woman I was, fooling the furnace and canine smell.

And then, just like a cheap plug-in, the smell left.

It was at that moment that I realized Lena wasn't being abnormally quiet...she was being the kind of quiet that gets her into trouble. If she's not annoying us by whining or chewing at our slippers, she's most definitely got herself into something she shouldn't have. I looked down at my feet. Over at the laundry. And then over to where she lay. Six pairs of my most treasured underpants lay at her feet. Chewed beyond distinction. My most treasured, I mean the kind of underwear you can wear with anything. Wear on a long car ride because they're not uncomfortable, wear with a cute dress because they're not uncomfortable, and wear for a date because you're married and you don't need to wear uncomfortable underwear anymore, so, they're comfortable.

I lunged at her from my computer chair to try and get them away from her. But, unfortunately for me, the chair on wheels I so willingly put my trust in, slipped out from underneath me. In a short second I was on the floor, tears welling in my eyes, and grasping my arm and foot that took the major brunt of the fall. Oh, how I hurt. And still do. I have matching bruises, leg and arm, all from a four legged animal.

Because of this, I decided to relieve my stress and perk up the Christmas scent by adding the last few oranges I had decorated. I lifted the register off, tied two more oranges onto the grate, and set it back in it's place.

Thud.

Oh. Crap.

There it went. One of the oranges propelled itself down the long and dusty vent. Down and down and down into extinction.

If I hadn't gasped so loud, my husband would have never found out. But, I did. And just as I did, he rounded the corner saying,

"What."

That 'what' is something I dread hearing. It's the 'what' that makes my tummy skip up into my throat, fully knowing what I did wrong.

I was right about the tree being bungeed to the car, nothing would happen. But I was SO WRONG about the stupid oranges hanging loosely in the register.

He was mad, and rightly so.

Now, the orange sits, distressed and alone at the bottom of the heating shaft. Who knows what will happen. Will it just dry up and stay there forever? or will it attract rodents and monsters and ghosts? (it is an old house after all...)

One thing is certain, there is a moral to this entire post. It took me two bruises, a humbled ego, and several pairs of panties to realize...

More often than I care to admit, my husband is right.

and...

Never put all of your good underwear in one basket.

the thanksgiving edition...

I have so much to be thankful for. So, so much. I can't even begin to think where I would be right now if it weren't for my amazing, supportive family, and my extraordinary husband.

I'm thankful for a tableful of friends and family.

Thankful that I got the chance to talk to my brother on his first Holiday away from home.

Thankful for jokes and stories that we've heard over, and over at the same dinner table for twenty years or more.

I'm thankful that I don't feel ungrateful. That I feel like I belong in the place I'm in right now. I am so unbelievably thankful to be where I am, with the people am I with. Every day it seems I take a peek at my life and wonder, 'is this where you thought you would be, is this what you want to be doing?' and I always, always think, 'YES!!' My life is an amazing life, and I wouldn't change any part of it...

It's the day after Thanksgiving. You might already be wondering why I'm in such a good mood right now and talking about love, and family, and how my life is so incredible...but, it's the day after Thanksgiving...and you know what that means!!

Christmas decorating!!

I don't know why or how it happens, but the minute you tear away the packing tape, your house suddenly reeks of Christmas. Cinnamon oozes out of the boxes, pine wafts past your nose, and suddenly it feels like Santa threw up in your house, spewing Christmas essence all over the walls and cupboards.

It's delicious.

We're the only one on our block to have Christmas lights, but I don't care. It makes me happy...

The wreaths are hung...

and our stockings are resting on the banister...

Glittering snowflakes are dusting the garland. Candles are lit in every corner. Twinkling lights are draped lazily, weaving in and out of faux evergreen, and chandeliers are seductively enveloped in garland.

This is the time of year that I wish I was still living at home. Wishing I still saw the familiar nutcrackers gracing the staircase, my own stocking, hand embroidered by my mom, nestled between my sibling's and clung to the fireplace, and a warm cup of hot cocoa made by my dad out of Nestle's and chocolate milk, extra thick and full of chocolaty goodness.

But, I have my own family now. A family that I have to provide these Holiday traditions for. A husband who longs for his mom as much as I do this time of year.

And so, we adorn our house with cheer and reminders of what our mothers would do. We make it our own, but still bring a piece of our child's heart into our adult home. We listen to "A Charlie Brown Christmas" soundtrack because that tugs his heartstring. And we decorate incessantly because that tugs my heartstring.

We laugh and hug, and laugh again, watching this, and this. We create our own memories and traditions, and we hold each other. Missing the absence of everything we've ever known during the Holiday season, but embracing the traditions we've started for our own little family.

And I remember, amidst all the glimmering lights, pine scented candles, and mistletoe adorning our home, this is a time to love.

It's a time to love deeper than you ever felt before.

Because...

mistletoe and

garland and

sparkles and

evergreen

and pine scented candles

and santa's

and nativities

and red

and green

and giving

and getting

and traditions...

just force you to

love a little deeper.

Happy, happy thanksgiving everyone.

the neck that turns the head...

Sometime after we were married, my husband learned a new phrase. I'm guessing it was after filling out legal documents or tax information, but I don't exactly know where he picked it up from. If I could retrace our steps during our quest to legalize our commitment, and prevent him from ever hearing or seeing these words, I would.

One day he just came home and proudly announced,
"Honey, guess what, I'm the head of household."


And that was that.


For months it went on, in a Tarzan-esque voice he would say,
"You, wife. Me, head of household."

I tried to explain to him that it means nothing, nothing to me. I said, I'm not going to iron your shirts or pick your wet towels up off the floor. You better get used to nasty, stinky, musty old towels, and learn to shop for especially stiff shirts. I'll cook for you, but only because I don't trust you to do it, and I'm not particularly fond of hot dogs and spaghettios. I'll do my share of the cleaning, but I get to pick what I want to do and you're left with the rest. This doesn't make me a bad wife, I'm just a strong, opinionated woman who can't be bothered by you. Now go away 'head of household'.

(the, 'i mean business look')

It seemed effective, he's been perfectly happy and content, even when wearing one solid color head to toe because he ran completely out of clean laundry. At any given time he can look like a stalk of asparagus, or something you wished you hadn't stepped in at the park. And I've been happy too, I cook when and what I want, and seeing him gobble it up within seconds makes me feel gifted, and appreciated (even if it's only because he's had frozen pizza for a week straight and is just thankful for real, substantial food.)


Husband and wife living in blissful harmony...


Until now.

Rockefeller Center put up their dang Christmas tree.

Our downtown has angels perched on every light post.

Santa has set up camp and a photo booth at the mall.

What?!

It appears that I blindly let my husband pull the head of household shenanigans on me! I've had a week to let this whole rule of waiting until after Thanksgiving to decorate sink in, and it's finally dawned on me. I've allowed my husband to make a ridiculous rule. Oh, I don't care if he makes rules, but ridiculous rules? When the rest of the world is basking in The Season? And if rules are meant to be broken, why can't I for the life of me seem to break this one?

I tried the Christmas sock thing, but I didn't feel like doing laundry every day. And really? You thought I was actually going to bake? Pfffft.

There are only so many times I can take credit for my sister's glorious baked goodies, and I'm pretty sure my free passes have run out.

I've declared war. This household will not be the same until I get some Christmas cheer up in here. I'm just going to be the biggest brat I can possibly be, maybe that will finally break him.

And if he has anything to say about it, well, I'll just tell him,

Talk to my blog, cause the face ain't listenin'.

(at least we got to test the lights, and hubby doesn't know, but I snapped this picture behind his back.)

When the cat's away...

(They did this all by themselves. I had no part in it whatsoever.)

my husband is a mean, horrible person...

I know, I know...in my first post I said he was a handsome, wonderful man, blah, blah, blah...whatever. He's mean and cruel. But still handsome.

He hung our Christmas lights today. Our very first Christmas lights on our very first home. We decided to do it today because it was 70-flippen degrees, and nice and warm and sunshiney. So, what's the problem, you're thinking?

He won't let me light them.

Nope. He is laying down the law and won't let me light them, won't let me decorate the house with all the garland, glitter, and spicy cinnamon splendor that I wait all year for.

The rule is, I have to wait until after Thanksgiving, or, until the first major snowfall.

Typically, in Wisconsin, if you have a 70 degree Sunday, you will probably have a 30 degree Friday, but the forecast isn't looking so good. I know I should be grateful for the nice weather, and I wouldn't normally care if it's warm or cold, but when my happiness and merriment rely on the terrible weather we normally have here, it matters. It does.

It would have been better had I at least had a brief chance to witness the beauty of those little twinkling lights, but, we didn't test them. When we do test them, he's only allowing us to have them on for a few seconds, just to see if they do in fact work. Unless during those few seconds, the skies open up and let loose a torrential downpour of big fluffy flakes.

I tried all the arguments. I said, the lights are sad, and cold, and they can't see anything out there on the roof. It's the first time out of their box, their home, we need to let them know that they are wanted here and that they have fulfilled their life's purpose!

Didn't work.

I guess I'm just going to have to wait for a few weeks more, or pray that we get a nice snowfall. I've been sneaking peeks at the Christmas boxes in the basement while I'm down there doing laundry. I noticed a few days ago that one of them miraculously opened, and out sprawled a sparkling red tendril of garland. Today I looked and saw it had opened even more! I caught a glimpse of shimmering gold orbs, scented pine cones, and the trim of my Angel's skirt.

It's too much, I can't wait! I want to see evergreen and mistletoe! I want our homemade Nativity set unpacked and on display! It's too much to wait until the first snow fall! and I have to wait even longer to put baby Jesus in the Manger, he can't come out until Christmas Day!

What am I going to do!?

I know. I'm going to make Holiday cookies and tell my grinch of a husband that he has to wait until Thanksgiving to eat them.

And I'm going to wear Christmas socks every day until those lights can sparkle like their meant to.

(Un-lit Christmas lights...)