For Carrie...

Who's baby is due exactly one month from today!

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Ramblin' Man...and Woman, and Kid and Baby

Today we head off for parts west. Not too far, though. Just to the Pittsburgh region. It's going to be a doozie of a weekend. We're celebrating my dad's 50th birthday, Christmas with my brother from Florida, and Lucy's baptism. All in less than 48 hours! Oh, and have I mentioned that we're all staying at my mom and dad's teeny ranch house they bought after us kids moved out? As in, six adults, two children, three painfully small bedrooms. And that tonight there are going to be 40+ people in this teeny ranch house carousing and carrying on whilst my children *try* and sleep?

If you don't hear from me again, assume I went insane.

Just Call Him Dr. Grizwold

It's not quite this bad, but it's pretty extreme. We have three dozen glowing candy canes lining the walkway from the street to the front door. We have 20 glowing orbs hanging from the apple tree and several strands of colored light winding around the trunk. We have twinkling white lights galore covering the privet out front. We have a four foot wreath hanging over the front door with a giant spot light shining on it. We have strands of icicle lights on the edge of the roof. And we have five giant old fashioned light bulbs in our dining room that he doesn't know where to put.

But do you know how you can tell it's really awesome? When our neighbor across the street, who is an orthodox Jewish man, came out to compliment us. Aside from the birth of our children, it might have been SOB's proudest moment.

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood?

Sometime back in the fifties, a powder room was added to the first floor of our house. This is very convenient, and I couldn't imagine having to go upstairs every mother loving time I have to pee.

Which is a lot.

Last weekend, SOB was outside chatting it up with our neighbor John. John's house is identical to ours in every way, except for one thing. His has no ground floor bathroom. They were discussing, among other things, the removal of the tree. Now that the tree is gone, it's nice and open behind the house. John, however, was lamenting that the combination of the tree being gone and the new lights we put on the garage made it so that he couldn't come out back and 'take a pee' in the yard at night.

Now, I have no problem with men peeing outside. And I have no problem with people peeing on their own yard. Here's the problem: John's has no back yard to speak of. He has a big deck and a small asphalt driveway. Oh, and he lives on the corner, so I doubt he's peeing into the street. Which means that the backyard he's been 'taking a pee' in was more than likely mine.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

A Future Captain of Industry

Because everyone knows that the majority of business dealings gets done in the john. Not that any other business got done during this 'meeting.' Sam l-o-v-e-s loves sitting on his potty. He'll even poop on the potty, but only when he's wearing a diaper. As soon as I take off his pampers, he runs to the potty, but just hangs out. No matter how much I beg him to 'just make a little pee pee come out' he just sits there and taps on his keyboard. Occasionally, he'll request a jelly bean.

It's a work in progress. The whole potty thing. And I'm ok with that, for now!

Peek-A-Boo!

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Going Gold

Every year I vow to drag the artificial tree from it's hiding spot in the basement on the day after Thanksgiving. The last three years, I've been lucky to have it up and decorated by December 15th. And then it stands in front of our living room window until January 31st, except for the year I gave birth to Dawson, when I finally took it down on Valentine's Day.

I used to love decorating the tree, digging out my very favorite and most special ornaments. The unwrapping of each one from it's secure tissue paper or bubble wrapping was so exciting, and it was sure to put me into good holiday spirit.

Lately, I've been procrastinating with the holiday decor. So far, I've managed to put up my Nativity and that's only because I remembered that Advent begins tomorrow, December 2nd.

I haven't even found my Advent wreath yet, it's most likely buried under the faux evergreen swags my mother gave me, but I can't remember which of the seven Rubbermaid totes I put them in. And when I was searching for purple and pink candles for the wreath, I was a little upset to discover that not Michael's nor Walmart carries any, and it's too late to shop online and receive them on time.

But what really irks me about holiday decorating is trying to come up with a color scheme I haven't done before. For as long as I can remember I've always adorned my tree in red, white and blue ornaments, beads and garland.

This year I decided to try something new. I thought of trying red, white and gold or blue, white and silver -- you know, so I could use a few of the existing colors in my stock of Christmas decorations.

I've spent a week trying to decide which would look better and I like them both so much. I consulted the hubs and he said, "I don't really care, you're the one decorating! You decide!"

Finally I asked my 3-year-old for his highly coveted opinion.

"Dawson, should mommy use silver or gold for the Christmas tree?" I asked.

"What, Mumma?" he asked.

"Silver or Gold buddy? Which one?"

"Raisins, Mumma!" he said.

"What? Raisins?" I asked.

"Uh huh, da raisins box is gold!" he exclaimed.

He had pointed to the Sunmaid raisins on the kitchen counter, it's red box with a golden sunset and the lady gathering grapes on the front. Golden raisins.

"Huh," I said. "Red and gold it is."

Who knew a box of raisins would provide decorating inspiration?

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Dana writes about her life at her personal blog The Dana Files. She resides in Packer Country (Wisconsin) with her husband (Doug), three-year-old son (Dawson), and boston terrier(Murphy). You can find Amy Jo at Dana's place today. This post is part of the December blog exchange, in which the theme is "Silver or Gold". If you'd like to participate in the first blog exchange of 2008, click here for details.