Second Blooming

Spin Cycle: Resolution Malaise

I hate New Year's resolutions. When I saw that this was the theme for this week's Spin Cycle, all my muscles contracted into a massive cringe. Is it that the whole resolution thing is just setting myself up for failure? Well...yes. But I think it also may have something to do with... 

I hate New Year's. It doesn't depress me or disappoint me or anything. It's just such a...nonholiday. Much ado about nada. Blah, blah, blah. It's never more than just sort of mildly fun. I've never had any real traditions for it (well, except, of course, for the eating of the black-eyed peas, which is critical) No magical childhood memories surround it. No fabulous, glimmering champagne-soaked parties.

The problem may have something to do with the fact that the majority of my New Year's Eves over the last 20 years have been spent in my mother-in-law's den in the suburbs of Long Island. Not a particularly glamorous locale. I always cook a big Southern meal for them all - ham, cheese grits, black-eyed peas, cornbread (I loved the Italian's first reaction to these foods: the grits were "just like the polenta!" and the peas were "just like the lentils!") then we sit in the wood-paneled den watching Dick Clark. Champagne is poured (over the years Pop has upgraded the champagne from Andre's to Korbel), the ball drops, we all kiss and then...go to sleep as quickly as possible.

We did have one rather fabulous New Year's Eve. We spent the big millenium year at Aunt Grace's apartment on Park Avenue in Manhattan. A big crowd came over and at midnight we went up on the roof and watched the fireworks from Times Square. Very fancy. We even managed to get Jimmy's parents to leave Long Island and venture into "The City" for one night. Which, believe me, took some convincing, since Mommy was horrified of being trapped in big, scary Gotham when the whole Y2K thing hit and the world ground to a stop. But since then we've been back on the island. Yawn. This year, we're here in Los Angeles, for a change, but our plans aren't much more exciting. We're going to Jimmy's cousin's house for dinner. But I doubt we'll make midnight. I did buy a bottle of champagne to keep here at our house in case we bail early and head home.

There must be something I can do to make this more fun and exciting. Some new tradition to start. The idea of standing in the crowd at Times Square gives me heart palpatations. I'd rather eat ground glass than go and watch the Rose Parade (though watching it on tv is vaguely pleasant). When I was a kid, my girlfriends and I would buy a bunch of cheap (and legal in Texas) fireworks and set them off at midnight. Cause, you know, blowing shit up is always fun. But nowadays, we're never anywhere where we can find cheap, legal fireworks. I do enjoy a good tv marathon - The Honeymooners or The Twilight Zone are worth turning on. And that's just pathetic. So...

The first thing on my list of New Year's Resolutions is...

1. I hearby resolve to find some way to make our next New Year's Eve a loving, fun, memorable family experience. I have an entire year to come up with something. Wish me luck.

2. I hearby resolve to redecorate our bedroom. Actually, I should more correctly say "decorate", since in the five years since we've lived in our house, I have yet to decorate our bedroom in any way. It's pretty sad. It looks like college students live in it. I think that I owe it to our marriage and romantic life to try to make the room we sleep in a warm, charming, relaxing, romantic oasis. Okay, maybe I'm asking for too much. But a coat of paint and some curtains would be a big improvement.

3. I hearby resolve to finish writing the 2 tv spec scripts I've been kind of working on. I took a course in writing one-hour tv drama at UCLA a year ago, and have yet to finish my scripts. Granted, I got a bit distracted by THIS BLOG. I will concentrate and set time limits and get to work.

4. I hearby resolve to upgrade my exercise and eating habits, thus enabling myself to once again wear my clothes.And not the same 2 sweaters that hide my tummy bulge.

Okay. Deep inhale...deep exhale...It's only 4 things. I should be able to handle them. It's a good, positive start.

Hmmm. Maybe I'd feel better about New Year's if I had a teeny weeny glass of champagne. It's only 4:18 in the afternoon, but it's already the new year in...uh...London! So, Cheerio 2010!

And...Butt

New favorite little boy backseat conversation I've ever overheard (previous favorite here ) -

Jude and his friend Nyier sit in the backseat. Gretchen drives and eavesdrops.

Nyier

Smell my burp!

Nyier leans in and burps in Jude's face.

Nyier

What's it smell like?

Jude

(considering the question carefully)

Kinda like...syrup. And anteaters. And...butt.

They laugh and laugh.

Jude

Smell my burp!

Jude leans in and burps in Nyier's face.

Jude

What's it smell like?

Nyier

Hmmm. Like fries. And old milk. And...butt.

They laugh and laugh.

Nyier

Smell my burp!

The conversation continues in this vein for 20 minutes. Gretchen drives, shaking her head.

Snips and snails and puppy dogs tails...and butt.

Christmas Recap

I'm BAAACCCKK. And by back I don't mean that I actually WENT anywhere during the last 5 days. No much needed vacation or anything. We're not even going on our usual 10 day trip to the in-laws in New York this year, it was just too damned expensive. Which is a bit sad, but I must confess...a HUGE RELIEF. For me, anyway. Not for Jude, who had already been whining and complaining about not going ("But I LOVE my grandparents!!!" - just about killed me) when the East Coast got hit with a huge snow storm, which made Jude so jealous he could spit - "I could have made a snow man!!! I could have gone sledding!!! All I could think was "We could have been stuck in an airport!!!"

But anyway, I did take a brief blogging break because, frankly, I was just too damned busy, and then after Christmas, I was just too damned tired. So many apologies to everyone who commented on my last post who I didn't answer. I will also finally get to reading the enormous backlog that has built up in my Google Reader. I feel like the world has passed me by.

So here are my past 5 days in brief. Well, okay not so brief, I don't really do brief.

1. The Feast of the Seven Fishes was highly successful. All the fishes turned out very well. The guests seemed to have a lovely time. Next year, I must remember to make sure everyone's had a few appetizers before they start on the Peppermint Martinis, because by the end of the evening things had devolved a bit and gotten a tad sloppy. But what the hell, it's Christmas!

2. Only had to avert one major fish crisis. At about noon on Christmas Eve, I unwrapped the two gorgeous red snappers I had purchased so that I could prep them and stuff them with the shrimp and scallop stuffing, only to find that the fish man had "cleaned" them, but not "deboned" them. Damn, damn, double damn. My first thought was "I can do this myself!" Fifteen minutes later, after watching a YouTube video on fish deboning, and then proceeding to hatchet the poor fish unsuccessfully, I ceded that "I can't do this myself!", grabbed the fish, grabbed Jude, leaped into the Prius and drove all the way back to the freaking Fish King in Glendale (no, not even remotely close to me). I walked in and took my number. I was Number 79. The fish man called out to the massive, pulsating, fish-clamoring crowd "Number 39!" I managed to keep from having an aneurism. Jude was an amazingly good boy (pretty sure that that "Santa is watching" conversation had something to do with this), and an HOUR AND A HALF later, I was back home with my deboned snapper. AARRGGHH.

3. Remember that "dog or cat" I had to pull out of my ass? Well... meet...

FANCY!!!

Isn't she an angel?! Turns out my friend Kari was looking for a new home for her and happened to write a letter to Santa asking him to help her find someone for Fancy. Coincidentally, Jude wrote a letter to Santa asking for a dog and...voila! Santa is an excellent facilitator! Little Fancy trotted into our lives on Christmas morning and I swear it feels like we've had her forever. Jude is so happy I can't tell you. The other night, we were all snuggled up with Fancy on the sofa, and she gave him a little doggy nudge with her nose. Jude got a look of utter bliss on his face and said quietly "Hearts are coming out of my head." "What honey?" I asked. "That's what happens in cartoons when you love a dog, Mama. Hearts are coming out of my head.".

4. And as if Fancy isn't enough of an exciting addition to our family, meet...

MATTHEW!!

Jude has a new cousin (well, technically, a new step-first cousin once removed, but that's being nitpicky)! Isn't he the sweetest little thing?! My amazing sister-in-law Niki is now a grandmother, which she is far too young to be as you can see...

When I showed these pictures to Jude this morning, he immediately ran into his room and got something. Next thing I knew, he had upended his piggy bank on the living room floor and was counting his money. "I've got 500, Mama! Is that enough to fly to New York?!" When I explained to him that he had 500 cents, not 500 dollars, and that that wasn't nearly enough, he actually started to cry. And so did I. 

I MUST make more money. I just can't handle the heartbreaking sweetness of that again. But I guess that is the truest meaning of Christmas. A little boy willing to give up his pennies to get to meet his new cousin.

So in the meantime, Welcome to Fancy. Welcome to Matthew. And I hope everyone out there in cyberworld had a beautiful, love-filled holiday.

The Christmas Miracle

Christmas was my Mama's favorite time of year. That woman would start the festivities as soon as Thanksgiving was over, and stay busy until she went to bed on Christmas night. It's impossible for me to pick our favorite family Christmas tradition, because we had so many. Which is odd since we were such a tiny family - just Mama, Daddy and me. And because, despite my Daddy's loving, generous nature, he was a bit of a Scrooge - I think that all the crazy holiday spending that Mama did got him worried. So all of our traditions were generated by Mama. She baked and baked all the Scandinavian delicacies of her Norwegian/South Dakotan youth. She decorated and crafted. She loved to sing Christmas carols in full-voice, and had lots of Christmas albums, which she would play over and over on the hi-fi. Every ornament had it's special place on the tree (and still does, since I've inherited all of them). Every book and story had to be read and told in a certain order on a certain night.

Our big celebration was on Christmas Eve, as was the tradition from Mama's Scandinavian roots. We always had Aunt Margaret over, as well as Mama and Daddy's best "couple friends", Herbert and Nora, who I called Hub-Hub and No-No. The house would be filled with the aromas of delicious foods, the ladies perfume and cigarettes. I remember the fireplace roaring and everybody eating Mama's crab dip and drinking bourbon.  Followed by a feast - usually standing rib roast. Mmmm.

At the end of the night, I always got to open one present. One special present, which was waiting for me under the tree. And it was always the same thing. A new nightgown. Something pretty and girly and special. I'd go change into my new nightie, then kiss everybody goodnight and go to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. What they all did after I went to bed, I don't know, though the story goes that once, Daddy and Hub-Hub put together a slide for me in the living room, only to find that it wouldn't fit out the door, so they had to disassemble the whole thing and put it back together again outside! Which I totally understand and sympathize with now that I'm a parent!

Mama died in 1993. I was then an orphan, which is a rather dramatic way of putting it, since I was a grown woman. But when I faced Christmas that year, I certainly felt the full weight of that word. Orphan. Hmmm. Jimmy and I were engaged, though not married yet, but Jimmy's dear, loving family had completely embraced me and taken me in, and we went to New York to spend Christmas with them. 

Their house is always lively and joyful on Christmas Eve with a full table of family and friends celebrating The Feast of the Seven Fishes, the traditional Italian-American Christmas Eve meal. A meal which I now recreate at our house. Course after course of seafood and fish. Delectable. But while I was incredibly grateful to be part of this gathering that first year after Mama died...it wasn't MY tradition. It wasn't mine. 

At some point during the long Christmas Eve dinner, I got a phone call from Texas. It was my best friend, Kaysie. A couple of days before, I had received a package at my in-laws house from Kaysie and my other best friend, Sharon. These two woman are truly the closest thing I have to sisters. Kaysie told me that I should go in and open their present that night, before I went to bed. With all the festivities, I almost forgot, but remembered just as we were all heading up to sleep. I opened the gift and it was...a nightgown. I put it on, and went to sleep comforted by the love of my Mama and my dearest friends.

I talked to Kaysie and Sharon the next day, and they said that they just knew that Mama would want them to keep up the tradition. And they did, for many years. Until Kaysie had a little girl, and I started buying a nightgown for her every year - to be opened on Christmas Eve.

Right now under our Christmas tree which is adorned with all of my Mama and Daddy's ornaments as well as my own, there is a small wrapped box, tucked way in the back. The gift tag reads: For Jude, From Mama and Daddy To be opened on Christmas Eve. And of course it's... pajamas. And when he puts them on and goes to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in his head, I know that my Mama's love will be keeping him warm.

I'm in a Holi-daze

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, that was probably good to let out. I just spent four hours driving around Los Angeles in Christmas traffic, searching for the last damned Wii in the city. I found it. In the Target in the 'hood. Phew.

This is Countdown to Christmas Week. It all culminates on Christmas Eve with the Feast of the Seven Fishes - the traditional Italian-American Christmas feast. Seven courses of seafood. I foolishly decided to take this tradition on when I married Jimmy many years ago, and have come to enjoy it. Mostly. The actual cooking and serving I like, but the endless preparation and shopping for all that seafood is hideous. Yesterday, I had to drive to the Valley to the Italian deli I like to buy the baccala. Wednesday I have to drive downtown to Little Tokyo to buy the salmon for the carpaccio and the octupus for the salad and then out to Glendale to the Fish King for the bass and the crab legs. Add into that the whole Santa/presents/cards crap. Clearly, I am not in the Christmas spirit. 

I would feel better if I had something to wear for Christmas. This is really getting me down, man. None of my festive holiday clothes fit my body, which has gained 10 or 15 pounds (I have been afraid to actually weigh myself) in the past year. But I won't buy new festive clothes that fit because I refuse to believe that I will actually stay this huge. I did try shopping a bit. I popped into a favorite little shop between Targets today and tried on this cute little mini-dress - white with silver and gold sparkly stuff on it. I put it on, looked in the mirror and started to cry. I looked like a glowy marshmallow with long, thick, pasty legs sticking out underneath it. 

And on top of it all, Jude wrote his letter to Santa this morning and started it as follows:

Dear Santa,

I think I have been a mostly good boy this year. Can I please have a dog or a cat? And a Wii.

Love, Jude.

A dog or a cat! How am I going to pull a dog or a cat out of my fat ass before Christmas? THWACK, THWACK, THWACK (sound of me banging my head against the keyboard). How is a mother supposed to handle all this! If only Jimmy was MORE HELPFUL! I'm sorry, I was shouting again.

Okay, I must try to make myself feel better.

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Aaaahhhh. Well that was just what I needed. I just got home from my church choir rehearsal. Three hours of The Messiah, and all is right with the world. I LOVE Handel!

And since looking back, I realize that this entire post has been random ramblings, I might as well give in to...

 

and just clear out everything else that is spilling out of my brain tonight.
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My, my, my. Los Angeles is such a bastion of good taste and family values. Not only can you go to the mall and have your children's picture taken with this guy...

but if you show up on the weekend, you can take your picture with this guy...

When I was at the mall last week, the regular fat Santa in the red suit was sitting on his big chair, rather lonely since it was a midweek before school got out. When I walked by him I called out "Hey Santa. I thought the Hunky Santa wasn't here until the weekend! You are looking good!" Poor Santa turned the same color as his coat. What compelled me to flirt with the big man, I don't know. But he seemed to like it. I'd definitely do better flirting with Fat Santa than Hunky Santa. Of course, he's got those Candy Cane Girls and I'm just Marshmallow With Legs Woman.

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Favorite phrase heard over an in-store announcement system today - "Attention Bevmo associates. Customer assistance is needed in the Bourbon Cage. Customer assistance is needed in the Bourbon Cage." My mind went all sorts of crazy places.

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Okay, I'll leave you with a taste of what put me back into the spirit of Christmas. Enjoy. (This is the Robert Shaw Choral. I would have gone for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but I've been boycotting all things Mormon since the whole Proposition 8 debacle.)

Santa's Cumare

This week I hosted our weekly Friday playdate at our house. The house was all festive and decorated, and I thought we mommies could cozy up around a fire with some mulled wine and have cocoa for the kids. Of course, it ended up being 82 ridiculous degrees in Los Angeles. What is that? It just makes me crazy. It's very hard to get in the holiday spirit when it's beach weather. Undaunted, I decided to make the Homemade Eggnog instead (I'm always looking for an excuse anyway).

For those of you too lazy to click on the link I provided above, which explains the history of our Friday playdate, I will... No. It's too long an explaination, you really should use the link. In short - kids, moms, booze, chaos, fun.

Now, these kids (it's a huge gang, 16 of them ranging from 6 year olds to infants) have known each other pretty much all their lives, and have been playing together once a week for most of that time. And over the years they've formed interesting relationships and alliances. But suddenly, just this past 6 months or so, a new and rather disturbing schizm has formed. It is now The Boys vs. The Girls. 

One of the boys is the "anti-girl" ringleader, and one of the girls is the "anti-boy" ringleader. These two also (and I don't think it's coincidental) seem to be most interested in the opposite sex. The girl is already totally "boy crazy".  And she flirts with Jude all the time, but he has no idea what this is all about. He keeps thinking she's being mean to him. I try to explain that she's just teasing him because she likes him. Which he thinks is pretty ridiculous. Oh my poor sweet little unsuspecting boy. His heart will no doubt be broken repeatedly by wicked, manipulative women. I say this because I am fairly certain that at some point in my life I was a wee bit wicked and manipulative myself ("at some point" meaning all of college and a good part of my 30's). And poor guy, even though she drives him crazy, he always talks about her and looks for her to get there every week. Sigh...

This week, the boy vs. girl thing reached a new peak. At one point, they were all running around our house shouting either "Boys rule, girls drool!" or "Girls rule, boys drool!" depending on, of course, who they were. A ruckus then erupted, when the boys decided to take all the girls toys and throw them in the air. Or something like that. There was much screaming and squealing and a few tears, and I'm not sure I ever got the story straight. It's all very troublesome.

Toward the end of the evening, most of the moms had left. It was down to the hardcore stragglers- me, 3 other moms, Jude and 7 little girls. "Oh no" I thought "This might not be good." Jude soon came up to me and asked me where his sleeping bag was. My mind, of course, took a turn to the raunchy and immediately asked him what on earth he and all those girls were going to do with his sleeping bag. But he sweetly informed me that he was playing Santa, and the bag was needed to serve as Santa's bag. A few minutes later, he asks me what he could use for a whip. Again, my mind took a dark turn. But alas, the whip for for Santa to use to urge his reindeer in their night flight.

After a while, we heard screaming and squealing and crying coming from Jude's room. When I went in to moderate, I realized that something of a catfight had broken out amongst the girls. I was eventually able to sort out amidst the tears and finger-pointing that they were arguing about who got to be Mrs. Claus. Apparently, they all wanted to be Mrs. Claus (except for one of the sweetest girls, probably Jude's best friend of the group, who simply wanted to be Rudolph, a far better role, I thought), and Jude refused to choose just one of them (excellently diplomatic child that he is). I looked at Jude, who was standing on his bed (the sleigh), busying himself with arranging the bag of toys. He looked at me, shook his head and rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with all this ridiculous "girl stuff". The girls all turned to me, clearly expecting me to save the situation.

"Okay. How about if Quinn gets to be Mrs. Claus, because she's the oldest. And the rest of you can be Santa's girlfriends?" They stood in silence for a beat. Then they all smiled and agreed that this was an excellent compromise. A few minutes later, I went in to check on them again and all of Santa's cumares (pronounced GOO-MAH. The link is for anyone not versed in Good Fellas/TheSopranos speak) had turned into reindeer, and lined up in a row on their hands and knees. He was standing on the bed above them, whipping them with a sock. Relieved that all was peaceful and wholesome, I went back to drink my eggnog.

I wonder who got to be Vixen?

Random Recipe Friday: Mulled Wine

I fear that I talk too much about liquor in this blog...

Nah!! What's a mommy blog without talk about liquor. Especially around the holidays, when we're all a wee bit stressed, and feeling festive and maybe a little indulgent.

So, while last week I gave you a recipe for homemade egg nog, this week I will present to you the other great yuletide libation - Mulled Wine. The perfect post-caroling warmer-upper.

(Doesn't this picture just scream "found in Google images?)

Mulled Wine always makes me feel a little Dickensian, you know? I feel sure they served it at Mr. Fezziwig's Ball.

The best thing about Mulled Wine (aside from it's high alcohol content) is that it makes the house smell heavenly while it's mulling away. Hmmm. And compared to that egg nog, the calorie count makes you feel almost VIRTUOUS. I mean, it has FRUIT in it, for God's sake, it's practically a DIET food.

This recipe, by the way, has no measurements, because it doesn't need them. So...feel free to experiment.

MULLED WINE

For 6 to 8 servings, pour two or three bottles of red wine into a large pot (white wine can be used for a change, but it's not traditional). You don't have to use the really good stuff, but on the other hand, it really makes a difference if you spring for something better than the Two-Buck Chuck . Add about 1/4 cup of sugar per bottle of wine, and mix in whole spices to taste - allspice, cardamom, cinnamon sticks and cloves are all good choices. Add a sliced orange or two. Traditionally, the wine is "mulled" in a covered pot at room temperature for up to 12 hours, and then heated through just before serving. But a quicker method is to bring the mixture to a simmer over high heat, reduce the heat and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes. You can add the alcohol that you simmered out back in if you want (and who doesn't want?) by adding a splash of brandy, Madeira or even vodka (oh yeah) to taste.

So let us raise our glasses - "...it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!"

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Notice my new Google Friend dealymabop in the right sidebar? PLEASE add yourself to it...it still looks kind of pitiful. Thanks!

Nu-Nu's Trip to Santa

When Jude turned 4, I told him it was high time he stopped with the pacifier. I had probably let it go on too long, but we both just loved it so much. Jude loved it as an intimate and trusted friend, I loved it because it worked even more effectively than Benedril or tequila at knocking him out at night. It was called Nu-Nu, for which I blame my mother-in-law. Everybody else had a Pacie, or a Binky, Jude had a Nu-Nu. He was never one of those kids who went around with the thing in his mouth constantly, in fact, it seldom left our house. But when it was time to go to sleep, that thing was an absolute necessity.

As his 4th birthday approached, we talked about how he was now a "big boy" and that Nu-Nus were for "baby boys". And I told him that Nu-Nu would "mess up his teeth", which he found rather frightening. So we set the deadline of "4th Birthday", which he seemed to respect and face with a sad, but resigned attitude.

He then did something rather sweet (and very much in character). He decided that perhaps he should give his Nu-Nus to a poor baby who didn't have any Nu-Nus. After much talk about how exactly to find these "poor babies", Jude had a brainstorm. "Maybe Santa can take them to them! He knows where all the kids are!" Which I thought was rather brilliant.

So on the morning after his 4th birthday (I just couldn't do it to him on "the day"), we wrote a letter: "Dear Santa, I am a big 4-year-old boy now, and no longer need my Nu-Nus. Please take them to a poor child who has no Nu-Nu. Say "hi" to Mrs. Claus and the elves. See you at Christmas. Love, Jude" We then put the letter and all the Nu-Nus in a mailing envelope, addressed it to "Santa Claus, Santa's Workshop, North Pole" and drove to our closest Post Office.

The walk from the car to the Post Office was high drama. He walked slowly, head down, holding his little package of Nu-Nus,  like a death row inmate walking to the electric chair. "Nu-Nuless Boy Walking". But he was deadset on becoming a "big boy" now, and understood the importance of moving on from what he considered "baby things".

After waiting in line, we walked up to the window at the Post Office, and Jude bravely but sadly reached up and placed the package on the counter. The postal worker woman looked at it for a second, then at Jude, then at me. I fixed her with "a look". "We're sending this to Santa Claus. You have a special rate for that, don't you?" I said.

The woman looked at me for one beat, then replied "Yes, we do." She proceeded to pull out a bunch of random stamps and stickers and things, cover the package with "air mail", "fragile" and "rush" in what seemed to be a very purposeful way, dropped the package in the bin with the other packages and said "Thank you." Don't you just love this woman!

The rest of the day Jude was in a great mood. We called Grandma and Grandpa and he told them of his brave and giving donation to the poor, and he seemed terribly proud of himself and sure he'd made a "big boy" decision.

But when bedtime came, things turned dark and tragic. He lay there for almost two hours, sad and tortured. Clasping his little stuffed dog Pups, tears silently flowing. "I just miss them SO MUCH, Mama." It was horrible. Heartbreaking. And I know that if I hadn't actually gotten rid of all of the damned Nu-Nus I would have broken and given him one. Jimmy and I took turns lying in bed with him, tickling his back. At one point, Jimmy came out and said it reminded him very much of one time in his ill-spent youth when he witnessed someone kicking heroin.

Finally, when it was my turn to sit with Mama's little Nu-Nu addict, he asked me "Mama? Where do you think they are now?" And I told him the first of what ended up being a long and daring odyssey - The Adventures of the Nu-Nus. I told him how the package started on a plane, then transfered to the Polar Express, which took it to the North Pole. It was then greeted by an elf, who opened the package, read the note and took it immediately to Santa in his office at the workshop. Santa, of course, knew exactly which poor child most desperately needed a Nu-Nu, rounded up the reindeer and told them they must make one quick, unseasonal sleigh ride. Off they went to spread the joy of Nu-Nu to the less fortunate.

This story was repeated many times over the next week or so. Sometimes the poor child lived in a hut somewhere in Africa. Sometimes in an apartment right here in Los Angeles. Usually there was a poor, frazzled, exhausted Mama who's sad little baby wouldn't stop crying and go to sleep, and the gift of a Nu-Nu saved her life and sanity. Jude found these stories funny and comforting, and served as his methadone treatment.

I sometimes think of what really happened to that little package of Nu-Nus. No doubt they ended up in the trash at the Post Office. But I like to think that there was an exhausted, stressed out... Inuit mommy, living in her igloo with her screaming infant, and suddenly a large, fat man in a red suit arrived and handed her a little used Nu-Nu. She looked up at him with gratitude and muttered "Qujannaiik!" (thank you in Inuktitut), stuck the Nu-Nu in her baby's mouth and instantly peace fell over her humble igloo. "No" Santa replied, "Thank Jude."

Please visit We Are THAT Family to find other helpful ideas to restore peace and tranquility to your hut.

I Went For Jury Duty, and All I Got Were These Lousy Random Thoughts

The words "jury duty" tend to strike fear and apprehension in the hearts of most people. On one hand, you want to be a good citizen and do your part for society and our constitutionally guaranteed right to due process. On the other hand...DEAR GOD NO! Don't let me be picked for a jury that will force me to rearrange and rethink absolutely everything in my life for an indefinite amount of time! So when I got called in by the County of Los Angeles these two thoughts ran through my mind, followed almost immediately by the pathetic thought "This will be excellent blog-fodder!" The experience would certainly be one of the following: 1. Earth-shatteringly invasive and horrible. 2. Mind-numbingly boring. 3. Incredibly interesting and filled with cute lawyers and an intriguing case. Any of these possibilities would lend themselves to excellent and humorous ramblings to which everyone could relate.

Unfortunately/fortunately, none of these options manifested themselves. I went down to the courthouse bright and early, and while standing in line to go in, ran into a friend of mine from my church choir! What are the odds of that really - of the almost 10,000,000 residents of L.A. County, to actually have a friend draw the exact same jury duty day as you? We both got there at 7:30, sat there all day gossiping, talking on the phone and playing on the computer, went out for a lovely 1 1/2 hour lunch, then got dismissed about 3:00, thus fulfilling my civic duty for a year. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy (as Jude would say). Hopefully, I will keep drawing jury duty in December when all the lawyers are on vacation!

I now want you all to look to your right. No...don't turn your head and look over your right shoulder, look to the right of this page and scroll down the sidebar until you find something new. Do you see it? In my recent experimentation in "fun with widgets" I have just installed a new Google Friend Connect thingy. If you are a regular reader (or really, even if you're not) PLEASE add yourself to it - because it's ABSOLUTELY PATHETIC to only have one follower (thank you Stacy!). If it doesn't fill up soon, I will have to remove it out of shear embarrassment. Please? Just click on the little "Join This Site" doohicky. And thank you for your support.

Okay, I know that I promised that I would keep you all updated on my 30-Day Shred progress, and I have failed miserably. That would be because I did an 8-Day Shred, followed by a 27-Day Sitting On My Ass. I have, however, purchase new 5 pound weights to upgrade from the bean cans I was using. I'm thinking this will inspire me. I realize that the huge muffin-top hanging out the top of my jeans should be inspiration enough but...I vow to start up again in the next few days. Really.

In closing, I am inserting a video of my favorite creepy, Texas Christmas song, "Merry Christmas From the Family" by Robert Earl Keen. You gotta love a song that's opening lyrics are "Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas party." It's a wonderful study in politically incorrect Southern disfunction. It also REALLY reminds of of my ex's family in Garland, Texas. For those of you who haven't been to Garland, it's better than living in Mesquite but worse than living in Plano. Fascinating aside: My ex was a long-haired, slacker rock and roller who I supported for most of the '80's, who after I kicked him out, became a millionaire, Grammy-nominated country-music songwriter. Isn't my timing excellent? Actually, Robert Earl Keene reminds me a lot of my ex, but...whatever. By the way, I hate this video - just close your eyes and listen to the lyrics...

Carve the turkey turn the ball game on.
Mix margaritas when the eggnog's gone.
Send somebody to the Quik-Pak Store.
We need some ice and an extension cord.
A can of bean dip and some Diet Rites
A box of tampons and some Marlboro Lights
Hallelujah, everybody say cheese.
Merry Christmas from the family.

Please stop by Keely's at The UnMom for more Random Thoughts.

Do You Feel Lucky? Well, Do Ya, Punk?

I have never been a lucky person. I never win anything. I take that back. I have won a raffle ONE time in my entire life (at least, as far as I remember...my memory is poor). Which seems like rather pathetic odds.

Jude, however, has won 6 raffles that I am aware of in his 6 years of life. Crazy. Two of them were drawings from the entire student body of his school. I have no explanation for this amazing luck. Although I'm cynical and superstitious enough to fear that he's somehow using up all his luckiness young, and will never win anything again for the rest of his life. Or maybe I should have him start picking lottery numbers for me.

So last night, when Jude's cub scout pack had a raffle to award all the boys who sold popcorn (check out Jude's amazing popcorn selling skills here) I knew immediately that Jude would win something. My "vibe" about this was so strong that I even went over and sat by the Tiger Cubs to help them read the numbers off their raffle tickets. Sure enough...

Yep, the child is now the owner of a Sony PSP. Which is (NOT) just what he needs since he already owns a Nintendo DSi and is hoping desperately that Santa Claus (Grandma) will give him a Wii (he/she will). So I was REALLY thrilled (sarcasm) that he now owns yet another electronic gaming system which requires it's own GAMES to operate. And of course, we do not own any games for the PSP, and therefore, the first thing we did this morning (only way to get the boy to shut up) was to drive to the Toys R Us to purchase a game for the PSP. Luckily, he had also earned a $30 gift card for his popcorn selling acumen with which to pay for the stinking game.

So...think about this carefully...We drove to the...

...on DECEMBER 12th. Which is a SATURDAY. Yes. A SATURDAY in DECEMBER. At the TOYS R US. Which is in the same shopping center as...

Which I'm sure gets very little business this time of year.(more bitter sarcasm)

The parking lot looked like...

Acres of cars in every direction.

OH, and do you notice that shiny stuff all over the place? That would be RAIN. And since it only rains in Los Angeles about once every 10 to 12 years, no one knows how to behave in it. It completely baffles and amazes everyone. 

Have you all now experienced a shudder of dread and horror? Yes, you should have.

So...not feeling so lucky now.