Post-Christmas Blues

I hate the days following Christmas! They are so depressing. Decorations just seem sad and pointless. Our Christmas tree is just a fire hazard taking up a lot of space in our little family room. I'm in that state of limbo where it seems too early to switch back to regular music but weird to be listening to Christmas music still. Where the excitement of Christmas made the cold drab winter seem okay, now it's just cold. And drab. And depressing.
Okay, so are you catching on that I am totally one of those people that gets the winter blues? Except I get it December 26th, not when winter first kicks in. This is especially sad, as it is my brother's birthday. But it's okay, because his excitement about Christmas comes in such mass amounts, I'm sure it lasts til at least July.
I can honestly say I have stayed in my pajamas every single day since Christmas. I shower just before Bill comes home and run around picking things up so he can't tell I've been on my couch watching movies with the kids all day. He's been wanting to go out shopping with our Christmas gift cards each evening, which means I put on makeup at 5:30 in the evening, only to take it off six hours later. Okay, who am I kidding? I don't take it off before bed.
We have so much junk food in this house it's embarassing, but people just kept bringing it to us, what are we gonna do? And of course we have to have it all gone by the new year, when the good old diet starts. Oh, you don't believe me? Why would you have reason to doubt that I am actually going to diet and lose this weight? Oh, because my baby is three and a half and I still look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy? Okay, I give you permission to doubt me.
So the gist is, I'm being totally lazy, gorging myself on Christmas candy and leftover appetizers (I haven't eaten a real meal since Saturday), my house is a disaster, and my kids know that they can do pretty much whatever they want as long as it doesn't involve me getting off my couch.
So don't be alarmed if the next time you see me I've gained fifty pounds and my pajamas are actually attached to my skin....also, that stench would be me.

Time To Get The Ears Checked I Guess

Last night Bill and I were watching the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional that we had recorded and not watched yet as we sat and wrapped presents. President Monson was speaking, and suddenly Bill said, "He always reminds me of a lobster." I looked at Bill like he was crazy and said, "Huh?" And he said, "He looks like a lobster." So I look at the tv screen and think to myself, I guess his face is kind of red, but I don't know if it's enough to warrent being called a lobster. So I'm sitting there thinking, my husband is a whack job, when Bill says, "You know, like Al Capone or someone in the mafia." I burst out laughing. "You said a mobster!" I was laughing so hard I could barely tell Bill what I thought he had said, and when I finally told him he was dying. I'm not sure which is worse, though, calling President Monson a lobster or a mobster. Either way, it made for a good laugh.

A Bit Of Christmas Cheer, Straight From My Heart, To The Jerks Last Night At WalMart

It's Christmas time, the time of year when you give that extra little bit of love and kindness to your fellow neighbor, when everyone is cheerful and in the giving mood, relishing the spirit that comes from such a glorious holiday.
Apparently this doesn't apply to the customers of WalMart. See, what a decent human being does when witnessing a poor, frail little person (please keep all remarks about size to yourself) trying to fit a giant box into her space-challenged mini van is offers to help. Clearly the patrons of WalMart last night missed Common Decency 101 class in the pre-existence.
So I go to WalMart last night to buy my husband the one thing he asked for for Christmas: a ginormous tool box for the garage. I had to get the biggest one they sold, because that's what he wanted. I was there by myself, and I thought for sure I'd need help from a sales clerk to even get it off the shelf. I did a test slide to see how heavy it was, and was surprised to find it was much lighter than I thought. I slid the huge box off the shelf (thank goodness it was the bottom shelf) onto the floor, and then looked at my shopping cart. It was luckily not too big to lay across the cart, but it was a matter of getting the thing up there. Fortunately for me, there was a Bill Gates look-alike standing just a ways down the aisle from me studying torque wrenches. (Between you and me, I'm fairly certain he was standing there trying to look manly, but secretly wishing he could have been shoe shopping with his wife.) Realizing it was him or nobody, I politely asked if he could help me. He obliged, and thanks to what can only be a miracle, the two of us got the box on the cart.
I had no problems with the box at checkout, the cart was almost the same height as the conveyer so I just slid it over and then back on my cart.
Then I get to my van. Somehow, I manage to get the box off my cart onto the ground. Okay, now where to put it?
Not a problem, it will go nicely in the back.
Nope, two huge boxes containing the kids' trampoline/side enclosure were still there from Black Friday.
Okay, I'll slide it between the front bench seat and the two front seats.
What I failed to remember is how retarded our van is when it comes to storing anything. It's a challenge to fit two bags of groceries in there, let alone a box the size of a small swimming pool.
Wedging myself between my van and the car next to me, I was barely able to lift it up onto the footstep of my van, and then up onto the floor of my van, and began to slide it into place.
I could almost hear my van laughing at me, "You idiot woman, you really think that's gonna go there?"
So now it's in limbo. It won't go forward, and I'm holding it to keep it from falling backward.
Meanwhile, I'm thinking, "It would be really nice if a strong man walked by right now and offered to help. I'd even take Bill Gates' clone. Or a big-boned woman. Anyone!"
I can hear a man and woman talking two cars away. He's standing outside his car sucking on his cig, just chattin' it up with what I can only assume is his common-law wife, who's sitting there applying her Wet n' Wild Pink Passion lipstick.
Oh, what's that? You're fighting about which tailgate party to crash? I NEED HELP HERE!!!!
I realize I can get it in if I can slide my passenger seat forward. One problem: I can't let go of the box to do so.
Then, a nice-looking lady walks by. I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some help.
She takes one look at me, laughs, and keeps walking. I kid you not. Are there really people like that? I thought people were only that heartless in movies. Oh, do you find this funny, lady? Well, I hope you get kicked in the head by a reindeer.
So I am forced to shimmy the box down onto the ground once more. So now it goes: car next to me, me, huge box, my van, all squished together. I slide my front seat forward, muster every last bit of strength and energy in me, lift the box back up into my van, and slide it perfectly into place.
This whole escapade lasted one half hour. Of me, standing in the parking lot of WalMart, in the freezing cold, without a coat, making a fool of myself. Are you telling me that in that half hour not one person saw me struggling and thought they might help? That is exactly what happened, my friend.
So to all the jerks last night at WalMart who failed to show their Christmas spirit by offering to help me, I say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and you know exactly where you can shove that lump of coal you'll find in your stocking Christmas morning.

Another One Bites the Dust

Be careful what you wish for. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago I was complaining that Kim had all the exciting stories to tell on her blog, that nothing interesting ever happened to me? Since then my sweet little girl got her heart broken over a scooter, a guy got his face bashed in, and now Pasyon has a gash over his left eye. Okay, maybe having nothing to write about was better after all.
Tonight was our ward Christmas party, and it was amazing. They put so much time and effort into making it so awesome. We went "Back to Bethlehem," where we had to come all dressed in biblical garb, pay for our food with coins, eat on the floor around legless tables, etc. It was so cool. We left for the evening feeling spiritually uplifted and chipper.
But before we could even make it out the door, Payson, who runs everywhere he goes, sprinted past us all into the darkened hallway by the primary room, tripped on one of those huge rugs (or maybe it was his toga, I'm not sure) and fell, head first, into the metal frame sourrounding the bottom glass window of the door leading out of the church.
The scream was a tip-off that something was not quite right, and before I even realized what had happened, Bill was holding Payson's head in his hand, blood pouring between his fingers, yelling, "We have to get him somewhere NOW!"
Bill doesn't often talk like that, so when he does I know it's something serious. I freaked out, and I mean freaked. I sputtered a sentence fragment to my cousin Michelle that came out something like "Payson's head....take them ("them" was Macy and Ally, who was coming to spend the night).....Kim......take them......" and I was running out the door. Bill's standing next to our van saying I had to hold the wound shut, and that's when I realized I left my purse in the church with the keys. The wind was insane, it's been like Little Chicago here, and it was freezing cold, especially wearing nothing but a sheet and some safety pins. I sprinted down the sidewalk to the other end of the church (in my panic and haste I somehow still managed to pray that no one could see me running, sheet flying, boobs bouncing all over the place....) and sprinted back to the van (later Bill told me he was impressed at my speed.)
We decided it made more sense if Bill continued to hold the wound (which I had yet to see) and I drove, which I did, like a bat out of hell. I almost hoped I would get pulled over so I could yell at a policeman (paybacks, you know, for all those tickets) and get an escort to the hospital, but no such luck. (Where are those guys when you need them?)
We carried Payson (who amazingly enough had stopped crying before we even got in the van) into the hospital, dressed like Joseph and Mary and little shepherd boy bleeding from the head. I can only imagine what the hospital staff thought.
Fortunately, the cut was "perfect", nice and clean (thanks to the razor sharp metal edge) so they were able to glue it shut instead of stitch it. After one glance at the gaping gash, (I know I exaggerate a lot, but I am so not at all about the size of this sucker. Once I figure out how, I'll post a "before" picture I took on my cell phone.) I went to extreme lengths to not look again, it made me queasy.
Payson loved having it scrubbed out with soap, especially when they shoved the sponge inside the cut to make sure it was really sterile. Yeah, that was tons o' fun.
An hour and a few remarks about our attire later, we were out of there with a happy boy and fatty hospital bill. Macy has not looked at her brother yet, but we think in a week or so her curiosity will get the best of her and she'll just have to look, like everyone else.
My apologies for yet another lengthy story, I promise as soon as all these crazy things stop happening I'll keep it short and simple. Ha!

Not Too Shabby

Well, it only took a week, but we got it done. The new tree stand was the saving grace, holding that sucker in place. And lo and behold, we finally have a straight, decorated tree. I'm thinking that after all this work to get it right that we might leave it up through January to make it all worth it. Yeah, right. Can you say "fire hazard"? Now all we need is to get some presents under it (besides the fake little decorative ones that are under it now) and we're good to go.

The Leaning Tower of Pine

Heather, you inspired me. When I realized my Christmas tree was deformed, I just had to post a picture of it so people could get a good laugh from it like yours gave me. I think it must be a curse...maybe everybody who picked out their Christmas tree for FHE last Monday wound up with a less-than-perfect tree.
It looked so beautiful when we bought it. Until we took it home and put it in the tree stand. I stood eyeballing it, telling Bill "right" and "left" to get it level, while Landon lay under it ready to screw it into place. At last it was perfectly straight from all angles, except the bottom of the trunk. In order to get it to look straight on top, the trunk had to be almost diagonal in the stand.
Apparently our tree grew straight and narrow for a few years and then decided to be rebellious and change directions.
Since Monday, we have had absolutely no time to decorate our tree. It has sat, barren and pathetic since then. Payson and Macy have asked incessently every day, "when are we gonna decorate it?" Every day we said, "We'll try and do it tonight." And every night something was going on, one of us was gone, etc. So last night we said, "Tonight for sure, we promise!" We cancelled any commitments, went to Target to buy a cool new tree-topper and some new, awesome ornaments, and went home all pumped up to decorate. We put on some Christmas music to get in the decorating spirit, and got up on a chair, excited to adorn the top of our tree with our new, beautiful, sparkly star. That's when we heard the pop, and slowly the whole tree started to fall.
We knew the pop had to mean it had broken away from the screws. I jumped down and wiggled under the tree reconassaince-style, and worked the screws while Bill lifted it up from above. Finally we realized it was hopeless, it would never stay up at such an angle. The only way to keep it up was to put the trunk straight up and down, which, as I stated before, made the top of the tree slant sideways.
One hour and a couple of Mormon-substitute-swear-words later, we had a fuming, walking time-bomb named Bill, and me, picking pine needles out of my hair that were stuck there with tree sap, but at least we had a tree that would stay up, even if it was at an angle that made it look like it would fall at any second.
It was at that point that we got to tell the kids for the fourth time that we couldn't decorate the tree tonight.
So, our deformed tree that has been sitting in its sad, naked state for four days is still un-adorned, except for five Hello Kitty ornaments that Macy picked out at Target and insisted on hanging. And now it points to our kitchen instead of the sky.
Merry Christmas.

Mall Walking For Dummies

So, my friend Kim asked me if I wanted to go walking today. This worked out perfectly, since it was Monday and of course "the diet started today." I was determined to eat healthy today and exercise would fit right in with my determination to lose weight.

We decided to walk at the mall because it's warm inside. I have never walked at the mall, but I figured, walking is walking.

Nope.

My first problem was that I could have sworn I heard Kim say that three laps around the mall was one mile. See, the way my brain works when it comes to numbers is I don't remember detail or order. So what my brain chose to retain was the number three. That's it.

So we get to the mall, each with our strollers, raring to go, and I start walking brisquely at my usual "walking" pace, meaning, the quick pace I always use when I'm walking to exercise. That's when Kim turns to me and says, "Okay, you ready to speed walk, like, fast walking?"

Uh, crap. This is my speedwalk.

Not wanting to hold Kim back I say, "What's your normal speedwalking pace?"
Kim takes off and two strides later is several feet in front of me.

Um, this is not good.

Trying to come up with a way to make this work and save myself at the same time, I pointed out that my legs were quite a bit shorter than Kim's, and she immediately said, "No problem, we can totally go at your pace."

Well, of course I didn't want to be the reason that Kim had to waste a perfectly good walking session by going at a snail's pace, so I started walking as hard and as fast as I could. My little legs have never moved so fast.

We started down by the movie theater. By the time we were in front of Macy's I was gasping for air and blinking to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Kim is chatting away, her voice totally normal.

Kim: "So then I decided to....."

Oh my gosh my ankles are on fire!

Kim: "and then the funniest thing happened..."

That pain in my chest and down my left arm, that can't be good, right?

Kim: "and I couldn't believe that..."

Keep nodding and smiling and maybe she won't know that your body is going numb.

Two laps around the mall later I begin to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Only one more to go, I can totally do this. I will spend the rest of the day dead on my couch, but I will make it throught this last lap.

And that's when Kim said, "Yeah, we figured out that five laps around the mall is three miles, so let's get some water before our last three laps."

Did she just say three miles? Three miles??!! That was the "three" that I heard, miles?! How could I have been so stupid?

But of course I was not about to be the reason that Kim had to stop early, and besides, you know how you hear about people who are subjected to torture or cruelty or anything else horrible for a long period of time and they sort of go into shut-down mode and their body becomes like a robot and just kind of goes on its own? Well, I had reached that point. I don't know how my legs were still moving, but they were. Somehow I made it through three more laps around the mall. The last three laps were kind of a blur, but I remember Santa saying something to us about "gettin' a lot of laps in."

So, I can't bend my ankles, I pulled something in my left hip, and I had a nightmare during my loooong nap today that I was running on a treadmill that wouldn't stop and Santa was standing there with his reindeer whip saying, "Three more! Three more!"
I think the diet and exercise will resume again next Monday.