Don't mind me, the auto inflatable PFD vest I'm wearing under my apron is merely a safety precaution. I feel like I'm starting to drown...okay, sinking a little. I have so much to do. Still. And. I need to beat the weather to get it all done.
I don't anticipate any fire alarms, but just in case, I have my fire extinguisher close at hand. The whistle is clinched between my teeth in case I need to summons the emergency response team--aka sleeping till noon teenagers.
I think I will catch my breath when everyone gathers around the dining room table Christmas Eve for a feast of holiday cheer. While they will be thinking meat, I'll be thinking something stiff on the rocks.
Or. Say. This.
Santa Hat Martini
1 part Malibu Rum
3 parts cranberry juice
grenadine for extra red color
dip rim of martini glass in powdered sugar/water solution
then roll glass in coconut
add mini candy cane to glass
We all were in training, pumping the muscle--fist to mouth with loads of sugared candy treats all week all day. It's how Santa prepares to pull his sleigh...that jolly ole' elf knows a few things about speed so we took our pointers from him. The big race was both exciting and sad; as it was the final Truman Reindeer Relay (next year Truman returns to a middle school). To get the teams all reved up we were sung by a chorus of 860 screaming, ear drum piercing, joyful kids with this song:
The best team of course, without a doubt, was the Vixens. We stand to correct anyone who dares to challenge the claim. Whatever it is you may hear on the streets we were not cheaters. We played fair and by the rules our own rules, collecting only one "present" at a time. The bag of coal we received for a prize was undoubtedly a prize of jealousy. Look at us, who wouldn't feel threatened, we exude that vixen spirit and a ton of athleticism.
Now I know all you smarty pants out there are saying hey a vixen is a female fox so how did you get stuck with a dude on a team titled for the hot and luscious reindeer type? Well, let me teach you a little something about having a trick up the ole' sleeve...a male fox is called a dog and that Vice Principal not only dons the elf costume like no one else can but he can run that wood floor gym like an Alaskan Malamute. Besides being a "fox" knows no gender. Wink, wink.
And so I present to you the highlights in a photographic story line.
The whistle blew and they were off...
then I lost balance on the shotty scooter they try to pass off as a Santa sleigh...
Dr. Todd the VP and Vixen Rachel show the rest of the reindeers
how to style while racing--
elf suit for one and Coach furry boats for another...
Vixen Barb and I take a second run on the course
to collect just three one of Santa's gifts...
anyone have a rubber chicken on their Christmas list?
Some crazy third and fourth grade teachers, who shall remain unnamed Jane and Teri
will need to get an eye exam over the holidays...or quit playing favorites with the lists.
Listing me first on this ridiculous display of envy is a big old pile of reindeer poop!...
what kind of relay requires walking not running?
The bag of coal wasn't even worth photographing.
Scribes of the list I warn...don't close your eyes or turn your backs,
I was an elf this morning. In the briefness of my elfhood I was privileged to witness a few Christmas miracles. The occasions of anonymity I saw humans who were humbled and awe struck with gratitude. As difficult as it is to see people who never before have been in a state of needed help; it is spirit filling at this season of Christmas that lessons of sharing and caring present. Cars filled to the brim, some needing to make several trips to transport all the collected goods. It warms the soul. Fills the heart.
Adopt-a-Family.
There is always that one. The mom who not long ago told their child that Christmas would not grace the home this year. When presented with a bag of wrapped gifts, a second bag heaped with the treats for a perfect Christmas stocking, an envelope with gift cards, along with a few other neccessaries.... That one receiver who is thankful to tears. Whose gratitude hardly needs words because it is seen in the eyes and is the one who cannot stop saying "thank you".
It's that one that makes the job--worth it!
So when I made a quick run to Walgreens, the wind whipping and the air with its frigid bite...I scrapped every last bit of loose change from the bottom of my purse dropping it in the red kettle. I usually grab whatever change I can, no digging, just a fast grab. Tonight though I decided with my heart filled with the day's memory that I couldn't just make it a fast grab. Sometimes...
The joy of giving is expecting nothing back in return.
It happens every year. Every year I dread it. The dreaded question. It isn't so much the question I dread it is the fact that others can't ssshhhh, keep there mouths closed. I sort of understand when it happens with fifth graders...but second graders...it breaks my heart.
Here's my true story
Mrs. Avery is waved over to the lunch table
Second Grader #1: Ask her, go head and ask her.
Me: Ask me what?
Second Grader #2: Mrs Avery, is Santa real?
Me: Yes, most definitely, he is real!
Second Grader #3: Do you believe?
Me: Of course I believe. Every year I wake up and under my tree are lots of presents.
Second Grader #1: See I told. Tommy (name changed to protect identity) was wrong. He told us Santa isn't real.
Second Grader #2: See guys out of 179 people 1 does not believe.
Me: No boys more like 1 in a 1,000,000,000 do not believe. But I BELIEVE!
Then Mrs. Avery corners the lad who is breaking spirits and stomping on the magic of Christmas
Me: Tommy. Whatever your feelings are about Christmas you need to keep them to yourself. Do you understand what I am saying? We aren't going to talk Christmas feelings at lunch.
Tommmy looks up in a sheepish style.
Me: Okay Tommy?
Tommy: Yes.
The little turd knew exactly what I was talking about.
Of course it happened again, the next day, at fifth grade lunch. This time I was sitting at the table across from the kid who was in the mood be a spirit killer. I gave him a kick under the table to hush him. Even though he tried again to profess his knowledge that Santa does not exist, another lad swore he had proof on video of the jolly ole' elf in his red "costume" --to which I proclaimed it to be a "uniform"-- he was prepared to present as proof.
So to all these nay sayers I say this...it too is a true story:
"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
"VIRGINIA O'HANLON. "115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Okay, that is a silly question for me, because when I'm talking about decorating inside our abode an all-women affair. At Keeper's Castle King Ralph just sits and trys to direct from his La-Z-Boy thrown. In our 24 years he still hasn't learned no one cares what he thinks when it comes to holiday decorating... all we care is that he drags the beastly tree from the basement to the upstairs.
I think if I left the decorating and tree up to King Ralph we might end up with something that looks like this.
My little brother and I made plans to do a bit of Christmas shopping together. He needs my help when shopping for his three stylish nieces. We decided tonight was a good night to order that BIG pizza he has been dying to order. When he picked up the BIG pizza, the pizza guy wanted to know what he was driving. The BIG pizza would not fit in a Smart car, or even a Ford Focus...this bad boy needed the bed of a truck. It also comes out the back door, it won't fit through the front door.
D put her hand in the picture so you can get a feel for the thirty inches of brick oven pizza-deliciousness. This bad boy did not come sliced. It was a work out slicing the half sausage half everything pizza. It induces song.
When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie That's amore When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine That's amore Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling And you'll sing "Vita bella" Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay Like a gay tarantella
No one was a gay tarantella. No happy dancers instead...
BEWARE--a pizza this size causes gas.
Not in women but in forty year old brothers.First brother dropped his bomb in my beautiful new truck, in which the windows needed to be rolled down to let the 20* frigid air purge the cabin. Then while I was digging for my keys on a mall bench I was left in a cloud of toxic fumes as a giggly brother left me suffocating as old men where dropping to the floor right in front of me. So beware when ordering a fifty pound pizza. Why is it men have no problem cutting the cheese in public? Not to mention think it is funny?
Once I got my oxygen levels restored we headed to Target: the momdom of shopping mecas,where I purchased these holiday delights for myself.
It is a puppet show on my feet. I perform Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Jolly Old St. Nicholas. You know who doesn't like my Kris Kringle feet? The dog! Uli went on the attack. Then Santa scolded Uli and reminded her who brings her giant meaty treat on December 25--she backed off.
Okay my Santa feet are scurrying to the medicine cabinet for a couple of Tums to calm the effects of the BIG pizza pie and call it a night.
There is nothing like an early start to Thanksgiving--530am.
A start that did not summons to stuff a turkey bird in the oven...
instead to dress girls in uniforms for a parade down St. Louis' Market Street.
The one and only time I have been to the Thanksgiving Day "Christmas in St. Louis" parade was in 2004 when Princess A marched. Back in 2004 it was beautiful day.
In 2010 it will be remembered as a dreary-cold-windy-rainy day.
And the band marches on.
No one complains as we watch our favorite band take to the pavement--
where they placed fourth in the competition
with the bonus of outstanding drum major and percussion.
Well M did moan a tad about how hard holding a flag pole can be
as the wind attempts to take it sailing from her hands.
She fought back and kept a hold.
For just a little while the weather calmed and we were all smiles watching
There is only one other person in the world who would enjoy watching the popper scoopers in the parade more than me and my pal Terri...and that's Nellie.
I wonder how one gets this prestigious job?
Do you volunteer?
Are you appointed?
Maybe it's a punishment for being a crappy (no pun intended) employee...
or are those criminals serving community service--those are the police mounty.
Nothing says Happy Thanksgiving like a good shovel and a 1.5 mile walk whiffing horse dung.
Try being placed next to those guys at dinner--no thank you!
Where else in the world can you go to see Clifford the Big Red Dog all stretched out in a sexy center fold pose looking more like a wiener dog than a bloodhound?
I'm guessing no where!
Only in St. Louis.
Thirsty for some hot chocolate?
There was this kid whose parents made him dress like a penguin and a bill board peddling beverage screaming no figgy pudding for you till you sell the hot cocoa.
Ha kid we have our own hot chocolate--and it's spiked.
Next time you go grocery shopping you may want to consider this cart as an option.
As the balloons began to mimic in the rain and wind an episode of Sanford and Son, with an echo of Fred saying "it's the big one" as they were going down--we decided to bolt.
I know you are thinking before Santa's appearance and the snow?
But bolt we did!
Got all cleaned up and looking good...
where we went over the river and through the woods [and snow]--literally.
For this:
Aaaahhhh the proverbial turkey shot.
Now that I have paid homage to the turkey.
It's time to begin the next season:
Commencing with tuning the radio to constant Christmas tunes.
Usually I spend the weekend and the weekdays prior to Thanksgiving stressed as I scribble and scratch my menu and grocery list. Shop and beat folks down the isles and around the turkey case, as the perfect bird is lifted to the cart. I unearth special dishes and polish the tarish off the silverware. I set the table. Arrange the vases with a mix of Fall flowers. I chop, mix, brine and bake. The house fills with the aroma only Thanksgiving offers up--nutmeg, sage, thyme, rosemary....
Except this year.
This year King Ralph's cousin and his wife decided they wanted a turn at hosting the family feast. Who was I to arrgue the offer. As much as I am finding a measure of relief from the always welcomed stress that hosting can be--it seems I am beginning to miss that stress. I love stretching the table from one end of the Great room to the other while collecting every dining chair I can rummage up in the house. Filling the house with aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, gorging on a feast of foods and laughing through a night of games...aaaaahhhh horn of plenty.
Keeper's castle kitchen is silenced this year. The oven is cool. Still my horn of plenty runneth over. And. So. I present, the annual list of thanks. My list can be rearranged in order of listing with the exception of one and two.
1. God
2. Family
3. Dog
4. Friends
5. Laughter
6. Job
7. Medial insurance
8. Health
9. My new truck
10. fresh laundry
11. tears of joy
12. tears of pride
13. football games
14. marching bands
15. a good movie
16. sunny days on the playground
17. mountain hikes
18. campfires
19. classic rock music
20. a good pillow
21. bandwiches
22. parades
23. trivia nights
24. ice cream
25. Milky Ways
26. Flip Video camera
27. a new razor to shave my legs
28. shampoo in my shower
29. toilet paper on the roller
30. TIVO and DVR
31. Glee
32. show choir
33. neighbors
34. new rental neighbors who mow the lawn
35. pumpkin pie
36. good books
37. Tostita Roasted Garlic and Black Bean chips
38. Rack-o
39. Yahtzee
40. clean sheets
41. ice water w/ a slice of lemon
42. Snuggle bamboo silk and blue iris fabric softner
43. my laptop
44. my camera
45. skin kissed by the sun
46. menstral cycle free months
47. hair color
48. Cardinal baseball
49. Project Runway
50. Prop L passing
51. Good doctors
52. teachers who teach with passion
53. motorcycle rides with the spousal unit
54. raked yard
55. drive-in movie gatherings
56. flip flops
57. good choices teenagers make
58. vacations in the camper
59. power naps
And the list goes on and on....
I hope your horn of plenty is as plentiful a harvest as mine.
Now if you don't mind I have a parade to get to, so I can burrrrrr freeze my turkey tail off watching.
Me: Hey King Ralph, we snapped a few Christmas card photos today. Wanna see?
KR: Sure.
Me: There's these, pretty girls....
KR: Oh I like.
Me: and these, silly girls. The girls want silly girls on the card.
KR: I don't like.
Me: To bad dude!
Really since when does the only man in the house get any say in how to create the Christmas cards--NEVER! Now if he aggravated himself with years of moans from girls about how to fix hair and what to wear...if he ordered the cards, addressed and stamped the seventy-five cards, fought the post office parking lot to mail'em all...well, then, maybe. But still, probably not.
I toiled between which silly photo to use.
This craziness was a close contender.
I thought folks might think that snarly beast in the middle, known as Princess A
riped D's hands off leaving her with just wrists.
I wonder if you can guess who in trio plays the jester at home?
In the end I decided to go with the original crazy shot.
Because gosh damnit I want to be real this year.
Showing off their beauty and brains.
Which shows the brains are a lil' crazed.
Here you have it: finished product.
The only thing that could have made the card even better is if the doghter
would have paused from her backyard lap race to join in the fun.
Oh well, maybe next year.
Enough with Christmas...it's time to show a bit of respect to the turkey this week.
HAIL TO THE TURKEY! May he be pardoned only to my table [and plate] on Thursday.
While the kids are given the next two school days off to recover from their self induced sugar high from bite size candies--to which no signs of left overs are at this house...darn! I am left with this Kodak moment to remember M, I mean Lady Gaga, on Hallows Eve hanging out at Hugh Hefner's bash.
The dog on the other hand is rather pleased its all over-- she can shed her shark costume. Although Uli shouldn't get to use to not wearing it; A and M purchased her the fancy get-up and seem to enjoy torching her with the wear. They have been entertaining themselves with the shark for a month now. Poor doggy!
While the kids plan to laze around (we'll see about that) I can be found outside tackling a yard full of leaves. Much to my chagrin.
One last thing...how did it get to be November already? Not to panic anyone but there is only 53 days till Christmas...55 days till M and I leave to attend the Tournament of Roses Parade.
(outside the haunted sounds of werewolves and ghosts loom around the front yard grave yard)
Post chili and Nathan's hot dogs; I sit here sipping my Halloween appletini, waiting anxiously for the next trick-r-treater to come score my soda pop and cheese popcorn...
(hold on the door bell is ringing)
(Mrs. Potato Head greets the ghouls and goblins)
I say it every year, I'll say it again, what is wrong with kids?! I know they tell jokes, but when I open the door can't they say "trick-r-treat". Instead they stand there staring at me wondering why the heck I am not just tossing them the goods. I'm having to invite, some even beg for the joke--what's a vampires favorite dog? A blood hound (sorry kid I can't be stumped). Even in the world of begging kids have lost their skill, there manners.
Princess A, King Ralph and I are reminiscing about Halloweens past. M aka Lady Gaga and D, no costume party girl, are at parties. Parties happen on a Sunday October 31, when school is off for the next two days.
I was nine years old--back in the days when the neighborhood streets where crowded and costumes were created from whatever you could put together from the closest--when I got to a house with ghoulish music coming from behind the door of the house that was lit with black lights. The home owner opened the door and invited us kids in to the living room that had been emptied of all its contents. All that was in there was a casket with a man lying "dead" still inside. I remember trembling with fear. I still am not a fan of haunted houses--why the heck would anyone purposely want to be scared...and pay big bucks for the fright?! The woman took my hand, lead me to the casket where the living dead man slowly raised from the casket and handed me a piece of candy, never uttering a word. CREEPY! The memory is still haunting all these years later. As an adult and homeowner all I can think about is the work and effort that had to go into clearing a living room for one night. No thank you.
King Ralph recalls dressing like a girl and being asked what he was. He had to explain he was a boy dressed as a girl. I am not sure if that is good or bad?
Princess A likes remembering all the wonderful hand made costumes King Ralph's aunt and I constructed together each year. She was always so adorable. Now she constructs her own. She also remembers the post Halloween candy rule: three pieces a day for two weeks then all sweet treats...poof, disappeared. It didn't matter if they picked three full size candy bars or three mini Tootsie rolls--three was the magic number. Believe me they picked carefully and wisely. When the girls got older and "wiser" they learned the art of sneaking. Three turned into six.
Well it's nine o'clock, I turned the ghoulish background music off after a total of fifteen goblins this year. I got a "cool treat" from one kid, so I know I did good with my usual choice. Still fifteen kiddos seems mighty lame for Halloween.
Boy-oh-boy I miss how Halloween was when I was a kid!
I'll be heading to the store soon to pick up a few cases of Vess orange and lemon-lime soda--my Halloween trick-r-treat give away. I'll also be brushing up on current dumb jokes so I am not so stumped when kids start trading the tricks for my treat. In St. Louis you just don't ring the doorbell, scream trick-r-treat, hold out the candy bag and collect the loot. Nope in St. Louis folks like to make the kids work for the treat...we want tricks! Jokes count as a trick. Actually it may be the only trick because I haven't seen any kids preforming magic or circus feats on my front porch. There isn't much risk of liability is a dumb joke.
While the kids in the neighborhood are at home trying to devise plans to stump ole' Keeper, I spent yesterday having a bit of Halloween fun myself. Every year the office gets a themed makeover. Like elves in the night we all contribute what time we have available in our after work schedules to help make the transformation happen. Some more than others, some not none at all. Two of our gals worked transforming to the late hours. It is always fun the next day to see the children's faces as they gaze in amazement at our creativity as they parade through.
We've had some great themes in the past. My favorite was 2007. It's just fun being an adult with permission to have kid fun. This marks the end of a long rein of Halloween office fun. The elementary school will be making a transformation of its own, to a middle school next school year--the curtain comes down.
And. So. I present, for the final time, the office: Halloween style.
Welcome to Oz.
By the time the day was over Glinda the Good Witch of the North was glad she wore her yellow polka dot Chucks...
before making a quick thirty minute transformation into regular mom honoring the Seniors; my girlie at Senior Night. Regular Mom wears black boots and a nanook.
Now it's time to carve the pumpkin, dig out the spooky mood music and place the tomb stones in the yard...
