Tradition: Stringing Popcorn and Sugar Bombs

Christmas' of my youth, hold a fond place in my memory.

 Foxy would go buck wild with donning and decorating at 694 Harriet Avenue.  I do believe, and my brothers can correct me if I'm wrong, that Foxy un-loaded two bedroom closets filled to the brim with boxes of holiday decorations.  And that didn't even include all the shit she made my dad take down from the rafters.  Foxy was not messing around.  I mean, we had  little Santa towels in the bathroom.  And we had not one, but TWO trees.

That's right.  This ensured that, we kids, could decorate our tree ghetto style...ie: homemade ornaments made with glittered macaroni, strung popcorn, and empty beer cans.  You get the picture.  It was located in our family room.

And Foxy could have her "fancy" tree that was decorated with sparkly glass ornaments in the living room.  The living room that we never used, come to think of it.  EXCEPT on Christmas morning!  Another reason Christmas rocked...we got to go INTO the living room.

Our usual, strictly regimented TV schedule, was loosened up a bit too.  My brothers and I waited with anticipation for Charlie Brown's Christmas special, Rudolph, and Frosty the Snowman before the days of recording.  We watched them (gasp) live.

I have found that as Tom and I go about raising our little family, we have started some traditions of our own around this time.  One being, that the girls go with Daddy and pick out a tree, while Mommy takes a shower.  This year, Daddy had a 35 dollar budget and the girls made sure he stuck to it.  I love how my offspring morph into "Control Freak Michelle" with proper guidance when I'm not even around.

Next, comes the stringing of popcorn.  It doesn't get more white trash than this, but the girls loooove it.  And so each year, I pop like 36 bags of microwave popcorn, and they're off.  Until someone sits on a needle that her sister left on the seat of the chair.

Another tradition, is the decorating of Christmas cookies.  I hate cooking and baking.  It's like a cruel joke how at this time of year, folks are in their kitchens, ENJOYING making edible delicacies for their loved ones.

I DREAD it.  I'm not good at it.  I do it because I started the stupid tradition and the girls love it.  WHAT was I thinking?

 So here's the compromise:  we bake ONE thing.  Cut out sugar cookies, from a package.  The best part is "decorating" them.  But then, if you have ever participated in this type of activity with young kids, you'd know that all frosting colors morph into one grayish hue.  Top those 5 inches of gray frosting on a cut out cookie, with more sprinkles, and M & M's than you have ever seen in your life, and you've got a real live sugar bomb.

We actually put these bombs on plates and give them away to our neighbors, as though they are gifts.  In fact, if you are lucky enough to be one of the lucky recipients of these delicious, hand made, cookie plates,  it means you are truly loved.  Really, you are.  Loved, a lot.  So much, you'll probably go into a sugar coma.

The Faaantasy of Lights is another yearly tradition. We enjoy the drive through light displays in Vasona, while listening to Christmas music, and are in and out in about 20 minutes.

 If you've done this, then you already know you are given TWO pairs 3-D glasses, even if you have 12 people in your car.  This makes for interesting negotiations in the car between siblings.  I swear, one year, I'm gonna call dibs on BOTH pairs of 3-D glasses, smoke the wacky tabacky, and really enjoy the Fantasy of Lights.

Christmas in the Park in downtown is not for wimps.  We do this, but usually only after ingesting large amounts of alcohol, and taking light rail.  We have found, from past experience, that we are less likely to be involved in any sort of gang cross-fire, if we just walk quietly through with our flasks.  Again, the kids looove it.

We have also started watching one of my favorite movies of all time, "It's A Wonderful Life".   But while watching last year, and George is contemplating whether or not to jump off the bridge, Emma looked up at me and said woefully, "Mama, it's not a wonderful life...it's a horrible life for him."  I assured her, it would get better.  I, for one, firmly believe that George Bailey is a total dream boat.

This year is the first time the girls have really gotten excited to give gifts to each other, and it's so fun to watch.

But I wonder, is it bad that I don't even ask my kids to make a list?  Or write a letter to Santa?   Am I denying them a critical piece of their childhood?  Will they one day be sitting on their shrink's couch, and say, "My mom never even had me write a letter to Santa Claus...WTF? "

 I mean, as a kid, I loooved looking through the Sears Toy catalog and circling EVERything.  I guess I want the girls to appreciate each other and not stuff. In fact, Emma was making a little list the other day, and she asked Abby if she wanted to do the same.  Her sister replied, "No, I don't need to, because I know that you'll share your gifts with me, and I'll share with you."

Wishing you a safe, loving, and tradition-filled holiday.

 Watch out for the cookies.

Paging Dr. Hot

It takes A LOT to embarrass me.  Or leave me speechless.  Or make me blush.

Well, I successfully accomplished all 3 of those in the last 24 hours, in my follow up visit with Dr.Hot.  See, I'm going to Vegas in April for a friend's 40th birthday, and I need to have that garden hose removed (ie: my varicose vein), so I can rock the short dress.  I DO have priorities, you know.

So I had an appointment with the good doctor, but as usual, was in a HUGE rush leaving the house with baby in tow.  Anyone who has ever tried leaving the comfort of their own home with a new baby, knows that the preparation is like planning a trip...abroad...for 3 months.

You are forced to ask yourself things like...Do I have diapers? Do I have wipes?   Do I have an extra bottle?  Am I wearing clean underwear?

See, I forgot to ask myself that last question, and remembered that I wasn't wearing ANY, as I pulled into the hospital parking lot.  I started to panic a bit.

But then I came up with a plan, while changing into the hospital gown.  If  I  tucked the gown neatly between my legs, just so, and didn't move one inch, he'd never notice.  

My plan was working perfectly, until he walked into the room, and greeted me with a hug.  

I didn't budge...he'll have to stoop down to hug me, I thought.  Which he did.  So far, so good.

For those of you not familiar with Dr.Hot, please read my previous blog.  The conversation that ensued went as follows:

Dr.Hot:  So let's take a look at that vein, Michelle.

Me:  Can we do that while I'm sitting down, since I'm holding the baby?  (see, I was using Charlotte to cover my back, so to speak)

Dr.Hot:  Um, okay.  (I hold up my leg like a ballerina...a ballerina who isn't very flexible,  wearing a chastity belt, with a hospital gown tucked between her legs).

Me:  I also feel some pressure in my groin area.

Dr.Hot:  Let's look.

Me:  Let's look, like right now?  Can't you just kind of take my word for it, and we'll leave it at that.

Dr.Hot:  No Michelle.  I need to look at it.

Here it comes, here it comes, I thought. I have to warn him.  I'm just gonna throw myself under the bus right now.

Me:  Dr.Hot, I'm not wearing underwear.

  

Dr.Hot, totally unfazed and professional:  Okay, let's take a look.

I let him look briefly, as I turn all shades of crimson.  And then I have an epiphany:  it is WAY better to NOT know your doctor when he's looking at your parts.

Now I'll share something with you that I normally don't tell anyone.  I feel extremely self-conscience about it, and it embarrasses me, so that I wear a swim skirt to cover it.  But I have a fatty cyst on the bottom of my right bum cheek.   So I figured, if Dr.Hot is cutting on my right leg, maybe I should have that knocked out too, you know?

Me:  I also have a cyst that I would like to have removed.

Dr.Hot:  Okay, where is it?

All new shades of crimson appear across my face, neck and shoulders.

I tell him.  He wants to look.  I agree, reluctantly.  I swear, I felt like I was 12 years old.  

Me:  Dr.Hot, this is just awful.  I'm very embarrassed here.  Is this really necessary?

Dr.Hot:  Since there will be three incision sites, do you want to be sedated?

Me:  Yes, sedation sounds great.  (how about you sedate me RIGHT NOW? or shoot me?)

Dr. Hot says he'll set up the procedure for January. 

And all I can think of is:  Dr. Hot totally saw my parts.  Like ALL of my parts.  That was mortifying.  That was AWFUL.   I just ate a huge slice of humble pie.  This will be a blog.