You know, that little holiday in December..

It’s like this, people. I have these kids. And this husband. And some whack-o’s who call themselves my friends. Then of course we have laundry (mounds and mounds and piles and piles of it). Along with dirty dishes. Crusty toothpaste on the sink. Bottles of wine that will not drink themselves.

What I’m trying to say is that finding the time to sit at the computer and conjure up articulate accounts of my life that, let’s face it, absolutely no one (except for my mom occasionally) gives a rip about is tough.

Today, however; I told all of the whack-o’s/friends to take a hike, locked my children in a shed (Waiting for the phone call from Hance), shoved the laundry under my bed, ignored the grime covering every surface of this house, slammed a bottle of wine and here I am. With pictures of Christmas.


On Christmas Eve the girls opened these beautiful little gown sets from Allen’s mom. They proceeded to twirl and swish and giggle and “MOMMY TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS IT’S SO PRETTY” for a solid hour. Gramma is in serious trouble though, because now any and all other pajamas are scoffed at by the darlings. Why eat jello when you have crème brulee?

Ah, there’s Hubs, aka Daddy, aka infinite toy putter together-er. He is just so scrumptious when he’s working though, isn’t he?

And Me? Moi? Yours Truly? What am I doing while sweet Hubs is assembling 455 dolls? Well I’m, uh, um – I’m directing traffic. Yup. That’s it. Just trying to keep the public safe from the ice. I am absolutely NOT skating on the ice, by myself, on Christmas Day, while my hubby is single-handedly warding off the restless demands of the darlings on a Santa-high. Why, no self-respecting and decent mother would do THAT.