Luck o’ The Irish

T-Bone is one lucky, lucky so-and-so. Really, he is. And I don’t mean just because he got me for his bride. HA. I mean he is lucky in contests, sweepstakes, and all-around games of chance. Basically, he wins shit all the time. And as his aforementioned bride, I often reap the benefits of his aforementioned luck.

His latest Major Award? A week for two in Steamboat Springs for the Music Fest! He entered ONE time on the Shiner website, and he won the whole damn shootin’ match. They pay for airfare (which includes First Class on the way back! How obnoxious is that?!) and the hotel (which is right in the thick of the Fest), plus ski rental, lift tickets, and Fest tickets. We just have to pay for grub and extras, but since the only “extra” I’m really interested in is SLEEP, guess who’s coming out ahead on that deal?

Now, I will have to buy some stuff to protect my delicate constitution from the Arctic Elements, but judging by the weather we’ve had lately, I may actually get some use out of it around here, too. I’ve got to wrap up a couple of things at The Job, but Peach and Olive are set for great adventures with Mama Turista for the week. So, other than an appropriate anniversary gift for T-Bone (it’s lottery tickets for Year 12, right?), I think I’m ready to go. In one week!

An Oldie But A Goodie

What a wonderful day we had over here. I hope you and yours are as fat and happy as we are.

I love Christmas carols, and while I'm pretty familiar with most of them, I've never read the full lyrics to this one, nor did I know it was based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Thanks, Public Education. Anyway, it really spoke to me the other day, so I wanted to share. Peace, y'all.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

High Gear

So I just survived hosting three very festive parties in seven days. And I've got the random leftovers to prove it. As well as the "sour stomach," as Abuelita Turista says. I just can't resist ANY of it.

Tomorrow afternoon, I'm off to Mama Turista's to fetch Peach and Olive, who have been encamped there since Thursday. Before we hit the road for the ATX however, we're surprising them with tickets to The Lion King! Peach has seen it, but Olive hasn't, and I know she's going to love it. Who doesn't, really?

When we get home Christmas Eve, all the presents will have magically appeared under the tree since they've been gone, and the enchiladas and tamales will be ready and waiting for dinner. And the Traditional Christmas Lasagna will be on deck in the icebox for Friday.

Basically, I think we're all set, save for the Annual Christmas Light Pilgrimage around the neighborhood, wherein we drive around in our pajamas and look at lights. Not sure how that started, but it's always a big hit.

So if I don't talk to you before then, have a Merry Merry Happy Happy! And please pass the Tums.

Making a List

The tree is done. The other decorations are done. The outside lights are ... well, if I have the energy to tackle the one tree that refuses to work (which is currently residing in the garage), then they're done, too. And the shopping is thisclose to being done, I think, as Peach and Olive have finalized their respective lists.

Olive is sticking with the old standby (horse/unicorn stuff), as well as a set of break-your-own geodes and a play rabbit hutch for the farm. But you know what her Number One Item is? With a bullet? That barely-functioning Snoopy Snow Cone Machine we all had for about two weeks until it split in half whilst trying to "crush" ice cubes or got overrun with ants when we failed to get all the Blue Dye #666 flavoring off of it before leaving it outside for three days. Yes, they still make those, and yes, we are soon to be the proud owners of one. And yes, it's going to fall apart.

This year, I'm pretty sure Peach is just playing along with The Santa Thing for Olive's (and my) sake. Thankfully, she's still wanting actual "toys," not just clothes, or, for heaven's sake, MONEY. In a nutshell, she's after various medical-, detective-, and fashion design-type items, plus two very elusive Barbies. There's always something, right?

I'm trying to remember what I wanted at Peach's age (almost 10), and I'm pretty sure my list started and ended with "Rabbit Fur Coat." Oy. Papa Turista picked it out himself, and he was so excited when I opened it. It was soft and quite warm - and totally scared the shit out of me. While it seemed like such a wonderful thing in theory, the reality of having Peter Cottontail's little pelt on my back was very disturbing, and that's when I decided that maybe the Cool Girls at school weren't so cool after all. That is, until 7th grade, when I just HAD to have that Space Bag purse. So The Coat didn't get worn a whole lot and eventually went the way of our neighbor's tiny maid, Manuela. And ya know what? I think we all learned a little something that Christmas. Indeed.

Lo siento, Pedro. Lo siento.

Ho Ho Huh?

Pretty short on time, but I had to share this with you, my loyal reader(s?). So in the spirit of giving, and to further illustrate my completely justified fear of people in red noses, stop by here.

Anticipation

Well, Happy Advent to you! I love this time of year because Peach and Olive jump, nay LEAP, out of bed every morning to open their Advent calendars, without any objection whatsoever. And these are the same Advent calendars we use every year (from Playmobil), so it’s not like there’s candy or any actual “surprise” involved. I will not question the logic, however, and will just enjoy the next 24 stress-free mornings. Which is okay by me, because the rest of the days and nights are gonna be BEARS, y’all.

I have so much to do this month, it is Certifiably Insane. This week, I have but a few moments of peace (including a haircut/color, Peach’s first guitar recital, and Olive’s teacher conference), because starting this Saturday, it’s all Nutcracker, all the time, for the next week, including FOUR performances, all of which I’m going to. If I make it through that week, I’ve got my annual ornament exchange that Sunday, then two parties at The Job and two school assemblies the next week. That weekend, we’re hosting T-Bone’s work party on Saturday and a neighborhood party on Sunday, then I’m surprising Peach and Olive with tickets to The Lion King on the 23rd. And then it’s all downhill from Christmas Eve, straight through to Peach’s 10th birthday on the 30th, and our anniversary on the 31st. Dang!

In the meantime, I have: to finish decorating (entering hour 15 on The Tree. Yes, just the TREE. It’s the illness, y’all.); shoot off some Christmas cards; schedule the handyman, piano movers, and the carpet people; clean up after said people; clean up after my OWN people; buy everything for Christmas; and, oh yeah, WORK. So, tis the season, and all that jazz.

P.S. Overheard from the back seat this morning:

Olive: Mommy, there’s someone at school who says that Santa Claus isn’t real.

(Peach: Silence, with a look of panic. See here.)

LT: Who said that?

Olive: Well, someone asked me if I thought Santa was real, and I said, of course, he’s real, how else could you ever get the first thing on your Christmas list? And then he said that someone else said that Santa wasn’t real.

LT: Well, I think that’s sad because that person is going to get coal in his stocking, and how fun is that?

Olive: (pause) But wait – coal is a rock, right?

Me and big mouth, forgetting I have a stone-cold rockhound sitting behind me.