I sent out my Christmas cards last week. I feel very led to make that point very blatant and well-known because I usually procrastinate with those types of things and the fact that I managed to get them in the mail before Christmas Eve, well, yay. So anyway, because I love my blog friends as much as my real-life friends, I wanted to wish you all Merry Christmas too, Christmas card style. Pretend you found this in your mailbox, stamped and sealed, and perhaps even with a spritz of perfume.

Merry Christmas, friends.

(From inababycarriage.com.)

Rob and I spent the entire day after Thanksgiving decorating our house for Christmas, which was very exciting as this will be the first Christmas in our new house. Apparently we ignored the child labor laws and worked Avalon too hard because she crashed right on the living room floor.

Thanksgiving 2009 was a great one. Not only did we stuff ourselves silly with two turkey dinners – one with Rob’s family and another with mine – but it was, of course, our first Thanksgiving with Avalon which made it better than ever. It was a long and eventful day, but she hung in there like a trooper and even took a few naps along the way.

Nap #1 at Grandma and Grandpa T’s. Also, outfit #1.

Nap #2 at Grandma and Grandpa B’s. And, yes, outfit #2. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t commit to one outfit. They were both too adorable. I’m realizing that that is the consequence of having a daughter.

After dinner Avalon helped me with my exercises. She likes to assist me with my crunches.

There is almost nothing cuter than a flying baby wearing tights.

By the end of the day, Avalon had had enough. She was one tired puppy and fell asleep in her Great Great Grandma’s (I know! Can you believe it?! Isn’t Avalon lucky?) arms. Grandma M. still has the touch after all these years!

Avalon’s crafty Aunt Courtney made her this adorable onesie the other night using the outline of Avalon’s handprint. Is it not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? Put Avalon inside of it and it’s a double whammy of CUTE. I think this turkey is even more mouthwatering and edible than the turkey that will be on the table tomorrow.

This Thanksgiving I’m obviously most thankful for the newest addition to our family, my little baby girl. Every day with her is a complete joy and I’m so happy that she’s in my life.

Last week while running some random errands I stopped in TJ Maxx to see if they had any of the beautiful glass apothecary jars that I had seen on their shelves before. I had eyeballed those jars for years, never able to commit to spending the money on them, but knowing full-well that they would look perfect somewhere in my house. Finally on that random Thursday last week I decided it was time to bring them home. Surprisingly, however, when I found them in the store they weren’t the normal large jars I had seen before, they were miniature, cuter versions of their former selves, perfect for sitting as a centerpiece on my dining room table with some seasonal candy inside of them.

Although the stores have already nose-dived into the holiday spirit with their twinkle lights, Christmas music, and red and green candy strewn all through the aisles, I wasn’t ready to give in yet. Not yet. Not until Thanksgiving has come and gone. So instead I tried to find fall-ish candy with which to fill my new pretty jars: candy corn (duh), dark chocolate Reese’s peanut butter cups (because of the color of the wrapper and, okay, BECAUSE THEY ARE AWESOME), and peanut butter and jelly M&M’s (which, although they have a fall color scheme, are absolutely disgusting. Don’t buy them. I’m warning you).

Thus is my beautiful new centerpiece. The only unfortunate part is that there is a certain someone who lives with me that keeps dipping into the M&M’s because he seems to think that they taste good. HE IS SO WRONG.

Yesterday I received an email from some random ticket retailer about upcoming U2 concerts. If you read my blog way back when (when exactly, you ask? Oh, you remember, those days when I was new to blogging and a really crappy writer. Remember? Yes, those days.), you may recall me writing a post about concerts I wanted to see sometime in my lifetime, and of course it’s obvious, SINCE I’M WRITING THIS BLOG POST, that U2 was on that very list. So I naturally was really excited to see that they were going to be performing in Chicago next year and immediately asked Rob if we should bite the monetary bullet and buy tickets.

We decided to take the plunge and spend the (lots of) money to buy some killer tickets for their concert next summer at Soldier Field. However, since we never did get around to planting that money tree in our backyard, I made Rob promise that the tickets would be our Christmas present to each other. And even though he “promised” I still have my doubts about Rob because he loves to buy gifts for people. Anyone. Hey You, want a present? Rob will buy one for you. Buying gifts is like some kind of trippy high for him, and okay, I kind of like that quality about him, like when I got home from Florida a couple of weeks ago and he had a gift waiting for me on my pillow. No matter that it was in one of those pink bags from that one lingerie store in the mall, NO MATTER, I SAID. That point is, he’s thoughtful. So I wouldn’t be surprised if, come Christmas morning, Rob has more gifts for me after we promised each other we wouldn’t do that. And then I would feel bad because I took our promise seriously and didn’t have anything to give to him Christmas morning.

Yeah, he would totally do that to me, DANG IT, HE’S TOO NICE.

Happy Halloween!

Even though Avalon is only a six week-old little shrimp, I was determined to take her to the pumpkin patch this weekend for some fall fun. Gotta start traditions early, I say. We took my parents with us, not only because I like them but also because we needed some official photographers. Heh.

My little punkin needed her own little punkin. Just her size.

She’s there, under all those blankets, I swear.

I took this picture so that down the road when Avalon asks me for a pony (it’s bound to happen. She’s a girl.), I can tell her that Mamie and Grandpa already got her a pony, she was just really, really little at the time and doesn’t remember it. Motherhood has already taught me a valuable lesson, that is ALWAYS THINK AHEAD.

Me and my favorite little person.

The fourth of July is always a bittersweet holiday for me.

Not for a deeply emotional reason, like because I have a family member in the armed forces (though I do greatly appreciate all that they do for us and am proud of my country), but because every summer it always feels as though the fourth of July represents the beginning of the end. Here we are in the throes of my favorite season, enjoying all of the delightful sun and warmth and watermelon juice dripping down our chins, then along comes July fourth and BAM! summer is all downhill from there. Before I can determine how much SPF to wear on any given day, fall is already here. School is back in session. Cookouts and pool days and suntans are over. Winter depression is right on the horizon.

Also on the negative side: fireworks.

To be honest, I am a bit of a hater when it comes to fireworks. The only fireworks displays that I find worthwhile are those at Disney World, particularly the ones at Epcot each night that are choreographed to music and fancy mood-lighting around all of the countries and which probably cost more than twenty times my monthly mortgage payment per night just to make people oooh and ahhh for less than thirty minutes.

I am a fireworks gold digger.

So each summer beginning about a week before the fourth of July when people decide to start shooting off their own hillbilly, jankety fireworks in their backyards I begin to get fiercely irritated. Really, what is the point of them?

Are these fireworks cool to look at? No. Let’s be honest, they’re from the temporary retail place that used to be a used car lot which has an an obnoxious hand-painted sign on an old piece of plywood that reads CHEAP FIREWURKS! and they’re really loud and not even pretty when they burst up a soaring twelve feet into the sky and they’re LAME.

Are they loud and obnoxious and horribly annoying to my ears? Yes, yes, and yes.

Are they really worth all of the money that people spend on them? Can you eat them or wear them? Then the answer is obviously NO.

Do they make my dog turn into a raging lunatic? He has totally made himself an appointment at the loony bin.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when we came home from spending the fourth at my parents’ house around ten o’ clock that night to see our neighbors parked in the empty lot across the street from our house lighting firework after firework, one right after another. The proximity of the explosives to our house, coupled with the fact that Oliver was so hyped up and nervous that his eyeballs shot out of his head and were dragging along the floor next to him, put my eight-months-pregnant, tired, cranky self a tad bit on edge.

All I wanted to do was drag myself into bed and call it night, but of course first priority was to let Oliver outside to go pee one last time before bedtime. Somehow I managed to lure him out into the backyard in between BOOMS! and WHEEEES!, but unfortunately he was only able to sniff around and hold his shit together for three seconds before another firework exploded and he came unglued and ran back to the house, scratching like a fool on the sliding door to be let inside like a little pansy.

That was the point when I was all, okay dog, if you enjoy the feeling of your bladder brimming with urine and on the verge of exploding, similar to THOSE FIREWORKS THAT WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE, and would like to endure that kind of torture until 8:00 tomorrow morning, BE MY GUEST.

And with that, he went into his (own) bed in the laundry room for the night, and I went to bed 60% agitated, 40% feeling like a bad mother knowing that he’d have to hold it for what would surely feel like a sweet forever, and 10% high on residual firework fumes.

Now repeat this scenario until approximately next Sunday when people decide that the fourth of July is actually over and quit with the stupid fireworks, and that is the current story of my life. In fact, right now? At 8:28 in the evening, when it’s not even dark out? FIREWORKS BEING LOUD AND OLIVER BARKING AND FLIPPING OUT AND MAMA IS GOING TO LOOOOOSE ITTTTT!!!

Dear Winter,

I thought I was done with you. Today is April 6; you were supposed to have gone away three weeks ago and left me alone for at least another eight months. Didn’t you know there are three whole seasons left until you have to come back and ruin my life? Just when I was thoroughly enjoying the sun and the fifty degree temperatures, you roll back into town like a total killjoy.  Truth be told, I have never liked you. Sometimes I can pretend that we’re friends, or at least amiable acquaintances, but that only really happens around Christmastime and after that you are dead to me. DEAD TO ME.

Quit screwing with me,

Kaley

*****

Dear Wool Winter Coat,

I thought I was done with you. I put you away in the back of the closet not needing you as of late and traded you in for my trench. But alas, you had to creep your way out of the closet and adorn my body yet again today. Usually I think you’re pretty cute the way you fit me so well and create the illusion of a long and lean silhouette. Today though? You made me resemble Baby Huey, what with buttons barely buttoning and All The Gaping going on. I already knew I looked fat, but thanks for the reassurance! Thumbs up!

See you next year (if I can forgive you by then),

Kaley

*****

Dear Snow,

I thought I was done with you. It is SPRING, after all. Just when I starting thinking about flowers and vegetable gardens you have to go and dump yourself all over town. Have you no heart? Did you not see Oliver’s pathetic puppy eyes this morning when I let him outside to go potty, and he was all, dude, what the heck is this about, my feet just finally got done thawing out? Throw us a freaking bone, Snow. You tortured us all enough throughout the winter, specifically on moving day, which was such a treat and a day that you’ll never live down. From now on, if you must precipitate, (THIS IS ME BEING NICE) just make it rain, okay?

Get over yourself,

Kaley