And (Another) Happy New Year

So... it's been a while, eh?

What can I say?  It was December.

Not only are there two holidays obnoxiously and uncaringly crowding their way into the end of the month, but I work for a company that took part in 54 events just in December.  I also didn't get a big enough head start on Christmas gifts, so I ended up making at least 7 different handmade gifts in the span of a month.

Just a few things I made.

I made 33 dozen Christmas cookies, a pie, and a tart.  And?  I had my own Christmas parties to go to.

All this is to say... I have reasons why I didn't blog.  Maybe not the best of reasons, but reasons nonetheless.

But.

It's a new year (with the same old me), and I suppose it's time to climb back on the horse.

So.

The year is already off to a bit of a rough start (literally).  I slashed open my own tire on New Year's Day by somehow hitting an incredibly jagged edge to a curb.  It wasn't fair.  The only reason I was pulling over was so I could type an address into my phone safely instead of while I was driving.  See where that got me?

Then last night, my dog tried to eat several of my new pins.  This is after he ate a whole packet of ham and the Reese's trees I got in my stocking the week before.  An attempt was also made on a box of chocolates, but I retrieved it from the dragon's horde inside his crate.  He is, remarkably, not buried in the back yard yet.  But it may only be a matter of time.

Jumping back to Christmas itself.  I was in an astonishingly bad mood for most of the week of Christmas.  I was stressed and frustrated, people were being stupid, Mark was working ridiculous hours, and I had lost whatever Christmas spirit I usually manage to find by the week before Christmas.  All the spirit I had left went into a week's worth of Christmas outfits, with strong showings by what I started referring to as my "officially pin of Christmas," a candy cane pin that came free from La Vidriola when I ordered that amazing Christmas tree/car necklace in the second picture on the top.

But Christmas?  Christmas itself was very good.  I spent Christmas Eve devouring ribs and hanging out with Casey and her family.  I got up early on Christmas and drove to Mark's parents house for what was probably one of the most special Christmas mornings I've had in a while.  We opened presents with the two of us, Kaylee, Mark's parents, and Mark's sister (and her husband and daughter).  I've never had such a big Christmas morning, or seen so many presents all in one place.  There was a stocking for me.  There were presents for me.  And Kaylee was so, so excited about every single thing she got, including the Snoopy scarf I made for her.  I'm not going to lie; that made me so very thrilled.

Later, Mark and I went to my parents and had Christmas dinner with the usual suspects there.  We had a pleasant time occupying our traditional place as the oldest people at the kids' table, giving my parents their gifts, and eating far too many desserts before heading home for an early night and a day off together the next day.

Honestly, I'm not sure I'm recovered from the holidays yet.  I'm definitely not back on my usual schedule, the apartment is still a disaster zone, and I'm a few weeks behind on putting away laundry.  In other words? Holidays as usual.

I have the best of intentions for 2017.  I always do.  So I'm trying to ignore the very little bit of bad that's already happened and count my blessings.

2016 was, in many ways, a rough year.  It started out with my furnace, dryer, and car all breaking down in the same week.  But, I also traveled to Mexico with friends, got a raise at my job, and got engaged to my best friend/love of my life.  I had wonderful holidays, lots of parties and dinners with friends, a better relationship with my parents, weekend trips, and more happiness than I ever thought I would have. 

Evidence of a very good 2016.

I could complain, but why bother?  There's so much good to focus on instead.

Adulting Through the Holidays

I didn't blog last week, mainly because I was covered in flour and immersed in baking for about 6 hours in advance of Thanksgiving.  I took off from work early, went to the store, then went home and made two pumpkin pies, a German chocolate and coconut cream pie, and a Twinkie bundt cake.

Mark and I delighted in our freedom to stay up late, then promptly realized we're old and exhausted and went to bed around 10.

On Thanksgiving itself, we loaded up the various desserts in my car and then went our separate ways. I went to my parents' and Mark went to go pick up his daughter from her grandparents'.

This year, just to mix it up, I had invited my friend/co-worker/sisterwife Casey and her family to join my family's annual Thanksgiving gathering.  (And, in spite of my warnings, they actually showed up!)  It's already not exactly an exclusively family event.  If it were, there would usually only be about 4-5 of us total.  Instead, there are usually around 10-12, since Jake and his family have apparently become extended family over the past few years.  So, the more the merrier, right?

This addition was notable for being the first time that small children have been in my parents' new house since they moved in over five years ago.  Ever.  We kept the kids mostly contained in my mom's sunroom and entertained them with games and balloons and prop hats (see above).

After dinner, Mark and Kaylee showed up, and then the madness truly began.  My parents haven't even seen me interact with children in I don't know how long (we somehow haven't ever managed to coordinate our lives and schedules well enough to hang out with them and Kaylee together before), and suddenly I'm playing with three children aged 5 and under.  I'm surprised one of them didn't fall over in a faint.

After Casey took her crew home, Kaylee decided that she and I were going to play (of course), and that evolved into playing hide-and-seek all over my parents's house until I proved my hide-and-seek expertise and hid in the bathtub behind the shower curtain until she gave up and recruited Mark to help find me.

All in all, it was probably the most eventful Thanksgiving ever, and definitely the loudest, and my first holiday actively being a stepmom-in-training.  But?  I enjoyed it.

Thanksgiving, as we've all been told, is supposed to be that special time of year where you think about all that you're thankful for.  This year, I didn't really have to think about it, because I was literally surrounded by it.

While I may be entirely too grumpy sometimes about my overly-full schedule and my lack of sleep and free time, I'm still honestly still happier than I've been in a long time.

I might complain and bitch more than I should, but it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing.  I have wonderful friends who want to spend time with me no matter how many times I don't go to their parties, an eternally supportive family (in spite of how crazy they drive me sometimes), and the best fiance´ (and future stepdaughter) I could ask for.  I'm never ever at a lack for food or clothes (or pins), I have my own divided plate for holidays, and I've learned that I'm actually not terrible with children and am pretty much an expert at taking selfies.

I'm not the person I used to be, I don't have the life I used to have, and all of that is more than fine.  To quote a book I just read this past month, life is so good.

And for that? I'm very, very thankful.

Introvert Level: Expert (Halloween Edition)

Exciting things have been happening.

Namely that I actually got to go to a party.  On a Saturday night.

And, even more exciting, that I actually went to the party, instead of sitting at home in a onesie and dog slippers.

But I was really, really excited about my Halloween costume.

I don't think it's any surprise that I like dressing up, or that I welcome any excuse to wear a costume.  If there's one cheesy thing I really love, it's a theme.  And for this party, there was the added challenge of keeping the costume under $20 to qualify for the costume contest.

With that in mind, Mark and I descended on area Goodwills and craft stores.

I wanted to be Ariel, from The Little Mermaid.  But not the mermaid version, or the blue-bowed speechless girl being squired about by the clueless Prince Eric.  I wanted to be Ariel fresh out of the sea and clothed only in a sail and some rope.

That was easy enough.  The first Goodwill we went to had rope for 99 cents and a white sheet for 2 dollars.  So far, so good.  I also wanted to have a starfish clip for my hair, so with money to spare we hit up Michaels and got a starfish ($4 with a 40% off coupon) and hair clips, and I made my own clip.

And so some curls, makeup, and creative sheet-draping later, and I was ready to be part of your world.

You want thing-a-ma-bobs? I've got twenty.

I suppose we could have stopped there.  But I wanted a definite cue that I was Ariel and not some Greek goddess carrying around a dinglehopper fork for some strange reason.  I wanted a stuffed Sebastian.

The problem was I couldn't find one.  There was a little plastic toy at Toys R Us, but I wasn't sold.

Then Mark suggested that we make one.

So we did.

One pillowcase, a printed picture of Sebastian (looking properly horrified), some paint, and a borrowed sewing machine later, I had a Sebastian pillow.  I seriously love it so much.  Plus, it's the first thing I've ever sewed.  So that's pretty great.

And I made these oyster cookies.  (And brought Barefoot wine, because well, did I mention I love a theme?)

But honestly? The best part of my costume was that I stayed "in character" and didn't talk the whole night (in spite of my friend Sandi being determined to get me drunk enough to just start talking).  I still hung out and participated in conversation.  There was lots of gesturing, pointing, nodding, and meaningful glances (and my designated translator, Sam).  But no talking.  I got to spend time with my friends but avoid small talk.  I didn't have to contribute verbally to a conversation.  I could just hang out, drift from group to group, drink, and be comfortably myself.  It was entirely awesome.

And I actually think it helped me not feel so wiped out by socializing.  Even I stayed out til almost 2 am, which is extremely rare, I didn't feel crashed out and emotionally drained the next day.

There's another party this Saturday (two weekend parties in a row, who even am I?), and I'm definitely dressing up as Ariel again.  I'm fairly certain it's my favorite costume ever since I dressed up as a Dalmatian when I was a kid.

Not surprisingly, another costume where I wouldn't have to talk.

Not to say I haven't had a lot to choose from...

But as a redheaded introvert who grew up on Disney movies, I'm not sure I can beat this year's Halloween costume.

You might point out the irony that Ariel sings about how she wants to be "where the people are," and say that that's a bit out-of-character for me.  But not always.  I do want to be around my friends and the people I love.  It's just sometimes easier to stay home with my dog and my books.

But every now and then, when the stars align and the timing is right, you might just be able to find me where the people are, walking around on those... what's that word again?

Oh yeah.  Feet.

Don't Send Me Flowers

Once upon a time, on Valentine's Day many years ago (eleven, to be exact), I had my first Valentine's Day date.  It was my first "grown-up" date.  I was twenty years old.  He took me to an Italian restaurant.  He bought me a rose.  He walked me back to my dorm room and kissed me.  Later that night, we kissed more.  Two days later, we were "dating."  There was never a good reason to break up, so we didn't.  I figured that's what dating was.

Not long after, a group of my friends confessed that they didn't like him and that they didn't think I should be dating him.  In return, I chose him over my friends.  Besides, I had other friends.  And I had a long-term boyfriend for the first time ever.  What did I need a group of judgy bitches for?  In retrospect, they were more than right, even if the reasons they gave weren't truly accurate.

Not long after that, we got engaged.  Because that's what you do in a small, religious college when you've been dating for a certain period of time without breaking up.  My remaining friends were happy.  My parents were not.  They told me that my new fiancee had deliberately lied to them about when he was going to propose.  I didn't believe them.  He told me it must have been a misunderstanding.  In retrospect, they were also right, and I believe that he did lie to them, and to me, and to many, many others.

We got married, in spite of my parents' best efforts to talk me out of it.

And then, seven years later, we got divorced.  The classic love story.

I can't blame Valentine's Day.  I mean, I could if I tried.  I could blame societal expectations of romance and stereotypes of single girls.  I could blame hearts and flowers and chocolates.  I could blame Disney princes and princesses.

But it's not Valentine's Day.  I'm sure I would have gone on a first date with him regardless of Valentine's Day.  He would have bought me a flower and dinner and all the stereotypically romantic things that he knew to do.  He would have been charming and worldly.  And I would have fallen for it, because I didn't know any better.  And he would have slowly tightened the snare around me, until I had no choice but to believe that I had to stay with him, for better or for worse (and worse, and worse).

I still don't think you can blame me for not liking Valentine's Day.  

Because the memories aren't good.  At least, the more recent memories aren't good.  The expectation that Valentine's Day had to be celebrated in high style as our anniversary, and that I had to do my "wifely duties" that night even if he had to get me drunk first to do it, was always there.  

And he would send me flowers at work every year.  Which sounds nice, of course.  And really, complaining that my husband sent me flowers makes me feel like the bitchiest bitch that ever bitched.   And maybe I am.  Because sending flowers is textbook romantic, isn't it?  It's thoughtful.  It's what every girl wants her significant other to do, right?  Why couldn't I just get over myself and appreciate it instead of being such a bitch?

Because I didn't want him to send me flowers.  And I told him I didn't want it.  Because I didn't think we had the money to be spending on ridiculously overpriced Valentine's Day flower delivery or even on slightly-less-overpriced birthday flower delivery (and we didn't).  Because I didn't like the attention of getting flowers at work, of getting fussed over, singled out.  Because I didn't like that he continued to do something that I had repeatedly asked him not to do.  And because really, being sent flowers on Valentine's Day or my birthday doesn't mean much to me at all.  If he had to spend the money, I'd rather he had spent it on a book, or something that was more uniquely me.  Something that showed that he knew me, or cared about what I wanted, instead of sending me flowers because he "wanted to," or because it was proof he was doing what he was supposed to do as a husband.

I know, I know.  What a bitch.  I admit it, truly.

I also freely admit that I'm a cynic.  I'm not claiming to be otherwise.  For all my sappy ridiculousness about Mark, I remain, in general, a true cynic.  I'm skeptical of romance, of "happily ever after," of elaborate romantic gestures.  And not just because I've experienced the darker side of them.  I've been this way for a while.  I'm the kid who wanted the library in Beauty and the Beast, not the prince.  I never idealized the pretty and perfect couple.  I'm a Beatrice and Benedict girl, a Ron and Hermione shipper all the way.  Give me the awkward and clueless, the bantering, the odd ones out.

Basically, I'll be fine if I never have a romantic Valentine's Day date again.  

But I'm also fine if you have a romantic Valentine's Day date, and if you want to get millions of daisies delivered to your deserving lap or if you want to bury yourself in boxes of chocolates from your one true love, or from that guy you just met on Tinder. You go for it.

Because although I may be a bitchy cynic, I'm also, ironically, terribly in love.  And because of that, I wouldn't want anyone else to miss out on a moment of what could be something amazing.  But don't wait for Valentine's Day to show someone you care.  (And don't wait for romantic love.  If your friends want to get together and eat red velvet waffles and drink champagne on Valentine's Day, by all means, go for it.)

Don't wait for a Hallmark holiday, or for a day that society has deemed acceptable for sappiness.  Don't wait a day.  Send flowers (to those who appreciate it).  Write a poem.  Sing a song.  Buy them nachos.  Compliment their butt.  Watch their favorite movie, be it romantic, comedic, or slasher.  

Celebrate what makes both you and the person or people you love unique and special.  And do it as often as possible.

And God damn it, don't send me flowers.

December Status Update

December is officially half over.  And how am I doing, you ask?

Well.

I joked with Mark back in November that I could give myself gold stars for all the days in December when I didn't cry. Luckily I didn't follow through on this, because I would have fewer gold stars than I would like.  Between holiday stress, too-litle sleep, and my continuing efforts to deal with past emotional damage, there have been more tears this month than intended.

Operation: Drinking through December, on the other hand, is going much better.  I should probably have decided to give myself gold stars for that instead.  I would have way more stars.  Hindsight, right?

I actually have accomplished a decent amount, though not nearly as much as intended.  I successfully acquired/finished birthday present for both of my parents, who have the nerve to both have birthdays in December.  I crossed Missouri two times in as many days this past weekend for a Fish Eye Fun job in Kansas City.  (On that same trip, I spent my very first night ever alone in a hotel.) I only have four books left to read to hit my goal of 50 books, and I'm halfway through both a book and an audiobook. I managed to get my new passport in time to go to Mexico at the beginning of January.  I've attended a few family events and even socialized with several friends, including making it to the Garden Glow at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.

On the other hand, I still have several presents to acquire/finish in about a week.  There's one more big weekend of holiday parties to get through, and then the night of 7 New Year's Eve parties.  I haven't done nearly the writing I should have for my Project: Sketchbook.  And I have four books to finish reading in 15 days (notice how that one made the good and bad list?).

I think I need another drink.

I'm not sure if it's just the hectic pace of the past few months, but I'm having a harder time getting into the "holiday spirit."  I know I talked a lot previously about how I'm traditionally more of a Scrooge, but I do generally get a bit more into the Christmas spirit midway through December.  To be fair, I suppose it's not that I'm dreading Christmas itself.  I'm dreading everything that needs to be done.  I don't have the hours.  I don't have the budget.  I don't have the expedited shipping option.  Like the Grinch, I want to keep Christmas from coming.  But at least only until I can find a few more gifts.

I know that Christmas isn't about the gifts.  I know this, even though one of my stronger love languages is gifts and I love finding or making the perfect present for someone.  I know my parents don't even want me to spend money on them.  I know my boyfriend doesn't want me to buy him too much.  I know that I don't want him to buy me too much.  I know my friends will still love me if I don't get their presents done by the 25th (sorry, guys).

So yes. I know Christmas isn't about the gifts.

I know Christmas isn't about the gifts.

I think.

So what is it about?

Is it about winning decorating contests, or getting plastered at company holiday parties, or looking at Christmas lights?  Is it about ugly sweaters?  Holiday cards?  Elves on shelves?  Whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie? (It is, by the way.)  Endless renditions of "Santa Baby"? Whether or not Love, Actually is a terrible movie? (Debatable, but I love it anyway.)

It's a hard question.

For someone who's struggled with her faith and with Christians in general the past two years, I can't say that Christmas is strictly about religious faith for me right now.  Not that it ever was, really.  I'm a girl whose parents let her believe in Santa Claus for an embarrassingly long time, so obviously Christmas was never explicitly religious in my family.  I will go to church at some point with my parents, and I do still love hymns and still have the Christmas story in John memorized.  I've been a Lutheran for a long time and there is still a special meaning in Christmas that is spiritual for me, about keeping all these things and pondering them in my heart.

But I think these days that The Muppets best sum up my feelings about Christmas spirit.  "Wherever you find love, it feels like Christmas."  Maybe that's a bit touchy-feely, everyone hold hands-y, but it covers a lot of bases for a lot of people: Christian, Jewish, agnostic, and otherwise.  And, at the very least, it takes away from the commercialization of Christmas.

So, for me, Christmas is about spending time with the people I love.  It's about making them happy and being grateful for a truly wonderful 2015 and for all the family, friends, and blessings I have in life.  It's about feeling love, be it romantic, platonic, spiritual, or otherwise.  It's about traditions.  It's about cookies and pies and hams.  Or it's about latkes and Chinese food and a Die Hard marathon.  It's about figuring out how to do two Christmases in one day because there are that many people that want you around for the holidays.  It's about having a Charlie Brown Christmas tree on your console.  Or it's about having a Christmas tree in every room.  It's about whatever you want it to be.

The Grinch figured it out.  I guess I can too.

I'm a Mean One...

Oh, Lord.  I missed a week.

I'm comforting myself with the knowledge that it was Thanksgiving week and I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off.  And you didn't really need me to post a "things I'm thankful for" blog, did you?  I'm pretty sure most of my blogs already spill over with that a bit too much sometimes.  So let's go for the opposite: things I hate about Christmas!

I have a long-standing history of being a bit of a Scrooge. Possibly slightly Grinchy.  I mean, I've never set out to actually ruin Christmas, but I have been known to say "Bah, humbug!" and grumble about putting up a Christmas tree.

It's not Christmas itself.  I don't mind Christmas, especially when it's actually the week of Christmas.  It's the ever-expanding season of Christmas.  It's the fact that Christmas decorations are on sale before Halloween.  It's the fact that syrupy-sweet, overly vibratto-ed, drippingly sentimental Christmas music blasts inescapably from every store, restaurant, and radio station from the beginning of November on.

And it's the fact that I'm an introvert (this is getting to be a common theme, isn't it?).  Which combines poorly with the fact that everyone wants to get together all the time (mainly my parents).  And it's also the fact that we have over 40 Fish Eye Fun events in December.

Don't get me wrong: that's AMAZING and is absolutely not the problem.  I'm so beyond excited that we're busy and popular and even forced to turn away business because we're booked up solid for at least four days this month!

The problem is that some people (take a guess) don't seem to get that I'm busy and socially a bit overwhelmed, and that I probably don't want to come over every week from now until Christmas.  I may or may not have had a meltdown before Thanksgiving over all the social obligations that were suddenly presented to me, and may or may not have decided on my plan for surviving the holidays.  I call it "Drinking Through December." What could possibly go wrong?  (I've also decided that I get a gold star for every day in December that I don't stress cry.)

To be fair, this is the first year I can use the "I'm really busy" excuse as part of why I'm a Scrooge.  Before this year, Christmas was much easier in that aspect.  It was the dead-season at my old job.  I had at least a week and a half off of work most years.  But, I still grew to dread it.

Unintentionally or not, I felt overwhelming pressure from my ex to "compete" at Christmas presents.  If I didn't get his as many or as big or as expensive of presents as he got me, or if his Christmas stocking wasn't as full as mine was, I heard about it.  There would be hints about how much what he got me cost.  Or casual remarks asking if there would be more for him under the tree by Christmas.

Right now? My biggest problem is keeping my presents a secret from Mark until Christmas actually gets here.  We both have a terrible habit of buying each other things and just giving them to each other all year long.  So by the time the holidays/birthdays/etc roll around, we tend to realize that we've already given each other everything we thought the other person would like.  Whoops.

If I'm being honest (and apparently that's what I do now), I have to admit that I might be getting a bit less Scrooge-y in the past two years.  I still hate all the things I complained about above.  And I'm still panicked about getting everything done in time.  My ongoing mantra is that I'll have time in January (which is probably a lie, sure, but it's my current lifeline to sanity, so just let me have my delusions.)

But the intensity of my dislike seems to be abating with time (so long as it's actually the month of December).  Mark and I were running errands this week at stores where, of course, Christmas music was playing, and I didn't grumble and bitch about it.  I might even admit that I danced a little too it, but let's not get crazy.  And I want to go to the Garden Glow (though I contend that the Garden Glow is more of a winter festival than specifically Christmas - again, give me my delusions).

Also?  I have a confession: I kindof want to put up a tree and am a little disappointed that I really don't have space for one.  But don't tell anyone that, ok?