My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Home for the Holidays

So, was Santa good to you this year? We were lucky to have two children in the house on the “good” list this year and he brought Dusty the box of “dress ups” she requested (thank you, Goodwill and Target!), a new cheetah coat (last year’s was getting a little snug), and half a million other things thanks to friends and relations. Red was gifted with a friendly stuffed horse, a bean bag chair and an amazing 1940’s era chifforobe that Santa’s helper discovered at Goodwill last Monday. I really don’t know how he got the damn thing on the sleigh because it weighs about 14.8 tons – without the drawers. But, who could resist the “only ever owned by two families” card I found in a drawer, its pristine condition (cream colored original paint with benign clowns cavorting on the front doors – and, as a Devoted Clown Hater of the First Rank, I can state they are the only clowns I’ve ever let in the house), and plenty of room for all her clothes which no longer have to be folded and stacked in towers on the bookshelf in my bedroom? Praise Jeebus. One day, we will no longer live like wolves. Wolves who live in houses under slightly bohemian conditions.

Here’s a brief breakdown of the past week:

Friday, 16th: the holiday started with a Holiday Sing-a-long at Dusty’s preschool. Each of the preschool classes sang a couple of seasonal ditties, in turn, to a rapt audience of parents and younger (louder) siblings. As the Grinch says, “Oh the noise, noise, noise, noise! If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s the noise, noise, noise, noise!” It was lovely, as these things go, and mercifully short. Dusty conquered her stage fright and we retired to the next room for cookies and cocoa.

Weekend: Cookies were baked in the shapes of trees, bats, deer, angels, wolves, and stars. Cookies were decorated and eaten. Except for those set aside in a ziplock bag labeled: For Santa Only.

Monday: Kids were delivered safely to preschool and I went to the library and wrote for awhile, did some Xmas shopping (in which I discovered said chifforobe), snuck off to see the new Harry Potter movie by myself (a most appreciated luxury!), and generally enjoyed a day to myself.

Tuesday: Baked two loaves of bread. The kind with yeast. The loaves grew so large they resembled the kind you often see in a Richard Scarry book; the kind that explode out of the oven. One loaf actually carries scorch marks on the top from the upper heating element. And they were placed on the lowest rack. I am the Queen of Bread. And, yes, it's delicious.

Wednesday: Painted the bathroom. No more mint green! Ever! Next: the eradication of the carpet remnant surrounding the jetted tub. Klassy!

Thursday: Hung out. Did this. And that. Puttered.

Friday: Haircut! This is major – it’s the first haircut I’ve had since...August? Something like that. Lunch with a friend. Last minute Xmas shopping in which I knew there was no choosing the exact right skillet for my mother. And, I was right. She’s returning it. Sigh. Began cooking for Xmas.

Saturday: Cooking mania: vegetable terrine (w/ a light tomato sauce), marinated green beans w/ almonds and swiss cheese, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, sweet potato saute. Red comes down with a cold. Xmas eve party at my sister’s. Dusty and Red amused and entertained the masses. Home again to prepare for Santa’s arrival. Cookies and water (Dusty’s choice) left for The Man in Red. Much moving of things (see: chifforobe) and attendant cursing. Fuck – that thing is solid wood!

Sunday: The Day. Much unwrapping of objects. Santa leaves a note thanking Dusty for the delicious cookies. Grandma comes to lunch. More cooking: mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese (for the under-six set). Red gives her cold to everyone (Merry Christmas!).

Monday: Grandpa comes to visit. More unwrapping. They decline the invitation to eat with the FreshHell household. Whatever. We all sink in a generalized exhaustion. Watch episode of Curb Your Enthusiam. That helped.

Tuesday: The Other Grandparents arrive. Yet more unwrapping. Rocky and Bullwinkle viewing. Night night!

P.S. – Red rules our world these days. 18 months seems to be the magical age where the baby begins to exit the building leaving behind the beginnings of a funny little actual child who can dance the hell out of any song. Her performance art involves throwing her body to the ground and playing possum, twirling in circles, walking with a hat over her eyes so she can purposely run into walls, poorly placed scissors, furniture with sharp corners (all of it), and trip over the edges of rugs. Good, old fashioned fun for all! Happy New Year!

And what a year it promises to be: A new president at work, my boss's resignation as of 1/31, and Potty Training! Whoo! Anyone want to steal my identity?


6:54 p.m. ::
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