Welcome, Oh 2012

I feel like my first blog post of the new year should be magical and sentimental and full of wisdom, but why on earth would I ever shake things up at this point in the blogging ballgame and detour from my normal pathway of writing utter nonsense, which involves a whole lot of run-on sentences and countless paragraphs that begin with the word “and,” which sends English professors across our great nation into anaphylactic shock?

I guess I’ll just stick with what I know, which is poor grammar, ugly sentence structure, and LOTS OF CAPITAL LETTERING thrown in for decoration.  And also for POINT EMPHASIS.

So.

Our New Year’s weekend was a smashing success.

It all began on Friday, while I worked at our church office.  The boy spent the first half of the day with Mam, who took him to Taco Bell for lunch and then rented the new Smurfs movie on DVD with him.  Oh, yes!  Although I loved and adored The Smurfs back in the day when Farrah Fawcett’s hair was ALL THE RAGE and MUCH ADORED, I simply cannot say with any truth that I wanted to see the new remake.  Thankfully, Mam took one for the team, and she and the boy watched the cinematic wonderment together.

Later on Friday, Grammy was hosting a Big Cousin’s Slumber Party, which kicked off with a trip to Small Town’s theater to see Tin Tin. And then the cousins gathered up clean underwear and toothbrushes, and Grammy and Hubs’ sister, Aunt Pink, created magic by feeding everyone hot dogs and macaroni and cheese and ice cream and donuts for dinner.  Hubs and I had EVERY GREAT INTENTION of having Date Night while we were childless for the evening, only we forgot to send the boy’s antibiotic with him, which is the antidote to the sinus infection that has worn him down over Christmas break and turned him into a lump of boy who simply laid on our sofa and sobbed that his vacation was PLUM RUINED because of ALL THE NOT FEELING WELL.

So we crawled into the Suburban, and we drove the medication out to him, because that is what responsible parents do — they sacrifice a showing of War Horse at the theater with a bag of buttery popcorn to take care of their kid.

(And… Spoiler alert… But I have it on GOOD AUTHORITY that the horse in War Horse DOES NOT DIE in the end of the flick, which means YES!  Yes, I can see this one.  Because one of my cinematic rules is that I no longer see movies where beloved animals die, because Marley and Me destroyed me and made the snot and tears pour forth like a tsunami.)

(And so did Old Yeller.)

(And also Where the Red Fern Grows.)

So Date Night with Hubs involved us sitting around the table with Grammy and Aunt Pink and eating hot dogs.  And mac and cheese.  And cookie dough ice cream.  And laughing and laughing and laughing together.

And then!

Well, the boy’s seven-year-old cousin, Miss A, got THE CUTEST KITTEN EVER for her Christmas gift, and we simply could not leave the premises for the late showing of War Horse, because that kitten! She was so sweet and adorable and playful, that we had to get our baby cat fix.  And then we debated the idea of taking Cats 1 and 2 to the pound, and simply starting over with all the cuteness a kitten brings.

But the boy was all against it, because he seems to love our naughty kitties.

I don’t know why.  Cat 1 is determined to kill all living creatures, and Cat 2 doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together.  We are a family of THE MESSED UP CATS.

When we got the boy back on New Year’s Eve day, he grinned and said, “Mom, do you know what?  Grandmas make the nicest people!  Mam and Grammy are my favorite people!”

I think it’s because they’re the only people who will say YES to the remake of The Smurfs and donuts AND ice cream for dinner.

And also for breakfast, because a little bird let it be known that Grammy FED THE CHILDREN ICE CREAM FOR BREAKFAST ON NEW YEAR’S EVE MORNING.

So whew.

Our family celebrated New Year’s Eve at our house this year.  James and Mika and their kiddos came over, along with Scott and Christy and their two boys.  The rule of the evening was simple, as we had a STINKING DRESS CODE for the night:  Come in your sweats.  Put a ponytail in your hairOr don’t come at all.

It’s simply because we had pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza everywhere!  So many different kinds and sizes of pizzas, the Jedi Manor looked like a Pizza Hut.

(Except we didn’t eat pizzas from The Hut, because they make Hubs ill.  Hubs and The Hut’s pizzas are a puke session waiting to happen.)

The sweats were a prerequisite for ALL THE EATING, because an elastic waistband is YOUR FRIEND on New Year’s Eve.

And then Miss Bakes-A-Lot, Christy, made a SURPLUS of snacks, because sweet mercy!  She ENJOYS all the baking in her home!

(Crazy nutcase that she is.)

When the junk food offerings and all the pizzas were laid out on our kitchen island, we looked like we had decided to feed dinner to the entire population of Texas.  Of course we all dug in, because of LAST HORRIBLE, SUGAR-LACED, CARB-INFESTED MEAL OF THE OLD YEAR, because everyone vows to eat healthier again on January 1st.  We devoured chicken and spinach pizza, and pepperoni pizza, and meat lover’s pizza, and cheese pizza, and caramel corn, and puff pastries, and fudge…

…and the list goes on and on…

…and then ends with homemade apple cider brandy, which was like liquid candy in a cup…

…liquid candy that KICKS YOU IN THE FACE AND MAKES YOU FORGET YOUR OWN NAME!

I took three sips and had to push it aside.  Because, although the only words that came to mind were OH, DELICIOUS!  OH, DELICIOUS!  OH, DELICIOUS!, I knew that if I finished my small cup of the dangerous stuff, I’d soon be kicking the pizza slices off our kitchen island so that I could dance there and sing an off-key, karaoke-version of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

Suffice it to say that Scott and Christy are moonshining specialists with their apple cider brandy.

The evening panned out very nicely.  James, Scott and Hubs disappeared to the family room, because of BOWL GAMES and AN AVALANCHE game, which they flipped between on the big screen.

The six children played spies together and spilled 7-Up on my bedroom floor and had a marvelous time.

And Christy and Mika and I sat in our sweats, with glasses of wine and sticky fingers from all the caramel popcorn and PLUM RAN THE GAMUT on conversations, until we had exhausted ourselves.

And then James and Mika went home at 8:30, because they are elderly, and needed to take their Geritol and sip their prune juice to insure their systems stayed regular.

(And also?  When you have a three-year-old, 8:30 is ACTUALLY QUITE LATE, because that small boy will be getting up at the crack of ugly the following morning, even if he stays awake until midnight.)

So then it was just Christy and me left on the sofa, and we somehow managed to come up with another eight-point-nine million different topics to discuss.

And we had more wine.

And more caramel popcorn.

And more puff pastries.

And more pizza.

THANK YOU, LORD, FOR SWEAT PANTS!

And then at 11:30, Scott and Christy loaded up their boys and went home, because listen!  It was midnight somewhere, and YES!  We really are that lame that we can end a New Year’s Eve party thirty minutes before midnight strikes and the party horns are brought out.

And then I went to bed at 11:54 PM, because I couldn’t stay awake another second.

And that, people, is how the Jedi Family rang in the new year.

And then I woke up on New Year’s Morning with a chunk of caramel popcorn stuck in my hair, people!  I’m pretty sure that the small spies, who were hiding out beneath my bed and eating chunks of caramel corn themselves, left some on my pillow.

I was a vision, rest assured.

And then, after looking around our house on New Year’s Day, we found a slice of pepperoni stuck to the coffee table… And half of a puff pastries smashed on the boy’s bathroom floor… And every time I walk across my bedroom floor in my bare feet, I stick, because of spilled 7-Up residue… Which is also on our dining room floor…

I think it goes without saying that we looked like a frat house on a Saturday morning.  People, rest assured, we were just happy that we didn’t get up on New Year’s morning to discover some stranger sleeping on our living room floor.

Welcome to 2012.

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