We had a very sweet house cleaner come by this morning to give us an estimate.  Good news/ bad news: she got here at 8:30 while I was still in bed and Joey was in his pj’s.  Oops.  At least the house looked like it normally does and I won’t feel bad that we duped her.
The estimate is what I expected: $120 per session, two sessions to start, then bi-weekly or monthly thereafter.  She has dogs, likes dogs, doesn’t mind dogs – these are good things with our three dumbos running around trying to get her attention.  She seemed nice, is fully bonded, and my husband didn’t lose his mind over the prospect of strangers in our home.
So I’m wrestling with the idea.  Seriously wrestling. 
On the one hand, that’salottamoney.  On the other, we spend that much at Walmart. On things we ultimately use and throw away. {Don’t get me started on the ridiculousness that is paper towels.} 
On the one hand, that’salottamoney.  On the other, we just had the “I do EVERYTHING AROUND HERE” spat this morning.  {In my defense, not true.  In his defense, totally true if you look at the hours between 7:00 am and 9:00 am.}
On the one hand, that’salottamoney.  On the other, the calmest and most serene periods of my existence have correlated to having someone clean my house.  It makes me happy.  It reduces stress.  It makes husbands not resent wives so much for their messy, messy way.
On the last hand, that’salottamoney.  On the other, we used to pay that much in cable. Or credit card payments. Or motorcycle payments. Or eating out. Or bounced check fees (yes, I suck).
Remind me again that I said this would be well worth the cost if it supported my marriage?  What would you do?

Update: I did it.  My husband has to do everything around here because I’m either working or gone.  If the situation was reversed, I’d hope he’d do the same for me.

When I was asked last week how I felt about my new job, I said with great sincerity, “I love it and hate it in equal measure.”  That’s how I know it’s right for me.  I’m equally exhilarated and terrified, excited and worried, interested and wanting to hide under my desk.

I was so struck by the comment, in fact, that when I interviewed a couple of people for an old buddy of mine, I said to them, “I completely understand why you’re excited about this gig, but can you tell me why you’re worried?”  The guy who said he wasn’t?  Not my guy.  How can you be sure you’re in the right place if you haven’t examined the reasons you shouldn’t be?

~~~

I think we’re ready to start talking about having kids.

Did you catch all of the qualifiers? “I think,” “we’re ready,” “start talking”?  Not an accident, folks, not at all.

See, I’ve spent my entire adult life trying not to get pregnant.  Hell, until very recently, I wouldn’t even talk about sex, much less turning that unmentionable into something so much bigger. 

You know, like having a child.

Even the phrase “having a child” is a new one in my world.  “Kid” I can handle.  “Child?”  Yowza.

My husband is blessedly laid back about the entire thing.  In fact, early in our relationship when discussing birth control he mentioned that it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing if we got pregnant; he’d always planned on having kids by then anyway and he knew he wanted to be with me.  My response? A blank stare and empty brain.

So here we are almost three years later and I think I’m ready to start talking about having kids.

~~~

Why is it so uncomfortable?  Every time I bring it up to Joey, I feel silly and uncomfortable.  Today I spent some time thinking about why.

I think it’s because for every Next Big Relationship Step before this one, we had to dance.  Exclusivity? Considering Marriage?  Living Together? Getting Married?  These are topics you dance around, one person pretending it’s not important while the other gauges their level of interest.  And let’s be honest, traditionally those Next Big Relationship Steps were taken by the man. 

Hey, I said “traditionally.”  I may or may not have been the instigator more than once… and the resulting fallout from my drama at his reticence was something I swore I’d never repeat.  So I pause. I qualify.  I wonder how to start nudging my career and our lives to accommodate a child.

Yet I still get tongue-tied when I try to bring up the subject with my husband.  I’m reminded of our early engagement when I wanted so badly to lay around and talk about our wedding – and he just wasn’t interested.

I’m determined to learn the lessons I thought I learned from our engagement, and one was that if I’m not comfortable with the words, I need to stop before plowing forward.  I couldn’t stand the word “fiancé,” found myself stuttering at “engaged,” couldn’t spit out “our wedding” until, um, just a few days before we got married.

So for now, I’m practicing the words in my head.  I browse the child development aisles at the bookstore – and I don’t hide it from my husband, who frankly doesn’t care. 

And for the first time ever, I thought about my own child.  Not just a kid, but MY kid. 

Exhilarated and terrified in equal measure. It’s a sign. (ha)

Anyone else feeling this way?

I got the job, well, mostly (I verbally accepted a verbal offer, which is pretty official in our organization)!  I knew I was going to get the job, but wasn’t sure about compensation.  I girded my loins for a negotiation, got a pep talk from a work friend, and asked for a HUGE increase in pay. 

While I can justify the request, I also kind of wanted to giggle, like I needed to prove I wasn’t so out there I thought my corporation would grant a 58% pay increase.  They didn’t, of course, so LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU WHO DON’T NEGOTIATE.  If I’d insisted on even a nominal increase in pay with my last two role changes, this would have been easier.  Because I didn’t, I had a bigger deficit to make up.

But, bright side: I got a relatively huge raise (18%) in a tough economy doing a job I like a whole lot more, all while refusing to move to headquarters.  Not bad!  So, despite managing to convince myself I was worth more and feeling some disappointment yesterday, I’m celebrating today!

~~~

Please try this recipe from Smitten Kitchen, please.  Please.  It literally has three ingredients, requires no chopping, and is so good my husband and I each confessed to wanting to lick our bowls.  Even with good tomatoes, your cost is like three bucks, and it is so good.  So good.  It took me less time to throw the ingredients in a saucepan than to refill my coffee, and after happily simmering all by itself for 45 minutes, I took another shortcut and just cooked the pasta in the sauce.  Yummy!

Is making the same thing for dinner you just had for lunch weird?  I’m seriously considering it.

~~~

I finally updated the links on my post about the best planner I’ve ever used.  Of course, I haven’t used it this week, and of course, I am feeling very lost and adrift, perhaps because my desk is actually adrift in a sea of paper?  Anyway, I’m on the road for the next two weeks (any of you peeps in Seattle?) so I’ll let you know how it works for people on the move.

~~~

Have you read this article in the NY Times about the perils of sitting too much?  I’m horrified… and wishing I was one of those people who pace.  Instead, I’m one of those people who sits.  Oy.

It doesn’t matter if you go running every morning, or you’re a regular at the gym. If you spend most of the rest of the day sitting — in your car, your office chair, on your sofa at home — you are putting yourself at increased risk of obesity, diabetes, heart disease, a variety of cancers and an early death. In other words, irrespective of whether you exercise vigorously, sitting for long periods is bad for you.

~~~

I now have a dog with a cardiologist and a cat with a dentistry specialist.  Huckleberry went in for a much-overdue dental, not because it was due, but because his mouth is stinky and I noticed it a long time ago.  Because he’s a scaredy cat, though, I put off vet visits because he regresses afterward.  They had a 20% off dental sale, though, so I bit the bullet.

Poor Huck.  His mouth was so bad – for a cat his age, and for any cat – that the tech called me before they were done to ask if I’d consent to bloodwork and a referral to a specialist so they could wrap it up without 100% finishing.  Some parts of his mouth were so sensitive that even under anesthesia he would twitch when they touched them. 

*sigh*  I got Frank in 2003 and Huck in 2004, and both have/ had horrible mouths.  Frank lost nine teeth when he went in for a dental a few years ago – NINE!  The only thing I can think of is that I fed them wet food out of those little foil packets for a couple of years early on.  If you feed those, please stop, or take your cats in for a cleaning immediately?  I feel so bad.

Another not-great discovery: without Huck here, the rest of the cats beat up on Snickers.  She’s my only girl kitty, and I knew that the black brothers were prone to harassing her, but I didn’t realize how much Huck protected her until he wasn’t here for the day.  ‘Twas not good.  I have three (neutered, wtf) boy cats in time outs throughout the house.  ARGH!

~~~

Also: got my first electric kettle, fell in love, cracked it.  But I think I can convince my hubby to join me on a trek across town to buy another.  Maybe we’ll even have a date night!

As I write this, I’m listening against my will to the incessant whining of a dog just outside my bedroom door.  He wants in; I want sheets that don’t smell like dog and aren’t covered in drool.  I have the ability to open and close doors and therefore I win.

Yet, he’s the one driving me up the wall with the whining, so he wins a little bit too.

This all got me thinking about pet peeves.  I could blog all day about the human things that drive me nuts, but hey, here’s a better idea: let’s share our PET peeves!  With five cats and two-and-a-half dogs (I refuse to count the Bonus Dog as a third), I have plenty of fodder, and yet, I’m convinced you’ll have fabulous ones too.

Ready?

Bonus Dog is a whiny, whiny dog, and yet, so cute that I want to give in.  He’s laying outside the bedroom door in a little ball, I’m sure, with his nose under the door so I get the full force of his whining.  When I walk out, I’ll feel the warm spot on the wood floor where he was laying, and I’ll wish he could lounge around on our bed all day, too!

My big lug of a dog (Beau: 100 pounds) puts his wet nose on everything.  You know how you put your eyes on things when you look at them?  He does that, WITH HIS NOSE.  Drives me nuts, but then, he’s so sweet that I feel bad for being annoyed at him.

The dogs have taken over the couch.  My softie of a husband actually brought another chair into the living room because there wasn’t any room for him on the couch.  Swear.  So, we’re buying dog beds and taking back our lives, couch first.  Once upon a time we didn’t let dogs on the couch, but slowly we got suckered into allowing it, and now here we are, smushed together on one side with a dog on our laps and two others squished beside us.  It’s not right.  Not right at all.

Your turn!

I’m slowly letting go of the untruths I told myself to get through my divorce. 

“He was selfish and didn’t feel the same responsibility toward our household as I did.”

“He wouldn’t talk with me, wouldn’t support me, wouldn’t give me what I needed.”

“We were the wrong people for each other, should have broken up long ago, but we were too stubborn.  I was too stubborn.”

The one that feels most true – but still isn’t – is that my job, with its long hours and serious travel, was detrimental to our relationship.

“I’ll never travel full-time again.  I tried that once, and I wasn’t able to maintain a relationship.  It’s impossible.”

What’s impossible is maintaining a relationship when you’re immature, unskilled, and too self-centered to notice you’re hurtling headlong down an ugly, painful path.  The travel just increased the speed.

So here I am again, traveling for work.  I left on a 6:00 am flight this morning and will return less than 48 hours later – by choice.  Where once I would have left the day before, now I’d prefer to wake up at the butt-crack-o-dawn to avoid being gone one extra evening.  I’ll give up sleep to be home a day longer.  And without fail I’ll call my husband when my day is over.  Sometimes we’ll have little to say; other times the words will tumble out, mostly complaints, but still, I will call.  Despite my fatigue, and his, we will try valiantly to understand each other.

It’s not the travel that kills a relationship; it’s the willingness to go elsewhere for support.  So this time, no matter how frustrating or difficult verbalizing my struggles and needs might be, I will keep trying.  Stubbornness is good for something.

One problem remains: how do you keep up with your friends?  I’m rather terrible at long-distance friendships.  My entire professional life is managed by phone.  By the time I’m done with work, I don’t want to try to guess at anyone else’s non-verbal cues.  It sucks, though, because I love Laura, really truly love, but we’ve lost touch because I’m so sucky at phone relationships.

Jennifer’s still here (thankyougod), still available for afternoon beer-and-salsa chats, still willing to work around my ever-changing schedule, but she won’t be here for long, and between us, I’m freaking out a little bit.

We’ve quickly gone from seeing each other a couple of times a week to once if we can manage.  Theoretically we go snowboarding/ skiing together, but that’s time mostly spent alone (in frustration, kicking the ground and breaking one’s butt… or maybe that’s just me).

Even if we manage to fit in girls’ weekends every other month (and that’ll be challenge enough), it’s not enough.  How will we keep in touch?  Because folks, this is a friendship I’m not willing to give up, but I’m not sure yet how to keep it going.

Advice?

My dog is very sick.  Ill, actually*.  A muscle in his heart is progressively deteriorating due to a rare condition that we can’t fix, not permanently and possibly not even temporarily. 

It’s been a very rough day.

We are snowed in, my dog had to spend the night at the vet clinic because we couldn’t brave the roads to go get him, and he’s going to die much sooner than we’d anticipated. 

I don’t want to raise another puppy!  I want the full decade out of the work we did with this one!  This is unfair!

~~~

Early in my relationship with my husband, I told him I didn’t want to rely on him, because then what if he left me, what would I do then?  His reply: “you’d adjust right back.”

Why yes, yes, I would, wouldn’t I?  I’d adjust right back just as quickly as I adjusted at first.  So why was it so scary?

I’ve been struggling with how to reconcile being someone who can take care of herself with being someone who is and has a partner, but I’m not sure I have to, not in a broad sense, anyway.  I can be whichever I need to be in the moment.

I’d just left my dog at the specialist’s office.  I had to walk away from my pup’s imploring eyes, feeling like I’d violated his trust by asking him to follow me into that scary exam room – and then leaving him.  Why did I have to deal with this alone?

Because I can.  My husband couldn’t make it so I do this alone. I have lived in a life where I had only myself to rely on.  I know I am capable.

But wait.  I don’t have to do every moment alone…

*switch*

So I called my husband, told him how haunted I was by Indy’s fear, how I wished he’d ignored me altogether because at least then I wouldn’t feel like I abandoned him.  I asked my husband to join me in picking Indy up later because if the news was bad, I didn’t want to have to be the strong one.  I am the emotional one, remember?

*switch*

But then my husband couldn’t make it.  The weather was terrible.  I had to rescue my husband from an aborted drive home (me: SUV; him: Ford Focus) but couldn’t get to my dog.  I was driving in an ice storm surrounded by idiot drivers on my way to get my husband and wishing I wasn’t the one who had to do the saving.  I sucked it up and made it to pick him up.

And then I couldn’t switch.  I got stuck.  I couldn’t go back to leaning, being stuck in my resentment over having to stand.

~~~

Last night I tried snowboarding for the first time and I had a great time.  I was very good at coasting and staying perpendicular to the ground and falling well, but I got stuck when it came to transitions.  They scare me.  I can go straight; I can turn this way; I can turn that way; I can’t link them together.

The difficult part about transitioning is that it feels awkward, unknown, unstable.  You have to let go of something you know and leap toward something you don’t, even if only by lifting your toes.  Scary.

And in much the same way, I have a hard time letting go of my unhappiness at having to go it alone.  Who knew letting go of resentment was going to take the same kind of courage as throwing my body down a snowy hill on a piece of plastic?

Apparently I believe in perpetuity, wanting to always be one thing or the other.  But my dog — the puppy I swore was the last I’d raise for a decade, the dog not even two years old, the sweet puppy who drove us nuts and taught us lots already – only has 12 – 18 months to live, if we’re lucky. 

Perpetuity is bullshit.  It’s time for me to get better at transitions.

~~~

*Complete heart block with Persistent Atrial Standstill and early heart failure with a ventricular escape rhythm, bradycardia, and a significant systolic murmur.

I’d love to give this post a better title, like, “Ten tips for surviving the holidays with in-laws,” but I can’t.  This whole honesty thing makes for much less titillating headlines, because a) I haven’t tried them yet so I can’t call them tips, and b) “surviving” makes for such negative connotations.

It’s not my in-laws’ fault they’re not my family.  They are their own family, and I wouldn’t expect my people to be any different than they are, so it’s unfair to wish the same on my husband’s people (even though mine might be louder and rowdier and therefore slightly more fun).

See, even there, I’m comparing them to my peeps, and of course that sets us all up for frustration and drama and a little bit of foot-stomping.  My husband is much better at this holidays thing: he’s joined me more than once for Christmas and enjoyed the things that were different from his experience.

So in that spirit, here’s my plan for getting through the holidays with someone else’s family:

1. I’m going to stop thinking of them as not-my-family.  This is my children’s family.  They’ll someday have fond memories of the quiet, relaxed side of the family (like I do of Christmas Day with my dad’s family) just as much as they’ll enjoy the raucous, crazy side of the family (like my memories of my mom’s side of the family).  See the symmetry? 
2. I’m going to experience the holidays like an observer would.  Did you ever join a friend on holidays with their family?  It was a much different experience than this in-law thing, because you didn’t have any expectations.  If you made comparisons, they were factual, not emotional. So just like my mom tells me stories about my dad’s side of the family and their celebrations, I’m going to watch with an observer’s eye so I can tell my kids about their dad’s side of the family.
3. I’m going to remind myself that this isn’t a zero-sum game. Sure, we all make compromises in the name of marriage, but this isn’t an all-or-nothing deal.  We’ll spend holidays with my family again, next year, in fact, so I need to stop thinking about this Christmas as “the Christmas I wasn’t home” and start thinking about it as “the Christmas we got to spend at home.”
4. I’m going to enjoy the quiet moments rather than wish them away.  Every year since I moved away in 2004, I’ve had to deal with holiday travel – the expense, the frustration, the hours and hours on the road.  Every year.  I buy gifts based on weight and suitcase availability, wave goodbye to my animals and prepare to come home to a trashed house and mounds of laundry when we return.  But this year, we get to sleep late in our own bed, enjoy our many animals and their shenanigans, bake treats for the neighbors, watch Christmas movies on repeat, wear our pajamas all day, eat lobster for lunch on Christmas Eve… the list goes on and on.  A good friend remarked that she wished she and her husband had the chance to create their own traditions – while I was wishing that I was packing to go to snowy Boston for the holidays.  The Christmas is always cheerier on the other side.
5. I’m going to do the little things that remind me of my peeps… even if they take effort and shopping and money.  So, tomorrow we’re going to make tamales, darn it, and maybe try to bake biscochos.  We are going to wear Christmas pajamas and eat a big ol’ ribeye roast and snack on yummy appetizers and drink wine and open presents and enjoy the fire tomorrow night. And maybe play Scrabble. On Christmas Day, we are taking our Christmas freaking spirit (and tamales and biscochos) to my sister-in-law’s house, plus handmade gifts I hope they don’t hate, and we are going to have a good time.
6. I’m going to grow up, be a wife and enjoy this new life.  I’m still going to whine and maybe even shed a tear because I won’t be with my peeps, but that’s part of growing up and getting married and being someone’s wife (and someday, mother).  Seven months ago (tomorrow!) we gave up our “before” and walked into our “after,” and this is part of our after.  His people became my people.

How are you doing with the whole holidays thing?  Do you have any other hints?

I should be finishing my next-to-last Christmas gift (so that I can get to the LAST – hallelujah — Christmas gift) but instead I found myself writing a blog post in my head.  Again.  The same blog post as the last three times I noticed myself writing blog posts in my head, so I figured it was time.

Why do so many of us have discomfort in celebrating holidays with our in-laws?

I’ve been thinking about this because I like my in-laws, but I’ve been kind of poopy about Christmas with them.  (Hi, sister-in-law!)  I’ve been a brat, wanting to scream “No!” every time I hear about plans, any plans, but without a good reason.  I just don’t wanna.

{Consider my silence on the whole matter evidence of my maturity.}

This is the first time since 2004 I haven’t been back in New Mexico for Christmas.  That year, I stayed in New York City with my husband, our first year away from family in a new city with fabulous Christmas traditions of its own.  It was fun, but I barely remember it.

What I do remember is being home for Christmas in the year I was most alone.  Then a year later, bringing my new boyfriend home (for the first time ever at the age of 28) to meet my overwhelmingly fabulous family, all 19876 of them at once.  He handled it like a champ.  We went back the next year and had a great and relaxing time.

This year we’re here, a compromise offered that seemed fair at the time, except now I want stomp my feet and wave my fists and declare my unwillingness to believe in fair, thankyouverymuch.  I just want to be back home.

And then I remember: home is here.  I’m married.  We’re a family.  And I wonder why it’s been so hard to disengage from my family-of-origin this time when I don’t recall any angst the first time around.  Maybe the second time is harder because you know more clearly what you’re giving up.  In the years I lived hundreds of miles away from them as I attempted to grow up and own up, they welcomed me home and for a few days, I knew exactly what to expect, how to act, what to say. 

I got to be the filter-less ME.

Newlywed life is tough.  Fun and fantastic, but tough.  I keep my mouth shut much more often than before; try harder; wish more.  Wishing is bad.  Nobody should have to try this hard.  And I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut.  It sucks my soul.

So this year more than ever, I want to go home.  I want to remember what it feels like to just be me around people who have known me forever and can’t leave me.  We’re all stuck with each other and I love that.

Instead, my husband and I are struggling to be what each other needs.  We’re exhausted, frankly, and wishing we’d opted to go to the place where traditions absolve you of the need to do anything but go with the flow.  My family’s traditions are big enough that they carry on despite, well, almost anything.  My mom has nine sisters, so even if some people can’t make it, other people will.  We don’t have to think or decide or make anything happen.

We’re feeling the burden of being the grown-ups who have to make things happen.  We’re tired.  We’re prone to grinchiness and sitting around in front of the TV.  But we’ve sucked it up and found some Christmas spirit.  We put up a tree, planned a Christmas Eve dinner, bought each other presents.

And when I want to scream “No!” because I wish I was with my family, I’ll remind myself that this is my family now.  My in-laws, my husband and I are my children’s family, just as much as my parents are.  We’ll build traditions in preparation for our kids, which is a much more fun way to think about it, even if all we do is spend an hour or two together on Christmas Day.

{But I can’t wait to go back next year, prettypleasethankyou.}

After two weeks of complete work-craziness, I have very little on my calendar today and am wallowing in it.  Also trying to back up photos to my external hard drive and failing, which is contributing to my case of the Mondays.

I made this prototype slipper last Friday:

It’s very elf-like.

I used bonus fabric that normally lives in the cat bed, hence the cat hair.  The pink plaid liner isn’t attached to the lip of the top of the slipper, so you can slip a little heat pack in there.  Haven’t decided if that’s enough warmth to make the whole thing worthwhile, and I can’t test it because I don’t have a microwave.  I was going to make the for-real ones this evening, but our neighbor died on Saturday night (the same night we had our neighborhood block party and talked about how he’d likely not be able to live on his own much longer).

This neighbor:

He took a fall Saturday morning and refused to go to the hospital.  A nephew came to stay with him that night.  They went to bed, and in the morning, our neighbor had passed away.  I suppose that’s not a bad way to go when you’re 95 and a WWII veteran.  Service is tonight, so we’ll be there instead.  Time to break out my funeral dress… so sad that it’s been with me (on me, technically) at so many funerals, but oddly comforting, too.  More later on the circle of life and our neighborhood.

And, to round out the telling of the shit-tastic weekend stuff, Indiana Jones Jr. Poopinski Romano Martin has a heart block.  My husband thinks I’m crazy because I consider dog-owning practice for kid-having, but I continue to learn lessons for which I’m thankful. 

This lesson was that, even when all common sense and people around you are contrary, you must stick to your guns when you have a gut feeling.  I knew something was wrong, left vet visit #1 feeling stupid for being one of those owners (you know, the hypochondriac anthropomorphizing owners), went back saying dammed to everything (money and common sense included) but something IS NOT RIGHT… and I was right.  Which sucks.

So now he’s wearing a sweatshirt because half-a-heart-rate means poor circulation means constant shivering… and we’re complete suckers letting him sleep in our bed and eat pizza with us.  Appointment at the University of Tennessee veterinary hospital in early January, strict orders not to over-excite him until then (does giving him lots of kisses count?), and trying to be thankful that we live in a place with a board certified veterinary cardiologist.

I think I’m blowing off as much of today as possible.  And by blowing off, I mean making the remaining four of eight Christmas presents that must be mailed this week.  Here’s a preview:

More pictures tonight when I finally get this godforsaken piece of metal to backup my files so I can clear enough hard drive space to download pics off my memory card.  I wish Santa would bring me a personal ‘puter.

Christmas has always been a big deal to my family.  On my mom’s side, my extended family gets together twice: once the week before Christmas to make tamales and again for the big shindig on Christmas Eve.  On my dad’s side, Christmas Day is the big day, with lots of eating and visiting and hanging out.

I’ve missed Christmas with my family only one other time, the first year I was married the first time.  I’ll be missing it again this year after taking Joey with me for the past to years.

It seemed fair.

Except that his family has less solid traditions.  I’ve been quizzing him for weeks, teasing little snippets of stories out of him as I try to figure out what Christmas will be like this year, and I’m fairly sure there’s a lot less family time and a lot more non-traditional time.

So I’m on a mission to create some traditions for our new little family so that I don’t miss my family (of origin) so much.  Coming from such a large family with such ingrained plans, this is both scary and exciting.  Realistically, we won’t always be back home with my family for the holidays, and I want us to have traditions with our family here, too.

What if our Christmas Eve is a total dud while everyone is partying back home?  What if we have just another day?  I feel like this is an opportunity, but I need your help.

Here’s what we have so far:

Christmas Eve: new pajamas (Christmas pj’s, of course) and a fire and… something.  I suggested putting up the tree, but he wants it up earlier than that.  Given how much else we have going on, my way might prevail.  The pj’s are a tradition I want to continue when we have kids and is extra special because it’s a mobile tradition: we can put on new Xmas pj’s wherever in the country we are.  Maybe we can exchange gifts, he and I and my brother (who will be visiting for Christmas, yay!)… but what else? I’m leaning toward doing all the decorating that night, but then we won’t be much in the holiday spirit ahead of time, ya know?

Christmas Day: his family comes over, we start with a simple brunch in the late morning, watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation while we digest and finish dinner, then eat again in the early afternoon.  Should we play games? Sing songs? (just kidding about the songs) Bake cookies?  His peeps don’t tend to hang out for long and I’m trying to keep us together for at least a little while.  I want us all to be comfortable hanging out, but I’m not generally good at setting that kind of a stage.

What do you do for Christmas? Got any traditions we can steal (ahem, borrow) from you?  Thoughts on how to make sure everyone doesn’t stand around chatting awkwardly?