Maybe Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll have enough TIME.

Did you know that Father’s Day is THIS WEEKEND? I know! First the May long weekend is “early”, now Father’s Day is on the 15th, and I feel like I’m in some weird time warp. Which means, of course, that my father-in-law’s card will be late – as usual – and that I’m scrambling to figure out what to get my own dad. I don’t know how things work in your house, but in mine, I’ve somehow become the default person for buying cards for my in-laws. If I don’t, then no cards will be bought, written in by the children, and sent. On the one hand I feel a bit resentful about this turn of events, but on the other, the thought of my father-in-law walking to get the mail and getting no card from the kids is just too sad.

Yesterday I went out to purchase a gift for my husband. We don’t usually go crazy with gifts on Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. Typically, the kids make cards and I go shopping at the garden centre as my Mother’s Day gift, which somehow turns out to be MUCH more expensive than, say, a bouquet of flowers. Two minivan-loads of plants later, my Mother’s Day gift is fulfilled. But Father’s Day tends to be a bit trickier; the kids want to give a gift, but my husband has, literally, everything. How many subscriptions to Golf Digest and boxes of Pro-V1s does one man need?

But we had a big barbeque on the weekend, with my husband making ribs for the guys and a butternut squash and vegetables for me, and he announced that he would really, really like a big platter with which to carry ribs/ giant steaks/ other meat in to the house, rather than having to make several trips with our normal plates. A big platter! That shouldn’t be hard, I thought. I’ll go out and look, I thought. How difficult could this be, I thought, ridiculously in retrospect.

Sometimes we need a sign from the universe to show that the paths that we take are the right ones. In my case, I normally shop online, with only a few exceptions. I love online shopping; I can clearly see what items are in stock and what are not, generally you can get a coupon or sale code, and my purchases magically show up right at my door. Unfortunately, with Father’s Day coming up in a mere five days, I didn’t really have time to wait for shipping and I didn’t want to pay extra for expedited shipping. So I slicked on some lip gloss, slipped on my fancy non-dog-walking shoes, grabbed my purse and headed for The Bay.

What is it about The Bay? I will keep to myself my opinions on the Jessica Simpson line of clothing that included denim overall shorts, but I will not keep quiet about the disaster that is shopping at The Bay. Why is it so disorganized? Why is it so cluttered? Why is there never any stock, or staff to help? Why do they make it so difficult? I circled around the Housewares department several times, perking up at the barbeque accessories only to be disappointed again and again. I looked through each and every aisle, wondering why the electric razors and suitcases were right beside the kitchen linens, and why there was every kind of kitchen gadget imaginable but no platters. Why were there barbeque accessories but no outdoor dining accessories, save for bright green plastic plates and plastic cups with a floral motif? Was a simple platter so hard to find?

I gave up and went to Bed Bath and Beyond, the name of which store I can never say without silently repeating, a la Frank the Tank, “I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll have enough TIME.” But Bed Bath and Beyond was worse. That store is like a sensory explosion; walking into it I find I can barely remember what I went in there for – was it this Jelly Belly Slushee maker? Or maybe this “Roll-a-Lotion Body Lotion Applicator”? How about a spiral vegetable cutter? That whole store is like an experiment in how quickly we as a species can make a landfill overflow.

Suffice it to say I did not find a platter, although I was directed to a section with cheap-looking floral plates and clear plastic platters, which already looked stained and scratched. I looked at my watch, realized that the afternoon was half over, went home, and found something online that will be delivered in 7-14 business days.

Better late than never, and sign from the universe taken to heart: next time, skip the store.

Fashion Friday!

Here’s the thing about being a food blogger: today, instead of eating my usual healthy lunch of nuts and a green smoothie, I ate guacamole and a vanilla cupcake and I now feel like I’m going to explode. All in the name of recipe testing. It just so happens that the cupcakes are blog-worthy, but that wasn’t my main reason for making them. For lo, we have a birthday today in the Boyhouse:

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What’s a birthday? says Barkley

 

Our fuzzy baby is six, so welcome to middle age, Barkley! In the spirit of mid-life crises, Barkley festively rolled in something at the dog park last week that made me a) hate him and b) thank god that I had a bottle of no-rinse dog shampoo in the cupboard.

So it’s all cupcakes and festivity around here – well, the birthday boy does not get to partake in the cupcake celebration, but he will have a nice dog chew to work on.

The boys had a very pleasant trip to the zoo, despite the rain, and despite the fact that Jake was in a group with a “bossy girl who he DOES NOT LIKE” who – evidently – made fun of the animals all day long. How or why one makes fun of animals, I do not know, but it raised Jake’s ire enough to discuss this ad nauseam.

While they were at the zoo, I was at the hair salon. A new girl mixed my colour while my usual hair therapist got organized, and I kind of think I have a different hair colour now. I’m not sure, though.

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Maybe an extreme makeover! I’m not sure.

It seems darker, but maybe it’s just “first day” colour. In any event, while I was at the salon I chose not to feel out of touch by reading People magazine, and instead settled in with a copy of In Style. Now, I consider myself to be fairly aware of the styles these days. I try to keep up, and to wear fashionable-yet-classic-and-age-appropriate wear. It turns out I have no interest in the new styles, if this is what’s in fashion:

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Say NO to the sporty cinch.

 

I had pants like this. They were pale pink and had a matching sweatshirt. It was called a sweatsuit and it was 1984 and WE DO NOT NEED TO BRING THAT BACK. It reminds me of gym class, and let me tell you this, I was not an A student in gym class. I got the “Participant!” sticker and/or ribbon for every single sports event on sports day, when my friends were getting actual ribbons and stickers that showed athletic prowess.  I am certainly not about to embrace this style, not just because of the emotional trauma it stirs up, but because it’s unflattering.

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I’d wear these as PJ’s, totally, but not as actual clothes.

 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with a tapered leg, although it makes me think of the 1988-90 when my mother would sew the calves of my jeans so that they would be tapered. Thanks, Mom! I mean, it’s not a great look, to be sure, because nothing says “Large thighs and bottom and teeny little calves” like a pair of super-tapered pants. But I’m specifically saying no to the above pair of pants. People, horizontally striped pants are really best left in the jammie department.

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Wide crop, tapered leg, MAKE UP YOUR MIND, FASHION PEOPLE. Actually I don’t mind the wide leg look so much, but I’m not a big fan of:

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When I was pregnant I had the kind of maternity pants that went under the belly, even though my mother was scandalized when I got too big for everything and had a strip of belly showing where my maternity tops ended and my elastic-waist pants began. I owned that look. I would rather have that than the feeling of elastic waist ending just below my bra line, and that is how I feel about these pants. It’s just too Steve Urkel or that Martin Short character to me.

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Need I offer further comment?

I weep for all humanity.

39 Clues…about being 39

Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 39. It’s the start of my last year in my thirties! Some people feel gloomy on their birthdays, but not me. I love birthdays, and also, I don’t want to be dead, which is the alternative to aging. Bring on the age, I say! One step closer to shuffleboard, slacks, plastic jewelry, and sexually harassing young male orderlies in the Home. I also think that birthdays are the day to party, caramba, fiesta, forever, and to also wear tiaras.

tiara

Thanks to my friend Rebecca and her girls for bringing it, tiara-style.

 

With the vantage point of being 39 and one day, I give you my list of 39 random thoughts about being 39.

1) I like the way “39” sounds. Not quite middle-aged, but old enough to OWN these forehead wrinkles.

2) I feel way more healthy and attractive than I did twenty years ago.

3) I’m confident enough to rock a bikini, which I didn’t do twenty years ago.

4) Still, I would like the girls to be more like they were twenty years ago, if I’m being honest. Gravity and age has been hard on my poor deflated rack.

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Ah, youth. Remember drinking before going to the bar? It was all about economics.

 

5) This would be why I’m a Victoria Secret devotee. I need all the engineering I can get.

6) I think I have better style now than I did twenty years ago, but that might be due to the fact that twenty years ago I was wearing high waisted jeans and bodysuits.

Pirate

And puffy pirate shirts.

7) Letting my hair go more than six weeks between colours is disastrous, not only for the inch long grey roots, but because the rest of my hair resembles orange straw.

8) Every morning I check my chin for long black hairs.

9) Despite checking every morning, every once in a while I will notice a one-inch black hair under my chin that wasn’t there the day before.

10) Although the whole world drools over Don Draper, the man I find most attractive on Mad Men is Henry Francis. And also, disturbingly, Jim Cutler.

11) In a similar vein, I find Mike the most attractive man on Breaking Bad.

12) I feel disappointed in a motherly sort of way when I think of Jesse. I do not find him attractive in the least.

13) I recently referred to Chris Evans as a “very nice looking young man”.

14) It’s been 25 years since my first viewing of Say Anything, and I still kind of identify with Diane Court. I AM a show pony, after all.

15) While at the salon on Friday, getting my grey roots and orange straw hair coloured, I read People magazine and realized – not for the first time – that I don’t know any of today’s hot new celebrities. Celebrities featured in People that I did recognize: George Clooney, Jennifer Aniston, and Boo the Pomeranian.

16) I am older than Sally Albright, Mrs. Robinson, and Princess Diana when she died.

17) Of all fictional movie characters, I most identify with Sally Albright, even if I have a few years on her. This is especially true of the way I order food in restaurants. “On the side” is a very big thing for me.

18) My husband took the winter tires off my minivan and put on the fanciest rims you have ever seen on a minivan. My ride has been pimped, as they say. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, minivan style.

19) Because of these hot new rims, I feel like I’m going to be the bitchin-est mom at pickup. I already kind of look like this guy when I’ve got the beats going, but with a minivan.

20) Damn. It feels good to be a gangster.

21) My husband says I am the easiest person to buy gifts for, because I’m hysterically excited at just the thought of gifts.

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Presents presents presents!

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PRESENTS!

 

22) This was exemplified by my squealing excitement at the receipt of a dish towel from my children. But then, it was this dish towel, so that’s pretty amazing.

 

pi

Easy as Pi! There’s even a graphic of a double cone. I’m sure there are some reading this who knew me in high school, and so “Conics Goddess” may have some meaning for those readers.

 

23) Last year I received a dehydrator and this year I received a juicer, and I am absolutely thrilled to receive kitchen appliances as gifts.

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But then, I guess I’ve always been excited about receiving kitchen appliances.

24) I am old enough to see not only fashions from my childhood back in style, but also from my teen years. I’m too old to wear them though, so I guess I will leave the bubble skirts and gladiator sandals to the young people.

25) I use terms like “young people”.

26) When I read magazines that have those “Beauty At Any Age” articles, I flip to “In Your 40’s” because the advice for “In Your 30’s” feels a bit irrelevant. I feel like my fertile years are greatly in the past (knock wood).

27) I cannot blame my children anymore if I’m tired.

28) I cannot watch movies that are sad, scary, or violent.

29) I did, however, recently watch Love Story on a plane, and was struck by my teenage resemblance to a young Ali MacGraw. It must be the eyebrows.

 alimacgraw copy

eyebrows2

29) I spend a great deal of effort plucking those eyebrows because these days, they would make me look less like Ali MacGraw and more like Martin Scorsese. See also: chin hair.

30) I can remember the song lyrics to practically every song I’ve ever heard, yet I need to write down “put out garbage” every second Monday.

31) I feel vaguely shocked when I hear of people going out at nine pm, even though I know I once did that too.

32) To me, a perfect evening sounds like watching Downton Abbey in my pajamas with a bottle of wine.

33) Only on weekends though, because I had one measly drink on Sunday night and my Monday morning yoga practice felt like I had turned into the Tin Man.

34) Speaking of which, I’ve never watched The Wizard of Oz the whole way through because it freaked me out as a child and it freaks me out now. Tornadoes, flying monkeys, general creepiness.

35) I actually said to my husband, when we were spring cleaning and getting rid of old toys, that “maybe we should keep that for our grandchildren”.

36) I don’t actually want grandchildren until my kids are 30 or so.

37) I point out pretty girls to my husband, who tells me that it is not normal to tell your husband “Look at that girl! She’s hot!”

38) I have friends who really get me, and every day I am awash in appreciation for them. You know who you are, you ladies who make me laugh and smile and think about things, you who I see daily and you who I only see a few times a year but it’s as if no time has passed, you who read my blog and you who try my recipes. I love you all! xoxo

39) Every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am. My family, my life, it all feels charmed. I’m filled with gratitude for every year and I’m excited for the years to come.

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Lucky, lucky me!

 

12 Days of Christmas Started Two Days Ago

Today I am on a quest to embrace sloth and gluttony, and wish only to curl on the couch with wine, popcorn, and one of my new Christmas-gift books, and yet I am faced with two universal truths: the laundry never stops, and the children require nutrition. I have acknowledged these interruptions in my sloth-like schedule, but not without a teensy bit of resentment.

My longing for relaxation is possibly spurred on by events from yesterday, which would be best described using the words “obsessive”, “frantic”, and “cleaning binge”. I have to admit that I take down and put away the Christmas decorations with the same zeal with which I put them up. I’m not sure how to explain this, exactly, except that every year at approximately 8:00 am on December 25 I fight the urge to clear away all the chaos and Clean All The Things. I do fight the urge, however, and Boxing Day in the Boyhouse is the day that all the Christmas items are boxed up and closets purged. It probably says something about my personality that I cannot relax and enjoy the holiday amid post-Christmas chaos and disaster.

I like to think that there are two distinct types of us cheery little Christmas elves: the Advent Elves and the 12 Days of Christmas Elves. I know some of us wouldn’t dream of taking the tree down until Epiphany, or New Year’s at least, but others of us (read: me) feel that Boxing Day is the Last Possible Day The Tree Can Be Up Whilst Maintaining Our Sanity. Advent Elves.

The boys have been happily alternating between putting together Lego sets and playing new Wii games, and are preparing to be introduced to Junior Scrabble and Perfection – gifts from my parents. Jake, especially, is interested in Perfection, although he may have a slightly different idea of “explosion”. He asked me if we should play this game in the basement because he didn’t want any of his complicated Lego sets to be damaged in the playing of Perfection.

Speaking of Wii games, we had bought the Just Dance 2014 game, allegedly from “Barkley”, and spent Christmas Eve getting our groove on. I don’t mean to boast, but my disco moves are pretty excellent, proven by my earning 5 stars on YMCA on my very first try. What can I say, I know my Village People.

 

My 5-Star disco dancing skills aside, it’s been a wonderful holiday so far, even if I have been still preparing meals and doing laundry. I have a stack of wonderful new books to delve into, new charms for my bracelets, new pajamas that have owls on them, and many other lovely things. My mother gave me an apron that is absolutely adorable; it’s a little TOO adorable, maybe. She bought it at a lingerie store so I’m not sure if it’s for cooking or “cooking” but in any case, I love it.

How was your Christmas, lovelies? Tell me everything. xo

Mark poured almond milk, just in case “Santa” couldn’t have regular milk.

We moved Jake’s bed into Mark’s room so they could have a “sleepover”,
which is still going on and appears to now be unbreakable tradition.

Just call me Lynn Raisman.

I’m not sure how you parents of children in highly competitive sports do it. This weekend was the Candy Cane Shiah at the boys’ karate dojo, and the boys each competed in a kata and a weapons division. The whole time I was a bundle of nerves and it was the Candy Cane Shiah, a very friendly and fun competiton. I felt like Aly Raisman’s mother, except all that dialogue was going on in my head and also, I didn’t really know the routines that they were doing. STICK IT STICK IT YEAHHHHHH. Mark got a bronze in kata and a silver in weapons in his division, and Jake got a silver in kata and a GOLD in weapons. This is what he looked like after winning:

So that was pretty fun. The entire day they walked around the house wearing their medals, like they medaled in an actual Olympic event. It was a constant jangle all day long.

This photo says everything about their personalities. Last night the boys were working on math sheets, practicing for unit tests on Tuesday. I looked over Mark’s word problems, which were all correct but just had the answers written down, no setting up of the problem, no work.

Me: Mark, you have to show your work. 801 is the correct answer, but how did you get it?

Mark: Um, I regrouped. In my head.

Jake was working on greater than/ less than problems, and the question specifically asked “How do you know?”. Jake wrote “Because I know math.” Partial credit?

The weekend before last we decorated our gingerbread house, and I feel like we’ve made gargantuan strides in this area. Part of this is the fact that I buy the pre-made house with the pre-mixed frosting and the pre-cut-out gingerbread characters, and before you say well, YEAH, you have to be an idiot not to make something decent out of that much pre-fabricated festivity, I invite you to see the house from 2011. But look at this year’s offerings! I am going to admit that this is the year that I have had the least involvement with the decoration, and it is also our best house ever. Possible correlation. I was too busy making the gingerbread Christmas tree to really fuss over the frosting lines on the roof, but it turns out my husband is remarkably competent in this area.

Those are my husband’s hands, not mine, wielding the frosting.

 

That is supposed to be me, in gingerbread woman-form. Aren’t I lovely?
See, the little tree was taking up all my efforts. And the red snowman…I don’t know. It wouldn’t be a gingerbread house in the Boyhouse if there wasn’t some kind of dead/ bloody/ blown up/ violent component.
Mark made a smiley face on the side of the house – the windows are the eyes. Jake put that blob of red frosting there, showing where the nuclear explosion was. I should maybe be concerned.

Clark, Audrey’s frozen from the waist down.

I know I complain – often? – about the crabby old ladies on the seniors’ bus who swarm the Co-Op when I’m grocery shopping and who snap at the sole cashier for being the only one working, like he has a choice in this matter, and who bang the back of my legs with their shopping carts and who, in general, seem to be going through life – or at least, the grocery store – with a black cloud hovering over their heads, but yesterday I had the loveliest conversation with two elderly ladies in the (sole) lineup. The conversation started with commentary about an unflattering photo of Hillary Clinton on the front page of a tabloid, which then led into a discussion about the perils of celebrity, and how we all feel sorry for young actresses who get labelled as “PREGNANT?!?” just because they had a large lunch or are slightly bloated. And yes, I did use the term “young actresses these days” because when in Rome, well.

It has been so cold here, complete with insane blizzard conditions that has left giant snowdrifts everywhere, but especially in the alley behind the school. Since Tuesday, I have personally seen eight cars stuck in the alley, one of which had to be chained out this morning. Public Service Announcement: do not attempt to park in alley until further notice. It’s so cold that I’m bundling up like Laura Ingalls on her way home from the Brewsters’ for the weekend (thanks Hannah!) and so I’m waiting for my husband to romance me old-timey style. Maybe we can exchange name cards or touch mitten tips or something.

The local news is entirely taken up by this cold snap. I have no idea what, if anything, is going on in the rest of the world because the newscast is entirely filled by messages about how many seconds it will take before your skin freezes, and to dress in layers. Noted!

OF COURSE it’s the coldest week of the year because it’s also the week that Mark’s class is having their swimming lessons. Luckily the pool is right next to the school but due to some disastrous planning their lessons end at 11:50. Guess what the chances are of 27 third and fourth graders getting out of the pool, showering, getting dressed, and putting on a zillion layers of winter clothing by lunchtime dismissal? Yeah. Our lunchtimes have just become that more rushed.

The weather is also cramping my dog walking style. Although Barkley is furry enough to tolerate these frigid conditions, I – despite my Scottish/ Norwegian heritage – am not. As I told my dog walking companions, my cut off is minus 15, which has unfortunately left us walk-less this week. Yesterday I decided to suck it up, buttercup, and walk ten minutes to the post office, dog in tow. I’m not sure if it was sheer giddiness from being outside after a cabin feverish week, or the fact that we were going a different and therefore extraordinarily exciting way, but Barkley was pretty much the most over-stimulated dog ever. If I could read his mind, it would probably go something like this: Where are we going? This is new! This is different! They have snow here! I’m going to pee on this snow! Then sniff the snow! Sniff sniff sniff. So many smells! Where are we going now? What is this place? There are people around? OMG a tree. A TREE. They have trees in this new exciting world. Where are we? What is this amazing place? OMG exciting. Wag wag wag. Hopefully the weather breaks soon or his fuzzy little mind is going to explode the next time we walk down a different sidewalk than usual.

The kids have a day off school tomorrow – again – so today has a nice, festive, long-weekend feeling. I think this weekend will be the one to make our annual fugly gingerbread house! Stay tuned! We’ve been improving every year and yet…

we are still not candidates for a career in gingerbread decorating. Remember the melted snowman? And the dead gingerbread man in the background? What will this year’s bring?

I don’t know what to say, Audrey, except it’s Christmas, and we’re all in misery.

Here’s the scene: me, at the table, surrounded by envelopes and holiday cards, armed with an address book and a notebook, the same notebook that I’ve written Cards Sent and Cards Received in for the past eleven Christmases, with pens and stamps and special return-address labels that I ordered this year, with a motif of pussy willows and holly berries. My husband, looking at the giant stack of photo cards, that I planned back in October and ordered at the beginning of November with love and happiness, asks exactly how many cards I’m sending out. Around sixty, I reply. Maybe a few more, depending.

Sixty cards, give or take, might feel overwhelming to some people. It might feel like a giant chore, a hand-cramping source of stress, but to me, it feels exactly right. Every card makes me happy and at no time does it feel like a chore.

The same goes with holiday baking. I baked these cute little fellows on the weekend, and decorated them with the kids, and at no time did I feel panicked or stressed or overwhelmed in any way, even when one child made a gingerbread man with a cast on his leg and red splatters all over his torso, or another child plastered twenty M&M’s on one cookie.

Don’t eat these yet! I need to take a picture! – quote from every food blogger ever

Hard at work at the gingerbread factory.



Do I look stressed? No? That’s because I’m not.

A few weeks ago, I saw this on Facebook and I, as usual, felt a strong connection to Buddy the Elf:

Even if it’s October, hell, even if it’s AUGUST, which is when I usually get the Wish Book in the mail, I start to feel festive when I see Christmas decorations or hear Christmas music. The reason? Because I love Christmas. I love the holiday season and all that goes with it. I just cannot relate at all to those people who are upset by the sight of a decorated tree on November 2 or who feel stabby when Last Christmas comes on the radio. I wander around in my happy little Christmas bubble and forget that for a lot of people, ’tis the season for stress and road rage in the mall parking lot.

I forget that for a lot of people, it’s less about singing loud for all to hear, and more about it being Christmas, and we’re all in misery.

Here’s the thing: it doesn’t have to be that way. This is not usually an advice blog, no, nor is it one where I want people to feel bad about themselves that they are not creating their own Advent calendar of quotes from Elf and Christmas Vacation. But I tell you this: I love the holiday season and it makes me sad to think that for many, many people – women, especially – this is a time of stress and unhappiness, of a feeling that you need to do more, more, more just to be doing it right.

There is no doing it “right”. Well, there is, but not the way you think. Here is my basic rule that I think everyone should adopt. YES, EVERYONE.

IF IT CAUSES YOU STRESS AND UNHAPPINESS, DON’T DO IT.

Of course, there are always some necessary stresses: visits from people you have to see rather than want to see, duty gifts, family dinners you are forced into hosting, et cetera. But honestly? If the idea of sending out cards makes you break out in hives, DON’T DO IT. If the idea of baking eleven dozen cookies makes you want to stick your head in the oven, DON’T DO IT.

NICOLE’S RULES FOR MINIMAL HOLIDAY STRESS:

1) Bake a zillion cookies only if you want to. If you don’t like baking, buy some cookies. Or ask me, I’ll bake you some shizz.

2) Want to decorate cookies or gingerbread houses with your kids, but don’t have time? Buy some premade stuff from the grocery store, buy some tubes of icing, and go to town. No one will judge you and if they do, well, no cookies for them.

3) If you don’t love sending out cards, don’t send out cards. Usually those of us who send out cards do it because we like it, not because we are expecting reciprocation.

4) Shop online. Avoid the mall. Give magazine subscriptions. Buy gift bags instead of wrapping everything with handmade paper and six-inch ribbon curls.

5) If the thought of a holiday party is causing you anguish, don’t have one. Invite your friends over sometime in January. Everyone will be just as happy – if not happier.

6) Don’t feel bad if you can’t volunteer with the homeless, box up gifts for the unfortunate, or do other festive good works. Those needs will still be there after the holidays. You can help then.

7) Don’t feel like you have to do EVERYTHING to give your kids an authentic and joyous holiday experience.
    a) Your kids will probably not notice if you don’t make cocoa from scratch, have a daily activity calendar of Christmas-related activities, or have hand-felted a special Advent calendar for their enjoyment. This is especially true if they are under age 7.
    b) Your kids WILL notice if you mire yourself in your own high holiday expectations and then have a screaming breakdown over the leaning tower of gingerbread that is your gingerbread house.
    c) COME ON. Whatever you do will be awesome. Remember when we were kids and would go out on our own and sled until we couldn’t feel our feet and then when we came home our moms made us a cup of hot chocolate from a powdered mix and non-homemade marshmallows from a bag and it was the best treat ever? Kids pretty much are happy with whatever, so don’t beat yourself up about using those Pillsbury tubes of sugar cookie dough.

8) If you’re hosting Christmas dinner this year, ask everyone to bring a dish. So what if your mom made dinners for 25 people all on her own? This isn’t about her, it’s about you.

9) Stay away from Pinterest, or if you like Pinterest, then remember that not everything needs to look a certain way for it to be authentically awesome.

See? This is the worst gingerbread house ever. Yet my kids liked it.

 

10) If you’re at a family function and your mother-in-law is criticizing your turkey and your mom is eyeing your gravy with suspicion and your aunt is wondering WHY you didn’t make her recipe for Lutefisk, take a page from the book of Druncle and crack open the wine. Play your own little drinking game and instead of getting upset, have a sip and smile every time someone says something untoward.

Remember the most important thing: do what you love to do, not what you feel you HAVE to do, and the rest will follow. xoxo