Reality Check

Last weekend we ventured to the mall for our annual visit to Santa. The visit where our boys sit on his lap for 45 seconds, rattle off all the goodies on their wish list, smile for the camera, grab the candy cane on the way out and wave good-bye to our hard-earned $25. Oh that's right, we did get the 5x7 photo for our blinking Santa frame. Keepin' it classy.

Speaking of classy and Christmas, I'm curious if I'm being too harsh on my husband and would love to hear some honest feedback. I'm really not sure where to begin, though. Let's just say that if I were to allow him total creative freedom when it comes to decorating for Christmas {or really any holiday, for that matter}, our house would win tackiest in Greenville County. No, really. There would be NO question. Clark would be put to shame. This is our 11th Christmas together and only the first time I've agreed to a real tree. Now, I have nothing against real trees, per se. I've just always heard they are messy and a fire hazard. Clearly I need nothing else to pick up after and am not looking to burn down the new crib but I compromised this year {with the understanding that we have white lights} and ta-da! We have our first real tree. Though it wasn't an excursion to cut one down in 4 feet of snow, D1, d1 and d2 picked a great one out {courtesy of Food Lion}.




I'll be the first to admit that it looks great. My poor pre-lit is probably so lonely and confused in the garage but the real tree really is gorgeous and smells so fresh. And the best part? I haven't seen one pine needle on the floor in a week. I'm probably getting my hopes up but if that's the case, let me live in my fantasy bubble. We did get a tip to 'water' the tree with 7-Up to help with the shedding and so far, so good.

Now back to the decorating style in question. As the boys are trimming the tree, I'm going behind them and merely assisting by moving the ornaments around to have an even distribution. While doing this, I notice a few that were hung that should have been in the trash years ago. An example? A brass Wal-Mart truck ornament. I believe this was my Christmas gift as an employee in college from good ole' Wally World. Thanks, Sam. You really went all out. Now, I did enjoy my job as a pharmacy tech but I have no desire to dangle the 18-wheeler from my tree, all these years later. Off you go. That's just one of many randoms I removed but the point is that D1 thinks the tree has to have EVERYTHING on it. No matter how old, how irrelevant, he thinks it belongs. And then the next day he really sent me over the edge. He ran to the store for a few last minute items for Thanksgiving and came back with....{gasp!}.....icicles for the tree. Really? Really! I mean, I really thought our tree looked great and now we're just cluttering it up with crap? I will admit, this is when I cried. It was totally the stress of hosting a dinner for almost 20 people that night that made me cry, but I think the icicles did me in. I know, self-proclaimed mess, remember? It wasn't one of my better moments but it did keep D1 from opening the second box.....

I think I'll leave it at that for decorating disasters. I won't start in on the inflatable St. Nick or the life-size plastic nativity set but I think those are self-explanatory {and for the record, NOT in my yard.} Needless to say, when a holiday comes around that could be depicted as one with decor, we tend to disagree on what is classy and what is trashy. He thinks that since we have kids, bigger and brighter are the only ways to go and if we don't, we're cheating them. I disagree. Where my girls at on this one? Am I wrong? I can take an honest opinion. I have been known to be wrong a time or two.

As I'm proofreading the above, I realize my title has nothing to do with what I've written but that's because, like always, I fluttered off on a tangent. There was a different direction I was going. Ah, yes. So, while at the mall after said portrait was taken, we did a little Christmas shopping. I wondered into Aeropostale and found a few gifts. This was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and they still had killer sales and I noticed a rack of cute signature t's for $7 and a super cute, hot pink one was just calling my name. Let me just say that I haven't shopped in this store for myself since college but it was a great price and I can always use some pink in my life so I flipped through the stack, grabbed a medium, decided to go with a large.....just in case it had serious shrinkage....but really thought it would be too big. Yes, I should have tried it on but 1) the entire brood was standing outside the door of the store, giving me 'the' look and 2) I just don't try clothes on. I really have no other reason other than I don't want to take the time. I definitely should have overlooked the stares and tried the shirt on because O.M.G. I put it on that night to go out for pizza and almost couldn't breathe. I was so confused. I still wonder if the company misprinted these labels because this was ri-donk-ulous. Maybe this was the reason for the $7 price tag. And so one would think with as tight as it was that maybe it would suck me in, right? You know, like a corset? Nope. Opposite, rather. It pushed every inch of my pudgy midline straight out front. You know those toothpaste contraptions that squeezes all the paste out? My shirt was a human form of that contraption. I am surprised I didn't hear the infamous 'When are you due?' line from some stranger while we were out. So there. My reality check. I'm old and I can no longer shop in Aeropostale. Ever. Perhaps they could post a sign outside their door that warns us. It could save some mental anguish. Maybe something like 'This store is only for individuals ages 14-15, sizes 0-2P. All others may proceed to the local JCPenney's for moccassins and moo-moo's.'

I probably should have just re-titled the post but I remember how I felt last week and I was all fired up. At who, I'm not sure but I know I was.

And some random funnies before I hit the hay. At 9pm. And there it is. It's not just the clothes that affirm I'm an old hag. I am going to bed at 9 AND I said 'hit the hay.'


d2 - 'Why do they call it a belly button?'
Me - 'I don't know. Maybe because it's round, like a button.'
d2 - 'No, that's silly. I think it's because it connects our belly to our butt.'


d2 - 'Daddy, who's your husband?'
D1 - {snickers} 'You'
d1 - 'No, he doesn't have a husband. He has Mommy. She's his woman.'

Guess that was my chance to teach them my real title in this house.

Queen.