Wishing you a...

Merry Christmas

Peace 

Love

Joy

That day.

The one that separates the nancy from

the man.

determines the under dog.

who wears the pants in the family.

Not spoken of all year.

but it's there.

like a taupe colored elephant,

invisible to all.

all but two.

The words bring a hushed silence.

furtive glances, lips pursed.

 breaths are taken and eyes

squint at the memory of the last

'that day'.

Many days pass throughout the year.

days that bring beautiful gifts and bounty.

 none are equal to this day.

the day were we beg, borrow and steal.

share is met with a burning glare.

Everything learned in kindergarten is forgotten

on 'that day'.

Today was that day.

surprised me.

caught me off guard,

somewhere between a screech and a six string.

it was in a Christmas bag, on the kitchen counter.

wrapped in wax paper.

It was alone.

more importantly, I was alone with it.

a daring move.

Hands shaking, I unwrap the wax paper.

a little nibble, an edge.

might as well even that off.

maybe just break it in half.

if I lick the paper, it won't look like I

ate so much.

My eyes catch sight of the bag.

The bag my husband brought home from work.

The bag containing the Christmas gifts.

The gifts given to him by his employees.

Wait.  


Is that?

Are there?

Could it be?

It. 


Is.

There. are. two.

Glory Alleluia!

What is THAT DAY?

Today is the day it doesn't matter how big my butt gets.

As long as I get ALL of the .....

BAILEY BUNDT CAKE!!!

Mairzy Doats

I can't say I wasn't warned.  

Given fair warning.  

Unfortunately, information given to me, 

when I'm on the lamb, 

shirking my motherly duties,

 I'll forget.  

What could I possibly be doing, 

to make me forget this important email?

SHELLING 

That's right.  

Not just SHELLING, but EPIC SHELLING.  

Unbelievable SHELLING.  

I had reasons for forgetting!  

SEA ?

Kings Crown.  Big as my hand!

hermit crab in Whelk with eggs and babies

alphabet cones, true tulip, horse conch and unknown shell

I bet you see right through me.  

I'm trying not to tell the story.  It's embarrassing.  

Mostly to my first born.  

Yes, I was told that my daughter was selected to play a lamb
in the school Christmas play. 

Yes,  I was told six weeks before the show.  

I forgot. 

I could blame my daughter, she did tell me her
music teacher had a costume for her.  

I forgot to double check.   

My baaaaad.

A few short days before the play, my little babaloo
sheepishly tells me,

 she needs a costume after all.

  *$@!^#$@, I think.  

Two shakes of a lambs tail later, I order a costume for $7.99
and pay $19.99 for two day shipping.  

 I hit the town, searching for black leggings, black turtleneck,
black mittens and black socks.  

Wrongly assuming this would be a piece of cake.
 I search every store carrying kids clothes, known to man.  

Leggings?  

1980 called, they're not called leggings anymore.  

Leggings are now called jeggings.  

Jeans + leggings = jeggings.  

 Jeggings for eight year olds are designed
by wayward Disney stars, 

who are in rehab for punching out back up dancers and cocaine.  

But I digress.

Done right?  

Possibly.

 If your little babaloo didn't decide to research lambs, what lambs looked like, 

what lambs ate, drank and how high they could count.  

Nope, my child wants to be 'in character'.  

Out come the scissors, straight pins, measuring tape, fabric glue, 

white fleece fabric, white pom poms and anything else Sherpa like I've ever worn.   

I'm a little excited, what with my new pledge to be all crafty and all. 

 I can do this, I think!

pom poms, fabric glue, fleece material

Except, I kinda can't. 

 I mean, kitchen scissors don't really cut thick fabric so well.

 Apparently, proper sewing scissors are needed.  

So she's a little bedraggled.  

She's playing a lamb, sitting by a haystack in a manger at the Birth of Christ.  

Likely no one will notice.  

Burning the midnight oil, I finish the costume, gluing white pom poms 

on black felt ears,

 sewing a mouth and eyes on a white hat, trimming the fleece 

as best I can with my clunky kitchen scissors and left handed child scissors 

I find under a chair, 

while searching for the straight pins I dropped.

fleece ears.  No, they're not supposed to look like elves feet.

lamb costume.  Ala Wilma Flintstone

The next morning, I offer both costumes to little Babaloo.

Tell her if she chooses the store bought one, as not to die of embarrassment, 

I understand.  

That is the one I might choose.  

No need to worry about hurting my feelings.  

She nods her head, wide eyed and takes both costumes to school.

We head to the play, me wondering what she wore, 

praying no one made fun of her.  

I'm actually having a hard time breathing.

 I'm so nervous.

Finally.

It's her turn to take the stage.

She walks out, tall and proud.  The biggest smile on her face, blond mane flying back.

Guess what she chose?

♥  Honey, I love Ewe  ♥

What?????

Madness? Huh?  


Let me explain my madness.  'Madness' is defined as fury, lunacy, or rabies.  Madness can also be decribed as folly or unrestrained excitement and enthusiasm.  I'm centering on the later meaning, as last I knew, I haven't contacted rabies or been declared insane.  Yet.

unrestrained excitement

Remember 'Mad about You' ? Paul Reiser and Helen Hunt were 'mad' for each other, unbridled excitement to be married. Wait. Didn't they end up divorced? Scratch that example. 
Think, think, think, think... here's one - I'm mad about chocolate. I'm mad for my size 6 shorts ( when they fit, which was 1983). I'm mad for shells, so mad I have a strong ass head lamp and thermal booties, so I can comb thru tide pools in freezing temperatures. I'm mad for Sanibel Island, Florida, 'cuz it's the third ranked shelling place in all of the world.

live horse conch.  So mad about the orange.

I'm mad for Northern Michigan, as the vast majority of my childhood memories were created here.  'Up North' also offers Petosky stones, which are almost as good as shells. 


I'm mad about Art and Crafts.  The sad truth is however, I have absolutely ZERO talent in this department.  While I am joyously surrounded by artsy folk, no matter how hard I've tried, my little projects have never compared or been in their league.  So guess the heck what?????


What.  What i've decided to do is complete my projects without fear.  So What if they're not perfect.  What is perfect, is that i'm perfectly happy to love trying.  Jolly I will be, with my new folly.  


Now tell me, What are YOU mad about?????

other folk, similarly mad about shells