Take note of the fist-bump from dad...

While in GA for Thanksgiving, we went to a minor league hockey game. I was expecting some violence on the ice, but wasn't prepared for such activity off the ice, too...




I kept hoping one of the grown men that this little tyke was harassing would jump up from the penalty box bench and scream or something. Little cherub probably would've wet his pull-up.

I certainly hope "anger management classes" are at the top of this youngster's Christmas list.

Right after "lump of coal".

O Tannenbaum

One of the most vivid family traditions of my childhood involved our annual trek to the Christmas Tree Farm. The four of us would venture out into the (pre-planted, civilized, slightly commercialized) wilderness to find the perfect tree. After a brief hay ride to the middle of the farm, we'd get out and set about the task.

After much debate (it's too tall...it's too fat...it's too bare on the left side) we'd all finally settle on the perfect tree. Or maybe I just imagined that part. More likely, mom or dad put his or her foot down and declared an end to our adventure. I'm sure there was pouting involved somewhere. But isn't that the beauty of traditions? The mind is kind.

Here we are with our 1987 Christmas tree:

One might ask: was it also our tradition to salute the camera?

And here we are at the car, posing with our selection:

Well done, team. Well done.

Fast forward to present day. The Christmas Tree Farm of my youth is now a subdivision. The logical next stop for a girl in pursuit of a tree?

Yup. That's right. This year, my search for the perfect tree lead to the friendly neighborhood Food Lion. Where the delicately display their Fraser Firs:

And only charge $29.95. So it lacks the idyllic setting of an actual farm. What lacks in charm, it makes up for in...well...good story making?

And giving credit where it's due, it really is a beautiful tree. Not too tall, or fat, or bare:


As my mother would say EVERY YEAR when the decorating was done...

"I think it's the prettiest one we've ever had."

Encore of the nephews

Not to be outdone by his older brother, I now present Baxter in all his squeezably cute glory:




I mean...seriously? Painfully cute, right?

Fly me to the moon

I wasn't kidding when I said I'd be blogging your faces off. Want more proof? Check THIS out! My 5th post in 2 days. (You're begging for mercy, aren't you?)

In case you've forgotten, I have the two cutest nephews on the face of the planet. I get to see them later this week, and that makes me very happy (understatement of the YEAR). Since I live far away, my brother and sister-in-law periodically send me videos so the cuteness of my nephews can ooze all over my computer screen. I watch these videos over and over and over, undoubtedly grinning like an idiot the entire time.

Today, I'd like to share this video of Jasper with you, because what's better than some good 'ole imagination?




Oh, and Jasper? When you do finally make it to the moon...or Mars...be prepared to be the cutest one THERE, too.

#19

Number 19 on THE LIST was easy enough: Tell a manger about good customer service. I find that generally, I'm not a huge complainer (not out loud, anyway). I'd rather avoid conflict than let people know when I'm disappointed. Take yesterday, for example. I ran out to get a salad from a local deli. As I was paying, I noticed that the salad they had prepared for me was not the one I ordered. Instead of saying something, I took the (wrong) salad and ate it. It was actually pretty good...but that's not the point.

I've found that I'm just as reticent to tell when good things happen as I am to complain with things don't go my way. So I added #19 to THE LIST so I would be more intentional about being complimentary to others.

Enter late August, when I changed jobs and had to procure my own health care benefits. Talk about overwhelmed, intimidated, uneducated, and totally lost! That was me, trying to navigate the big, bad world of personal health care. And that's when I met Mr. Palmer.

I think he's probably a health care angel or something. I thought I caught a glimpse of a halo, but I can't be sure. He was so incredibly patient, kind, and generous with his time and knowledge. He listened to me, to my budget, to my stupid mind-numbing questions. And that was all before I knew if I would actually need his services!

When I became the proud owner of my own health care benefits, I wrote Mr. Palmer's boss a letter outlining my wonderful experience.

Long story short, the world could use a few more Mr. Palmers.

And maybe a few more people who vocally appreciate good service when they get it.

Women are from Venus. Men just wanna watch the game.

Many moons ago...like back in early November...Jeremy and I took a spontaneous trip to Clemson, SC to watch the Clemson Tigers play the NC State Wolfpack in a friendly game of pigskin.

Then life went blasting full steam ahead and I forgot to even look at the pictures I took with my camera to document the momentous occasion. This morning, while photographing my new best friend, I finally downloaded the Clemson pictures to my computer and took a gander.

And that's when I realized the full magnitude of my boyfriend's patience threshold. Imagine, if you will, a die-hard Clemson fan being pestered by his girlfriend IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME. All she wants is one good picture of you two at the game. Just one! You know, for Facebook. Or her blog.

She won't let it go, and you silently oblige her by posing for no fewer than FOUR photos. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME. She's finally satisfied, and lets you get back to watching the game, unencumbered.

Allow me to present for you the results of our impromptu, mid-game photo shoot:

Take One:
Her: (smiling sincerely) "We're outside! At the game! Weeeee!" Him: (through gritted teeth) "Would you please run the ball instead of throwing? What's with all the throwing? We have the best rushing offense in the ACC and still you insist on throwing on every play."

Take 2:
Her: (smiling sincerely) "I'm wearing purple! And eating popcorn!" Him: (not even pretending anymore) "Listen lady, you make a better door than you do a window. And what's with the officiating at this game? It's one missed call after another, and that's not doing us any favors. WOULD YOU PLEASE RUN THE BALL, for the love of pancakes?!?!"

I would like to state for the record that not once did Jeremy even grumble about my photo-happy intrusion.

It was more of a silent protest.

Say hello to my little friend.

During the great office clean-out of the 21st century, I came across a personal sized Duracraft Ceramic Heater. My initial reaction? A gigantic eye roll (shocking, I know).

But intuition told me not to throw it out. I scoffed at the heater, balked that someone might actually need to use it (sissy!), and stored at the back of the bottom shelf of a bookcase next to an inflatable pink flamingo and a used sleeping bag (ew).

Fast forward to early November, when the temperatures in Charleston plummeted to a chilly 60*. This office was FREEZING. My teeth chattered, I added layers, I lit a candle, and I suffered. For three days I suffered until I remembered the personal sized Duracraft Ceramic Heater.

I quickly retrieved it from the bowels of my storage closet and restored it to glory, in the floor at my feet.

Holy heat wave, Batman.

I heart it.


Which begs the question: Could it be that I actually don't know everything? Shocking.

Pet Peeve Monday

I have only blogged 4 times in the entire month of November. To make it up to you, I commit to seriously blogging your face off over the next 3 days...starting with the temporary revival of Pet Peeve Monday. You may have noticed that the Peeves have slowed to a trickle around here lately. But fear not! I thought of another.

It's a seasonal Peeve. I'm nothing if not timely.

Why, on Thanksgiving and Christmas, do people feel it acceptable to jimmy with meal times? Why must we wait until 3:30pm to have the Thanksgiving meal? What am I supposed to do with that? Eat a light lunch? Skip lunch all together in anticipation of the main event?

Also, have you met me? Do you know how finely tuned my eating schedule is? Do you realize that by missing my 12 - 12:30 lunchtime window, you are actually taking your life and the lives of other loved ones in your own hands? That at any moment, I may spew hot lava and other shrapnel in your general direction, all because you messed with my delicate schedule?

I theorize that there really WOULD be peace on Earth if only we would eat on time at the holidays.

I should've paid in pennies

Today, I enjoyed what was hopefully my last broken-arm related doctor's appointment. I'm sure you're pleased, too, given that now you won't have to suffer through any more broken-arm related blog posts.

During my appointment today, I was shown to an exam room where a little cute man-nurse asked me the following questions:
"Are you still wearing your brace?"
"Are you having any pain?"

He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and said, "the doctor will be right in" before he left the room.

Approximately 2 minutes later, the doctor arrived, we had a brief exchange, he bid me a fond farewell, and I headed to the front desk. Where they charged me $30.50.

THIRTY DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. WhatHuh?

A similarly thorough exam could've taken place via phone.

Or smoke signal, for that matter.

How annoying.

J.H.F.J.

For the past few weeks on Wednesday nights, we've been hard at work practicing the Christmas play at church with the kids (ages 3 - 6th grade). It's crazy.

Last week, I sat with the 4th and 5th graders during their music time. I can honestly say it's the best time I've had in a long while. During this particular rehearsal, they were learning the hand motions to some of the songs. Courtney, the teacher, was explaining motions verse by verse and asked the class, "Do ya'll know what jazz hands are?"

Two boys in the front row jumped up and, with great enthusiasm, demonstrated jazz hands for the class. It was hysterical....so very "Will and Grace", you know?

I had trouble composing myself and my giggles got worse with each verse, with each additional performance of jazz hands by the boys.

After enduring a few dismayed glances from Courtney, the singing drew to a close. Courtney then asked the group to think of a name for themselves - something that would convey the personality of the group and the fact that they're singing about God. After a few lame answers (sorry, kids!), someone suggested "Jazz Hands." Before I could stop myself (filter failed me), I blurted out, "What about "Jazz Hands for Jesus!"

All the kids cheered (admittedly, it is a pretty clever name) and Courtney looked crestfallen. The name stuck, the kids were laughing, the jazz hands were in full effect.

Kids. Having fun. At church.

Forget the hokey-pokey. Isn't that what it's all about?

I didn't even get fancy mustard.

When Jeremy's sister, Julie, mentioned that we should go to Wegman's for dinner, I was skeptical. You see, Wegman's is a regional grocery store in that neck of the woods. Julie explained that they had a wonderful prepared food section, and I became even more skeptical. A rotisserie chicken and some potato salad? What's so wonderful about that, I wondered silently.

But being the agreeable, good-natured person I am, I didn't protest. We loaded up the car and headed to the flagship Wegman's store. From the outside, it looked like a normal grocery store. I became intrigued upon noticing an entirely separate entrance for the prepared foods section.

Holy Prepared Foods, Batman.

An entire half of this giant store was dedicated solely to prepared foods. Buffet lines stretched as far as the eye could see. To say that the selection was amazing would be the understatement of the year. Chinese, Indian, hand rolled sushi, Mediterranean (I've never seen so many olives in one place), fresh burritos, gourmet pizzas, homemade soups, a vegetarian buffet, and ENTIRE section dedicated to CHEESE (be still, my heart). It was astounding.

We decided that everyone would choose his or her own dinner and we'd take it back to Julie's to eat. We split up, and that's when I froze. So many choices. So many options. Do I try something new? Maybe something from the Indian buffet? Or get a bunch of cheese and call it a day? That fruit at the vegetarian buffet looked amazing...maybe I should do that. Everywhere I turned, there were options upon options.

I panicked.

And decided to get a turkey sandwich.

Seriously? Yes. Seriously. I have a turkey sandwich EVERY DAY for lunch. And there I was, standing literally in the food capital of the universe, and I marched right up to the deli counter and ordered a turkey wrap with mayo, mustard, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. I didn't even choose fancy bread. I was reminded of the time I stopped myself just before buying a black cotton turtleneck at the Gap in SOUTH BEACH MIAMI.

What a loser.

But, for the record, it was a really good sandwich.

5 sentences about New York

Last weekend, Jeremy and I went to upstate New York to visit his family. It was great! I had never been to that area of the country before, and though the leaves were "past peak", it was BEAUTIFUL.

I'll spare you the little mundane details of the trip and attempt to sum it up in five sentences:

1. We got upgraded to first class on the trip there. (fancy!)

2. We visited three states in one day on Friday. (exhausting!)

3. We almost accidentally crashed a Hell's Angels Halloween Party and they actually invited us to stay. (scary AND nice!)

4. While listening to a band on Saturday night, I happened to look out the window only to see 3 Redcoats taking a smoke break; it was the ultimate historical experience. (costumes!)

5. I barely resisted the urge to tell Jeremy's mom (who's voice is so soothing) that she should be a hostage negotiator. (filter!)

Assuming that I properly used the semicolon in #4, I think my 5-sentence summary was successful. Just like the trip.