My Nightmare Before Christmas.

I'm a large six months pregnant, attempting to keep the peace between two highly charged girls, while trying to maintain a chipper holiday spirit, while adjusting to my new church calling, while struggling to keep the dishes and laundry in check. Unfortunately, I have the energy level of a three-towed sloth and find myself unable to accomplish any save one of the afore mentioned items. I'm still a large six months pregnant. So, no neighbor gifts or Christmas cards this year. Potty training has been indefinitely postponed. And as for that chipper holiday spirit? Well, "chipper" isn't exactly in the cards. "Mildly contented holiday spirit" more like.
Still, as mildly contented as I am this year, it sure beats the pants off of last year. Last year was nothing short of a nightmare. Are you ready for this? I call it "Merry Christmas 2007."

First there was Brooklyn's notorious ballet recital. She was supposed to be a doll in a high school rendition of the Nutcracker's Suit. Dressed rehearsal went well, except for having Andy's car towed from the gas station in the middle of a snow storm. That didn't go well at all. Two-hundred dollars and countless frustrations later we got our car back. Merry Christmas douche tow-truck driver. On the night of Brooklyn's first performance she wandered out on stage in the middle of Act I, but was conspicuously absent from her own dance in Act II. That is, until she made her debut clinging desperately to her teacher's leg, screaming like a nazgul while all the other dancers and audience watched in nutcrackery silence. Brooklyn refused to go to her second performance, and the next day developed an eye infection. Merry Christmas lil' nutcracker.
One morning I woke up to about a dozen baby spiders crawling on and dangling from our family room ceiling. Our Christmas tree was infested with them. I hate spiders. Merry Christmas exterminator. That next weekend was Brook's Joy School Christmas party, where she would be playing the part of Mary in their little six-child production. Thirty minutes 'til go-time a massive tantrum ensued causing Brooklyn's eyes to swell completely shut. So rather than attend the party, we dropped our cookies off and spent the evening at the nearest Instacare where Brook and Avery were both diagnosed with Pink Eye. Merry Christmas pharmaceutical intervention. This was mere days before our planned trip to California to visit my family, which we were compelled to cancel due not only to Pink Eye, but the terrible congestive colds that Andy and I both developed. It was a bitterly disappointing vacation. Instead of sharing goodies and hilarious antidotes with loved ones, we tackled both children four times a day, attempting to hold their eyelids open for expensive medicated eye drops. Merry Christmas ruined festivities. The day after Christmas we disassembled our tree in low spirits. The webbed star said it all. I have never been happier to see January.

I don't know about you, but I'll take large six-months pregnant mild-contentedness.

My Dilly-Dallyer

Brooklyn is a dilly-dallyer. Meticulous and careful by nature, she has exceptional concentration for a five-year-old. However, this does make it difficult for her to move from one activity to another. In a world where we are often driven by the clock, life can be frustrating with someone who will not be rushed.

This month she has been attending our neighbor's Joy School twice a week. Each Tuesday and Thursday morning we awake with time to spare. "Hurry and get dressed Brooklyn" I instruct. She disappears in her room. Thirty minutes later I find her still in her underwear, putting multiple outfits together, unable to decide. "Brooklyn we only have ten minutes before Joy School starts and you have to eat breakfast. PLEASE HURRY." I emphasize. Five minutes later, "Brook, if you don't put something on and eat RIGHT NOW you will be late for Joy School." "Brook, less talk more action." "Do you know what HURRY means?" "It doesn't MATTER what socks you wear. JUST HURRY." "Brooklyn, no TALKING- EAT!" "HURRY! HURRY HURRY!"
Its not her fault. Like many kids her age, she just doesn't grasp Go-Time. But unfortunately I still get frustrated with her.

This morning it was my fault. I thought it was Friday until Avery remembered, "Is Brooklyn going to Joy School?" Thank you Avery. She was already fifteen minutes late. "Brook! Today is your Christmas party! We have to HURRY!" And she tried to. But there were so many pretty panties to choose from. And she couldn't find the socks she wanted. Avery and I said a quick obligatory prayer over the Cream of Wheat but I soon realized Brook wouldn't have to time to eat any of it. "Brooklyn! You are not very good at hurrying! You are going to miss your party!" I yelled. She came running down the hallway with her snow boots, flopped down and pulled them on as quickly as she could. "Is this the right way Mom?" She asked. "Yes! Hurry!" I threw her her coat, "Hurry!" I handed her a Pop Tart. "Eat this! Hurry!" She flopped back down to the floor. "What are you-?!" But I had to stop. She was kneeling down in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, arms folded, head bowed reverently, saying a silent prayer over her breakfast.

I don't teach my children half as much as they teach me. In the midst of worldly demands I had grossly neglected my priorities. My five-year-old Brooklyn, however, my little dilly-dallyer, had remembered her Savior. And in her humble way, she taught me the most valuable lesson I've learned this Christmas season.

Twelve Days of Christmas Tag

One amusing Christmas memory * Two Christmas' ago, when Brooklyn was three, she received a Raggedy-Ann doll from Andy's Grandma Dot. As she opened it, I thought to myself, "My what a classic and lovely present from her great grandma." Brooklyn's reaction, "Red hair? Oh NO!" as she chucked it across the room. Prejudice little ingrate. She has since come to appreciate the doll as well as the untamed glory that is red hair.

Two theories why Santa chooses the chimney as his best means of entry * a) free rooftop parking, b) Santa's a pyro.

Three things you want for Christmas * a web cam, impractical shoes, and gift cards.

Four of your favorite Christmas movies * A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, It's a Wonderful Life, and The Grinch (original cartoon).

Five ways you've been naughty this year * I hid Andy's old shirts in a bag under the bed and pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. Yes, I heard the phone ring but I let it go to voicemail. I purchased Blades of Glory. I used expletives while driving. I gave the impression I agree.

Six ways you've been nice * I refrained from punching the snooty woman in the grocery store in her perfectly whitened teeth. I said please and thank you. I saved the last cookie for Andy. I gave others the benefit of the doubt. I practiced patience beyond my own. I took a giant leap of faith.

Seven people you suspect are elves * Elija Wood, Erika, Rene' Zellwegger, Beck, our Olive Garden waiter, Hugh Grant, and Shana.

Eight of Santa's reindeer (no cheating) * dasher, dancer, prancer, vixen, comet, cupid, dunder, and miflin.

Nine uses for snow * instant icepack, to make delicious snow-cones, to throw at unsuspecting bescarved victims, fortress to hide behind while throwing at said victims, good excuse to stay warmly bundled inside house, cloaks ill-kept yards, easy to track people on foot, awesome to slide down on sleds, keeps salesmen at bay.

Ten least favorite things about Christmas * frenzied shoppers, middle-aged women in SUV's (see frenzied shoppers), creepy Santas, Michael McLean, hallmark movies, unbridled avarice, driving through snow, pop stars mutilating Christmas carols, non-gifts (the obligatory ones you receive from people who don't really know or like you), extreme commercialism.

Eleven word associations to "figgy pudding" * giddy, puddle, poodle, fiddle, goopy, fructose, yeti, piggy, Cedric Diggory, bling-bling.

Twelve reasons you love Christmas * pine-scent, gingerbread cookies, the first snow, twinkling lights, classic Christmas carols, new pajamas, hot chocolate, neatly wrapped packages, family togetherness, eggnog with sprite, reverent nativities, and my children's faces.

*i tag you.

My Gosh!

Is it just me or have any of you noticed the steady decline of the Sortor Rules! fan base? Before October hit I had anywhere from 12-20 comments per post. Since October the average has dropped significantly to around 5. I thought this was, in part, due to the destruction of my brother's computer. It turns out he and his wife were responsible for a great deal of commentary. I thought maybe their return to the blogosphere would raise numbers back up, but unfortunately this has not been the case. This begs the question: What's the dealio yo? I have a few theories.

Theory #1: Others find me offensive.

Hey, we all have strong opinions. I have especially strong opinions. In fact one of my especially strong opinions is that we can agree to disagree. Another strong opinion is that a sense of humor is absolutely necessary to make it in this often unpleasant world. Sometimes you have to choose between breaking something or laughter. I have broken things before but I prefer laughter as the healthier, less destructive option. Granted I'm not as funny as sometimes I think I am, so please take half the things I say with a grain of salt.

Theory #2: Its the economy.

I know a lot of people out there are stressed and struggling right now. Blogging probably doesn't rank high on the priority list- totally understandable. Or NOT! Blogging is free. Throw me a friggin' bone people!

Theory #3: I have lost my mojo.

This seems to be the most obvious answer. Pregnancy will do that to a person. That first trimester literally sucked the creative juices from my veins. Not only that, but it also rendered me fat, unattractive, and generally useless as anything other than a pod in which our fetus might feed and develop. I get it, nobody likes a pod. Methinks I will go eat worms.

Theory #4: You have all been drawn away by that siren, Stephanie Meyer.

Theory #5: Blogging is no longer hip.

Maybe blogging has lost its novelty. Maybe people have moved on to something better. Maybe something I don't even know about. Maybe Sortor Rules! is the hammer-pant of the Internet. But you know what? I like hammer pants. And I'm not going to stop wearing them just because everyone else is into high-waisted acid wash jeans.

Whatever the reason, the point is I enjoy blogging because it helps me feel connected even when I'm isolated. I enjoy writing; I find it therapeutic. I enjoy sharing my family with you and keeping a record of our goings-on. In short, while I miss the abundance of comments I used to receive, and I don't completely understand what changed, I still have every intention of continuing on with Sortor Rules! because ultimately it isn't about the comments. Its about the narcism.

Tagnabbit

Nothing like a good old fashioned tag in the mornin'! Shana, Wayne I dedicate this to you.
*i am Batman.
*i want a collection of adorable and ridiculously overpriced handbags.
*i have a hankering for fish & chips.
*i miss my regular clothes.
*i fear hardcore crafters.
*i hear distant bells.
*i search in vain.
*i wonder what bark is made of.
*i regret talking too much and not enough.
*i love butterfly kisses and pumpkin butter.
*i forgive your lack of comments.
*i ache mostly in my lower back.
*i always enjoy a good book.
*i try to maintain eye contact.
*i am not a smart man.
*i seem even less savory than I really am.
*i know I KNOW.
*i feel large.
*i dance like a child of the night.
*i dream of world domination.
*i give 97%
*i listen at doors.
*i sing Metallica in the shower.
*i laugh at my own jokes.
*i can't multitask.
*i write for your entertainment.
*i cry at Juno and The Return of the King.
*i sleep on my side nowadays.
*i am not always tactful.
*i see by the grace of corrective lenses.
*i need constant affirmation.
*i should practice self restraint.
*i tag Erika, Angie B, Brittany, Trish, Chrystal, Denise, Anna, and Emily.