Duly Noted

Doling out presents acquired from weeks for perusing African markets, Christmas in Milwaukee was as gray as a shock to the system can be gray. My stomach still can't handle my mother's fiber filled menu, nor the buttery cookies that my dad, sister, and I secretly stock up on to counter brusselsprouts, root vegetable casserole, and fish. I love my mom's cooking, don't get me wrong, but my white bread and wine diet in south western Africa didn't prepare me for a quick reunion with mom's food pyramid. Enough about food, I feel sick thinking about it. I guess I should mention I'm lightly hung-over as I write this; well worth it, still... I knew, flying home from Jo-burg, adjusting would be tough and I certainly didn't want to sink back into the miserable routine of waking up at four in the morning to open up City Market Bakery and then the day sort of teetered away after that... I still haven't figured out how exactly I'm going to make it to San...

Mike proudly displays his loot. On the roof. A real baby bump. Christmas cookies. Rachel poses beneath the tree. This is actually from Thanksgiving, but an accurate and timeless display of Vasich game nights.

The self-congratulatory holiday letter.  Did everyone write individual cards by hand until the era of copiers and printers?  I suppose the holiday letter is considered a time saver as composing thirty plus letters before Christmas is an undeniably daunting task.  Additionally, I've been told most people can't even read cursive anymore, so handwritten letters are an effort in vain. I am a sucker for handwritten letters.  Over the years, I have read and re-read published letter collections of authors and cultural icons.  I head down to the basement to read my Grandpa Len's letters and prolific journals every time I visit my parents.  I imagine these writers at their desks in pools of warm light as night colors rise in the sky and their loved ones fiddle with pots and pans in the kitchen.   Mike teased me about my holiday letter conundrum.   "Nothing to be stressed about."   "I'm not stressed- I just want to say something...

You know the song, "It's the most wonderful time of the year..."  That's pretty much my mantra starting around Thanksgiving week and wrapping up in mid January. As I write this post, I am listening to the holiday station (programmed on all household and vehicle radios) AND Mike is currently buying out Menard's stock of holiday lights. Here's a glimpse of the weekend's festive and not-really-festive happenings: Today, The Longfellow Lights Committee prepares this year's awards.  A popcorn bucket and Muppet's Christmas Carol will keep us on task as we cut and glitter (yes, I used glitter as a verb). Mike and I attended an 8-hour Childbirth Express Class on Saturday.  I should write an entire post about this, but for now, I will say that we feel confident and excited about the birth process.  We also quizzed each other on childbirth trivia all the way home.   True or false- a newborn should have 3 soiled diapers before it leaves the hospit...