When did Christmas become a checklist.  I think it was back in 1987 A.C. (No– not After Christ, After Children.)  That’s right, December 1987 is when I first rode this crazy train; and despite many attempts over these many Christmas pasts to disembark, I’m still on it. I’m still making lists and checking them twice.  Very few of us still believe this is a cute lyric– we now know it was written by an overworked woman trying to keep up with her Christmas task list of tree trimming, gift buying, cookie baking, card sending, etc. — I could keep going, but I’m starting to feel overwhelmed.

The decorating alone has become as complicated as decorating the Vanderbilt mansion in Newport.  Since when did it become vogue to have a “little bit” of Christmas in every room.  Even the bathroom requires, at the very least, seasonal towels and a candle. The pressure of trying to recreate the same ambiance every year is starting to take its toll.  I’ve secretly started taking pictures of my efforts so I can refer back to them.  It makes reproducing the Christmas extravaganza a little easier when you have notes.

So far I’ve completed the Santa cabinet, two mantles, dining room, kitchen, living room, and great room.  I still haven’t put up outside lights or put up our tree — this requires help from my husband.  His duties include all exterior illumination, dragging the tree from car top to tree stand, and tree lights. Wednesday, December 12 is the halfway mark of Christmas decorating. (And you thought the 12 days of Christmas was just a song, it’s really a death march that takes the stamina of an Olympian.)  On this day I start questioning the sanity of the Holiday Production. It’s the day I start cutting my losses. One year we were late getting the tree up.  I started to think about all the time it took to put the ornaments on the tree (A lonely job that has the power to empty the house when announced.) The  tree lights looked great that year, but everyone wanted to know how I selected the one ornament that was on the tree — I just smiled and nodded — never confessing that it was the only one in the box with the lights.  I may have to resort to using that year as a threat  to get things moving with this year’s tree.

Maybe my Jewish friends have the right idea.  The decorating is done in fifteen minutes, and in eight crazy nights it’s over.  Enough pontificating for today.  The train is pulling out and I can’t miss it — jingle bells, jingle… still singing.

I’ts safe to say I would rather get a tooth filled or maybe go through labor again rather than shop for an outfit for the office Christmas party. I consider bathing suit shopping in February worse, but these types of shopping expeditions all come under the self-flagellation umbrella. It can be quite a humbling experience–you can’t hide much in front of a four-way mirror.  Usually I wait till the day of the party and run the gamut at the mall. It always ends up costing more– because I’m desperate. I’ve also had to make  some crazy promises to our tailor too.  This year, however, I decided to be proactive. I started three days before the party.

I’m not really a good cloths shopper for myself.  I usually shop at little stores; see an outfit on the mannequin and take it all — including the necklace. Last year I shopped at J. Crew. This year, in my quest for a dressy pair of yoga pants, I’m at J. Jill.  They have only one thing in common — the J.  FYI– J. Jill does not have yoga pants with sequins. Starting to sweat, I high tailed it over to Macy’s.

I managed to find a few dresses.  I wasn’t sure of the size.  Should I start with eights, feel like a fat loser right off the bat and move up to the ten; or start with the twelve and be giddy about going to the ten.  I took tens and twelves.  No sense wanting to commit suicide   with the first dress.  Did I mention polyester has made a comeback.  It’s nice and thick and stretchy.  If draped “artfully”, it hides a multitude of rolls. Usually I would have a better chance at being struck by lightning or winning lotto than I would have finding a dress in under an hour. I found three possibilities.  I decided to bring them home for inspection.  I modeled them for my daughter promising her I would wear control top tights before I sashayed  out of the bathroom.  We had a winner –she added a disclaimer — no underwear!

I may suffocate, but  tonight thanks to the miracle of polyester and lycra I believe I can make a ten look like an eight.

I consider myself a competent multi tasker.  I wasn’t always able to leap buildings with a single bound; these skills were honed these past 31 years while running a household, raising four children (two dogs, two cats and what could be considered a plague of small rodent like animals), taking care of my nana (similar to a child but not as cute), running a planting business, did I mention PTA, hospital fundraisers…. you get the idea. I got so good at multi tasking that I could talk on the phone while cooking dinner and still clean someone’s backside without missing a beat. –there were no cordless phones either, just phones with really long cords. Multi tasking a modern-day household is best described by Erma Bombeck — “Some days it’s like living in the eye of a hurricane.  It’s refereeing a family of differences.  It’s puppeteering  a houseful of personalities.  It’s making more decisions in a single hour than an umpire makes in nine innings. It’s the constancy of a job that runs from one night into the next day and into that night and into the next morning.”

The question is how to come down off that multi tasking high.  I’m like addict hooked on adrenaline.  How can I fill my day with so much time to get things done? I’m not half as productive with all this free time as I was with no time.  There is only so many Law & Order reruns to watch.  It’s gotten to the point that finding an episode I haven’t seen is as rare as finding a pearl in an oyster. How can this junkie get what she needs.  I’ve taken up knitting. I’ve cleaned out closets, the attic, even the basement has not escaped my attention. I was starting to question my existence.

Thank God for Christmas!  There is no event bigger in the multi tasking department.  I got a reprieve, they brought me back off the bench. With a smack on the behind I’m back– making lists, decorating, shopping, planning family gatherings — I’m almost on overload, just about falling behind.  It’s where I do my best work– fourth quarter two-minute  warning!  I have to bake cookies!   Did I mention wrapping?

I think I can keep this train going until January.  The kids mentioned getting a dog — could keep me going for the next two years– maybe I am high! Hopefully I come to my senses before I do something crazy.

Forget the fact that the stores have been in full holiday dress since Halloween, or that Santa arrived at the mall two weeks ago; the first real sign of Christmas just put in an appearance. That’s right, its official, the Christmas season has begun.  Yesterday I received my first Christmas card. It wasn’t just a “Wishing you a Happy Holiday Season” card, those are dead and gone. This was  color coordinated six photo montage featuring a yuletide rendition of the perfect family.

What used to be comprised of a simple holiday greeting with signature at the bottom, now requires a professional photo team complete with props and matching outfits. Who set  these diabolical holiday card standards is up for debate. What Hallmark started, professional photographers took to a new level. The Sears photo with pull- down alpine backdrop used to be cutting edge, not anymore.  The Christmas card photo bar has been raised  to new heights.

Full blown photo shoots start in September and go right up to December 24th. (Poor planners stuck with dates after December first are usually forced to cut their loses and send out their “holiday” cards as “New Year” cards.)  The families are easy to spot — children and parents are in matching outfits, and they are crying. (Not the kids, the parents.) They are being followed by a photographer capturing every happy moment.

Who am I to talk. I was just as crazy.  My last attempt at creating that perfect family photo greeting card was back in September, 2005.  The kids rebelled, actually staged a coup.  The boys refused to shave, the girls wouldn’t get out of their sweat pants; worse, my husband sided with the kids. Everything was digitally captured by a professional– not a single photo made the cut. I take these pictures out whenever I get the urge to try this type of lame-brain stunt again.  I did tried to convince them — Do it for me, I pleaded.–  Nope! Not a snowball’s chance in hell I was told.

With no fanfare my Christmas card era came to an end. I guess I could have gone back to boxed cards with handwritten notes, it just seemed too easy– no challenge– my heart wasn’t in it.  My advice: capture every digitally enhanced moment while you still can. You never know which photo shoot will be your last.

As if  Santa Claus wasn’t a hard enough sell, how about the Elf on the Shelf.  Really??? Let’s pile on some more pressure. The Santa myth is dubious enough. Especially implausible to the high tech kids we are trying to fool in 2012. Starting at age 2 they are fully capable of processing a search on their iPads, their Macs,  heck even their Kindles. “Santa – Fact or Fiction?” “How many miles to the North Pole?” I’m sure you get the idea!

Enter the Elf on the Shelf:  The Elf is “a very special tool that helps Santa know who to put on the Naughty and Nice list.” First you have to buy the kit; if you can find it.  Last year you couldn’t — even on the black market.  If you didn’t have it  by Thanksgiving, forget it, your too late.  According to “legend” the Elf starts his nightly espionage duties on the day after Thanksgiving. For the next month Santa’s “scout” is the eyes and ears of Santa.  It is purported that he takes in all the day-today-activities around the house– God forbid someone outside the house should actually witness the day to day mayhem that actually occurs. As if all this isn’t already beyond belief, the Elf flies back to the North Pole every night while you sleep to give his report  to the Big Man himself, who is taking names and making notes. The Elf then flies back again (in the same night) and finds a new perch to observe the household from. On top of all our other Christmas duties, add in finding a new hiding spot for the Elf each and every night leading up the big night, Christmas Eve. This year Thanksgiving fell one week earlier so all the Elf disciples get an extra week of hiding places to come up with.

Incredible? Farfetched? Beyond belief? You bet, and yet anyone with kids who still believe in Santa must have one. The good news– kids today are so savvy and high tech that they will only believe until they are eight years old; that’s down three years from when I believed in Santa. (I was 11– really!)  Yes,Virginia, there is a Santa Claus; but there is also an Elf — and he is watching!

The day after producing a sit down dinner for 24, starts out slow. Real slow.  No Black Friday sales for me! My feet still hurt.  I’ve just finished my second pot of coffee and still cannot motivate myself to put away the folding chairs, clean up the shards of walnut shells from the floor, or  start cleaning the stove top. Upon reflection, however, food fest 2012, went well.

Some highlights:  I had heard that the average Thanksgiving Day meal has a caloric value of 3,000 calories and you would have to run a marathon (26k) to burn it off– by 6 p.m I realized I could be in Iron Man territory.  I managed, against all odds, to produce enough stuffing to have some left over– however, because of the perceived “unlimited” quantity, my guests gorged themselves with stuffing and were practically rendered unconscious. As a direct result, I washed most of the dishes. Little kids love to crack walnuts — not necessarily to eat them.  Still my favorite part of the day — taking turns to read our anonymous “what I am thankful for” notes.

Today I’m thankful for the leftovers — no cooking only reheating — priceless!

Everyone I meet keeps asking me how I like being an “empty nester”? What empty nest!  You must mean the “not so empty” nest.  With all the comings and goings we have had this year, it’s hard to tell who actually lives here and who is just home for the holiday break. For this week at least I think I have a handle on who will require lodging here in the house. They came home by plane, ferry, train and car. At odd hours, I might add.  But everyone is home safe and sound.

There are harbingers all around me that herald their arrival.  Your probably thinking pumpkins, the smell of the fire smoke in the evening, the changing leaves perhaps — Not really!  How about the duffel bags full of laundry lined up in front of the washer like planes on a runway waiting for takeoff. Or shoes piled up at every port of entry. (Who knew they had so many.) Maybe it the glasses and plates in the den, on counter tops, and piled high in the sink. Could it be the blankets and mashed throw pillows strewn all over the family room. (Does anyone know how to plump a pillow?)  Empty boxes of cereal left in the cabinet, perhaps.

Actually, it’s more like all the chairs at the kitchen table are full at dinner. (Everyone talking at once to catch up on each other’s lives.) It’s a reason to cook a really great meal. It’s life like we once had on a daily basis and now only get a few times a year.  What I once took for granted I now treasure and hold onto with all my strength.

So– bring on the laundry, the dishes, the towels, those children eating food as if they are going to the electric chair.  You can’t scare me. I used to do this for a living, I think I can keep up till Monday.  Until then I’m going to enjoy every minute of my “not so empty” nest.

Today marks the beginning of “the most wonderful time of the year!”  NOT!   And so begins an endurance race that rivals the Iron Man. The season begins with a dinner party for 25. Translation:  40 pounds of turkey, 15 pounds of mashed potatos, stuffing (never enough), corn (always a guessing game), 2 sweet potato pies, gravy, pumpkin bread, and corn bread. And that’s just my assignment.  A dinner that took 5 days to shop, cook and serve, will be eaten and cleared away in just under an hour. At this point some people hear Christmas bells or angels singing; I hear the sound of gun — and start running.

Several years ago the radio stations started a new tradition.  They start playing Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving and it doesn’t stop until the day after Christmas.  This year Thanksgiving is one week earlier — an extra week of Christmas music.  I’m not sure why, but I am compelled to listen from day one. Even after I’ve heard Little Drummer boy for the 45th time!  Is this an addiction or some crazy attempt at lobotomy?  I’m not sure, but I can’t turn it off.  I’ve already started humming “White Christmas”.  I guess it’s a learned reflex.

So, for me, today marks the beginning of a tinsel marathon of decorating, cooking, stocking stuffing, shopping and all out holiday revelry.  I will doggedly listen to Christmas music, deck the halls and shop till I drop in a futile attempt to “have the spirit”.

No kidding now, I believe the trick to this race is to keep in mind that it’s not crossing the finish line that gives us satisfaction, but the actual race to get there.  Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the…..can’t stop!

It’s official– I’m back in stretch pants.  We don’t, however, call them stretch pants in 2012.  To be politically correct one must call them “leggings” or “yoga pants”.  But make no mistake, they’re stretch pants. Whether we call them stretch pants, stirrup pants (remember them), leggings, or yoga pants they all have one thing in common — they stretch.  You can get a medium size yoga pant or legging to stretch to a large.  Alright, you do have to yank them up every 20 minutes — but it’s still a medium.

My first encounter with this versatile piece of clothing was back in the 80’s. The era of big hair (how I long for crown height to make a comeback), stirrup pants, and long sweaters. I was in between babies, and I had my self convinced this was only temporary.  I would some day get back into my jeans.  Little did I realize that by the time I was ready for jeans, they changed the waist — it was now below my belly button.  Jump to present day, I still haven’t found a pair that are comfortable.

The buck stops here — I weighed myself today.  157.6 pounds– I’ve gained back 20 of the 30 pounds I lost 5 years ago.  It was hard when I was 47.  How hard will it be at 52? Damn hard — but I’m committed again.  Stay tuned I plan on keeping you posted (no pun intended) on Fridays.

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.  Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”  –Helen Keller

Have a nice weekend!

I stopped at the supermarket on my way home last night, trying not to be in rush mode. (This is turning out to be a hard habit to break.) Keeping my head down trying not to see anyone I know.  We have all done this drill.  The blank stare, pretending to be oblivious so you don’t have to stop in the aisle to talk “update” with someone you haven’t seen since your PTA days.  I finished talking to the butcher and inadvertently looked up from my list.

My brain registered recognition.  We started the usual banter — how’ s the kids, blah, blah.    In the middle of this mundane, momentary catch-up conversation she blurts out she has breast cancer. “Have you heard?” she asks me. She tells me about her treatments and about how her hair started falling out during Parent’s Weekend at her son’s college. She told me she was wearing her wig for the first time in public on this very day!

What courage!  I wouldn’t have known she had a wig on — it was a really good piece. Then I noticed she was holding her head very straight, stiff almost. She said she felt like her head would fall off if she moved too fast. I was in awe of her at that moment!  First time out, the supermarket! A melting pot of people from all avenues of your life.

I was proud of her.  Whether you run into a burning building to save a life, go on your first job interview after you have been home raising kids for twenty years, or wear your wig to the supermarket for the first time after losing your hair to breast cancer I consider you a hero. One of my favorite writers, Erma Bombeck said it best- “Hero is a term that should be awarded to those who, given a set of circumstances, react with courage, dignity, decency and compassion– people who make us feel better for having seen or touched them.”

On this day, I’m glad I took the time to look up and look around, took time to really see a friend.  She inspired me with her courage, and grace. I felt blessed to call her friend.

Be careful what you wish for!  For the first time in a long, long time I have the house to myself.  It’s really quiet!  This coming from a woman who is used to mayhem in every day life.  Four kids adds up to a lot of chaos.  When they were all “officially ” living at home, things were busy.  Just their schedules were hard to keep up with; add in their personal drama and your talking eye of the storm.

During, what I like to call, “the college years” (this period extends well past graduation) there is an enormous amount of coming and going. They leave for short periods of time and come back — but with a plethora of stuff. Big stuff like bedroom sets, large screen TVs, and huge wardrobes you can’t believe they had the money for. (My oldest has more shoes now than I’ve had my entire married life.)  I do have one rule upon reentry to the homestead. — No bedding!  Bedbugs!  Ugh!

For today anyway I am alone.  My work-from-home son has gone to “the office”.  He fondly refers to me as his cube mate. (His cube is our kitchen table.)  My travel-the-world daughter is in Malaysia on business. And what we fondly refer to as the “B Team” is happily taking no prisoners at their colleges. Like I said — the house is quiet.

Enjoy it I will.  Next week is Thanksgiving.  Really? The official and un official occupants of the house will be back as well as 16 other friends and family members.  I haven’t done a thing to prepare yet —  not like me at all.  Usually my lists and sublists abound.  Better order the turkeys today.

Yes, for today it’s quiet.  But you know what they say about the eye of the storm — you don’t really know what to expect on the other side.

I returned from my “celebration of friendship” trip relaxed and rejuvenated. We had a great time searching for treasures, seeing the sights, and dining to piano music.  Our hotel, the Vanderbilt Grace, was beautiful; an old mansion reminiscent  of a bygone era. Except, of course, for the very modern spa in the basement where we were scrubbed and rubbed from head to toe.  Heaven!

I guess it’s time to start to develop some sort of every day stay- at- home routine. What worked before I went back to work will not work now.  First order of business is to clean out a closet full of cloths that do not fit me or my current status.  Running around in too tight pencil skirts and trousers that need high heels is not going to cut it. So for today, at least, I can put off a higher purpose and purge my closet of the old me. Tomorrow, world peace!

“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”    -George Eliot-

Most people in the tri-state area are hoarding gas after Hurricane Sandy, but at our house we are hoarding bread.  It’s a strange phenomena.  Anyone returning home brings  bread.  Italian, whole wheat, English Muffins — the list goes on.  We are running “a house of carbs”.  Another brief power outage netted me a glazed stick from Dunkin’ Donuts.  This can only end one way — miles on a treadmill.  Ugh!

Tomorrow my friend and I are going on a trip to celebrate 25 years of friendship.  We met when our oldest sons were born.  Her son was born six months before mine.  She would pack up her jogging stroller (cutting edge back then) and hike the 1.5 miles to the village and back.  The week after my son was born, I literally stalked her as she set out on her walk.  There was only one problem.  She went one way and I went the other.  With baby screaming and no muscle tone left to speak of, I wandered the route I thought she would take. I rushed home as best I could.  My confidence was shaken.  Not the best of plans being 1 week postpartum. Long story short, we ended up walking every day together until I had baby number 3 ( too much stroller even for me).  A  great friendship was born.

We are headed to Newport, RI (into a Nor’easter) tomorrow for a bit of antiquing; then onto our spa/hotel for massages, a nice dinner, and a few laughs.  A nice way to celebrate our friendship which has always been full of respect, laughter and love.

“Life is fortified by many friendships–To love and be loved is the greatest happiness of existence.”    — Sydney Smith

I am counting this week as my first official week of “retirement”.  Last week doesn’t count — we had a hurricane. Initially I was worried about what I would do with myself. I already had the stay home, kids don’t really need me any more gig.  That’s why I went back to work in the first place. I found out there is only so much cooking, cleaning and decorating you can do for no one.

Everyone keeps asking me what I am doing today. (On a daily basis, I might add.)  I respond with a laundry list of chores i.e. paperwork, food shopping, making the bed, etc.  But the truth is, I keep walking around the house drinking coffee and watching the squirrels try to breach my bird feeders. (My family is worried– already calling me the squirrel lady.)  I have made some headway in terms of not thinking about the office I just left.  Old habits die hard, I find myself thinking about the office I no longer work for at the oddest times. While taking a bath or running on the tread mill.  (I guess it’s important for you to know that I worked for my husband.)  I’m still in the loop, so to speak.  And here I am talking about the office again.  No more!

My family will be bringing a truck load of necessities to the South Shore of Long Island, where Hurricane Sandi has destroyed whole neighborhoods.  I am contributing diapers, underwear, hand warmers, and anything else I think someone who has lost all would need. I am also baking chocolate chip cookies to be passed out in the hope I can bring a smile to someone’s face even if only for a second.

Anyone wishing to donate items or even drop a gift card in the mail can do so at the following address.  400 Townline Road, Hauppauge, NY  Suite 145.  Thanks in advance.

So for today at least — I’m busy!

HURRICANE SANDY:  A LICENSE TO EAT

On Monday morning when my husband walked in the door with two crumb cakes and two loaves of Italian bread, I thought he was crazy.  It was eaten by day three.  We have moved on to consuming food items in the pantry we normally turn our noses up at.  You know the items I refer to — the last flakes left in cereal boxes, cans of pickled beets, black pitted olives, and Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup.  I am munching on French’s French Fried Onions  leftover from last Thanksgiving 2008 as I write this post.  Since Sandy began her march up the Eastern seaboard, I have eaten more carbs than in the last two weeks combined.

We are better off than most on the fourth day of the worst catastrophe to the hit the Northeast in the last 100 years (also my fourth day of retirement–not exactly how I envisioned it).  We have a generator that powers the fridge, the hot water heater, and one outlet in the kitchen.  We also have a gas stove.  We are all basically living in the kitchen.  I guess that’s what life was like in the log cabin era. One room living. Ugh.  I currently have two grown children “working from home” complaining that I swallow my coffee too loud.  If I crinkle a bag they complain they can’t hear on the phone.  Really?  I had no trouble hearing on the phone while chaos reined all around me for 20 years.

Some might say all this “togetherness” is wearing thin.  This latest tragedy only makes me more aware of how fragile our world really is, and how sometimes all we have is “togetherness”.