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Our Family Christmas Letter – Volume 5

Fa la la la la and welcome to Our Family Christmas Letter #5.

The year of 2017 was the year of discovery.

I discovered that I can’t sleep past 6:00am and that I can no longer sit criss-cross apple sauce. If I do, I feel like my hips are going to crack out of their sockets. Also, I’m pretty sure there is nothing left of my knees. How do I know? It could be the fact that I cannot so much as walk to the end of my driveway without feeling like someone took a baseball bat to my kneecaps. Call it a hunch.

Why is all this happening? I don’t really know but I’m blaming the number 50 because it all went downhill starting on the magical day of April 6. Yes, I am officially middle-aged and it ain’t pretty.

I’ve also discovered that my pits have decided to sweat a river a day. I spent the better part of the second half of 2017 looking for the perfect deodorant. Just so you know, it doesn’t exist. Not even on the men’s shelf at Stop and Shop so don’t bother. Those dress shield things — otherwise known as maxi pads for your armpits — work well enough until one of them pops out of the top of your shirt. That’s a nice look. I highly recommend it.

I had my first colonoscopy which was a real joy. Everyone told me it was nothing. That the prep was the worst. I discovered that was not true and that my friends are all liars.

The worst part of it was vomiting upon waking from my procedure. Anyone who knows me knows I would rather give a speech about quantum physics with centipedes crawling all over me to a room of 12,000 people, than vomit.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration…let’s make it spiders.

Also, I still haven’t figured out how it was possible to throw-up when I hadn’t eaten in nearly 20 hours. One of the many mysteries of the world, I guess. Maybe I’ll discover why in 2018, as that discovery just was not to be so in 2017.

(Note: three polyps were found, so please don’t let the fact that I threw up deter you from having a colonoscopy. It could very well save your life.)

Work for me is going great. It took a few months, but the cobwebs are finally clearing out of my brain. I seem to have grown out of all my old work pants though, so I’ve been wearing the same four pairs.

I plan on fitting back into those too-tight pants this year, but my New Year’s resolution track record is not a good one; therefore, I wouldn’t count on it. I apologize to all my co-workers but I promise I’ll try to wash them as much as possible.

Our dishwasher died this year. So, in addition to not being able to prevent the occurrence of the River Nile from developing in my underarm region, I have become a literal prairie woman by washing my own dishes. My new nickname is Caroline Ingalls. You can call me Carol for short.

Our washer and dryer also kicked the bucket this year, as well as our microwave. There is nothing like having to warm up your leftovers on an open flame. “Carol” seems to be more fitting with every appliance breakdown, don’t you think? And no, I did not hand wash our clothes. I have to draw the line somewhere. Attention co-workers: I just lied to you back there.

As for the other members of the family, they are doing just fine.

Our college age dear daughter has decided when she comes home she is a guest; therefore, expects us to pull out all the stops. I put my foot down at putting out a pitcher of Perrier on her nightstand, though. Poland Springs will have to do.

Other than that, she is doing great. The college debt is building up just like it should be. The best part is spending an evening applying for FAFSA when we don’t get a dime. I find it entertaining to be declined. It makes me feel rich even if for just a moment when in actuality l’m pretty sure if you have at least a house made of cardboard, you are too wealthy for a government handout.

DH is doing well. Nothing much has changed with him. He still likes to park the motorcycle in the living room during the winter season. Even though I tried to explain to him that we are prairie people now and prairie people don’t do those things. He never listens.

He still has his job he loves. Last week, I caught him trying to poke his good eye out with a fork. I’m so glad I stopped him. It’s hard to do the job he loves with only half an eye. If you recall, he lost part of his eyesight last year.

He’s still slim as ever. To all you ladies out there who don’t want a fat husband, cook really bad food. Twenty five years and counting so I am living proof this method works.

Then what’s MY excuse? I love bad food. I’m selfless like that.

I almost forgot to tell you, we finally went on a real vacation! After months of planning, the three of us flew to Turks and Caicos. It rained five days out of six and I contracted something close to Dengue Fever and basically got our money’s worth in toilet paper but it was fun overall.

I’m pretty sure we’re the only people on the planet who come back from the Caribbean without a tan but that’s just how we roll. (Toilet paper + roll = pun — see what I did there?)

That’s it in a nutshell. I would write a recap, but I need to go help pick up the Christmas Tree that just fell in our living room.

Discovery #9: If it seems like the old plastic Christmas tree stand that is leaking, leans to one side, and that you’ve had since the beginning of time is not going to hold a hundred pound tree, it probably won’t.

Why is there a live tree in the living room anyway? Yet another discovery hopefully to come in 2018.

See you all in the New Year…be safe and prosper.

Our Family Christmas Letter – Volume 2

Dear friends and family (yes, that includes you, high school friend who I haven’t seen or spoken to since 1986…remember me?),

So, here we are again. Christmas time. Why does it seem like I just vacuumed up the last pine needle from last year? Because I did. Literally. Just in time for those little bastards to make another mess all over my wood floors, mocking me from their safe little crevice haven. Just so you know, I’m coming back as a pine needle in my next life. Those guys have the shelf life of a Twinkie. And who doesn’t want to live as long as a Twinkie? Wait…let me rethink that.

I am sitting here, sipping my irish cream, making up every excuse in the book to not start decorating. I mean, I love the look and feel of my halls all decked out, but I just don’t want to do it. Besides, sipping irish cream is so much more fun.

But let’s face it, after I bust my back from lugging up the 500 pounds of Christmas shit from the basement, most of it leftover from my mother’s leftovers but have to put up because otherwise The Kid will throw a fit and say something stupid like, “but it’s a tradition,” I’m damn exhausted.

Why the hell can’t someone invent a magic elf to come and perform some holiday decorating magic? You know like that little Elf on the Shelf guy but not as creepy. Or annoying.

C’est la vie or feliz navidad or whatever.

Anyway, I know you are all dying to know what our little family has been up to in the last 12 months. You can take a breath now, because I’m going to tell you.

The Kid is great, awesome, smart, healthy, lovely, sweet as pie. She’s perfect in every way. Oh, who am I kidding? She’s 16 years old. Did you hear me? Sixteen. Sure, she’s smart, healthy (thank you God) and she is lovely looking. She has good genes after all. And she can be sweet as pie. You know, when she needs something or has the stomach bug or she knows she’s in trouble. Otherwise, the only pie she’s as sweet as is a pecan number left out in the sun for 14 days.

I will say she has the gift of negotiation otherwise known as “taking advantage of her parents.” Kudos to her. Damn. If I could have gotten away with that when I was her age, I would have the gift too. Oh, how times have changed.

She got her license a couple of months back. Sure, it makes my life easier. I love sending her down to the corner for bread or milk or something I forgot at Shop Rite because that’s what I do. Forget stuff. But the level of stress that comes with having a child out driving a 2 ton machine? It’s high. You think that time when you lost your kid for 40 seconds in the mall and you were pretty sure she was stolen and already halfway to Mexico was bad? This has got nothing on that.

God bless all mothers of teens. Why can’t we eat our young like they do in the wild? Because we’d get arrested. Stupid laws.

My Dear Husband is great. He is working hard. Keeping a roof over our heads so I don’t have to. He doesn’t have his motorcycle anymore because he had a little mishap. He is fine, thank goodness. His bike, not so much. I’m sad. Mainly because it doesn’t spend its winter in the living room as usual. Now I have to find something to put in that space. First world problems, what can I say. The man looks as damn good as he did in the last holiday letter I sent out. Can’t fatten him up, no matter how hard I try. It’s okay though, because I’ve done it for him. Fatten myself up, I mean.

As for me…I love keeping my sweet house and making sure order is maintained. Just call me Carol Brady. Oh wait, that bitch had a house maid who cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, grocery shopping and everything in between. Yes, I am a Carol wannabe. Because I actually hate all of the above mentioned bull crap. Instead, I live vicariously through her while watching old episodes of The Bunch on Nick At Nite. I have been known to salivate at the screen. And not because Mike is hot. Even though he’s dead now. Poor guy. Also, I guess it turns out he was probably more into Greg than Carol. I never knew.

We went to Hawaii over the summer. Jealous, are you? Well, don’t be. Because that’s a lie. But we did go to a luau-themed party. It was so much fun. I got to drink something alcoholic out of a plastic coconut. Probably the closest I’ll ever get to the real thing so I’ll take it. Hawaii? Maybe next year.

Well no. There won’t be a Hawaiian trip next year either because our kid is going to college the year after that and we will not be able to afford to drive to the outlet center let alone take a trip to paradise. So, we had to make a decision…exotic trip or educated kid. Unfortunately, the Kid wins, once again. Mainly because we don’t really want her mooching off of us for all of eternity. I know, it’s selfish of us.

That just about sums it up. We are happy, healthy and alive. What else could I hope for? Well, a live-in maid and a million bucks would be nice. But since there really is no such thing as a Magic Genie, I’ll have to settle for my Clorox Wipes and our water jug filled to the brim with coins. Hey wait. Think there’s a Hawaiian trip in there?

Sincerely,

Mo

Oh, and my family. Of course. Even though they were not harmed, or involved in the creation of this letter in any way.