Anyway--it seemed like this Christmas went by way too quickly, but at the same time, I'm glad it's over. I guess that's what happens when you host both your and your husband's families at some point during the week of Christmas. (Hi, Mandy!) We had a very good time, but I was exhausted by the time it was all over, with five separate Christmas gatherings, all but one of which were at our house. One on Christmas Eve, one on Christmas day, one on the Saturday following Christmas at my mother's house, one on Monday night, and one on the Tuesday following Christmas.
So, I wanted it all to be a Martha Stewart Christmas--it was the first time that I've seen my mother AND my father AND my sister--all in the same room--on Christmas day--since 1981. And it all went pretty well, I think. Other than the fact that we didn't finally eat until 6:30, because we (or should I say I) decided to cook too many dishes. And then my husband set himself on fire. Not too badly, but nonetheless--having to find a Walgreen's that's open at 11:00 at night on Christmas so that you can go buy burn cream kinda puts a damper on the evening. Note to self--in the future, don't let the husband play with the new chimenea after he's had a few drinks.
Anyway--a Christmas summary:
- Number of eggnog daiquiris drank: 0 (I think that's why it just didn't feel like Christmas this year)
- Number of times I was irritated by extremely warm and humid weather: About 112
- Number of times I made warm apple cider: 0 (see, extremely warm and humid weather)
- Number of times I sadly threw one of my pretty new sweaters in the closet and pulled out some summer clothes: 3
- Number of times I visited Al Copeland's house: 2
- Number of times K and E visited Al Copeland's house: 4
- Number of times K got sad that this is really (no, REALLY!) the last year that Al Copeland's house will be decorated: I'd say about 6
- Number of times I apprehensively thought about the fact that if we ever win the lottery, my house will be the next Al Copeland's house: Approximately 4
- Number of times my husband caught himself on fire: 1
- Number of times I cried: 2 (see: husband, fire)
- Most expensive present purchased for E: A large, stuffed tiger for $30 (no, it is NOT an LSU tiger)
- Gift E found most exciting: A tube full of miniature plastic animals purchased for $3.
- Number of Christmas decorations that K put up in our yard: Hmmmm--15? 20? In between all of the inflatable snowmen, inflatable Rudolphs, Santas, and penguins, I lost count.
- Number of times E shoved her cousin Graham: At least 4, that we saw.
- Number of times that K and/or Sean played "Oh, Metairie" by the 12 Yats of Christmas: 432
- Number of times I wanted to shoot myself: 432
Let's see--what else. I realized on New Year's Eve that this is only my second NYE in New Orleans since I moved here in 1998. People, can y'all let the fireworks go just a little bit? Or go down to the river and watch the professional show? The fireworks started around my house at about 5:30 and kept on going until well after 1:00 a.m. As someone who was born and raised in a state where private fireworks are illegal, it got a little old after a while. Of course, I'm usually in Atlanta on NYE, hanging out with my sister and various friends, drinking too much and seeing who can make the most creative hat out of tin foil, so what do I know? I guess I should just be thankful that I didn't end up on the news, a fatality of a stray bullet.
Emmeline got a beautiful baby doll from her Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Sean, her godparents, for Christmas. In keeping with the "what's the weirdest name I can give one of my dolls or stuffed animals?" theme, she named it Hooga. Apparently, Hooga is Myga's sister.
My blog was visited by someone from Wasilla, Alaska. You don't think it could really be HER, do you? (Hi, Sarah!)
Speaking of which, where is Sterling? And hi to whomever is from there that's stopped by here.
I couldn't care less who wins the Sugar Bowl tonight.
Okay, 2009--this is it. I will be 40 this year. FORTY. Geez, I'm disturbed. Let's make it a good year, shall we?