Happy Xmas 2011!

You've shopped and you've cooked and cleaned up the crap

you've waited in a long line just to sit on Santa's lap.

You've planned all the meals and decorated a tree

you've sent out the cards, wishing postage was free.

The cookies have been baked, the stockings are full

and the youngest kids are wondering if they only got coal.

And because nothing is perfect, there will still be screams and tears

and that's when you remember...

sometimes vodka is the only way to find Christmas cheer.

Merry Christmas! And if no one else tells you today... the food was great, the gifts were perfect, you obviously worked your ass off, no you don't drink too much, your outfit is amazing and thanks for everything.

Cookie Chaos

It recently occurred to me that while I write about eating, potato chips, drinking and cleaning the kitchen, I never write about actual cooking. Clarification... I have written about cooking, but only in regards to: A) that I don't love to do it; B) I don't spend hours pouring over cookbooks and dreaming about the next magical meal I'm going to whip up; C) that my kids are semi-picky eaters in regards to texture, cheesiness, sauciness, and spiciness; and D) Christmas cookies.

For eleven months out of the year, my cookie baking skills consist of a handy plastic package of pre-made cookie dough purchased in the dairy section. In addition to this being due to the fact that I'm almost always too lazy to haul the stand mixer out and I'm too anal to have the bulky space hog sitting on my counter year round, it's also due to the fact that the only reason I ever make cookies is because my kids want them. And even though my kids want them, they do not need to have five dozen cookies sitting in the house because, inevitably, four dozen of them will go uneaten. For me - having softened butter and creamed the butter and mixed the butter with the dry ingredients and then watched this butter mixture morph into something besides a burnt cookie - chucking those stale little suckers into the garbage can makes me, well, despise baking. And it makes me resentful. And who needs to be resentful about baking when, as parents, we have so many other things to be resentful about?

Anyway, each December, something happens to my brain that I'm sure most psychologists would put into the same classification as Bat Shit Insanity. I start hoarding butter and sugar when it's on sale, dig through recipes and clear a day on my calendar so that I can spend several hours standing in my kitchen.

This year, after several muttered (and a few shouted) obscenities, yards of parchment paper and too many sticks of butter to acknowledge without dry heaving, I ended up with approximately 22 dozen cookies. After Thursday, when I bake the sugar and gingerbread, there will be what is commonly known in the baking world as a fuck ton of cookies. But hey, I have some appreciative friends, a satisfied mailman, a perplexed garbage man and some happy children so, ya know, it was worth it. I guess.

Since I, the non-baker, managed to crank out so many circles of fat without even so much as over-browning one bottom or giving anyone food poisoning, I've decided to share some of my cookie baking tips. If you want to incorporate them into your own holiday baking extravaganza, feel free. If you want me to go burn in a fiery hell because I'm not supposed to talk about anything besides drinking and beating children, I completely understand.

HOLIDAY COOKIE BAKING WITH

THE MEAN MOM

IN WICH COCKTAILS ARE CONSUMED

AND NO BURNS ARE SUSTAINED

• Buy and use parchment paper. I buy mine at Costco because you get several football field lengths for not that much money. Use it on every pan, even the ones that claim to be nonstick because then not only will your cookies look better in the end, but you won't have to wash any pans.
• Another bonus of parchment paper: you can just slide the whole paper off of the pan, directly onto the cooling rack. No more trying to wedge a spatula under a too-warm cookie, resulting in a destroyed/deformed cookie.
• For those of you that own Silpat/silicone baking mats, do what I did and STOP USING THEM. They are a pain in the ass to wash, no pan ever created fits them exactly without either wasted space and/or the mat lopping over the edges and did I mention that they're a pain in the ass?
• If you don't have a palm tree in your yard and can't wear shorts year round, the fastest way to cool the cookie sheets between batches is to put them outside.
• I use the insulated cookie sheets, but have also used the edgeless non-insulated kind. It really is a matter of preference and keep in mind that cookies baked on the non-insulated sheets will have browner edges and bottoms. Also, I am convinced that the burn-rate is much higher for the non-insulated.
• This may sound a lot like Martha and for that I apologize, but I never make drop cookies without a spring-lever scoop. It's like a mini ice cream scoop and it makes plopping that lump of dough so much easier. Plus, all your cookies will be the same size and if you're anal like me, you get a little bit neurotic if all your cookies aren't the same size.
• Unless you happen to own 25 cooling racks, cover a giant flat surface with freezer paper, waxy side down. Then, once your cookies have cooled on the parchment paper, move them to the freezer paper to finish setting (especially important when making the always-popular peanut butter/Hershey's Kiss cookies). The waxy surface will prevent any grease/butter/fat from soaking through to the table.
• Don't frost the sugar cookies too soon before Christmas because storing them is a pain in the ass.
• This is common sense, but if you need to chill some dough for three hours, make that dough first and then move it to a different bowl to chill so that your mixer bowl is free to make something else. Otherwise you'll just spend those three hours sitting around, during which you may start cocktailing, which will result in some really interesting cookies and probably a few burns (no, I'm not talking about the cookies). Since I am still staring at a scar from a Thanksgiving mishap, I am very much against charred flesh.
• If you see the peppermint candy cane Hershey's Kisses, buy two bags. They sell out fast. And if you aren't able to find them, then you won't be able to make these:

Candy Cane Kiss Cookies

1/2 c. butter-flavored shortening

1/2 c. butter, softened

1 c. brown sugar

1 c. white sugar

2 eggs

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

2 1/2 c. flower, spooned and leveled

1/4 c. + 2 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder

1 - 12 oz. bag dark chocolate chips

a bag of Hershey's Candy Cane Kisses, unwrapped (duh)

Preheat oven to 350

Cream together butter, shortening, brown sugar and white sugar for 1-2 minutes on medium-high speed or until light and fluffy, aka the stuff is stuck together enough that it stops flying out of the mixer bowl. Add the eggs (one at a time) and vanilla. Meanwhile, in a separate bowl, use a whisk to combine the baking powder, baking soda, salt, flour and cocoa powder. Add to the butter/sugar glop and mix until combined. At this point, if you're like me and don't like chocolate, try not to gag. Mix in the chocolate chips.

Refrigerate dough for 30-60 minutes. Make a drink.

Drop the dough by the tablespoonful onto an ungreased baking sheet, aka parchment paper lined cookie sheet. Bake until just set, but centers are still soft, about 9 minutes. Remove from oven without burning yourself and allow to cool for 1-2 minutes. Use a metal spatula to move cookies to cooling rack, or, since you were super smart and used the parchment paper, simply slide the entire piece of paper to the cooling rack and then put the cookie sheet outside to cool. Top each cookie with a candy cane thing.

This is critical, allow to cool completely. Those Kisses take longer than an 82 year old man to harden. After the cookie part seems like you can pick it up without it breaking, you can carefully move it from the cooling rack to the paper covered table, but try not to bump the Kiss. Unless you're like my kid who intentionally bumps it and then says "oops this one is wrecked guess I better just eat it."

Serve the cookies. Make another drink.

And happy holidays.

Happy Ho Ho Ho!

Merry Christmas! May your day be filled with fun, laughter, imperfection that is taken in stride, great food, amazing cocktails and not too many tears. May you have the strength to look back on the catastrophe's of 2010 with a sense of humor and anticipate the inevitable speed bumps that will get in your way in 2011.

Today especially, if you have a baby, cherish their immobility and inability to complain. If you have little kids, try to enjoy their energy and unpredictability. If you have teenagers, try not to kill them. If you have family staying with you for an extended period of time, don't forget to put that all-important bottle of vodka and bag of kettle chips in your closet. And if you have a dog, keep track of that tinsel because nothing ruins Christmas night faster than having to take a dog to an emergency vet just so that he can hack up a giant wad of foil.

Most of all, take some time to sit back, watch your kids unwrap all the gifts that they've been coveting for the last month or so, sip something cold, eat a couple more cookies and, if you're as lucky as me, enjoy the kick ass gift that one of your kids has already given you:

Yes, that is a giant wad of bubble wrap, from Zoe. Apparently the girl is expecting me to bash my shins and hips into even more tables and corners of the wall in 2011 so, ya know, she just wants me to be safe. I love having a thoughtful child.

SAHM - Holiday Edition

Every Monday night, for an hour and a half, the kids are at piano lessons. More accurately, the boys and I sit in a small room while Zoe spends half-an-hour learning all about middle-C and half-steps vs. whole-steps, and then I get to leave with the girl while the boys split the next hour. This means that each boy spends a total of one hour sitting on his ass.

Since I'm not a big fan of wasting time and am trying to teach my kids the importance of time-management, I've attempted to enforce a no texting/gaming/zoning out/acting like a moron policy during this hour. Instead, I have told them to use this time to either get some homework done, study for upcoming tests, or (gasp!) read something for fun.

While waiting for Zoe's lesson a few weeks ago, I noticed Charlie sitting on the couch, focusing intently on some crap that had accumulated under his thumb nail. He sat there for a full three minutes, staring at that shit like it was going to burst out and chew his face off if he so much as diverted his gaze for one second. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I said don't you have any homework to do? And if not, did you bring a book? And what about your other thumbnail? Isn't it going to feel neglected after you've showered the other thumb with so much attention?

He looked at me with an expression that was like what? Who are you? Why are you sitting there? What planet am I on? After he blinked a few times and his brain caught up with the current time, day, setting and my mood, he said no, no homework. None homework. Well, except for this one piece of homework, but you can't do it. I have to ask dad. Cuz dad has a job. It's about a job. Like a real job. I have to ask questions about a job, and you don't have a, well, you know, like, a...

And this is when things got precarious, and I have to admit that I kind of enjoyed watching him sit there, squirming, trying to figure out a way to describe what I do that wouldn't result in him getting pummeled over the head.

"A job. Right? Is that what you're trying to say? You need to ask dad because he gets in a car that doesn't contain a booster seat or have sliding doors and drives to a place other than the grocery store or Target and gets to hang out in a place where everyone is over five feet tall?"

"Well, yeah," he said.

Turns out that his assignment required him to interview an adult who works at a job supporting him/herself and/or a family, and ask this adult about his or her experience in the world of work. And since I didn't think that this was the best time to break into a "oh my fucking hell do you have any idea what I do for you kids all day" rant and demand that he fill in the blanks with responses like "I get to boil noodles and call it dinner. I am real good at cleaning me some pee off the toilet bowls every day and that sure does help support that there family a whole lot" I decided to not take his mom doesn't have a job stance too personally, and instead answered the questions for him as if I were his father. After all, he had the questionnaire with him and had all that extra time to kill, might as well not waste it staring at a thumbnail!

Now that the holidays are quickly approaching (Did you know the holidays are almost here? From what I've been told, I think that Christmas is just days away!), I've been thinking about Charlie's assignment, and the fact that the title SAHM goes through a major modification between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. In fact, I'll bet if I completed his questionnaire it would be pretty interesting! So I decided to do his assignment again, and maybe he can turn it in as extra credit.

CAREER INTERVIEW

What is your career/occupation/job? SAHM - Holiday Edition

What is your current job title and what exactly do you do? Holiday meal planner, which means trying to come up with several meals that are unique, festive and non-weird, but that don't require me to spend dozens of hours in the kitchen preparing something that half of the family won't eat. I am also the gift buyer, home decorator, outdoor lighting expert, excitement creator and wardrobe manager. Which means that I shop, wrap, clean, festoon, iron, shop some more, address envelopes, wait in lines and reign in aggression. Oh, and I also still do all of my other, very glamorous duties, like clean toilet bowls, which is really a suspense-filled activity this time of year because after all, some of that holiday food is kind of rich.

How many jobs have you had in your life? Five

What were they? They were those five other jobs that I had in my life before I became a SAHM.

Has changing technology affected your work life? Well, let's just say that if it weren't for being able to shop online, there would either be fewer presents under the tree or more strangers with black eyes. And being able to order my groceries online and arrange to have them delivered the day before a major holiday is pretty much on the same happiness level as Santa bringing me a truckload of vodka.

Has the economic recession affected your work life? Duh.

Why did you choose this job? Because it's so satisfying and fun -- to make fun of other people. Watching them tromp in and out of stores, stalk each other for parking spots, debate about which piece of hideous jewelry to buy for the teacher gift, scream at their overheated/overstimulated kids, wait in line for Santa, expect perfection -- it doesn't get any better than that.

What do you enjoy most about your work? Finding cool gifts for everyone is actually pretty enjoyable, but at the end of it all, throwing away the leftover cookies, sending the kids back to school and putting the Christmas tree away kicks ass. And not having to hear the word "Doorbuster" or see a Lexus with a big red bow on it for the next eleven months: euphoria.

Why is your job important to you? Because it makes my family happy, and I get to be a control freak.

What are some rewards, besides money, that you get from your job? I get to see some of the best behavior of the year come from my youngest kid because, after all, 'tis the season for bribery and the Santa card.

What new things have you had to learn to do your job? How to gift wrap a large stuffed dolphin, how to simultaneously attend a tennis lesson and a choir concert, how to find a gift that a kid asked Santa for but is no longer available domestically, how to find energy and generosity at the end of a day when all you want to do is sit down with a glass of whiskey and tell everyone else to go away already, and 5,000 other things.

How long does it take for you to get to work? Luckily for me, I live where I work. Although, this time of year it feels like I might as well be working part-time at the grocery store since it seems like I know more about their inventory than their employees do.

On average, how many hours do you work per week? On average, how many hours are there in a week? 168? Yeah, that sounds about right. Because as all parents know, even when you're sleeping there is always one ear on alert, waiting for the sound of an illness hitting a kid. And everyone knows, if an illness is going to hit a kid, it's going to happen in the middle of the night. Two days before Christmas.

What part does the computer and other technology play in your work? In addition to the obvious - online shopping, Facebook, this blog (aka therapy) - it allows me to monitor the kids' grades and most recent test scores. And depending on what I find, the amount of online shopping that I need to get done can go through a drastic reduction.

The Christmas Countdown

I know I'm not alone here (right, Nancy!?) when I say...enough with the countdowns. I'm tired of hearing "Are you done with your Christmas shopping? Did you get your cards out yet? What are your plans for winter break?" and "Only a few more days to get it all done!" Every time I see a festive sweater or hear yet another version of Rudolph or the words "Doorbuster, Santariffic" or "Wrap the Holidays in Fun," it doesn't make me want to go a'caroling or a'wassailing or a'shopping. It does, however, put me in the mood to go a'drinking and a'swearing while I a'watch a little a'football.

The good news is that yes, I am done with the shopping, the wrapping, the mailing and, despite wanting to skip this year, I even sent out Christmas cards. The fake tree is decorated, the Santa gifts are hidden and each kid has a bag of crap that's just waiting to be jammed into their always-too-small stocking. But, sadly, I'm not done. Not even close.

According to my calendar, what I've been told, and what I overheard while eavesdropping on those two women at Target, these are a few of the statistics:

• There is one week left until Christmas.
• Two weeks left until we say adios to 2010.
• Three school days before winter break.
• Or for some kids, zero days until winter break.
• Three trips to the grocery store that need to be made.
• Actually, it's six trips if you count the two different stores because it wouldn't make sense for one store to carry everything that I need.
• Two trips to the liquor store.
• Or, for the insane, zero trips to the liquor store.
• Or, if you're me, five trips.
• $250 of express shipping fees that someone (but not me) needs to spend because a couple out-of-town recipients were "forgotten."
• $0 of shipping fees because I paid attention when I got an email that said "Perfect gift for the mother-in-law" and "FREE SHIPPING!"
• Twenty dozen cookies that will be baked in the next 36 hours.
• Which sounds almost as nauseating as saying "three pounds of butter."
• Seven days left to play the Santa card.
• Eight gifts that "might" be returned to the store before Christmas if someone doesn't change their attitude NOW!
• Two parents that had the nerve to plan a kid's birthday party the week before Christmas.
• One more choir concert to get through.
• One piano recital to get through. And oh how I hope that woman that has a Bump-It permanently implanted in her skull sits in front of me again.
• Two more tennis lessons. Oh, and two tournaments before 2011.
• Four more trips to the junior high, which will bring the number of trips in one week to a grand total of Ee-Lev-En.
• Three bags of ice that I'm planning on purchasing in the next week.
• Four bags if things go well.
• Six bags if things go really well.
• Oh wait, I forgot about New Year's weekend. So then, let's just say a lot of bags of ice.
• Two classes that a kid missed last Friday, but it's okay because it was a planned absence and I was assured that the kid had everything turned in.
• Four things that weren't turned in, completed, accounted for or were just forgotten about.
• Ten minutes that I yelled about those four things.
• Four limbs on a kid that resembled a dried up reptile because, after all, there are only three different things of lotion in the bathroom to choose from so how could I be so unrealistic as to expect the lotion to actually be applied to the scaly skin?
• Really, though, how could I expect him to use lotion? After all, I've only reminded him 472 times.
• Three times within fifteen minutes that I said "You need to get up at 6."
• Which explains why, within one minute, a kid asked "So what time should I get up?"
• Ten minutes that I yelled about that.
• Twelve minutes that I wasted, standing in line at the self-service kiosk at the post office, waiting for the technologically retarded (I know that term isn't politically correct, but I think that in this case she was sort of retarded) woman to figure out how to ship a manila envelope to St. Louis and also purchase one sheet of Forever stamps, all within one transaction. She failed. Miserably. Instead of one transaction, it was actually more like seven. Seriously. The machine would not stop beeping at her.
• Zero inches of snow in the weather forecast for the next two weeks. You hear that, bitch-face Mother Nature? I want ZERO!
• Six scaly spots on Zoe's face that need to heal so that people can stop asking me "What's on her face? What's wrong with your daughter? Does she have the chicken pox?" and I have to repeatedly say: No, she doesn't have a disease. It's because they had Clifford (you know, the big red sweetly retarded {sorry} dog) day at school a few days ago and they used face paint to put these black dots on my kid's face. But unfortunately they used some funky face paint that contained arsenic and lye and cyanide and was probably made in Tanzania and had been recalled in 1983, which left these angry red spots on my daughter's cheeks. No, she doesn't have chicken pox because even though I'm anal and organized, I don't have the power to make sure that chicken-pox-induced red sores appear perfectly symmetrical and in only one highly visible location. And if you think the spots look freaky now, you should have seen her right after I washed the face paint off:

Oh, and yesterday she got a haircut and her bangs are so cute. But they're really short which, for some reason, accentuates the fact that there is also a scaly spot on the end of her nose. Cuz, ya know, Clifford's nose is black.

Now, where is that first bag of ice?

Low-Income (Gingerbread) Housing

I don't know what it is that possesses people this time of year, but suddenly everyone thinks it's a great idea to try to construct a house made of baked goods. I overheard two suit-wearing men at Costco contemplating the purchase of a gingerbread house kit, thinking it would be so much fun to put together and display at the office. A friend of mine on Facebook put a kit together with her kid and instead of creating a memorable moment, it resulted in this status update: "Why can such a nice holiday tradition such as building gingerbread houses go so wrong?? ...grrrr.). I've seen several moms caving in to the pleas of small children, voluntarily putting a kit in their cart, completely oblivious to the torture they're about to put themselves through. I've wanted to intervene and tell all of these people NO! DON'T DO IT! YOU WILL FOREVER HATE THE HOLIDAYS AND THE SMELL OF NUTMEG IF YOU PURCHASE THAT PRODUCT! but then I think, hell - if I suffered through it, then so should they.

(originally posted on December 15, 2009)

I don't bake very often and when I do, I'm a big fan of pre-made cookie dough. I don't have to bring the butter to room temperature, cleanup is minimal and I don't end up with six-dozen cookies in the house. Yet for reasons that I can't explain, Christmas motivates me to actually drag out the stand mixer, soften butter, buy chocolate chips and sweetened condensed milk and bake from scratch. I don't make anything very extravagant, but at least it's something that doesn't come in a yellow package with the words "Do not consume raw cookie dough" printed in two different locations. And by the way, if you eat an entire thing of raw cookie dough and end up spending a little extra time in the bathroom with a stomach ache, don't get pissed off at Nestle.

So anyway, back to Christmas. Every year I manage to decorate a fake tree, hang stockings, wind some garland around my railings, drink cocktails and bake some cookies. I never ruin perfectly good booze with eggnog, wear "festive" sweaters, sing Christmas carols in public and, with the exception of 2002, I never make a gingerbread house.

Several years ago, when Charlie was four, he found a gingerbread house kit at Target. Since assembling kits of any type are pretty much my own little slice of hell, I tried to talk him out of it, offering to buy him new Legos or cigarettes instead. Unfortunately, he was completely obsessed with purchasing this nightmare-in-a-box. Yes, I know I could have just said "No" and left the store with the sad child in tow, but for some reason I thought maybe it would actually be fun! After all, the box claimed that it was: "A perfect Christmas craft for the entire family. A real holiday treat."

Turns out, it would have been more fun to spend a couple hours exfoliating my face with a cheese grater. The roof with "shingle-like embossing" was cracked, the frosting sucked, the "sparkling starlight mints and jewel-tone jelly beans" were stuck together, and after seeing that our house wasn't going to be the whimsical palace that he had envisioned, Charlie wanted nothing to do with our gingerbread-flavored Habitat for Humanity masterpiece. I was about to drop the whole kit into the garbage, make a much needed drink and breathe a sigh of relief, but Doug made me put the damn thing together so he could make a video and laugh. So even though I may have built a gingerbread house worthy of condemnation, at least I was able to contribute to his holiday cheer.

A Stranger's Lap

Believe it or not, sometimes I'm nice. Well, at least in Zoe's eyes I'm nice. Last night, if you were to get my boys' opinions, I'm a horrid, horrid person.

Normally on Thursday nights, the boys finish up their tennis lesson and then spend an hour and a half scarfing pizza and playing ping pong with friends at the club while Zoe has her lesson. But, because of the need to fit 25 things into a schedule better suited to accommodate 18 things, not to mention the potential for a winter storm this weekend, with a little request from Zoe best summed up as WHEN AM I GOING TO SEE SANTA thrown into the cornucopia of chaos, occasionally things need to be rearranged. As a result, last night did not fall under their category of Super Fun.

In order to avoid giving them the opportunity to verbally object to the schedule change, I texted Zach from the car with a little something like "Santa mall meet me in parking lot now." Since I didn't get a reply in the form of either a message or the sight of a boy coming out the door, I followed this message up with a phone call that included phrases like "I know you don't want to but you have to, I don't want to hear it, it will not take forever, yes I know you hate malls, yes malls are stupid" and finally "GET IN THE CAR!"

We hadn't taken four steps inside the automatic door before Zach's I HATE MALLS chant began. Keeping in mind that I hate malls too, and considering the fact that the first thing we were subjected to was the olfactory assault courtesy of the Macy's cosmetics department, this chant did not boost my Christmas spirit and I started to feel a little claustrophobic. Fortunately, he broke into the second verse of his chant, and it went a little something like this: I hate malls and I'm hungry.

After "dinner" in the food court, during which I felt like I was trapped in a John Hughes movie - the lighting, the bad Christmas music being piped in, the neon Sbarro sign with the burned out "o", the teenagers making out and the exhausted woman forcefully shoving her crying, snowsuited child into a stroller - we wandered around trying to find Santa's Village. As soon as I saw the tips of the fake evergreens in the distance, the boys decided to head to the bathroom. I'm sure Santa wishes that more kids would make this a priority before they sit on his lap.

Zoe and I waited in the shortest Santa line I've ever seen (aka we were the only people in line) and after (hopefully) washing their hands, the boys joined her. I pulled out my phone to snap a couple pictures, and that's when Bi-Focal-Wearing Helper Elf quickly intervened.

Elf: Excuse me, no pictures allowed. You need to buy something.

Me: But I don't want anything. I just want a picture.

Elf: Then you can buy a picture.

Me: But I don't want to buy a $17 8x10. I want a $0 picture.

Elf: Well, usually people buy pictures.

Me: I just want to take one picture. I promise I won't tell.

Elf: How about a keychain? Or a magnetic frame?

Me: I don't want a keychain or frame. I just want a picture.

Elf: Well, I guess if I don't see you take the picture...

Me: Merry Christmas.

Santa turned out to be pretty cool. He thanked my boys for cooperating with their mom, said they are nice kids and told them to enjoy their much-needed time off from school during the Christmas break. He didn't throw in any fake Ho-Ho-Ho's or rub his bowl full of jelly or bother to share any wacky tales from the North Pole, all of which my boys appreciated and, judging by the smile on her face, I'm sure Zoe didn't miss.

On our way out (which, by the way, was expeditious due to Zach's saying "Do you know the way to the car? Yes? Well, then, let's go straight there making zero extra turns, without stopping to look at anything.") Zoe asked me the question that all parents dread: Was that Santa real?

I stopped walking (inducing an eye roll from Zach who, after throwing his arms in the air, kept walking), looked at Zoe and without a hint of doubt in my voice said, "Well of course he's real. Who else would it be?"

Yes, I looked my child in the eye and lied. But I am NOT losing the Santa card to a six-year-old. After all, it's still three weeks until Christmas.

Holiday Greetings! We're Better Than You!

Ever since our first kid entered the world 14 years ago, I have always sent out Christmas cards. And while I know plenty of people that are completely satisfied sending out a photo card from Walgreens featuring a recent snapshot of the kids posing in front of a snowman or the Christmas tree, I have always taken a different route. A much more time intensive, high maintenance, not very cheap, maybe I should be checking my sanity, route.

Since both of my boys were born at the end of August, I always had their pictures taken at some point during the month of September. And while I know plenty of people that are completely satisfied with the photo sessions at Sears, JCPenney or ProEx (which is now closed), I took a different route. A much more high maintenance, hey let's drive 45 minutes one-way, please don't have a meltdown while the photographer takes 150 pictures, so much for the $19.95 sitting fee, yes I actually am insane, route. But holy shit do we have some kick ass pictures of the kids, and every year there was always something presentable enough to be sent as a Christmas card.

After Zoe joined our family, we made exactly two more appointments with this photographer before I realized that, going forward, there was no way in hell I was ever going to have the time to make this trip again. For one, the boys were school-age so the luxury of weekday appointments was gone. For two, Zoe wasn't nearly as cooperative with the photographer as the boys had been, and three, I kind of wanted to stop being insane.

The upside of all this is that I now have one less obligation to worry about in the fall, the kids don't have to suffer through a lengthy photo session and the money that was once spent on prints and proofs can now be spent on other, more fun things (like tennis lessons and booze). The downside is that, from ages two to five, Zoe kind of got the shaft when it comes to professional pictures and I'm now responsible for making sure that at some point during the year, I take a picture of the kids that could be considered Christmas card-worthy.

For the last few years, I've sat down at the Mac, sifted through some pictures, maybe even come up with a little poem (and by the way, it's really hard to find a festive word that rhymes with 'vodka'), fit all of the above on a template, clicked "Buy Now" and had the cards in my hand before Thanksgiving. This year, though, it's December First and the only thing I'm holding is my coffee cup. Considering the cost of postage, my limited time, my incessant, inexplicable need to hand-address envelopes rather than use printed labels and my lack of holiday cheer in general, I'm thinking that 2010 is going to be the year for a no-go on the Christmas cards.

But then I started thinking that maybe I should send at least a little something, just so that people don't get their hopes up and wonder if I did finally fall of the face of the Earth. So who knows, maybe in the next couple days something will inspire me, a suitable picture of the kids will magically appear in iPhoto and a free hour or two will materialize, allowing me to click, drag, crop, edit out a zit and Buy Now. But, under no circumstances, no matter how much free time I find myself having to fill, will I be composing a newsletter like one of these:

(originally posted on November 16, 2009)

The Bragfest. "Dominic, at the age of eight, won the science fair at his private school, and his research is now being funded by The Mayo Cancer Center. The $25,000 tuition really is quite a bargain! Our stunning daughter, Shelby, got married in a captivating ceremony on the beaches of Aruba with 360 close friends in attendance, for only $675 per person. Stefan and I decided to downsize this year, saying goodbye to our beloved 23,000 sq. ft. chateau and 5 of our 11 household staff members. In June, we moved into a cozy 9,000 sq. ft. cottage, but still enjoy the afternoon sip of Dom Perignon!"

The "Thank God" Newsletter. "On this, the most glorious of holidays, I thank God for my health, my family, the food we eat, socks, and the paper that these Godly words are printed on. I thank God for giving me the fine motor skills necessary to grasp my pen, the ink in the pen, and giving me the ability to write these wonderful words that have been sent directly to me from Him. And even though the dog got hit by a car this year, Tim got laid off after devoting 28 years to his company, and grandpa Oscar got mauled by the combine, I know that these things happened because God wanted them to, and everything happens for a reason."

Too Much Information. "Sally had a wonderful year in 2009. After participating in Girl Scouts, cello lessons, gymnastics, ballet, riding lessons, cooking classes, and yoga, she hardly has time to eat her dinner of organic spelt and Tofurkey. Sally had an ear infection in February, a cold in April, another cold in March and an itchy elbow in July. After a trip to the emergency room, we were relieved to find out that the itch was just a mosquito bite. Now, about the other 5 kids..."

The Literary Wannabe. "Oh, the most wondrous of seasons, as I settle into the depths of the rich sepia leather upholstery covering my armchair, basking in the warm golden glow of the crackling and popping fire, a snifter of fine brandy near at hand, I feel overwhelmed with emotion thinking about the bountiful miracles that surround me each morn and eve. Oh, how my heart doth ache and throb, reflecting on the past days and joys that I have had the pleasure to witness. I become overwrought with emotion, pondering the future and all that it holds."

The Big Picture. Sometimes a photo card is more informative than the newsletters. Every year I seem to receive a family picture of kids and parents bundled up and posing by snow-covered evergreens. Everyone is in a coat zipped up to the chin, except for mom. Somehow she manages to stay warm wearing only a low cut v-neck sweater, with the evidence of how she spent last year's tax refund hanging out and on full display. Judging by the picture, though, it definitely is cold outside.

The Airing of Grievances

There are times when I truly amaze myself. Somehow, I managed to make it through the last five days without ending up in jail, facing charges of aggravated assault or creating a public disturbance. And believe me, I had several opportunities to become a "caught on surveillance camera" YouTube sensation:

• Asshole #1: While waiting - with my turn signal blink-blinkety-blinking away - for someone to back out of a parking spot in the insanely overcrowded lot at the club, this gem of a human being sped through the lot and stole my spot. He then looked at me, smirked and said "Too bad."
• Asshole #2: Moron in the hideous Escalade who ran a stop sign in the Target parking lot, glared at me in the crosswalk, threw his arms in the air and slowly inched forward while I sprinted across the white rectangles.
• Asshole #3 - #5: Those people who dared to assign school projects of any kind during the holidays.
• Asshole #6 - #59: The shoppers at Target.
• Asshole #60: The Minnesota Vikings offensive line.

Considering that Black Friday hasn't even arrived yet and I've already witnessed some extreme crankiness in the general population, I'm going to make the safe assumption that we all have a long, perilous, patience-testing, pain in the ass, oh my god I hope I don't die of alcohol poisoning month ahead of us. So to help myself face the near-future with even a trace of optimism and happiness, I'm going to add the above-listed individuals to my already-existing list of grievances instead of following through with what I would rather do, which is to commit an act of aggravated assault and create a public disturbance, instantly becoming a caught on surveillance camera YouTube sensation.

(Originally posted on November 30, 2009)

Christmas is a month away, and for the most part I actually look forward to the kids' excitement, the parties, extra time spent with family and friends, great food, and checking out the (sometimes horrendous) Christmas lights. There are times, though, when I would happily embrace the opportunity to celebrate Festivus with the feats of strength and the airing of grievances, even if only for one day.

At a time when everyone is expected to be politically correct, polite and filled to the brim with holiday cheer, I think it would be very cathartic if just once I could tell someone that's being particularly rude that I think she's being a bitch before pushing her into the row of carts at Costco. There have been plenty of times when I encounter someone who is being completely clueless, inconsiderate, selfish, and basically stupid. I never say anything to him/her, but occasionally give the look that says, "You are an unbelievably annoying person and you just ruined the last five minutes of my life. And by the way, if looking ugly was your goal, mission accomplished!"

Shopping is especially trying on my patience. Some people are buying food that they only eat once a year, and of course all of the shelves in the grocery store have been rearranged since last Christmas, so they have no idea where the cranberry apple chutney is stocked. Instead of asking an employee for assistance, they grab a cup of coffee and wander aimlessly through the store, parking their cart in the middle of each aisle, never noticing that other people are trying to actually buy food. I have resisted the temptation to find their sought-after product myself so that I can get them out of my way. Besides, I know that I wouldn't be able to hand them the chutney without saying: "Here you go, moron. The chutney would obviously be found by the condiments and jelly. Not the pet supplies," and I'm pretty sure that this doesn't translate into "Merry Christmas" in any language.

Buying anything at Best Buy is equally frustrating, but can also be pretty good entertainment. Every ten minutes or so, someone walks in wondering where the latest DSP or PST or PS8 gadget/gizmo/doohickey/ thingamajig is, and how many games does that fancy contraption come with? Does it need any accessories? After they find out how much the console is, they usually say: "What? For that little box? You've gotta be kidding me! Well, in my day we had fun with a radio and an old coffee can. Kids these days are so spoiled!" Since most of these customers tend to drive Buicks that are incapable of parking correctly or going over 17 mph, it explains why I avoid Best Buy, and 98% of the boxes delivered to our house by the UPS man this month say "Amazon."

The list of day-to-day grievances varies depending on which day of the week it is, but it always includes people that text and drive, throw cigarette butts out the car window, tailgate, let their kids cry in restaurants, are mean to dogs, slowly walk across the street on red lights, mooch, mow their lawn after dark, smoke by their babies, don't clean their refrigerators, give backhanded compliments, and cheat.

Since Festivus isn't until December 23, I have plenty of time to add to my list, and please feel free to contribute your own list as a comment below. We can share them at the feats of strength, which will include arm wrestling, moving heavy bar stools, and picking up 35 oz. beer mugs. After all, I need to bulk up for when I finally get the nerve to shove that lady at Costco.

Really, You Shouldn't Have

Since Doug already told me about a couple things I could get him for Christmas, I figured he must already be brainstorming about what to buy me. And since I don't change very much much - except a few additional gray hairs, a couple extra ounces here and there and maybe a liberal sprinkling of insanity - this list remains pretty much the same from year to year. Oh wait, one thing has changed: in addition to vodka, I would happily accept beer, rum or Jameson.

(Originally posted on 12/14/09.)

A few nights ago, Doug asked me what I wanted for Christmas. While I found it almost impossible to think of things that I would love to find under the tree, the number of things that I knew I didn't want was a little overwhelming. I don't really consider myself difficult to buy for, but I definitely don't like things that are crappily constructed, emit smells, burn through batteries, or considered "collectible." Since this pretty much covers everything sold at a Hallmark store, here are a few other items that upon receiving, would require 100% fake enthusiasm, and might even trigger a little bit of anger directed toward the giver:

1. Jewelry in any shape other than a solitaire. This includes angels, birds, crosses, snowflakes, candy canes, flowers, snowmen, hearts, elephants, or "a key to my heart."
2. Seasonal dishes or serving pieces that take up coveted storage space for 11 months out of the year, only to be forgotten about and never used for the one month that they would be relevant.
3. A personal massager, unless the massager has human hands and shows up at my front door for two hours every Monday with a bottle of hot oil.
4. A "Birthstone Babies" necklace, bracelet, or keychain.
5. A membership to a "_____ Of The Month" club, unless the blank can be filled-in with either "Booze" or "Illegal Drug."
6. TV trays, because I never sit down to eat.
7. Any device that would be used for the removal of carpet stains.
8. An Ab Rocket abdominal trainer, unless you want to get punched in the face.
9. A Roomba
10. Luggage, unless it comes with round-trip tickets to Jamaica.
11. Scented lotion gift sets, because even though I may like gingerbread, it doesn't mean I want to smell like it.
12. Potpourri, in all of its hideous forms.
13. Scrapbooking supplies, or a gift card to Archivers.
14. Pajamas that don't keep me warm.
15. The $25 gift card to a restaurant that came free with the purchase of a $100 gift card, which I know the giver kept for themselves.
16. Anything written by Koontz, Baldacci, Palin, or Beck.
17. Items from "As Seen on TV," including Shamwow, Bump-It, Flingshot Flying Monkey, Point 'n Paint, Hanger Cascader, Forearm Forklift, or the super stylish Buxton Cellphone Wallet.
18. Any season of "Desperate Housewives" on DVD, because contrary to popular belief, all of us gals do not watch this show.
19. Small kitchen appliances, because I already have a toaster, coffee maker, and popcorn popper, and even though they're popular, I don't need a panini press.
20. The book "Screamfree Parenting: The Revolutionary Approach to Raising Your Kids by Keeping Your Cool," because the author of this book has obviously never spent any time with actual kids.

I realize that this doesn't leave much to choose from, and some of the things that I already asked Santa for might be hard to find at Target. So if nothing else, I guess I'd be happy with a healthy family, kids that get along, and a dog that doesn't smell. And if I still can't have these things, then just get me vodka.

So Far, So Good

I loved my New Year's Eve. We stayed home and had friends over, the food was great, there was plenty of vodka in my cocktails, and thanks to Byerly's delivery service, I didn't have to murder anyone at the grocery store in my quest for limes and a bag of ice. When I woke up on Friday morning without a headache or little socks on my teeth, that's when my optimism for 2010 really kicked into gear. I was almost afraid to get out of bed, figuring the day had nowhere to go but downhill. Instead of discovering a puddle of dog hurl or a leaky dishwasher, though, I started a pot of coffee and managed to make some raspberry/cream cheese-stuffed French toast for breakfast. That's when I: A) seriously started to wonder who was possessing my body, and B) Realized that we were all still in our pajamas, and were supposed to be out the door in an hour.

I am spending the rest of this holiday break slowly getting back to reality. I'll be (quietly) cheering on the boys, keeping track of tennis matches, eating out of a cooler, and saying things like, "Hey, nice passing shot." I signed the boys up for a holiday weekend tennis tournament because I'm hoping it will yank our brains (and their bodies) out of the Christmas coma; it's sort of like hitting a reset button before they go back to school on Monday.

On our way to Charlie's match yesterday, I tried to find some music that would get him motivated. Fortunately, 93X was in the middle of a three-song Metallica set, so I cranked "Enter Sandman," which was followed by "Ain't My Bitch." During the second song, I looked in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Zoe in her booster seat. There she sat, arms flailing over her head, pig tails whipping around, rocking out to James Hetfield. I continued to drive with a smile on my face, thinking there could be no better way to start out the New Year, and that's when she said: "Hey mom. Turn it up. I love this song."

Perfect Schmerfect

Christmas is over, the kids are a little over halfway through their two-week winter break from school, and although you may think I must have hit my head on something by admitting this, I have to be honest and say that it's been great. It's not only two weeks off from waking up early, nagging kids about homework and helping with projects, but a half-month break from running around to all of their horizon-expanding, brain-enriching, mom's insanity-inducing activities. I have slept in a few times, haven't had to put gas in my car, and everyone has been healthy. Yeah, there have been a few disagreements, a couple eye rolls, and there was that whole "Zoe choking Charlie because she was losing at basketball" episode, but that's because even though we may be more relaxed than usual, we still have a pulse.

Since December 25, I have been asked no fewer than 148 times: "So, how was your Christmas? Did you have a nice Christmas?" or "What did you do for the holidays?" Instead of being able to tell drama-filled tales of get-togethers with distant cousins, driving in bad weather, eating figgy pudding, or trying to be nice to people that I would rather see wipe out on an icy sidewalk, all I could honestly say is: "Christmas was fine, we didn't start the car for almost three consecutive days, we ate a lot of meat, vodka was consumed, gifts were opened, my wardrobe consisted of sweats and, umm... that's about it." As uneventful as my winter break is, I have no regrets or complaints that we aren't doing do more, seeing more people, or hosting an ugly sweater party.

While I was spending a couple days in my pj's over the holidays, a couple of my girlfriends probably could have used a sprinkling of boring, a dash of uneventful, and would have definitely welcomed a few swigs of booze.

My girlfriend, Theresa, is genuinely content with her gorgeous family, keeps realistic expectations for the holidays, is grateful for the simple pleasures in life, and has a great "if the kid's socks don't match, who gives a shit" attitude. Theresa's low-maintenance holiday enthusiasm was drenched two days before Christmas Eve by a three-year-old that welcomed the winter break by throwing up no fewer than 25 times within 12 hours, and then developed an ear infection on Xmas Eve. Her six-year-old, who had strep throat the week before Christmas, was lucky enough to wake up with another sore throat on the 24th. Because her in-laws are of the "more germs the merrier" mentality, they welcomed the kids with open arms for Christmas Eve dinner and went about things as usual. During dinner, her daughter's stomach issue hit Theresa and she spent the next couple hours in the bathroom alternating between hurling, sitting on the toilet, and lying on the floor, thanking the ceramic tile for it's cooling qualities. Somehow, her husband managed to eventually drive her home without getting a speeding ticket, and she collapsed into bed, where she remained through most of Christmas Day.

Another girlfriend, Marie, endured a three hour drive in a blizzard, with her kids, to spend the weekend with her homeschooling sister, a brother-in-law that doesn't drink, and her sister's homeschooled humorless kids that don't get to stay up late, even on holidays. While a holiday weekend at a cabin surrounded by snow, woods, and family sounds ideal and postcard-perfect, it was more like something out of a dark comedy written by the Coen's. The kids whined, no one wanted to get drunk with her, the brother-in-law fabricated a story in order to get his own bedroom (and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep), and she had to scrub lasagna throw up out of the carpet at 3AM. To top it off, Marie's adorable dog who has a tendency to eat some not-so-adorable objects got some mysterious bit of shrapnel lodged in it's throat, causing it to drool uncontrollably on Sunday morning. Knowing that there would inevitably be a bill for an emergency vet visit, stirred and shaken together with the fact that there were eight loads of laundry waiting for her at home, a tree that needed to be taken down, and a job that she needed to make an appearance at on Monday made her say: "Cheers! This cocktail tastes like shit, and what in the hell just happened to Christmas?"

Despite the fact that our weekends were so varied, they were all memorable, and even fun, in their own way. We all know people that are never content: things are either too boring, or hectic, or messy, or spontaneous. No matter what happens, they're never satisfied, they're always a little bit pissed off, and they're willing to tell anyone who will listen just how pissed off they really are. Theresa and Marie, though not jubilant with the outcome of their holidays, weren't angry about things either, and are actually able to laugh at the absurdity of how they managed to spend 48 hours. They probably would have been fine dealing with a little less pukeage, someone understanding their humor a little more, and a little less dog drool, but since Theresa's husband is willing to clean up barf, and Marie remembered to pack her own bottle and knows better than to be ashamed about drinking alone, it was definitely a Christmas to remember. For all of us.

Feel free to share your own tales of Christmas imperfection!

Pulling The Plug

The first thing I thought of when I woke up on Saturday morning was: "Holy shit. I just slept nine hours, and I only had one beer last night." The second thing was "When can I pack up the Christmas decorations?" Since we were celebrating a belated Xmas with the in-laws on Saturday evening, I didn't think it would reflect well on my "Hostess with the Mostess" status to say: "Merry Christmas! Thanks for coming over! The tree was over there a couple hours ago, and it sure was pretty this year. But man was I sick of looking at that thing!"

Hauling out the evergreen, lights and ornaments seemed to take an entire evening. I put some Christmas music on, made a couple drinks, and my brother and sister-in-law were here to help out. In contrast, putting it away will be done in mere minutes, by myself, and I'll most likely have ESPN's NFL Countdown on in the background.

I'll continue to let the outdoor lights suck electricity through New Year's Day, but not a day longer, even though they'll probably have to remain on the bushes until Memorial Day since they are now buried under a foot of snow. Inevitably, there are always a few morons that leave those suckers plugged in until February or later, because after all, "They look so pretty, and the LCD lights were quite an investment." Honestly people, just because they're stuck to the arborvitae doesn't mean you need to turn them on! They're Christmas lights, not Valentine's Day lights, or Groundhog Day lights, and even though I think I deserve fancy lights and fireworks, they're not Mother's Day lights either.

So here's my request for January that will bring everyone, especially me, some post-holiday cheer: When you are done eradicating all traces of the holidays from the interior of your house, have thrown out the last cookie, found the time to exchange the ill-fitting sweater, and have mailed the last "I'm so sorry I got so drunk on Christmas Eve again, I never meant to say those things" letter, take a moment to stand in your driveway and look at your house. I mean, really look at your house. The greenish/brownish wreath with the red bow that's been askew from day one? Chuck it. The plastic snowman that got his face punched in by crazy Uncle Bruce? Put it in storage. The illuminated candy canes, the three wise men, the North Pole sign, the gingerbread man, the holiday train, and yes, even Santa Claus; put them all away. Oh, and see that orange extension cord, attached to that timer, which is attached to your house? Reach down, firmly grasp the cord, and with a much appreciated tug, pull the plug.

Happy Ho Ho Ho!

Merry Christmas! Enjoy the day with your always-entertaining family, sanity-providing friends, ass-enlarging foods, and favorite bottle of booze. After all, that's why I like to refer to January as "31 Days of Detox."

See You On The Freeway!

During the next two weeks, my attendance is requested at an 8th grade choir concert, a 6th grade orchestra concert, a holiday piano recital, an MMTA piano recital, and a 6th grade Christmas program. I will also be driving to four tennis lessons for the boys, two tennis lessons for the girl, two piano lessons, two violin lessons, two before-school choir rehearsals, and an after-school orchestra rehearsal. There is also a six-hour tennis clinic an hour away from home, the last-minute holiday shopping to get done, plus a fundraiser at the junior high. In addition, Doug will be out-of-town for two days, and working a shit load of hours on the days that he's in town.

Oh, and at some point my family would probably like to eat, and they will need clean socks.

Up until this month, my schedule has been pretty manageable because I usually only need to be in one place at one time, with one activity per night. But December is always busier because of the holiday-theme concerts, the Christmas parties, and 4,000 extra errands, all crammed into three-weeks. It definitely makes it difficult to sit back and enjoy the sights and sounds of the season. Unless, of course, the sights include my bangs stuck to my sweaty forehead as I schlep stuff to and from the car, and the sounds include phrases like: "Get your shoes on now and get in the car! It's your concert we're late for!" and "No. I do not have a snack for you because I'm not a vending machine."

I cannot imagine December without having to simultaneously shop, wrap, cook, occasionally pee, decorate, entertain, shower, bake cookies, clean, be merry, and drive kids around. Right now, though, I am strongly considering buying all of my cookies, letting the dust accumulate, faking a couple illnesses on concert nights, serving take-out on Christmas Eve, and spending my newfound time taste testing festive cocktails. Something tells me that I wouldn't enjoy the holidays any less. In fact, I might even enjoy them more.

Dear Santa, Whoever You Are

For a kid, the month of December might as well be 300 days long. Decorating a tree in your living room, watching as giant toy-filled bags are hauled into the house, seeing something other than chocolate chip cookies appear from the oven, and knowing that parents are ingesting a few more doses of Motrin than usual. The anticipation of Christmas presents paired together with two full weeks off from school is a lot to handle, and if it weren't for the fact that Santa knows when they're being naughty, all hell would break loose. I constantly remind the kids that I can give Santa an update about the bad behavior, next time I see him at the mall.

In the past, we've visited Santa only a few times. The boys have never cared for wasting an entire day at the mall to wait in a long line with whiny overdressed kids, and have preferred to use the letter-writing approach instead. Zoe has an obvious distrust of the guy, always keeps her distance, and after mumbling her demands, prefers to remain mute. Therefore, Zach has been kind enough to include her requests in his letters.

Eventually, the sad day arrives when the truth about Santa is discovered, and the letter writing stops. It's the letters toward the end of the belief period that have given me the best glimpse into Zach's sense of humor and logic. This is the letter he wrote when he was nine:

Dear Santa Claus,

It must be hard to get everything without attracting too much attention. I hope this isn't too hard. I want the game "Stay Alive!" There is probably a 99.9999% chance of adults hearing or seeing you flying by (I never do). How many trips do you take back to your workshop? Where is it anyway? How do you travel all over the world, walk through everyone's house, and eat about ten to the billionth power in one night? You probably have a little more time with a different time everywhere. I think it is the same time everywhere you go. If that's true, you travel west.

There is one more thing. My sister, Zoe, wants a "Weeble Castle." Can you do it? Thank you! I hope you aren't sick or anything!

Your friend, Zachary Adkins

Zach has always understood things very literally and logically. It would have been easy to just let his belief in Santa fade without going through the effort of convincing him otherwise, but that wouldn't have been much fun. Instead of answering his doubts and questions with the truth, Doug wrote a four page letter in return, posing as Mr. Claus. He answered his question about the cookie consumption using the term "cookie black hole." He praised Zach's theory of traveling west, but explained that he "actually travels at .99999% of the speed of light by using a quantum field generator." And in order to prevent being seen, he "uses metamaterials in the construction of my sleigh, my red suit, bag, and even woven into my reindeers' fur." Zach was completely convinced that Santa was real, because he had the letter to prove it.

Doug ended the letter with the best paragraph of all:

Someone once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. In other words, something really complicated--like a quantum gravitational field generator--seems magical to those who don't know how it works. It's good to be skeptical--to question things. But I hope that in time you'll also discover that with a little ingenuity, anything is possible, including making invisible sleighs fly and causing ten to the billionth power of cookies to disappear.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, Santa makes about 210 million trips back to the workshop, on average. And that year was the last Christmas that all three kids still believed in Santa Claus.