Sugar Detox is Just as Fun as it Sounds!

The week before Christmas I was doing great at eating healthy and avoiding all sugar and processed carbs. And then my husband brought home a goody basket from his employees filled with homemade candies and cookies. The white fudge proved to be more than I could withstand, and I at it. I tried to get my husband to fire the one who made it on principle because nothing before that had tempted me enough to consume, but he won't. Something about protocol for termination doesn't include giving yummy treats. Whatever. Since then, I have been on a steady diet of fudge, divinity, and cookies with an occasional slice of pie-a-la-real whip cream. My bloodstream couldn't possible have room for any nutrients in it at this point, and it's clearly time to detoxify my system before I become an unstoppable sugar fiend. I could live with being addicted to the sweet stuff if my clothes would also fit in the meantime, but there is definitely a cause and effect relationship between the amount of fudge I eat and the size of my butt. Not exactly rocket science, but it's a fact that's easy to deny until it smacks you in the too tight jeans. And so today begins my renewed commitment to eating right and working out so at the end of January I can wear my new formal gown without worrying about it fitting too snug. For you that means my blog during the next month may be littered with irritated rants as I fight the urge to ingest bad carbs and scream at the people who live closest to me. (Pray for them!)

My mom used to tell me it's never ok to give someone a living thing as a gift unless the giver lives with recipient and is willing to accept full responsibility. I think that is the best Christmas advice I have ever heard!

 I grew up in a virtual menagerie. (That would be a collection of animals for anyone who flunked SAT vocab and thought that word meant something naughty) At any given time, our family's back yard was filled with exotic pheasants, rheas (they're like ostriches), rabbits, chinchillas, tortoises, an opossum named Pansy, and sometimes, even a cat or dog. What I learned from that time in my life is that animals stink, they're noisy, and they're expensive.
Once in high school, my dad brought my grandmother and I a pair of finches. (tiny birds that don't do anything entertaining) She liked looking at them, but I was in charge of caring for them. It's important to  note that he didn't live with us and broke the cardinal rule of gift giving. I didn't have the heart to tell my dad that I didn't want anything to do with the little birds. That was my first mistake! Eventually I forgot to feed and water them, and did you know that finches can only go about a day without eating? You can test this if you want. I killed a bird. My father who loves me and didn't want the lone finch to be sad brought me a new one to replace the one that "mysteriously" died. They had an egg, made a family, and one by one, they all suffered the same fate. I forgot to feed them! I have to confess though that I blamed second hand cigarette smoke on their deaths, and this is the first time I am openly admitting my role in their demise.
Skip ahead a decade and a half(ish). My 7 year old bought a betta fish with his own money a while back, but wouldn't you know it, I am the primary care giver of said fish. My husband wouldn't allow the fish to live in the kid's room, which was good for the fish. On the other hand, it's on the window sill in my kitchen where I see the dirty water and attend to it, and our child has learned nothing about fish maintenance.
That's what happened two days ago when I almost committed another act of petocide (not on the SAT b/c I made it up, but I bet you know what it means). I was going to pour some of the gross fish water down the drain and refresh the bowl, but I poured the fish out with the water. Right into the disposal. Having just poured out the water, I had to pause and refill the container before my rescue mission could commence. Thankfully, I was able to gently fish him out and get him back in the bowl alive. The poor little guy was not looking good for a while, and I was sure he wouldn't make it, but I am pleased to report that he is just fine today.

Let this serve as a cautionary tale to anyone considering buying their kid a pet for Christmas. What are you willing to commit to the pet because it will be all yours! How often do you think you'll remember to feed it? Reptiles can go much longer without eating in case you're wondering.

Please Santa, Bring Super Glue

I'm borrowing most of this from an article I wrote for something else last week, but since it's mine, I guess I am allowed. After all, it's relevant to the season, and as I am just about to super glue this pitiful victim back together, I need to vent, or re-vent about the pitfalls of decorating with kids.

As I’m writing this, my husband and I have just come in from putting up our lights. This job always takes twice as long as we think it’s going to and leaves us frustrated as strands randomly flicker off or don’t fit where they’re supposed to go. And somehow there are never enough stakes to fasten lights around the perimeter of the grass, and we have to go buy more. Every year!

Tonight while we were intensely driving wire stakes into the rock hard ground and carefully removing busted bulbs from their sockets (swearing under my breath when I trip and squash yet another bulb), a silver Christmas ball bounced off the porch and rolled down the sidewalk. It had fallen off the wreath on the door after the children had opened it and shut it for about the 90^th time to see if we were done yet. At least it bounced instead of shattered.

We have a designated spot that we call the “ornament hospital” where I keep super glue handy for repairs. I’m pretty sure we have more ornaments on our tree that have been glued back together than ones that have yet to need glue. It's gotten so bad that next year I think we may wrap the whole tree in bubble wrap. Wait, then all I'll hear for weeks in popping. Never mind.

We even have a wise man that had to have his hand reattached after an unfortunate incident where the nativity set was tossed out of the attic. Don’t ask, we don’t like to talk about it.

It’s not so bad to have to a house full of repaired Christmas decorations though as long as I refrain from gluing my fingers together in the process. Sadly though, I seem to do it every time. Besides, House Beautiful is unlikely to come photograph my holiday décor. If they did though, the saggy gingerbread house would be a must see. It was the messiest thing to make, and I will still be sweeping up sprinkles in a month, but my kids are so proud of their little house. It doesn’t matter to them one bit that the roof slid halfway off, the door is crooked, and they got more icing on the table than on the house. They loved making it, and the memories they will have of fun Christmas traditions will mean so much more to them as they grow up than having a perfectly decorated home. Who cares if a Lego man has to stand in for our missing Baby Jesus? This reminds me, I still need retrieve a shepherd from above the cabinets where he was launched last year.