Motivation ... ?

I love collecting uplifting, motivational, and inspirational quotations.  They really encourage me to get going ... right as I am reading them -  ha!  I have even printed out some to use on the homeschool board.  So far, the most controversial says, "BRAT is not a learning disability".   I've decided to come up with some of my own.  Here's a little sample or two:

"The  more you read, the more you know (if you're doing it right!),
And the more you know, the better you do (Thank you, Maya Angelou!),
The better you do, the better you feel (Fingers crossed!).
The better you feel, the better you are (TAHDAH!)."

... or how about ---

"Mama don't allow no stinking thinking 'round here!"  (is that a song?)

or ---

"Don't Stop Believin'!"  (yep, that one is a song, and a darn good one, too!)

Feeling peppy now.  Think I'll go get something done before I forget about them.  I am all motivated on a Monday!


Go, Ro! Go, Ro! 

No Bouncy Gym for Mama (or any of the rest of these people)

 Last week my sixteen year old daughter asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day, and in a moment of stinky mean inspiration I told her I wanted the whole family to spend time at an indoor bouncy gymnasium.  Heh.  I don’t even know if there is such a thing, especially one that allows for mamas and daddies and kids over 6 feet tall, but all that matters is that she believed me, turned a little pale, and couldn’t look me in the eye.  She was appalled.  

For a couple of days, I worried (out loud and in her presence) over the perfect bouncy gym outfit. I fretted (and caused her to fret) over what the guys in our family would wear.  I tried to pay one of the boys to play along, tell her they wouldn’t let an over-40 mama in the bouncy gym so they were renting me a bouncy castle, and ask her to come out and help find a nice, flat place to put it.  Her brother laughed and laughed, but he refused. I don’t know why. 

Finally I told her that I knew what to wear, and was going to be part swimsuit, part running shorts, part tight tee with three Labrador retrievers on it, industrial upper body undergarments.  I cried with laughter (I am a terrible actress).  I watched her squirm. I told her that I wanted to hold hands with her and make up a tumbling routine for when we came down the biggest bouncy slide.  I told her we could practice in the neighbors’ hilly yard. I told her her dad and brothers were probably going to wear compression shorts. I asked her (like 500 times) what she was going to wear.  

Then I told her our indoor bouncy gymnasium appointment was at 1:30 on Sunday.  "You made an appointment?" she whimpered.  

When she came down for breakfast this morning, I put on my bouncy gym outfit and some little, white socks, and I practiced my “moves” in the family room while she tried not to watch (or get choked) from the kitchen.  

Finally, I confessed the truth - I was just teasing, and we didn’t have an appointment at the indoor bouncy gymnasium.  She looked at me with disbelief and said, “Huh uh. We were going to have fun ...”  

 And I still feel stinky mean, just a different kind of stinky mean ...  

Happy Mother’s Day! 

Extremely Lax Couponing

Once upon a time a couple of Facebook friends posted about their couponing successes.  Inspired by their savings, I decided to give it a go.  I asked my husband to buy a Sunday paper so I could glean the coupon inserts.  I cut out a few coupons. ***The End.***

Ok, that wasn't exactly the end.  I did conduct a successful hunt for my old coupon organizer.  It still held usable coupons for diaper medicine from when my oldest (now 20) was born and a couple for Charleston Chews and Crunch & Munch from packages of Halloween candy bought in Kentucky in 1991 (just a guess).  This should've been a sign of things to come.  I transferred them to a new and cheerily striped organizer, tucking the newly clipped coupons in there as well.  I do like to be organized!  

My cousin mentioned that she found many of her coupons online, so I joined the Couponing Blondes (or whatever).  I printed out a coupon for Listerine and a Pyrex measuring cup.  I couldn't tell you where that mouthwash coupon ended up, but the measuring cup coupon expired ... last month, I think.  

Unless this family starts using a plethora of name brand products or decides to make freezer room for 5000 cartoons of ice cream or someone starts issuing coupons for produce at the farmer's market,  I don't see my coupon neglecting ways ever getting me to the ranks of "extreme" like those folks I've heard about on tv.  Then maybe I'm just inventing my own type:  Extremely Lax Couponing.   Still, as I have a growing teenage son, I'm not giving up completely. Save those granola coupons for me!

I'm Not Doing Anything Today

This morning, I was at the grocery store at nine. I came home, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed the stairs, then made lunch.  My husband came wandering into the kitchen (Saturday is his day off) and asked me if I wanted to do anything today?  I don't. 

Why Can't Hither Be Closer To Yon?

I spend about four and a half hours in the car each week driving my kids from hither to yon.  If you aren't familiar with hither or yon then you either (a) don't have children, or (b) have a very good public transit system. Hith and Yo, as I like to call them (we're friendly, but by no means friends) are easily recognizable, Hith never has a gas station, and Yo is in the No Starbucks Zone.  It is impossible to be on-time to anyplace in Hither  There's a creepy time warpy thing that goes on when you enter there that throws you back twenty minutes and whips your gas gauge to E.  But, once you throw your kids out of the car, you can coast down the hill and wait for AAA at the Starbucks.  Yon, on the other hand has plenty of gas stations, and time to kill.  I usually spend my time there sitting in my car reading and waiting on someone to finish some activity or another....I do enjoy some quiet time and reading is one of my favorite activities, but it sure would be nice to have a coffee.  I've suggested coffee delivery as a service but AAA hasn't gotten back to me yet.

Really?

A guy stopped me in the mall right outside the bookstore entrance wearing an A & F polo, jeans fashionably holey and pinging on his iphone and asked me for fifty cents-- I assumed he meant money as I rarely carry rap artists around in my purse.  I looked at him for a minute, I never know what to say in these situations and I could hardly pretend I didn't hear him when I was nearly close enough to read his text message. All I could think was, fifty cents?  Was the guy in that need of a handful of Runts or a bouncy ball?  The guy was dressed better than I was and standing in a mall! In the end I told him I was sorry but I was saving up for an iphone.  I think he felt sorry for me. 

I've thought a lot about this...

And if I'm ever stranded on a deserted island and a genie pops out of nowhere and grants me one wish, I'm wishing for Nutella.

I Think I'm Forty-Something

I say think because, really, I could just as well be thirty-something, thirty and eleven, or twenty-something, twenty and twenty-one.  I mean technically I could, couldn't I?  I'm not diggin forty-something at all.  Forty-something means that I might be half way done--if you get my meaning.  It's also the number of calories I can now consume in a day without exploding. It's the number of minutes I spend cleaning each day, up sharply from thirteen just a year ago, and, I'm sure, a sign of impending senility.  It's how fast I sometimes find myself driving, both on the highway and through school zones.  It's roughly what I spend each month on herbal remedies for the diseases I only think I have and let's not go into how close it comes to the number of times I must call myself each month to find my cell phone. Of course, forty-something isn't all bad.  Sure I've had to give up the pretense that my gray is just "highlights", but I can remember when Jon Bon Jovi was young, when MTV played music videos and when Johnny Depp was on 21 Jump Street.

2010, I Know It Was Here, It Had To Be... Right?

 I vaguely remember a summer vacation and several hundred orthodontic appointments.  Seems like I paid my taxes.  I have a new dog and my son is now twelve feet tall. There was a road trip in there somewhere starting in California and going all the way to La Push, baby, La Push (I also have a daughter). I know that because I have the fridge magnets to prove it. But 2010, where did it go?

Hospitals Are Not For Sick People and I Missed Christmas!

I got an appendectomy for Christmas.  It took place the morning after Christmas to be honest, but it was a total surprise.  Wasn't expecting it at all.  So after literally suffering through all the preparations for Christmas Eve and Christmas, I missed all of the fun parts. And while the white Christmas everyone was oohing and ahhing over barely registered in my miserable brain, I learned about a whole new side of life called The Hospital.

 First, just let me say that these hospital worker people were some of the nicest I've ever met anywhere.  As I shuffled into the ER in my pajamas, red clogs, and a Canadian sherpa hoodie, no one even raised an eyebrow at my attire.  In fact, I was even complimented on my speaking voice.  I guess they are trained to look for something good in everyone that waddles up to that desk.   I didn't even have to wait but a couple of minutes to be questioned, examined, and given the privilege of an IV, offered morphine, and a CAT scan.  At the mention of CAT scan I had them bring in my husband from the waiting room.  I told him I was ready to go home.  The nice doctor convinced me to stay, which was a good thing as the scan soon proved what she suspected:  the appendix was "rotten" (her word not mine, though I agree), and it had to go.

I was admitted into a room to await this "emergency" appendectomy . . . which took place some 12 hours later.  No wonder they kept pushing the morphine.  But it was a holiday, then a Sunday, and there was snow.  I appreciate every single one of those people who cared enough to slide into work on a snowy Sunday to take out that rotten appendix.  I should buy them all a gift certificate or something nice like a scarf ... except I am not even sure how many there were ..?

Except for finally being released from that institution, the actual surgery was my favorite part.  I don't remember a bit of it.  And I woke up smiling. I smiled as they pushed me and my oxygen down the halls to my room. I smiled. I was ready to go home.  Still smiling :))

After a "fever spike" prevented them from letting me go home the next day like I'd imagined, I cried.  I cried almost the whole third night in that place.  Then I decided that I'd show those people, and I tried to wash my hair in the sink ... alone.  It made me feel a little rebellious, a little fresher, and a whole lot tired.  Sadly, the IV prevented me from drying and styling my hair well, so I was looking somewhat deranged until my sister came and helped me the next day so I didn't have to come home like that.

I made some observations while in the hospital. I would like to share them.

a)  There are all manner of beeping things in that joint.  Beep. Beep. Beep.  This beeps and that beeps.  The IV commenced beeping every time I moved my right arm.  It was like the whole world was a french fry cooker.

b)  Hospital workers aren't even a little embarrassed when they bring you a breakfast tray with coffee and a popsicle.  What the heck kind of breakfast is that?

c)  Nurses are especially chatty at the nurses' station on holidays.  I recommend earplugs if your room is within a mile of the nurses' station.  Also, if your husband snores at home he will also snore in the chair by your hospital bed.  You may have to send him home eventually.

d)  Every person will ask you, the suffering and pitiful person, your name and birthdate and if you are allergic to anything.  Over and over.  They make you wear that bracelet, but I don't think they like to read it.

e)  Nurses offer you morphine like it's the real reason you came to the hospital.  They really, really want you to have it and served with an intravenous side order of some anti-nausea drug they speak of in hushed and reverent tones.   Neither of them work.  Well, maybe that nausea one works, but I'm not going back to find out.

f)  Those hospital people throw a lot of jargon at you. I didn't know what any of it meant.  I'm still not sure, but again,  I am not going back to find out.  "Lappy appy" was one of the confusing titles.  It means laparoscopic appendectomy NOT Labrador Retriever and Lhasa Apso mix.

g)  80% of the time they're coming at you with a cup it's not a good thing.  The other 20% of the time they're bringing cubes of jello.

h) 100% of the time they're coming at you some sort tube it's not a good thing.  They like to stick them places.

i)  If they apologize in advance, you can bet someone's going to be sorry at some point during that procedure.

j) Harvest Gold and Mauve are alive and well and working as throw up receptacles at area healthcare facilities.

k)  Nurse assistant dudes who play the Geico little pig commercial on their cell phones while wheeling you to the CAT scan room are special ... even if it hurts to laugh.

l ) Nurses wearing reindeer antlers are gentle on Christmas night.

Today I am finishing the last of two industrial strength antibiotics.  There isn't a bacteria left in my body. I feel like it's a fresh start to collect new and improved bacteria, and I think I'd like to begin my new collection with the kind of beneficial bacteria delivered by strawberry yogurt.   If I find out that the "fever spike" causing the extra night's stay and ultra-antibiotics was, as I suspect, brought on by being under a blanket in an 85 degree room on a rubber bed during a hormonal night sweat, I am going to be mad.

So, I missed Christmas, but it's a new year.  I'm starting it with a clean gut and no pain. Things are looking up :))  And I'm home!

Happy New Year!!

The Terrible Thing That Happened To Me...

The most horrific, mortifying, terrible, stomach churning, heart palpitating, anxiety producing thing has happened to me.  I know, I know, it happens to us all sooner or later and all there is to do is pick up the pieces and trudge forward.  There's no going back, no un-ringing the bell, no breathing life back into it.  It just is. Engine lights come on.  Cars die.

"It's too old, it has too many miles, it must go." My husband says.  He's brought home brochures from every dealership in Northern California, he seems a little too happy to me.

I fear he may have somehow poisoned little old Sadie, whether with shoddy upkeep or just bad vibes, I don't know.  She has clearly lost her will to live, but I don't know if I can move on.  I can safely change the radio station and find the windshield wipers in the dark, how long before I can do that in a new car?  I can park anywhere without fear of door dings or high curbs, Sadie is pre-scuffed on all four sides.  The seat belts are safely held in with eight years of gummy bear goo and juice box drippings, you can't get that kind of safety package on new models, nope--pre-owned only. She has a cassette player, bet those don't come standard on your run-of-the-mill new model, either.  My husband's trying to sell me on heated seats or that back-up camera thingy, but what do I need with that when I have the piece of mind of knowing that my keyless remote can go through a full laundry cycle, many times, and still come out twerping?   And,  I'm pretty sure I can't get that Nemo the fish antenna topper off either, so I'll lose that too.

It's all too sad to think about.

Priorities

I'll never claim to have all my ducks in a row or my priorities straight. I procrastinate. I am not very domestic, not very girlie. My life is not as organized as I'd like. And heaven help me, I actually LIKE my kids and put them before most all things, which surely qualifies me as nuts in today's world. It occurred to me after reading the Facebook posts by other less-enthralled mothers who were exasperated by all the snow days in January, that I may be the only mom in this state who likes being with her children. This is alarming and also worthy of a blog entry of its own. My children are my first priority, and I am okay with this. It's after that when things get a little less decisive.

Laundry, toenail polish, hair fretting, shoes, Jeffy, grocery shopping strategies, ceramic stovetop care, dream gardening, gluten anxiety, dental health, other family, breakfast, sleep, archaeological news, reading, breathing, and emptying the bagless vaccuum all swarm like vultures over my To Do list. They're a wild bunch that acknowledge no hierarchy. As you can see, my priorities are a mess.

Still, if I had to choose between teeth and a Coach purse, I am picking teeth. Thank you, fellow shopper lady, for calling that to my attention. I needed it!

"Technis"

The other day I received an alarming text from one my kids informing me that technis does not come from rusted nails. Ummm . . . Technis? Really? Well, let me just tell you that I know EXACTLY how one gets "technis". "Technis" can be the unpleasant result of several things. Here are few of the causes:

a) reading a gift wish list from a teen with a plethora of electronic gadgets.
b) looking behind the television and trying to figure out what should be attached to which.
c) watching Ellen's 12 Days of Giveaways . . . just once, even.
d) figuring out the latest update of iTunes.
e) dropping on your foot the file box of index cards listing all your website passwords and usernames.
f) finding the one un-scannable item in the whole store when you're in a hurry.
g) keeping up with the time changes on this household's digital clocks.
h) mistaking "wireless" as "wire-free".
i) texting your children in their rooms when you are only downstairs - repeatedly.
j) calling internet technical support and being expected to know what all those blinking box thingies actually are.
k) being expected to start new collections of movies for every new video viewing method.

and perhaps the most dangerous -
l) not realizing the cute flashing "fishbowl" on the minivan dash is indication that something is wrong with a tire.

As you can see, "technis" is getting more and more difficult to avoid. Unfortunately, it is currently suspected the only cure maybe a lifetime membership to ITT Tech or to keep having children to stay on top of the technology for you.

Be careful out there. "Technis" is everywhere!

Things I Don't Want for Christmas

In a perfect world I could cross stitch this on a sampler and display in a place where everyone could observe it. As a mother I can only fantasize about being so brash, but if I could I would...



Please, if you love me, don't gift me ....


-Anything that has to be plugged into a four prong outlet.

- Another watch. I've never worn a watch, that's what I use my cell phone for, yet I have, not a watch for every day, but a watch set to every time zone from the Northern Territory of Australia to the East Coast of the United States. Why?

- Anything flannel, footed, drop seated, covered in penguins, owls or sock monkeys, please! I've startled more than a few UPS guys when answering the door in my Christmas jammies from years past. Of course, if they delivered their goods at a decent hour I would be dressed, I swear.

- Anything that must be worn on the head, especially if it jingles, sparkles or lights up.

- Anything with a physical fitness application. Exercise tapes, yoga mats, wii games that make fun of your waistline, I'm on the fence about "lounge wear", they seem a lot like work out clothes to me, so, to be on the safe side, just leave those off your list, if you don't mind.

- Anything I can see myself in that isn't a picture frame or an antique mirror i.e. a toaster, crock pot, bread machine etc. etc. etc. If it's stainless steel and someone has to polish finger prints off of it, really, it's not a gift now is it?

- Another cookbook, it ain't helping.

-A kit of any sort. I still haven't finished the latch hook Santa rug my aunt sent me in 1992. When I finish that one, I still have the mosaic kit, the photo tinting kit, the cross stitch world map, I'm not sure I have enough years left as it is.

With all my love,
Mother

Deck the Halls?

We deck the Christmas tree and whatever room we're able to fit it in that year. We deck the banisters with garland, we deck the kitchen and even the powder room, and have occasionally decked the dog. Outside we deck the front door and flower garden (dead flowers look so much more festive with wooden snowmen sitting in them) and our neighbors to both sides deck their roofs, yards, walkways, driveways, mailboxes, bushes, trees, dead gardens and doors--we think they might be trying to hail beings from other worlds, but it's not our electric bill so who are we to judge? My daughter has a flair with salt dough and paper chains and many years has the most decked out room in the whole house. But we never deck the Halls, in fact we've always been very fond of the Halls.

Things About Me by Rowena but inspired by Edwina

1. I'd rather just go ahead and write a check than have to save aluminum lids off the yogurt.

2. I feed the birds.

3. I may be the only person in America (not wearing scrunch socks) who still enjoys cross stitch.

4. My favorite color is green, green, green, or old red, or robin's egg blue or buttery yellow.

5. In my heart I really AM organized.

6. I sing. I sing just about any time, any place, any where.

7. I'm more than slightly germophobic.

8. Heck, I don't mind inventating my own words.

9. Reading is my favorite - books, papers, magazines, poetry, t-shirts, cereal boxes, bumper stickers.

10. I'm addicted to archaeological news. This beats a lot of things to which I could be addicted - like bacon. I am not addicted to bacon.

11. Love me some Facebook, and I wish everything in the world had "LIKE" buttons.

12. The God I've decided on for myself and my family is prettier, nicer, and bigger than most of the other gods about whom I've read.

13. I am not into golf, billiards, bridge, or Dungeons & Dragons. I am not much into games at all.

14. Laughter, in my opinion, should be the point of EVERYTHING.

15. The TV networks wait for me to say I like a show just so they can cancel it, so I will just keep my television viewing preferences to myself, thank you.

16. My hair is WAY weirder than Edwina's.

17. I dream of big savings as I clip coupons which I never, ever, ever use.

18. Math, I think, can take the fun out of a lot of things.

19. I am still friends with my very first non-family friend. We met when we were toddlers.

20. I don't know why I can't live in Stars Hollow.

Things About Me, by Edwina

1. I believe in God.

2. I keep cookie dough balls in the freezer under the guise of being able to pop just a few out to bake at a time, but really I eat them all raw.

3. I like to be alone.

4. I don't watch much TV because I'd rather read, but I'd rather read with the TV on.

5. My favorite show is the British comedy Keeping Up Appearances, someday I'd like to have the nerve to be Hyacinth Bucket, pronounced bouquet.

6. I still call East Tennessee home, even though I haven't lived there in years.

7. I pick up mannerisms from people I spend time with, sometimes I say or do something and it reminds me of someone I knew long ago.

8. I've been to 49 states, 17 countries and 5 continents, but only learned one language.

9. I still have the first book I ever read Claude the Dog.

10. Someday, I'd like to write a book that someone would want to keep for thirty-five years.

11. I overreact, a lot.

12. I love to cook, but I'm not good at it.

13. I collect Starbucks mugs, but I don't know how to make decent coffee.

14. I'm hopeless with directions, I just wander around until I happen upon what I'm looking for.

15. I have weird hair.

16. My biggest fear is of dying before my kids are grown and on their own.

17. I have Nickelback and Neil Diamond on my ipod.

18. I have a birthday card signed by The Clash.

19. I'm going to Scotland in 2012, God willing.

20. I'm soo team Edward.

Movie Review-- A Mom's Perspective, With Apologies to Rowena on the Subject Matter

Last Friday, at ten a.m., my daughter and I, and a theater full of other moms and their truant daughters, were witness to the Twilight book two phenomena called New Moon. If you missed it don't despair, because you, too, can see it, read it, listen to it, watch it on You Tube, look at life size posters of it on billboards, buses and tween girl's walls, buy postcards, calendars, action figures or, if you're a pacifist, maybe just ignore it, I think...

If you happen to be one of the seven people who have avoided reading this series, please read on with caution, spoilers may follow and I'd hate to ruin it for you.

New Moon is the story of a cute boy with a British accent that is forced to pretend a nineteenth century American accent and a girl from Arizona called Bella who isn't Italian, so don't bother trotting out your best lasagna recipe if she happens to be coming by for dinner. The first five minutes of the movie are dedicated to looking at Edward, the cute boy with the wasted British accent, it's more of a music video than a movie, so just sit back and try not to giggle or your twelve year old will glare at you. Whoops of "Team Edward!" and catcalls that would make a New York wrecking crew blush might ensue, just tune it out, all will be quiet soon. Then, Edward leaves Bella in a scene that I'm embarrassed to admit made me snuffle just a little, not because the scene was necessarily that emotional for me, but because it reminded me of that chapter in the book, which really made me teary, but I'm a little sappy that way, so you may not be at risk. Enter buff Jacob, "Team Jacob!", catcalls, etc. etc. etc. Bella is very depressed, Jacob is very buff, Bella gets a motorcycle, Jacob loses his shirt. Quiet, no one is allowed to speak while Jacob is shirtless, which is most of the rest of the movie. Jacob becomes a wolf, Bella becomes a daredevil, Edward becomes a lost boy. There are a few scenes that seem to be unintentionally funny, try not to laugh, tweeny glares can be dangerous. Bella jumps off a cliff, Jacob saves her, Alice 'sees' her, Edward thinks she's pulled a Juliet, hence there must be a Romeo. Edward goes to Italy, Bella goes to Italy, Edward loses his shirt, more catcalls (I really did try to control myself). Dakota Fanning is a grown up (when did that happen?), big fight, lots of pasty white guys, American tourists become lunch. And then, we're back where we started, in the woods, and all is well until Eclipse is released. All in all a thumbs up.

A Ferocious Fall Fantasy

I am lost in a fantasy . . .

and in this fantasy I am disguised as a vengeful forest fairy (you should be thinking of something along the lines of the mean sea-witch in The Little Mermaid with a Smoky the Bear flair). I am howling a savage, haunting war cry while ninja flying through the trees, over the fences, to the neighbor’s yard. Once there I apprehend them by the hoods of their hoodies, and wrench the leaf blower and rakes from their hands. And while they watch in alarm and disbelief, I toss the blower into the fiery leaf inferno they’ve been working on all afternoon. Then I ninja flip my way into the forest behind our homes (to throw them off, of course, as I can’t have these neighbors with matches follow me home!), and let loose a tremendous roar which echoes loudly off the hills. This will cause someone to call 911, and when the authorities arrive they put out the fire and tell those neighbors to never, never burn leaves again. Ahhhhhh!!!!!! What a delightful autumn fantasy - - - BUT one that I shouldn't even have to have.

This isn’t the first time they’ve gone firebug on us. In the fall I can expect at least one smoke-filled, eye-burning, lung-shrinking episode per week. Frankly I am weary of the series and weary of them turning any afternoon into a bronchial spasm marathon.

Put down the matches, Sparky McKindlins! Let me breathe!

Let's Call the Whole Thing Off

I love the holiday season. From Halloween until New Years (or mid-January on occasion) my house will be decorated to suit the season with an embarrassing, and yet impressive, array of festive ornamentation for both indoors and out: jack O' lanterns, tin spiders, fall leaves, tiny bails of hay, Christmas wreathes, garden snowmen, sleigh bells, nutcrackers-the list goes on and on. Normally, I have these treasures of holidays past stashed in every available nook and cranny, filling baskets, buckets and bins--and more than one top closet shelf-- but, in my new home, I am blessed with an L shaped under-the-stairs closet. Square footage wise it's about the size of a small bedroom, but, because of the sloping ceiling and it's funny shape, it presents quite a problem when using it as storage. My husband took one look at it and saw his Mt. Everest. He practiced and planned, put boxes in, took boxes out, finally sorting out just the right sizes and shapes. At the end of the day, the closet was full top to bottom , side to side, front to back, like a gigantic puzzle. It was, and is, a thing of beauty. Unfortunately, somewhere in that perfect stack is my holiday decorations. So, we stand with two choices, sort through all those carefully put away bins until we find the ones marked Christmas, Halloween, and Thanksgiving, or just call the holidays off.