There are a series of conversations that my mother failed to have with me during my growing up years into adulthood. Let me be clear, my mom, while being a lovely women is not a proactive conversation starter especially on sensitive girl topics.
In my opinion there are several topics that moms are required to cover off on with their daughters. Primarily they revolve around the periods, puberty and sex. To be fair, I’m sure my grandma never talked to my mom on either of these topics and judging from the separate rooms my grandparents kept, any topics on sex probably wouldn’t have been a good news message anyway. In hindsight, my mom’s lack of parental conversation is a bit surprising as she walked in on me and my high school beau, heatedly making out in the basement family room with a blanket over our laps, more than once. It was those experiences that will lead to my “no blankets-no closed door policy” with my teenage son should girls come a visiting. I vividly remember being 14 and all the hormones therein.
All of my information on girl biology came via the teen classic “Are you there God, it’s me Margaret.” That book combined with the filmstrip shown in 5th grade on “men-strooo-a-shun” was the extent of my health education. The girls received a flowered pamphlet and box of kotex pads covertly disguised in a brown paper lunch bag. I took my new treasures home and laid them on the butcher block in the kitchen for my mom to see and then exited the crime scene.
To be clear, I’m sure I didn’t really want to have any conversation with my mom about this subject. Education via Judy Blume worked for me just fine. As a parent, I quickly figured out conversations on these types of subjects should take place early and often, as opposed to a one-time event. That’s probably why I avoided my mom like the plague. I was uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. Avoidance was the best option for all concerned parties.
My mom did attempt to address the brown paper bag on the counter and the conversation was as follows:
Mom: "Do you have any questions?"
Me: "No."
Case closed. Crisis averted.
All my information about s-e-x was also delivered via Judy Blume. The book "Forever" was a favorite title circulating between my girlfriends in high school. My best friend asked her mom for permission to read it.
I just read it. I was a rebel that way.
Between that book and my real life boyfriend I was a fountain of life experience. A fact that my parents would probably not appreciate. But my girlfriends did. I could dispense advice ala Judy Blume. Once again in hindsight I’m more than stunned they didn’t sit me down and try to lecture me on the evils of the flesh or teen pregnancy. Mostly they just suggested that we go downstairs and “watch a movie” when my boyfriend came over.
Needless to say, I don’t have a basement with a TV and a couch for good reason.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Birthday Octave
Sigh.
Another candle on the cake. Technically, I’ve officially stopped counting. This makes the whole aging process seemingly less horrific then it truly is. And it is horrific. Whoever says “it’s just a number” hasn’t hit the magical age of 40 where parts of the body break, sag and atrophy at a rate that is staggering. I am not making this up. There is a reason trips to the plastic surgeon have increased for the 40-50 demographic.
Despite my disdain for counting the actual birthday candles, I am a big fan of maximizing birthday celebration opportunities. And I like cake.
My brilliant BFF taught me all about the “birthday octave” wherein the birthday girl is allowed to partake in any and all celebratory occasions, gifts (either received by friends or self purchased), outings, special lunches, dinners, extra trips to Starbucks, new boots, any treats involving chocolate, wine, happy hours or spa services of any kind for a full 8 days before and after the actual birth date. Boys of course can take advantage of the octave, although I’ve never met one who does.
My husband thought he was being cute and witty when he hooked up the new washer and proclaimed “Happy Birthday”. He got the stink eye, a frosty response and a general proclamation that I wanted new dishes for my birthday. Go me.
So far my birthday octave includes one vacation day, 3 dates for cocktails/appetizers, 1 dinner out and a pedicure.
Clearly there is capacity for other Happy Birthday to me type of events. I definitely envision a new pair of boots folded into the mix, especially after the washing machine jab. And they are so richly deserved after the multiple treks to the Park Town Laundry during the 2 longs weeks that I was without a washer.
I think platform boot with the mega heel will look especially fabulous dangling off a barstool whilst sipping a Happy Birthday to me martini. The birthday octave is a stroke of pure genius!
Another candle on the cake. Technically, I’ve officially stopped counting. This makes the whole aging process seemingly less horrific then it truly is. And it is horrific. Whoever says “it’s just a number” hasn’t hit the magical age of 40 where parts of the body break, sag and atrophy at a rate that is staggering. I am not making this up. There is a reason trips to the plastic surgeon have increased for the 40-50 demographic.
Despite my disdain for counting the actual birthday candles, I am a big fan of maximizing birthday celebration opportunities. And I like cake.
My brilliant BFF taught me all about the “birthday octave” wherein the birthday girl is allowed to partake in any and all celebratory occasions, gifts (either received by friends or self purchased), outings, special lunches, dinners, extra trips to Starbucks, new boots, any treats involving chocolate, wine, happy hours or spa services of any kind for a full 8 days before and after the actual birth date. Boys of course can take advantage of the octave, although I’ve never met one who does.
My husband thought he was being cute and witty when he hooked up the new washer and proclaimed “Happy Birthday”. He got the stink eye, a frosty response and a general proclamation that I wanted new dishes for my birthday. Go me.
So far my birthday octave includes one vacation day, 3 dates for cocktails/appetizers, 1 dinner out and a pedicure.
Clearly there is capacity for other Happy Birthday to me type of events. I definitely envision a new pair of boots folded into the mix, especially after the washing machine jab. And they are so richly deserved after the multiple treks to the Park Town Laundry during the 2 longs weeks that I was without a washer.
I think platform boot with the mega heel will look especially fabulous dangling off a barstool whilst sipping a Happy Birthday to me martini. The birthday octave is a stroke of pure genius!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Peanuts and Monkeys
I’m preparing for my next series of winter craft shows. $85 gets me a 6x12 space in a high school gym and guarded optimism that I’ll sell enough tye dyes to offset the cost of the Oakley sunglasses my son has on his Christmas wish list, as well as the unexpected investment in a new washing machine. As a matter of background, I sell children’s tye dye wearables that include one piece rompers, (I can’t call them onesies™ because the Gerber people don’t like that and their lawyers send me love notes), dresses, hats, sweatshirts – stuff like that. It’s a pocket money type of product at $10 - $25; although sweatshirts are a bit more (dye hogs, trust me on this).
There are two kinds of shoppers at craft fairs.
If you want dyed local, by hand, on a nicer quality cotton fabric with professional grade dye, then I am your gal. I don’t bargain. I don’t negotiate. I am not the dollar store. My items are priced fairly. I also don’t provide instruction on how to tye dye. My knowledge is my business. I am not setup here to provide a “how to” opportunity. And I feel pretty confident that the quality and vibrancy of my tye dyes are better then what you have done as a summer project on your front lawn.
This is the part where I sound like my dad and hop up on my soapbox.
As a society we howl and complain about outsourced manufacturing and the quality of some of those products (some, not all). We say we want to buy American. We say we want local. We say we value handmade. We say we want to support our local business, artist or farmer. Only we want rock bottom, made in China, chain store prices.
Sorry folks, you can’t have it both ways.
American made products are more expensive. Handmade products are also more expensive. I will add the appropriate disclaimer that all of my blanks (the white pieces purchased before I dye them) are not made in the USA. But some are, and those are priced accordingly. Somehow it’s a-ok to spend $45 on a hoodie at the Gap made in Sri Lanka and not okay to spend $45 on an American Apparel hoodie actually made in the US and dyed in Wisconsin. I don’t get it.
So to the folks that enter my booth and say “You’re stuff is so cute, but it’s so expensive” or “$12 is a lot for a tye dye t-shirt” please skip the craft fair circuit, get in your car and go to the nearest discount store. Pay your peanuts. Get your moneys.
Hopping off soapbox.
There are two kinds of shoppers at craft fairs.
- Those who appreciate the time and energy it takes to actually dye something by hand.
- Those who think they appreciate the time and energy it take to dye something by hand, but want a Wal-Mart price point.
If you want dyed local, by hand, on a nicer quality cotton fabric with professional grade dye, then I am your gal. I don’t bargain. I don’t negotiate. I am not the dollar store. My items are priced fairly. I also don’t provide instruction on how to tye dye. My knowledge is my business. I am not setup here to provide a “how to” opportunity. And I feel pretty confident that the quality and vibrancy of my tye dyes are better then what you have done as a summer project on your front lawn.
This is the part where I sound like my dad and hop up on my soapbox.
As a society we howl and complain about outsourced manufacturing and the quality of some of those products (some, not all). We say we want to buy American. We say we want local. We say we value handmade. We say we want to support our local business, artist or farmer. Only we want rock bottom, made in China, chain store prices.
Sorry folks, you can’t have it both ways.
American made products are more expensive. Handmade products are also more expensive. I will add the appropriate disclaimer that all of my blanks (the white pieces purchased before I dye them) are not made in the USA. But some are, and those are priced accordingly. Somehow it’s a-ok to spend $45 on a hoodie at the Gap made in Sri Lanka and not okay to spend $45 on an American Apparel hoodie actually made in the US and dyed in Wisconsin. I don’t get it.
So to the folks that enter my booth and say “You’re stuff is so cute, but it’s so expensive” or “$12 is a lot for a tye dye t-shirt” please skip the craft fair circuit, get in your car and go to the nearest discount store. Pay your peanuts. Get your moneys.
Hopping off soapbox.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Bad Fashion Trends
When I attempted college (for the first time) in the fall of 1985, leggings and long sweaters were all the rage. I know. I vividly remember my “Gap” black leggings and this really nifty long cobalt blue sweater that had pairs of dice all over it. It was bad ass.
A mere 25 years later, leggings or “jeggings” as they are now called/long sweater phenom is back in force. Unless you are a woman who is between the ages of 16-22, 110 lbs and 5’10 tall…this isn’t a look for you. I don’t care how cougarish and hip you think you are. You must meet all the criteria. If you are shorter than the required 5’10 you should be in fantastic shape and wearing boots with a rocking heel. There is nothing worse than 40 trying to look 20.
I made the mistake of trying on a pair of jeggings just for fun. There are those rare fashion miracles where clothing looks much better on a real person then on the hanger. It happens. It does. But this was not one of those times. Seriously. It was so bad it had the potential for the “fashion don’t” spread in any magazine across the land.
I watch “What not to wear” and I own the book. If you don’t own the book, you should. It’s worth every penny. I’ve seen the show enough times to know that in order to lengthen the leg and look thinner the pant should start at the widest part of the body and go straight down. I’ve never once heard Stacey and Clinton say – start at the widest part and taper inward. Never. Not once. And why? Because it looks like a triangle. A bad triangle.
A great looking trouser pant and a pair of killer boots can hide 25 years worth of sins. You can’t disguise that with jeggings, I don’t care what kind of sweater you put over it .And really – like we all need to pull a sweater over our ass and hips. Cause that’s a good idea. It’s the fashion equivalent of putting “juicy” on the rear of a sweat pant. You might as well prance around town with a wide load sign on your backside.
And the sad thing is – this look is everywhere. Every brand, every manufacturer from the Target house brand to Ralph Lauren has a the jegging/sweater look…because somehow the look will seem better on a 43 year old woman with tummy pooch because it has Ralph Lauren on the label.
My advice is to skip this year’s jegging/sweater fashion trend. You’ll be glad for it. If you’re itching to be trendy, opt for an ankle book with a platform and a high heel. You can wear them with your trouser jeans and your legs will look a mile long. If you can’t walk in them you can always dangle from a barstool whilst sipping a martini. Very fashion forward. Trust me on this.
A mere 25 years later, leggings or “jeggings” as they are now called/long sweater phenom is back in force. Unless you are a woman who is between the ages of 16-22, 110 lbs and 5’10 tall…this isn’t a look for you. I don’t care how cougarish and hip you think you are. You must meet all the criteria. If you are shorter than the required 5’10 you should be in fantastic shape and wearing boots with a rocking heel. There is nothing worse than 40 trying to look 20.
I made the mistake of trying on a pair of jeggings just for fun. There are those rare fashion miracles where clothing looks much better on a real person then on the hanger. It happens. It does. But this was not one of those times. Seriously. It was so bad it had the potential for the “fashion don’t” spread in any magazine across the land.
I watch “What not to wear” and I own the book. If you don’t own the book, you should. It’s worth every penny. I’ve seen the show enough times to know that in order to lengthen the leg and look thinner the pant should start at the widest part of the body and go straight down. I’ve never once heard Stacey and Clinton say – start at the widest part and taper inward. Never. Not once. And why? Because it looks like a triangle. A bad triangle.
A great looking trouser pant and a pair of killer boots can hide 25 years worth of sins. You can’t disguise that with jeggings, I don’t care what kind of sweater you put over it .And really – like we all need to pull a sweater over our ass and hips. Cause that’s a good idea. It’s the fashion equivalent of putting “juicy” on the rear of a sweat pant. You might as well prance around town with a wide load sign on your backside.
And the sad thing is – this look is everywhere. Every brand, every manufacturer from the Target house brand to Ralph Lauren has a the jegging/sweater look…because somehow the look will seem better on a 43 year old woman with tummy pooch because it has Ralph Lauren on the label.
My advice is to skip this year’s jegging/sweater fashion trend. You’ll be glad for it. If you’re itching to be trendy, opt for an ankle book with a platform and a high heel. You can wear them with your trouser jeans and your legs will look a mile long. If you can’t walk in them you can always dangle from a barstool whilst sipping a martini. Very fashion forward. Trust me on this.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Washing Machine Update
As previously documented in last week’s “It Comes in Threes” blog (ok, it wasn’t a blog as much as a glorified woes me pity party) my washing machine died. Diagnosis from my spouse, who by the way is pretty good with diagnosing TV issues but has no real mechanical aptitude, concluded the washing machine was suffering from a busted water pump.
Fast forward to Thursday last, when the nice repair man arrives between 8:35am and 10:35am. In my little rose colored glasses world, I was expecting to be doing much needed laundry by noon. My washing machine glass was half full.
After 30 minutes the repairman resurfaces and says: “A busted pump is the least of your worries.”
Ah yes, the words every homeowner loves to hear.
And just like that my washing machine glass went from half full… to sad, empty and broken.
Apparently some random foreign object wore a 3 inch hold in the drum of and then leaked water onto the motherboard, subsequently frying said motherboard. FML.
The good news. A washing machine is still under extended warranty for one year and 4 days. This means it will either be fixed or replaced. Repair dude recommends replaced, which of course requires secret-docier paperwork filled out in triplicate to be routed to a washing machine committee to make the final ruling on fixing verses replacing my very broken washing machine.
The bad news. I am still without a washing machine and will be forced to relive my college days via the Park Town Laundromat. I start scouring for quarters.
Regular laundry is enough of a hassle. However just make things slightly more challenging I am currently prepping for 3 winter craft shows that start in about 2 weeks. Attempting to tye dye 50+ pieces with no functional washing machine is an exercise in creative problem solving.
Commencing hauling 4 baskets and one hamper of laundry to Park Town Laundromat, which I will admit is startlingly clean. Snaps for Laundromats on the west side of Madison. Spend 10 minutes how to change the cycle on the machine. Insert $2.25 in quarters (laundry has gotten substantially more expensive since 1986). Sit back and wait for the magic to happen.
On the plus side – one can knock out 5 loads of wash + drying time and folding in 2 hours. On the downside I still am without my own washing machine – hence another trip to Park Town Laundry in my future to rinse out 25 cotton candy pink dresses and pre-wash a load of blanks that need to be dyed.
Once again. I’m scouring for quarters.
Fast forward to Thursday last, when the nice repair man arrives between 8:35am and 10:35am. In my little rose colored glasses world, I was expecting to be doing much needed laundry by noon. My washing machine glass was half full.
After 30 minutes the repairman resurfaces and says: “A busted pump is the least of your worries.”
Ah yes, the words every homeowner loves to hear.
And just like that my washing machine glass went from half full… to sad, empty and broken.
Apparently some random foreign object wore a 3 inch hold in the drum of and then leaked water onto the motherboard, subsequently frying said motherboard. FML.
The good news. A washing machine is still under extended warranty for one year and 4 days. This means it will either be fixed or replaced. Repair dude recommends replaced, which of course requires secret-docier paperwork filled out in triplicate to be routed to a washing machine committee to make the final ruling on fixing verses replacing my very broken washing machine.
The bad news. I am still without a washing machine and will be forced to relive my college days via the Park Town Laundromat. I start scouring for quarters.
Regular laundry is enough of a hassle. However just make things slightly more challenging I am currently prepping for 3 winter craft shows that start in about 2 weeks. Attempting to tye dye 50+ pieces with no functional washing machine is an exercise in creative problem solving.
Commencing hauling 4 baskets and one hamper of laundry to Park Town Laundromat, which I will admit is startlingly clean. Snaps for Laundromats on the west side of Madison. Spend 10 minutes how to change the cycle on the machine. Insert $2.25 in quarters (laundry has gotten substantially more expensive since 1986). Sit back and wait for the magic to happen.
On the plus side – one can knock out 5 loads of wash + drying time and folding in 2 hours. On the downside I still am without my own washing machine – hence another trip to Park Town Laundry in my future to rinse out 25 cotton candy pink dresses and pre-wash a load of blanks that need to be dyed.
Once again. I’m scouring for quarters.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Dream Big
Playing the lottery is one of the several vices I carry around. The others being Starbucks and an unhealthy affinity for black boots. Oh and good tequila. I would not define myself as a “big gambler”, but I do buy 7 days worth of SuperCash tickets at a time. And yes, I use the same numbers. I will also, on occasion, purchase a “Powerball” or “Mega Millions” ticket if the jackpot inches upwards to the many millions of dollars.
I don’t think dreaming is a character flaw. I think it’s nice actually. Even though my odds of hitting it are say .00001%. They are the same .00001% for me as anyone else. And wouldn’t it make a great story?
My husband refuses to play the “what if we won the lottery game” with me. A quality I find annoying and joyless. I agree that some people can be ultra fanatical about winning 10 million dollars by simply plunking down $1 and ordering up a quick pick Mega Millions ticket. I am of the personal opinion that there is a certain level of joy and optimism that comes from dreaming big, even if those dreams have a .00001% of coming to fruition.
The “Mega Millions” jackpot was at $118 million recently and I bought a ticket. Why not? $118 million could do a lot of good for a lot of people. If I won said lottery, the very first thing I would do is change my phone number, hire a lawyer and a good accountant so I can spend some, share some, save some.
Think of what I could I do for my parents and my mother in law. We could gift a sizeable check to each of our respective siblings and good friends… enough to get them out from any debt, offset the kids’ college funds or simply have some money in the bank so it’s not so stressful if the car breaks down?
And for ourselves…invest heavily. Buy a car that isn’t 10 years old. Replace the carpeting and living room furniture. Build a deck. Redecorate the bedroom. Upgrade the computer to something slightly zippier than a dinosaur. Donate a big check to a bunch of charities.
I would quit my corporate job and really see about expanding my tye dye line – the kind of expansion you can only do if you have some dollars to help get things rolling. Like add my own labels, a customer website, or a van customized to hold all my displays and inventory.
Of course winning the “SuperCash” (top prize $350,000) wouldn’t afford the kind of luxurious spending and saving mentioned earlier, but it would definitely allow for much needed new carpeting, and fattening up my sons college account. Unfortunately, I would still need to keep my corporate cube job but such things are a trade-off for even a little financial freedom.
And that alone is worth the price of a ticket to dream about.
I don’t think dreaming is a character flaw. I think it’s nice actually. Even though my odds of hitting it are say .00001%. They are the same .00001% for me as anyone else. And wouldn’t it make a great story?
My husband refuses to play the “what if we won the lottery game” with me. A quality I find annoying and joyless. I agree that some people can be ultra fanatical about winning 10 million dollars by simply plunking down $1 and ordering up a quick pick Mega Millions ticket. I am of the personal opinion that there is a certain level of joy and optimism that comes from dreaming big, even if those dreams have a .00001% of coming to fruition.
The “Mega Millions” jackpot was at $118 million recently and I bought a ticket. Why not? $118 million could do a lot of good for a lot of people. If I won said lottery, the very first thing I would do is change my phone number, hire a lawyer and a good accountant so I can spend some, share some, save some.
Think of what I could I do for my parents and my mother in law. We could gift a sizeable check to each of our respective siblings and good friends… enough to get them out from any debt, offset the kids’ college funds or simply have some money in the bank so it’s not so stressful if the car breaks down?
And for ourselves…invest heavily. Buy a car that isn’t 10 years old. Replace the carpeting and living room furniture. Build a deck. Redecorate the bedroom. Upgrade the computer to something slightly zippier than a dinosaur. Donate a big check to a bunch of charities.
I would quit my corporate job and really see about expanding my tye dye line – the kind of expansion you can only do if you have some dollars to help get things rolling. Like add my own labels, a customer website, or a van customized to hold all my displays and inventory.
Of course winning the “SuperCash” (top prize $350,000) wouldn’t afford the kind of luxurious spending and saving mentioned earlier, but it would definitely allow for much needed new carpeting, and fattening up my sons college account. Unfortunately, I would still need to keep my corporate cube job but such things are a trade-off for even a little financial freedom.
And that alone is worth the price of a ticket to dream about.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Empty Calorie Curse
I love food. I love good food but I also love food that tastes good and is inherently bad. Like butter, bacon or chocolate. Or all manner of baked goods (with real butter), potatoes (with butter), pasta with cream sauces, butter, Ruffles and dip, double stuff oreos and bread, bread and more bread! (Preferably with butter.) Oh …and cheese. Good cheese. Like wonderfully decadent gorgonzola or a nice ages Cheddar on a hunk of bread. Anything with sour cream, cream cheese, any cheese. Yum!
I spend a lot of my time attempting to exercise will power to avoid these foods or at least talk myself out of them and into better choices. Like a salad. Now a salad can be tasty especially if you add a smattering of croutons (bread) but a salad is not a ho-ho. I generally feel good about eating a salad and bad about eating a ho-ho… but the badness can’t always dissuade me from eating a ho-ho. I am the type of person that can justify the ho-ho because I ate the salad. It’s the cheeseburger/diet coke theory. As if the diet coke negates all the badness (goodness) of the cheeseburger.
And I do exercise. I really do. I consistently exercise 3-4 days a week + weights. I don’t think it does much. Or maybe it does. Let’s just say it doesn’t help me lose weight but it prevents me from weighing 400 pounds because I like cheese, bread and wine. And olives. Did I mention olives?
I’ve been kicking around the idea of giving up baked goods, candy and such for a fixed period of time. Just to see if I could do it. And if I could do it, would it result in the number on the scale going down? I’m thinking baked goods, candy and sweets are the thing to give up because I have an insufferable sweet tooth. It would be only slightly harder to give up coffee than to give up sweets. And sweets will be quite a challenge. Giving up coffee would be a risk to society at large. I wouldn’t recommend it. There could be tragedy.
Reality says an experiment like this before the holidays is plain dumb so I’m not going to even attempt it until after New Years. I’m already a grade A number one cranky pants during the holidays. The cookies make the whole solo act of shopping, wrapping, decorating, entertaining, baking, cooking and otherwise executing a fabulous Christmas singlehandedly tolerable. I’d never survive the 3 months and 12 days of Christmas without a Russian Tea Cake or Krumkakke to hang onto. But I am definitely putting it on my list of things to accomplish this winter. I need to dream up a cute little name for the challenge. And then I’ll blog about it, gain a zillion followers, write a book and then they’ll make a movie with Meryl Streep. Kidding.
I have about 2 months to start planning the challenge. This will be a good thing. Yes. A good thing. I can feel it. And it will probably make a great story or at least an amusing anecdote for my reader of one.
I spend a lot of my time attempting to exercise will power to avoid these foods or at least talk myself out of them and into better choices. Like a salad. Now a salad can be tasty especially if you add a smattering of croutons (bread) but a salad is not a ho-ho. I generally feel good about eating a salad and bad about eating a ho-ho… but the badness can’t always dissuade me from eating a ho-ho. I am the type of person that can justify the ho-ho because I ate the salad. It’s the cheeseburger/diet coke theory. As if the diet coke negates all the badness (goodness) of the cheeseburger.
And I do exercise. I really do. I consistently exercise 3-4 days a week + weights. I don’t think it does much. Or maybe it does. Let’s just say it doesn’t help me lose weight but it prevents me from weighing 400 pounds because I like cheese, bread and wine. And olives. Did I mention olives?
I’ve been kicking around the idea of giving up baked goods, candy and such for a fixed period of time. Just to see if I could do it. And if I could do it, would it result in the number on the scale going down? I’m thinking baked goods, candy and sweets are the thing to give up because I have an insufferable sweet tooth. It would be only slightly harder to give up coffee than to give up sweets. And sweets will be quite a challenge. Giving up coffee would be a risk to society at large. I wouldn’t recommend it. There could be tragedy.
Reality says an experiment like this before the holidays is plain dumb so I’m not going to even attempt it until after New Years. I’m already a grade A number one cranky pants during the holidays. The cookies make the whole solo act of shopping, wrapping, decorating, entertaining, baking, cooking and otherwise executing a fabulous Christmas singlehandedly tolerable. I’d never survive the 3 months and 12 days of Christmas without a Russian Tea Cake or Krumkakke to hang onto. But I am definitely putting it on my list of things to accomplish this winter. I need to dream up a cute little name for the challenge. And then I’ll blog about it, gain a zillion followers, write a book and then they’ll make a movie with Meryl Streep. Kidding.
I have about 2 months to start planning the challenge. This will be a good thing. Yes. A good thing. I can feel it. And it will probably make a great story or at least an amusing anecdote for my reader of one.
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