Holidazzzzzzzzzzze...

I woke up in a panic this morning with the realization that THIS IS THE WEEKEND BEFORE FREAKING THANKSGIVING!

How did this happen? When did we start celebrating the holidays more often than we used to? I am still munching on leftover candy corn from Halloween, for Pete's sake. (And I won't stop until it's gone, either. That's the least I can do for those starving kids in Asia.)

Yeah, yeah, I know..."Thanksgiving is supposed to be a special day set aside to give thanks for all our many blessings". Blah, blah, blah. Let's be honest...Thanksgiving is SO much more complicated than just giving thanks.

To be clear, it's not all the cooking and meal preparation that bothers me. I can cook a big ass frozen turkey and dinner for 12 with my eyes closed. What truly bothers me is that in reality, Thanksgiving is a day set aside for sinning.

The sin is gluttony. Every single year I push my engorged belly away from the table after a satisfying Turkey Day feast, only to belatedly realize, yet again, that if gluttony is a sin...and a sin is a sin...I just wasted a sin on gluttony when I coulda been sinning with Robert Redford.

Instead of beautiful memories to warm me in my old age, I have five more pounds to squeeze into Spanx for the upcoming Christmas parties.

And it's not just the sinning that makes me dread Thanksgiving. It's also the sudden realization that Freaking Merry Christmas is just right around the corner. Yea, verily, has already begun.

I know it's wrong for me to look upon Thanksgiving as little more than a warm-up for Christmas, but I do. To me, it is the pre-game meal designed to get me through the marathon of Christmas shopping. And if I was smart...I would load my Thanksgiving plate with proper portions of ham and turkey to provide me with the essential nutrients of muscle-building protein to fight the good fight against the frantic mobs of Christmas shoppers. If I was disciplined...I would eat only the complex carbs to give me endurance and enhance my cognition. And most importantly...I wouldn't gorge.

Well. I think we have established by now that I am neither smart nor disciplined. And I am obviously a gorger. Not only do I eat all the wrong stuff...I eat everything on the menu. Even worse, every single year I make the mistake of combining the turkey and ham with the dressing and mashed potatoes, thereby releasing buckets of coma-inducing Tryptophan into my feeble, undisciplined brain.

I have a theory about Tryptophan. I believe Tryptophan is the reason holiday shoppers trample each other to death on Black Friday. I believe Tryptophan is the reason I spend too much money on too many people buying them too many things they really don't need. Tryptophan is the very reason that, as a child, the day after Thanksgiving I would sit upon Santa's lap and waste my One Christmas Wish on something as worthless as a Magic Eight Ball.

Tryptophan makes me stupid, and basically sabotages Christmas. Every single year.

But not this year. 2011 is gonna be different. This year, I have A Plan. This year I will be sure to get all my Christmas shopping done BEFORE Thanksgiving. It's a beautiful plan. I have made my list, I have checked it twice, and I'm proud to say it is comprised of only the most practical and useful gifts imaginable with some...uh, suggestions from my grandbabies.

These are a few of my favorite things on the list:

(1) A Panasonic Nose Hair Trimmer with Rubberized Non-Slip Grip...

...for the Dickman. Because his 3-year old grandson looked up at him the other day and said, "G-Dad, why do you have spiders in both your noses?"

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(2) My G-girl is responsible for this next gift. Not long ago, I was walking with Mandie Lee, when she turned to look me up and down and said, "Gee, MiMi...you are big!" I smiled at her and said, "Yes, I am. I'm a tall girl - much taller than your Mama". "Yeah, you're REALLY tall." she said. "Cause Daddy told me not tell people they're fat."

A Mexican Tapeworm. Guaranteed to help you lose 2 pounds a week, whilst eating all your favorite foods. Then, when you finally reach your Mandie-Lee approved target goal, you simply take an antibiotic to kill the worm and poop it out. What could be easier?

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(3)

Frownies. One box for me and one for the Dickman. You guessed it. Our G-babes told us that our wrinkled foreheads remind them of...wait for it...YODA.


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(4) This next gift I'm really proud of, and I truly believe it will be the Dickman's favorite. It's not that I'm lazy...

(Okay, so I am a Lazy Gluttonous Woman With Lust For Robert Redford In My Heart.)

But this gift should give me all the redemption points I will ever need...

Take that, you Tryptophan.

...AND A HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL MY FAVORITE TURKEYS ♥

What If God Was One of Us...?

Watching the Texas Rangers give away, uh...lose the World Series was painful. Not as much for me directly as indirectly, having to watch the Dickman suffer through the loss.

Even though he claims to be a grown man, this is a guy who believes in the Rangers like a 4-year old believes in Santa Claus. Who takes responsibility for each win or loss based on the precise combination of clothing he wears (or does not wear) during each critical, earth-shattering game.

As the Cardinals hammered home the final nail in the Rangers' coffin, I expected nothing less than wailing and gnashing of teeth from my grown man. (Who, by the way, was decked out like an escapee from the Texas Rangers Asylum for Insane Athletic Supporters.)

Searching for something, anything that would ease the crushing weight of defeat on the fragile soul of the Dickman, I found the following post on Facebook (written by another equally rabid Rangers fan and friend):

“We need to remember, it’s the end of the World Series...not the end of the world.”

The Dickman was neither placated nor convinced.

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Saturday evening, Dickie and I were sitting in our respective chairs, our heads simultaneously nodding between our computers and the TV, when I suddenly experienced a gentle rocking motion lasting about ten seconds. As I was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for the extraneous movement (sugar rush from that praline? more menopausal hormone trickery? voices in my head throwing a party?) Dickie loudly blurted, “Look at that! The chandelier just started swinging!”.

Phew! I can’t even tell you how relieved I was to know that all the wackiness was not from within. We quickly resumed our ping-ponging between computers and TV to discover aftershocks from a 5.6 earthquake in Okla-freaking-homa had indeed caused the earth to move under our feet, ala Carole King.

Rangers losing the World Series to St. Louis? Oklahoma and Texas having earthquakes? Kim Kardashian getting a divorce? What in the wide, wide world of sports is happening, folks?

If these are not clear signs of the apocalypse, I don’t know what is.

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Yesterday I was chatting with my 3-year old Grandson before church began. I had my legs crossed and he was riding my foot like a horsey, random questions spilling out of his mouth faster than I could answer them…especially while giddy-upping. Suddenly his eyes popped wide and he said, “MiMi...do you know my Savior?”

As parts of me melted, whilst other parts of me were charmed, I replied, “I do know your savior, Mattman. He’s my Savior, too.”

“Really?!” He asked excitedly. “I didn’t know you knowed him. Why do you call him ‘MY’ Savior?”

“Because He’s my Savior, too. And G-Dad’s and everybody else's. We all share Him. You do know that 'Savior' is just another name for Jesus or the Lord...right?"

Mattman giggled a little and said, “Oh, MiMi, you’re so silly. Jesus is Jesus and da Lord is da Lord.” My friend is just Savior. His name is just Savior. He’s wearing a brown shirt, just like me. Hahahaha! No he’s not, I’m just kidding. It’s not brown...but it does has two buttons like mine.”

[Ahhh...an open door to a teachable moment. Of course I stepped right on in.]

“Well, your Savior could be wearing a shirt just like yours Mattman. He could be anywhere in this room. He could be that little boy over there, or the old man we saw walking with a backpack on the way to church. And do you know what's really cool? I even see Jesus in you. When we love each other, when we help each othet...we are being Jesus.”

“Oh.” He said with a politely dismissive little smile. “Can I go to class now?”

As I was walking him to his class, he suddenly jerked his hand free from mine and took off running towards a little boy waiting for him in the classroom.

“Hey Savior! Do you know my MiMi? She says she knows you!” my G-boy shouted as he ran to his little friend, who was indeed sporting a shirt with two buttons...just like Matthew’s.

He was also wearing a name tag with his name spelled out in big, bold letters: Xavier.

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I’m not sure if my Savior and Xavier are one in the same.

I'm not even sure if God is still a Rangers fan.

What I am sure of is this: it’s not easy being Jesus in this crazy world of ours. A world that seems to be getting more off-balance and crazier by the minute.

And I’m more than a little humbled it took my favorite 3-year old to remind me that I should be much more concerned about walking right past Jesus without seeing Him today, than wondering whether or not He’s coming tomorrow.

OCTOBER-FREAKING-FEST

Here I sit --- wearing the same shirt I slept in last night, so completely behind on laundry that I'm down to my oldest/biggest/holiest panties --- thanking God that the marathon called October only comes around once a year.

Life is busy. I am old. Let's review:

*OCTOBER 15 - GEEZERS GET WILD AT THE AMERICAN LEGION HALL

There is no better time to be had than can be had at a Geezer Gig. These music-filled gatherings are all about connecting with your tribe...some of who were with you in the trenches of high school...all of who love oldie's music and have made a commitment to suffer through joint pain the following morning. (Never mind the fact that the Dickman would rather play drums with these guys than to spend five minutes with Toni Tennille. Without the Captain.)

We were all looking forward to the Fall dance which was being hosted for the first time with the American Legion Veterans. I had convincingly assured the cynical Commander of the local American Legion Hall what a happy, fun-loving, non-violent group of Geezers we are. Apparently, he didn't quite take me at my word. It wasn't so much anything he said, but more of a feeling I got when I noticed the outline of the bulletproof vest under his dress shirt. (Have you ever noticed how hard it is to make eye contact with a guy that's packing heat?) Sheesh.

I've come to the conclusion that each Geezer get-together adds at least three years to Dora B. Haney's life. Even though macular degeneration keeps her from recognizing faces from long ago, her 86-year old feets still know how to boogie.


Otherwise, the only violations that occurred were committed by a guilty few of us who probably watch waaaaay too much Dancing With The Stars and fancy ourselves to be dancing fools. Fools even worthy of a stage name. Okay, okay, 'Urethra and the Monistats' isn't exactly a real stage name, but hey...it fits.

It's only AFTER the dances - when I'm looking at pictures posted on Facebook - that I realize I am not 26 and I really don't look like Beyonce when I'm shaking my tailfeather. In actuality, I look more like my tailfeather got caught in a cement mixer. (Hindsight is not 20/20 when it is your hind that is being sighted.)

***********OCTOBER 14-22 --- BIRTHDAY MARATHON***********

With so many October birthdays in our family occurring within a span of nine days, I've gotta wonder: Whassa going on in Mid-January that puts everybody in the mood for making babies? Speaking for myself and my own donation to Birthday Week, it was a frolicking ski trip to Red River that resulted in the birth of my son Lucas nine months later, 31 years ago.



Now that we're up to five birthdays, we've found it easier to combine them all into one night of revelry and debauchery. Which in our family means lots of ADHD adults who have given birth to lots of ADHD children, eating lots of cake. A sure-fire recipe for chaos.

In a stroke of genius, I hired a Game Truck for the male portion of the ADHD-afflicted family members. For one glorious hour, they sat spellbound with their remote controls, either blowing each other to smithereens (while their babies sat next to them, innocently enthralled by the Mario Bros)...

...or pretended they were Rock Stars, in the worst way. Really. The worst way.

************OCTOBER 22 --- GEEZER ROAD TRIP!!************

No sooner had Jackie sucked all the helium out of the birthday balloons, than we found ourselves loading up the drums and guitars and hitting the road for Mansfield, where the Geezers had been invited to play for a reunion of Borger graduates from the '60's.

Please allow me to share some random thoughts from our Very First Geezer Road Trip:

1) Men's prostates tend to enlarge as they get older, therefore requiring more frequent bathroom stops. I'd like to think this is nature's way of leveling the playing field for us girls and our dysfunctional uteri and tiny bladders. Guys are never happy about this uh,...development, and will expend a great deal of energy trying to convince us that the size of their prostate has nothing to do with the degree of their machismo. Unless, of course, they happen to meet up with John Wayne, sitting proudly astride his horse at a Sonic Drive-In in Memphis, Texas. There's no fooling John Wayne.

2) Texas is large and restrooms are nasty. The sign outside of this station in Bellevue should have been a warning. It might just as easily have read "Don’t even think about using this bathroom unless you have really strong thighs for squatting or ninja-like hovering skills."

3) Mexican food makes me stupid. Even though dinner was amazing, the company sublime, I was so bloated with tortilla chips and overdosed on salsa that in the excitement of getting my picture taken with Awesome Waiter David and some band groupies....

...I left my not-so-smart phone on the table. Apparently the pimple-faced bus boy mistook my sturdy little flip-phone for an eating utensil and scooped it right on into the tub of water for a good soaking. The management was nice enough to give me a bag filled with hope and rice for reviving my stupid phone. The phone never revived, but hey...anybody hungry for rice?

4) Borger Bulldogs Rock. Maybe it's the effect of all the carbon black we inhaled, or all those hours we spent dancing in lines at Teen Town...but nobody knows how to party better than a bunch of Borgans. The cherry on top? The Borger High football team whooped up on the Pampa Harvesters whilst the band played on...

5) Everyone is a winner in the World Series. While Dickie and crew cheered the Rangers on to a win in Game Four...

I spent the evening with one of my favorite Borger Bulldogs solving First World Problems. We finally concluded that we must find us a plot of land and call it The Peace Farm. We already have the cute t-shirt. Now if we can only figure out how to erect a barrier that will keep out anything that destroys our peace. Kinda like a bug zapper, but without causing death or permanent scarring. A force field that will identify say...people that make us want to pull our eyelashes out one-by-one.

*********OCTOBER 31 --- TRICK OR TREAT***********

Do I really need to state the obvious: by the time Halloween rolled around I was done for, depleted, fingers worn to a nub and sitting in a bowl of Ranch dip.

But I was quickly revived by a visit from the Butterfly Princess, Yoda and a short, blue-eyed whiskered male of unknown species.

It was a fun-filled night --- except for the parts where Dickie kept getting mad at the toddling trick or treaters for choosing the Kit-Kat bars over the candy corn. He has vowed that next year we will only hand out pieces of that nasty taffy stuff. You know what I'm talking about - the cockroach candy of Halloween that would undoubtedly survive the apocalypse.

But today...ahhhhh...today is a new day. A new beginning. The date itself is even hopeful: 11-1-11. October is nine whole months away. Plenty of time to catch my breath, wash my undies and figure out what to do with all those uneaten carrots.

Hey! Maybe I can give them to the Dickman while he's watching old episodes of Captain and Tenille...