Last night I had an odd dream. In it Paul Westerberg told me, point blank, that I was getting fat and should lay off the baked goods. Wtf? I mean, he’s not wrong, but still. There was also something about a party in a moving house, but that’s another story. Now it’s time to get in gear for our whirlwind weekend. Christmas Eve is always spent with my Dad so we’re headed over there shortly. Tomorrow morning we’re booked with the in-laws, then on to the little man’s bio-Dad’s parents’ house (confusing enough?) for the afternoon. The last stop in the evening sees us off to the airport, to retrieve Dave and Huey-Ling (who aren’t related to us by blood or marriage, but are family nonetheless). That adventure includes the possibility of takeout from Evergreen. Except Sunday we’re slated to have lunch there with Delia Jane. Oh well. On the homefront, I’ve got a husband who doesn’t believe in obligatory gifts (or holidays), so I’m going to pretend the three cases of soy milk he brought home are just for me. Actually, he did make some apple galettes for me, while I was sleeping last night. But only because it’s all he could think of to appease his riled up wife (but like Mr. Westerberg said, that’s the last thing I need). Tensions can run especially high during the holidays, for some of us. I’m surprised the little man hasn’t commanded me to “slettle down” yet.
Bonus: These Christmasbots are the best-looking cookies I’ve ever seen.
Plus: Yay, Lane is back, and in newly revamped style. And just check out the craziness of his hockey-playing adventures with Avril Lavigne. I couldn’t make this up. Seriously.
