I have yet to find my local sommelier...

If you know me, you know where I like to shop for wine in my old hood. I never had a bad bottle there--a couple labels were deadly to Sean, but they weren't bad--and I could always count on them for the best recommendations. And they gave you a glass while you shopped.

Here? Notsomuch.

Me: Yes, I'm looking for a nice bottle of red for a stuffed leg of lamb for Easter dinner. Do you have any suggestions?

Dude Working the counter of the wine and spirits store. (Which doesn't smell like wine, or fruit or oak barrels. It smells like wet cement and broken dreams.) ?

Me: (Thinking his confusion was the menu.) Well, it's stuffed with a homemade sausage and rosemary stuffing with scallion and a hint of orange zest. I then wrap it in pastry and roast for another 45 minutes.

Dude: Fascinating. Let me check. (Consults laminated placard behind register.) Looks like Merlot will do it. (Rhymes with Mer-snot.)

Me: That says "ham," not "lamb."

Dude: (Squinting.) So it does. You want me to find a bottle?

Me: I think I can take it from here.


I'm kind of glad they didn't offer me a glass of Mersnot while I shopped..

April showers bring May dollars

Negotiating with landscapers was so much simpler in Florida than it is in the north....


SD: So what’s all that green stuff all over the yard?

Landscaper: Um, grass....

SD: Well that’s weird. It certainly doesn’t look like the grass I’m used to in Florida. Are you allowed to walk on it?

Landscaper: Yes, that is its designed purpose.

SD: Barefoot with no threat of lacerations or tetanus?

Landscaper: I’ve never heard of anyone getting lockjaw from a shoeless stroll in Kentucky Bluegrass, so I think you’d be okay.

SD: Wow. What about this? (Pointing to dead brown things under bushes.)

Landscaper: Ma’am, those are leaves.

SD: Even I know that! But what are they doing all over the ground?

Landscaper: Um, they fell from the trees back in the fall like they tend to do every year. For another $500 we can clean them up for you.

SD: Seems a little steep for something you know is going to happen every year....

Landscaper: Where’d you say you were from again? Jupiter?

SD: No, silly, that’s on the other coast. Now, I want to ask you about these trees over here. I already know they’re Bradford Pears, but so far they haven’t produced any fruit. They may need to be replaced.

Landscaper: They are not like citrus trees, they don’t actually grow edible pears.

SD: Great. And now I suppose those Japanese Maples aren’t going to produce wasabi syrup?

Landscaper: No, and the dogwoods won’t be having puppies either.

SD: (Scowling.) Well, since you’re also an apparent expert in animal husbandry, maybe you could tell me what’s hatching over here in the flower bed?

Landscaper: (Looking closely.) Ma’am, that’s a tulip. (Shaking head.) Don’t tell me you don’t have any spring bulbs down there? Crocuses? Irises?

SD: (Thinking.) We have bullfrogs and cataract surgery. Look, this is as fruitless (and disappointing) as that mimosa tree I had back in Tampa. Can you just give me a price on yard maintenance until I can learn my way around?

Landscaper writes numbers furiously on the back of a seed packet.

SD: (Choking back a sob.) Well, at least I know why weeping willows thrive here.



©2011 Tracey Henry

Divamail me the Burpee seed catalog!

Because we hate cancer and love the playoffs

Beard-a-thon, Baby!


Some good has to come out of this beard thing-- vote for Sean's beard and/or pledge some $ to help fight cancer if you can.

P.S. If you love the playoffs, hate cancer and have a particular fondness for Yukon Cornelius, then make another vote for the Intern's beard.....

http://www.beardathon.com/predators/dannyb/profile.aspx

B Kind 2 Earth Day--April 22

Coming from a place of green alligators and long-necked geese, we are more than a little curious as to what native critters are in these parts.

In addition to the coyote I know I saw driving home late one night, (either that or dogs are really big here and they have lax leash laws) there are a lot of birds, squirrels, and horses. (Which I’m not sure are technically “native” but act like they own the place, so there you go.) There are also a number of trees, flowers and plant life that look vaguely familiar, but it’s been a decade since I’ve seen a tulip growing in the spring.

That’s why to celebrate B Kind 2 Earth Day on April 22, the kids and I will be visiting our local nature center at Warner Park to learn more about and appreciate our local flora and fauna.

Liking the B Kind to Earth Day page on Facebook is your way of making a commitment to be kind to our planet in your own way. It can be a trip to the nature center, or riding your bike or cloth instead of paper or plastic. Filling a bird feeder or planting a garden or whatever your family chooses to be conscious and kind to our earth on this special day. There are many fantastic partners in this cause, and it’s a wonderful opportunity to make a difference.

So like it, love it and be a part of it.

Suburban Diva's Top 5 Country Stars Based Nothing on Music But Only My Warped Sense of Priorities:

5. Barbara Mandrell. I met her and she made a very witty joke while she was drinking something with a lime in it. We could totally hang.

4. Kenny Chesney because he brings me hundreds of hits on my blog everyday.

3. Alan Jackson. He's my neighbor and it's always 5 o'clock on our street.

2. Carrie Underwood. Her husband Mike Fisher is an awesome hockey player who is going to help bring the Cup to Nashville.

And my new number one favorite?



Kix Brooks. Country music legend, Preds fan, and gentleman. AND HE OWNS HIS OWN WINERY.

(Note to Garth Brooks or Brad Paisley: You could totally take over the number one position with a cupcake stand and decent Margarita mix.)

Vacancy

One of the very best parts of living in Nashville are the slumber parties.

That's what I call the sudden influx of overnight visitors, anyhow.

Back in Florida we really didn't have the room to house the many guests that travelled south to Disney or the beach. Here, the living quarters are a bit larger so that everyone who comes bunks down for the weekend and we can have fun 24 hours a day.

This past weekend we had a dozen more added to our seven (don't forget the Intern), and every weekend in April we will be having people come in who we would not normally get to spend so much time with. Team that with hockey games and events like wine-tastings and concerts, and Nashville weekends become very special. Busy and sleepless, but special.

If I could just find a wine vendor and a take-out BBQ spot to keep up with our entertaining demands, life would damn near be perfect two days a week.

Suburban Diva goes country

"Are you ever going to update your blog?"

I get that a lot.

The answer is, I guess.

I've been writing this blog since 2004 when no one even knew what a blog was, including me. It sort of started as a way to journal motherhood, life--in a publicly-censored sort of way. Then it became a bulletin board to family and friends who knew me and wanted updates into what was going on. I even started to get sponsors who weren't paying me for posts, but who invested some cash and prizes for my readers.

Lately, though, it doesn't do much except attract visitors who want to know what Kenny Chesney looks like without a hat. (That's one of my top Google searches.)



You're welcome.

I'm lucky that I get to journal motherhood over on Whoa Momma a few times a week. I get to talk about my love of books in the World Of Westchase. I get to post my column there and still on my own site which I love. I keep up with people I know on Facebook and email. That leaves this blog as a very lonely bandwidth collector of late.

As blogging has evolved, so has my family. It's not always easy to write of the latest happenings in a public forum without potentially embarrassing or disclosing something that has no business being out there. I leave out 98% of real life things (shocking that I do have a filter) because that's just how it needs to be. And that's okay.

So I started really thinking of what the next step is in this blog, and I realized that the one topic I don't really have an outlet for at the moment is this move--this town--and life as a suburban mouse who goes to the country.

Which is not to make fun of Nashvillians or Tennesseans at all. That would somehow elevate Florida to a position of normalcy which is absolutely the biggest lie ever, because Florida is the capital of Crazy, USA. No, in fact, everywhere I've ever lived or visited has its own unique form of crazy and part of the challengefun is navigating through native crazy with foreign straight jackets. So I think I'll focus on this place for a while.

I think all I've really talked about our new home is the weather, which is technically crazy, but redundant after a while. (Florida, you win on that score.) And since the weather is breaking a little (still was 44 yesterday which felt like -28 when you're ready to see tulips) there is a lot more to talk about.

Like driving 10 miles to find a gas station. Or our never-ending quest to find the best BBQ. (Coincidentally also in a gas station.) Or road-kill. (On the way to the gas station.)

And even stalking country music stars.

Hat or no hat.

So meet me in Nashville for the next few weeks. I'd love to show you around.

It's DST o'clock, do you know where your sanity is?

How are you doing, Buddy?

I’m just checking in on this Monday morning after Daylight Savings Time to see how you’re holding up? It looks like that lost hour of sleep was a bit hard on you. No offense.

The important thing to keep in mind is that you survived. The initial cardiac arrest threat when you woke up in the middle of the night instead of your normal too early alarm has passed now, so you can just skip right to the being pissed off part. Hit the snooze button just a few more times out of spite, and then make a big pot of coffee while scowling. It’s perfectly normal.

I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to move those clocks ahead now. All of them. Even that one that you keep hopefully on the real time so that every time you look at it you can remember why you feel so crappy. It will be difficult, but it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off.

And no, you can’t move to Indiana or Arizona where they don’t participate in Daylight Savings Time. You’ve got responsibilities here--a life--albeit an hour shorter one. Besides, you don’t want to be a contrarian. People in those states are just sleep-deprived from the fall when we all got our extra hour.

Look at the bright side. (That won’t come until about 11:00 a.m. when the sun finally comes up, but still.) You can use this as a perfect excuse to your boss, teacher, spouse or IRS agent. “I was going to do ___________ last night about 2 am, but the government took that time away from me so I couldn’t. It’s a conspiracy.” Because it totally is.

No one ever said messing with the space time continuum was going to be easy. Did you think Christopher Lloyd looked like that before he invented the flux capacitor? It’s an ugly, messy business. There’s bound to be some sleeplessness with that. Just ask February 29th.

Wow, this is worse than I thought. Look, I wasn’t going to mention this but since you’re so bad off just think--only 244 more days until it ends! Fall Back! You can sleep in again in November.

I didn’t mean to make you cry.

Ok, how about a joke to cheer you up?

Knock knock.
This is the part you say, Who’s there?
Spring ahead.
Spring ahead who?
Some spring a heads are going to roll if I don’t get a nap soon.

You’re right. That wasn’t funny.

At all.

But with all of my nonsense combined with that extra hour we’ve been grieving, it’s almost Tuesday.

You can repay me by doing the same for me tomorrow when I’m still running late and sleep-deprived and realize the joke is on me.

Happy DST.

©2011 Tracey Henry

Here’s where to send your support tomorrow. Divamail@SuburbanDiva.com

Coincidence?

The after effects of a concussion are remarkably similar to normal teenaged behavior.

Just sayin'.

The fun of fundraising

File this somewhere between "I should know better by now," and "Guaranteed to offend everyone I know," but I am about to get loud over Silent Auctions.

Unless you're a native Aborigine (and then the word is gabi gabi tok tok, meaning, "to screw your fellow villager",) you’re certainly familiar with the Silent Auction fundraising model. Strategically located near the open bar, several donated goods and services are lined up with bid sheets below. The highest bid at the end of the evening "wins" that particular item, and all of the proceeds go to that charity.

I am not singling out any organization or abused chairperson--everyone does it the same way and if I criticize too much, I run the risk of being saddled with the hapless job of coming up with a new method. Which in my case would most certainly involve several high interest loans, a border run, and a guy with no last name who always refers to himself in the third person. This is probably not what the founders of the Orphaned Baby Alpacas had envisioned for their 50's night at the Holiday Inn. So we are all stuck with this this auction-based form of fundraising for the very far future.

We've recently attended a number of these events, and from what I remember of them, they are a unique experience. The best part of any auction is that you don't "buy" anything, you "win" it. Curiously, the "winner" is the guy that paid the most money for crap he didn’t want in the first place. This would be the purchasing equivalent of finding an item at a store that you had no interest in, waiting for it to go off-sale, and then checking back three or four times to make sure you had paid the highest inflated value. Sort of like shopping at Pottery Barn.

If you insert the phrase, "But it's for a good cause," in front of any item at an auction, you can rationalize your way through the most ridiculous purchases. If you punctuate the sentence with another glass of punch, you will end up to be more charitable than Mother Theresa. As you probably have guessed, I have recently "won" a set of cookware for a good cause. And because "it goes to charity," a teeth whitening session from a local dentist. And a Cracker Barrel rocking chair with a bunch of signatures on it. And a leaf blower. And eleventy-billion Legos. And a case of off-brand Riesling. And a gift certificate for a car wash. And a decorative clock. And buyer's remorse. And a hangover.

But it was for a good cause, right? RIGHT?!!??!

And so will my defense fund when I break in to the Orphaned Baby Alpaca Headquarters and steal my check back.

Give generously.

My fresh hell as a mother

LACROSSE!

Twice the hits and half the pads as hockey.

Two minutes into his very first game and a grade 2 concussion.

I can't believe I'm saying this--but hockey is a gentlemen's sport.

The Intern Returns...

I don't think we can technically call him the Intern anymore since he's had full time (and salaried) employment for years now, but he'll always be the Intern around here.

And he's back!

New job, new city, but familiar living arrangements as he stays with us while he gets settled in Music City.

So we're loading up the fridge and adding a few routes to sporting events to his new landscape.

And nothing says welcome like a murky fish tank, so guess what his room-warming present is?

(This fish flakes are under your pillow, Dan. Welcome to Nashville.)

How to prepare for a snow storm if you live anywhere south of Lake Erie

I have exactly 4.2 minutes to pen this as I have to pick up my children early from school today due to possible snow.

True, it’s currently 65 degrees and sunny outside, but we are expecting 3/8 of an inch of snow later this evening so apparently we must have ample time to prepare. As far as I can see, this includes the following steps and complex processes.

1.) Snow must fall at a faster rate in the south than in the north, because we shut down the state long before the first flake is predicted to fall. If the front is forecasted to move in at 4:00 for example, southerners think this means by 4:02 there will be 8 feet of snow on the ground and all thoroughfares will be rendered immediately impassable.

2.) Roads probably will be rendered immediately impassable because the entire southern hemisphere shares 4 snow plows. Which means instead of actual snow removal, southern departments of transportation "brine" the roads. This mysterious and completely useless process includes salting the roads before any hint of precipitation. You still can’t drive safely on a brined road, but it does cure a mean corned beef.

3.) Do not buy anything useful for impending storms like snow shovels, road salt or margarita mix--buy bananas. Bananas have scientifically unproven and unfounded effects on all weather events, but make us feel better, much like a meteorological magnet bracelet that golfers wear or pajama jeans.

(If you can’t find bananas at your grocery store, [and you won’t because they will be sold out] you may substitute milk and/or Wonder Bread.)

4.) Be sure to drop the words black ice in a hushed tone at least 10 times in every conversation. When you question why school is closed for the 8th day in a row when we’re mowing the lawn, wait for the look of horror and the words black ice spat out to you like an exorcism. Just for fun, say, "But it’s above freezing outside." In response, get the sneered, "But that’s what makes it so dangerous, you can’t see black ice. Moron." Answer, "Then how do you know it’s there?"

5.) Lose all the new friends you worked so hard to make in the fall.

6.) For every inch of snow predicted, the negative amount will actually accumulate.

7.) On the day of the anticipated storm, watch for the school closings reeling along the bottom of your television screen. This is actually a complete waste of time, because if one school closes, every single learning institution and dry cleaner will follow within the hour.

(Except my son’s elementary school that must have administrators from Nunavut and won’t cancel school unless the students’ desks are frozen shut and they used up all the butane on freeing up the chalkboard erasers.)

8.) And speaking of watching television, the Channel 5 doppler radar in Nashville, Tennessee has the prognosticating capabilities of Nostradmous. It is capable of crippling an entire municipal government at the mere mention of the white stuff weeks before in a 5 p.m. newscast. People unwaveringly entrust their entire lives to what that computer graphic depicts. It can not only predict snow, but the next 10 Super Bowl and Idol winners. (Which kind of begs the question why aren't the folks at NOAA tuned into this super, southern-exclusive technology? Or at least the KGB and ESPN.)

9.) If any snow actually makes it to the ground, it will certainly melt before the 4th hour of the Today Show. After your kids make mud men, mud-gloos and have mudball fights, you may want to rethink that big pot of chili served in front of the fire for dinner. Serve popsicles and ice water instead.

10.) Make banana bread for dessert.

First attempt to take over the world. Or at least North America

We are now in our 3rd day of hosting our Canadian exchange students, and I think it's going fairly well.

We really don't have a whole lot of time together--during the day they are busy seeing the sights of Nashville and eating at chain restaurants, and I really only have bonding time to and from hockey games. So far we've discusses the crazy large amount of churches here and the local liquor laws, which I swear they initiated, not me. (Not appropriate for 11th graders.) I have tried to steer the conversation toward country music star stalking and pushing my own personal agenda to take over the world.

And then I realized I had no such agenda but I didn't want to miss this once in a life time opportunity so I made one up: McPudding and Ordinal Numbers.

First off, I've noticed they don't use ordinal numbers often so I've helpfully put them in bold throughout this post to show how helpful they are in verbal and written expression. You're welcome, Canada.

Secondly, If you don't know the McPudding story basically my husband orders the fictitious McPudding at every McDonald's he visits in hopes to get it on the menu. He believes it is his legacy for our children. This drives me insane since it requires an extra long explanation at the drive-thru and fits of laughter from the back seat. So I thought that perhaps our Canadian friends could take up this cause and then it would truly be a global effort.

But then I realized "pudding" means something totally different in traditional, non-American English cuisine and has precious little to do with Bill Cosby and more to do with Yorkshire and figgy.

Which is totally gross and not at all in keeping with the true spirit of the McPudding movement.

So it looks like McPudding will eventually remain a strictly state-side national treasure.

You're welcome, Canada.

Honey, you shouldn't have

The traditional gift for the nineteenth wedding anniversary is bronze.

My husband got me a fish tank.

He pointed to goldfish swimming in the corner, and said, “See? This one looks sort of bronze.”

I think it was more of a Ph imbalance in the tank causing the discoloration, but I digress. The point is we are not fish people. We had a brief and tragic experience with a beta we won at a carnival after which our fishing license was permanently revoked. I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that my husband doesn’t know me AT ALL after two decades to warrant such an inappropriate gift. If he’s going to spend $350 on something that swims, it better be my bar tab at the pool bar at the JW Marriott.

He gave me the line, “but this is something the kids can take care of on their own,” which upon uttering hundreds of angelfish shuddered and lost their fins.

To their credit, they tried. The toddler “fed” the fish. By dumping the entire contents of the fish food bottle into the tank. This put visibility at .06 millimeters and a toxic glow emitting from the glass.

So we cleaned it. And by we, I mean me. Removing the ceramic Spongebob housing which must have recently gone co-op since all of the fish hid inside the pineapple under the sea, I proceeded to empty, rinse, and repeat before putting the fish back into the tank, ignoring my instinct to put them out of my misery by flushing them into the Cumberland river.

While the water was somewhat improved, it was still slightly gauzy, so I decided to buy another fish--one that is biologically engineered to clean tanks such as this. Choking back the vomit that had formed in the back of my mouth at the mere thought of this, I went back to the fish store and got said cleaner fish. And another bottle of food flakes.

The check-out girl said, “You have goldfish, eh?”

“Yes. Very dirty goldfish.”

She nodded in agreement. “You know they go a lot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, defecate? Goldfish defecate a lot more than other fish.”

Another choke back of bile. “Really? I thought maybe mine just had overactive colons--I was going to tell them to lay off the bran muffins.”

After scolding me for feeding my fish baked goods, I went home and dumped the cleaner fish into the dump. Of, ahem, dump.

A more cynical wife might say that my husband got me scat for our anniversary, but I’d like to think it was unintentional.

Besides, with next year being our twentieth and the traditional gift of china, I don’t want him buying me a panda.

We all know what they do in the woods.


(Cross-posted at Suburbandiva.com)

Our foreign exchange students. Ish.

In the same vein as when people tell me they're going on a "mission trip" to Paris or Tahiti, we're hosting two foreign exchange students.

From CANADA!

Only it's not really an exchange, because I'm not sending anyone. And they technically aren't students since they aren't going to school here, they are playing hockey. And it doesn't last a semester, only 5 days.

So really it's just driving around high school hockey players for a week and washing their jerseys.

Which I do everyday, so that's really not foreign in any sense of the word.

Which means this experience isn't nearly as exotic as it was when I began this post, so never mind.

I write the songs that make the whole world sneeze

Because I had the unmitigated gaul to post this little diddy on not knowing the difference between the cold and the flu, the germ gods decided to give me both illnesses back to back.

I hate the germ gods.

On my two day hiatus in between the sickies, we managed to make it down to Tampa for a concert and for some sun fun. While I don't think I'm much of a Barry Manilow fan, I am a fan of the friends I got to spend the weekend with. I miss them and how much they make me laugh.

I would write here that I am back at my lame attempts to getting on a schedule and in a Tennessee routine, but I think we all know that's a big lie and I could sue myself for libel. We've had more snow days, another couple of trips planned and more visitors on the way. Life is day-to-day, hour-by-hour, snow fall to snow fall, and germ god blasphemy to germ god blasphemy.

1001

Post 1,001 and the first of 2011. EIther I talk too much or not enough. Or a little of both.

Since last we blogged, we were invaded, partied, and were abandoned by 50 Tampaites who braved the ice and snow and snow and ice to ring in 2011 with us. It was such a wonderful week of non-stop partying, that we have yet to recover. We didn't venture out much--some hockey games and restaurants--but instead spent our days and nights hanging out old school style with games and food and drink. I don't think a more perfect week could have been planned.

They left, and we all got sick. We spent our first week back to school with varying attendance and doctor's visits, and by Friday half of us were on antibiotics and the other half was hacking away. (I wrote about that sickness here.) We took down the Christmas decorations (my least favorite job of the year) and otherwise tried to put things back in place.

We still haven't gotten back into a routine--we were hit with a few inches of snow on Monday that shut down the entire town except for my kids' schools. Seriously, on Tuesday every school in the state of Tennessee was closed and only our kids had to go to school. The public schools are still out today. I am trying to console them by explaining that they will appreciate this at the end of the year when they don't have any days to make up, but when you're staring at a snow day, all summer bets fly out the window.

And so the two weeks of 2011 are still incubating, waiting to shape up after we finish digging, thawing and straightening ourselves out.

Our first country Christmas

Relatively speaking, we didn't have any relatives over Christmas, so it was a fairly quiet one for us. Either that, or I'm just used to our family's noise...

Christmas Eve started with 4:00 Mass with the rest of the greater Nashville area. Although we managed to get 6 seats together, we did have to watch and hear the news of our dear Savior's birth via closed-circuit television.

Afterward, we headed over to P.F. Chang's because as Matty said, "Nothing says Christmas like Chinese food." but in Tennessee on Christmas Eve, you're not getting a whole lot of open dining choices. But it turned out to be a beautiful and delicious meal, and absolutely perfect to be all together enjoying our first Christmas in our new town.

As we were leaving, the rain turned into the most beautiful snow--the frosty beginnings of Nashville's first white Christmas in 17 years.

By this time, Norad (the best website EVER) reported that Santa was in North AMerica and we had just enough time to get cookies ready, The Night Before Christmas read, and the little ones in bed. Not that they stayed there--the girls stayed up after midnight which made it a particularly late evening for the elves. (The upside is that I got Sean addicted to my new television guilty pleasure: Clean House.)

We got up a few minutes later as the kids rustled up at 6, and then the next few hours we leisurely tore open our gifts and enjoyed our day in our p.j.'s. Santa was very good to us--even bringing us a "golf cart," which will have to be renamed since we won't be playing golf in it. Naps by the fire followed by dinner of prime rib, Yorkshire pudding and my first homemade Yule log finished off the day. It snowed and was a perfect Christmas.

It's a good thing we got all of that quiet out of the way, because starting tomorrow, 50 of our Florida friends invade the Volunteer State for some New Year's celebrations.

I can't wait.

In case you missed my column today...

Although I don't exactly plan it this way, it seems that I am forever destined to be a last- minute shopper at Christmastime.

Instead of complaining, I've resigned myself to my fate and now look at the glass of eggnog as half-full.

So I share with you the Top 6 Reasons Procrastinating Shoppers Rule:

1.) Camaraderie. There's nothing like bonding with other last-minute folks. Everyone is so joyful on December 23rd, it's like one big CheerFest at the register at Lowe's, we even give each other special waves in the parking lot while searching for a spot. Just yesterday as a kindly old man and I reached for the last Shrek Chia Pet on the shelf, he mumbled something about me being similar to his sainted (and apparently promiscuous) mother. The holidays are all about family.

2.) It's more polite. Gift-giving becomes a kinder, gentler process when you're dealing with limited selections. I don't see Uncle Albert as the 4XL guy he is--I like to look at the inner-Albert and get him that reindeer sweater in a boy’s medium.

3.) Creativity. Anyone can fill a gift list from a major retailer. But it takes an industrious soul to buy presents for the whole family at 7-11. (Those WWE Slurpee cups are refillable and collectible, Grandma. You’re welcome.)

4.) Does every holiday tradition have to be taken so literally? I mean who's to say that figgy pudding isn't a suspicious-looking Snack Pack at the gas station and that among the various meats in Spam Christmas goose isn't one of them?

5.) To keep the balance of the universe in check. While the annoyingly prepared are shopping at 3 am on Black Friday for 98% off the hottest toys of the season, I'm shopping at 11pm on Christmas Eve paying double for the crap no one wanted. It's the circle of life or something like that.

6.) It's more eco-friendly. There is no such thing as a giftbox for your purchase after December 1st since those have long run out. In a pinch I have been known to wrap socks in Frosted Flake boxes and Snuggies in Ziploc bags. It’s my gift to Mother Earth.


To my fellow procrastinators: Merry Christmas. To all those who have finished their shopping and are enjoying this week relaxing before a fire?

Here’s that special parking lot wave.


©2010 Tracey Henry


(And in case you also missed some updates on Whoa Momma.