The Last Birthday Sleepover

For each of my sons, starting on their third birthdays, one of the "gifts" I give them is a sleepover in their bed.  Sleepovers in my bed don't happen all that often, but me sleeping in their bed is a true treat.  And as much as I complain the next day (about being kicked in the stomach, sleeping on a six inch stretch of bed, and being awoken at 5:30am), I really love it too.  When I awake during the night, during one of the many nudges and jabs, I take the time to stare at their sleeping faces and just admire it - remembering the baby that it once was, and the little boy that it has become.

Braden turned 8 last week.  Sleepovers are still something he desires, but this year he opted to sleep in our bed, with both my husband and I.  I have to admit I was a bit slighted at first, and reluctant to share him, but happy to be in a king sized bed.  That night, before I fell asleep, I went through the ritual of staring at his face, and for the first year it was nearly impossible to recognize the baby in him.  That infant face of my firstborn, the way he cried and pursed his lips and fell asleep on my chest. The notion was almost impossible to reconcile - who was that and who is this and how can it possibly be the same person?

Braden is no longer an infant, a toddler, or even a little boy.  He's a kid with long lanky legs that hang to my shins if I ever happen to pick him up (which is getting nearly impossible these days).  He is complicated and philosophical and creative and stubborn and completely his own person.  I've learned in my 8 years of motherhood that I can't take credit for who he is - his intricacies and achievements and failures are solely his own.  He is at times a reflection of myself, with his deep thoughts and anxieties, and at other times a stranger to me, who I get to rediscover each day as he evolves into the person that he is meant to be.

I still lay with Braden each night before bed and we talk about his day, and he professes his love for me.  He always has been one with words.

Gradually these words have taken on a more mature form.   They are no longer gibberish (Me love mommy); instead they are thought out and eloquent.  I am so lucky to have you as a mommy.  I never want to leave you.  I love you more than anything in the world.   He writes these words too, but his handwriting isn't so wobbly anymore when he writes me love notes or makes me cards at school.  And now, with his 8th birthday, his words have taken electronic form - it took him about 2 hours to get accustomed to his new iPod Touch that he got for his birthday, and his first text message to me read: "Can you take me to school today because I love you so much so so much mom."

(His words of aggression can be just as poignant, but I'll save those for another post.)

That boy is the love of my life (along with his two brothers), but I am fully cognizant of the fact that I won't always be his.  Someday the whispers of sweet nothings will stop, as will the love notes, and the love texts, and the birthday sleepovers.

This year I had to share him, and one year, maybe next, he'll decide he doesn't want to sleep next to his mother anymore at all.

I'll understand his decision, but oh how I'll miss it.

Happy 8th birthday to my baby boy, Braden.  What a beautiful ride it's been so far.

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My Living Proof

Whenever I look back at the pictures taken immediately upon all of my childrens' birth, I am in disbelief that it actually happened.  Was that really me?  Was that baby really in my stomach, and I actually got it out?  And is that teeny little baby really my son - the one that talks and walks and climbs in my bed every morning?  For each of my three children, someone (my husband?  a nurse? who knows?) captured that initial meeting - the look on my face when I looked at them for the first time.  My expression is authentic and true - pure joy and amazement.  Each of those three moments are the most incredible of my life, and I'm so thankful to have the photos to look at.  Because in my memory, it's hard to believe that it was actually real.

Braden - 2008

Casey - 2010

Colin - 2013

In this day and age, people don't really print out pictures anymore, but I do.  I print out a hard copy of every single photo taken on my iPhone and camera, and then I put them in an old school photo album.  Our living room built-ins contain these albums, all arranged in date order.  I don't look at them very often, but I feel incredible peace at having them.  And I treasure them.  I always tell my husband that in case of a fire, that's what we have to go for, and I'm serious.  On the rare occasion that I have lost photos (usually on an I-phone or through some computer glitch), a depression hits. All those hard copy memories - gone, and lost.

But of course, photographs can't capture everything.  And I've learned that I shouldn't waste the moment taking photos.  There's a fine line between living in the now and restoring it for posterity. I've backed off a bit as the years have gone by, so of course, as expected, child number 3 has the fewest photos of anyone.  But I still am vigilant about picture taking (made all the easier with the advent of the I-phone), and picture printing.  To be sure, I'm no photographer, but it doesn't matter.  What matters is who is in the pictures - not the lighting or the positioning or the depth of field.  Me, my kids, my husband, my family.  Now.

I've wondered lately why I am so obsessed with taking and keeping photos, and who exactly I am keeping them for.  Are these my memories?  Or my children's?  Or both?

To London and Back

I went to London this past weekend.

About fifteen years ago, when I lived in London, a weekend trip abroad wouldn't have been that out of the ordinary.  Travel back then was easy, frequent, and carefree.  It was what I loved most in the world, in fact.

Now, life is very different.  And so am I.

As a mom of three, travel is complicated, whether with or without kids.  Since this trip, precipitated by a conference my husband was attending, was going to be without kids, the childcare factor was the issue of the day.  And who knew that once we had that third child people wouldn't be jumping up and down to come and play mom for a few days?  After much stress, I ultimately secured a team of 3 to care for my 15 month old, 4 year old, and 6 year old, for four days.  The manifesto I left for all of them was 12 pages long.

Notwithstanding the complications, I was dead set on taking this trip.  I believe when my husband came home and told me about the conference, my response was: No way in hell are you going to London without me!  London is my city.  Having lived there for three years, I know its streets, its restaurants, its cheesy touristy bars, and a handful of incredibly awesome people that inhabit it. This may have been my husband's work trip, but it was my homecoming.  And I wouldn't miss it for anything.

I booked the ticket, did a little ankle click celebration, and then something weird happened.

I got scared.

I was actually scared to go through with this trip to London.  Which is preposterous on its face - I have been yearning for a trip away, and have been meaning to go to London forever.  But the kids....  what is it about leaving the kids that seems so unsettling?  I am not one of those parents that refuses to leave my children with babysitters, and my husband and I have taken weekend trips away before.  But the general notion of being far - very far - away was unnerving. The idea of them falling and needing a hug, or doing something incredibly cute, or waking at night crying - and I being so far away left me feeling anxious.

But that wasn't the whole picture.  The truth is, I wondered who I would be in London without them.  

From Sponges to Lemurs - Ringing in 2015

We never really do anything special for New Year's, and it's been years since I've stayed up past midnight.  Last year, after the kids went to bed, my husband and I split a bottle of champagne and watched Blackfish.  I ended up tipsy and depressed thinking about the poor killer whales and vowing to never visit Sea World, or a zoo, ever again (Casey may or may not have had his birthday party at the zoo this year).

It wasn't all solemn, though.  Before the kids went to bed, we had a family New Year's celebration.  I sent my husband out to get some hats and streamers, and the like.  As it turns out, it isn't the best idea to wait until 5pm on New Year's Eve to get New Year's paraphernalia.  Because all that was left was Sponge Bob.

New Year's 2014 Partay!

The hats had nothing to do with New Year's, and my kids had never seen Sponge Bob.  But after our New Year's party, they became obsessed with the show and still are to this day.  (Note to parents out there - perhaps not the best idea, as last month my oldest went around telling his younger brother to "go sell stupid elsewhere" - a direct quote from the show).

This year, thanks to the Netflix Stream Team, we are prepared.  As part of a promotion, earlier this month we received a party kit themed for the new show on Netflix, All Hail King Julien.  The show is a spin-off from the Madagascar franchise, which my kids absolutely love.  So they were thrilled to sport this party garb earlier today:

Bring on 2015!

We just moved a few days ago, and since we have yet to get our cable sorted, the kids have been Netflix-ing it up.  They have watched all 5 King Julien episodes several times over, as well as countless other shows/movies/shorts that have added up to way more than 2 hours of screen time per day.  But I have approximately 22 boxes to unpack, so it must be.

Tonight, I will set the unpacking aside.  I will sport lemur garb.  And I will drink champagne.  And then some more champagne.   And then I will put on my anti-wrinkle cream and go to bed around 11pm.

However it is you are celebrating tonight, enjoy!  Happy 2015!

27 Months (Twice Over)

It's an inside joke between my husband and I.  Every time there is a task that we don't want to do - say change a diaper or clean a dirty pan that's been sitting in the sink or be the designated driver - I sing my little jingle.

27 months!

That's how long I was pregnant with our three boys.  3 x 9 (full term babies) = 27 months.  Twenty seven months of creating and living for another human being.  Of dealing with nausea and pain and blood draws and hemorrhoids and stretch marks and peeing 5 times a night.  And then somehow ejecting each of the three babies from my body.

So you want me to change some urine soaked sheets at 2am?

27 months!

And now, 27 months has new meaning.

Last night, I breastfed Colin for the very last time.  At 13 months, it was time.  I didn't want to wean, to be honest.  But for a number of reasons, I did it anyway.  I thought I was going to cry throughout the whole feeding.  After all, I sobbed with both of his two older brothers, both of whom I weaned at 7 months.

But I didn't.  Instead, I did some mental math.  7 months + 7 months + 13 months = 27 months.

Twenty seven months of pregnancy.  Twenty seven months of breastfeeding.

And now, it comes to an end.  I think the finality of it all is what kept my tears from flowing.  It was just too much - too significant.  If I had let my emotions run wild, I feared I would lose myself a bit.  I didn't really want to go that deep.  Because there will be no more pregnancies.  No more breastfeeding.  And no more babies.

A chapter is ending.

Our House

We bought our house in December of 2007.  We were told, at the time, that it was "a great time to buy."  It was our first house.

We didn't love our house when we bought it.  Our price range didn't allow us the luxury to buy the quintessential dream home.  Rather, it was, to be frank, the least disgusting of everything we had seen.  It wasn't huge.  It wasn't updated.  It was one level living.  There was no master bath.  But it was clean, and bright, and in a great neighborhood with a great yard.  And anyway, we figured we would move to a nicer house in 2 or 3 years.  With our dual incomes, we were on a pretty good trajectory to eventually upgrade.

We closed on December 15, 2007.  Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant with our first son.

We settled into our house and prepared for a baby.  We painted the nursery a pale green and spent a ridiculous amount of money on crib bedding.  We bought a glider and I remember sitting in that glider, still pregnant, resting my hand on my growing belly and daydreaming about what our son would be like.

In September of 2008 my son entered this world and became our new housemate.  Life changed.  I went back to work.  We got a nanny.  I got pregnant again.

I decorated another baby room, bought another glider, and in an extreme bout of nesting, convinced my husband that we needed to renovate our entire kitchen and bathroom.  We did, and it transformed our house.  It looked fantastic.

Best Of

As we leave 2013 behind, my friend and fellow blogger Darcy had the great idea to come up with a "Best of 2013" list.  She got several bloggers on board, and we are all linking to each other (so go to Darcy's blog to see her list, and she'll link to another blogger, etc.).  This normally isn't my kind of thing, so at first I was a little nervous, but as I drafted the list, I realized it was almost therapeutic. It brought back memories and really made me reflect on the year that was - so thank you, Darcy!

Without further adieu...

Best book - It is shameful how little I read in 2013.  The problem is I discovered Netflix (see below). However, I was lucky enough to read one of the best books I've read in a long time  - Monkey Mind - A Memoir of Anxiety.  If you've ever had any bout of anxiety (or even if you haven't), you will love this book.  It examines anxiety in a humorous way, while at the same time imparting the seriousness of the condition.  It is brave and honest.  I laughed out loud multiple times, and in some ways, it made me understand myself a little bit more.  I highly recommend it!

Best TV series - It is shameful how much I watched on Netflix/HBOGo, etc. in 2013.  Mad Men, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, Homeland, the Wire, and House of Cards, among others.  Yes, I watched every single episode of ALL of them!  They were all great, but Breaking Bad is by far the best show that has ever been on television.  If you haven't seen it, I'm jealous.  There's nothing like experiencing it the first time around.

Best vacation - In 2013 we traveled to Cincinnati, Disney World, Cape Cod, and Washington, VA. They were all great, but first prize goes to Washington, VA - the home of the Inn at Little Washington - a destination in and of itself.  We took our time getting there, stopping at Virginia wineries on the way (not the best wine, but hey, it's wine, who cares?) and cozying up at a B&B before going to the Inn for dinner.  It was only one night, and it was snowing and cold, but it was heaven.  We hope to go back in 2014.

Best meal - My pregnancy interfered a bit with my foodie tendencies, so unsurprisingly my best meals were enjoyed before and after.  It's a toss up between The Inn at Little Washington (see above - in February) and Minibar (in December).  Both of these meals were ridiculously overpriced, but to me, it was worth it.  Wine flights and multiple courses (over 20 at Minibar!) - sign me up!

Best movie - I don't get out to the movies much these days.  But I did thoroughly enjoy This is the End this past summer, so much so that I devoted an entire blog post to it.  It was weird.  And stupid.  But I laughed out loud in a theater by myself, so that says something.

Best day - November 13, 2013.  Duh!  I got to meet this guy:

Second best day - October 5, 2013 - my sister's wedding.  Beautiful!

Best girl's night out - December 12, 2013.  Some of my friends took me out to Rosa Mexicano to celebrate my 35th birthday, the arrival of Colin, and the termination of my nine month sobriety.  It was a fabulous night, with some fabulous women - including fellow bloggers Valerie and Darcy, a good friend from high school, a good friend from college, and three of my best friends from DC.  Worlds collided, and it was awesome.  How could it not be when there is tequila involved? (You can even see a picture of me getting a shot disguised as a cake on Darcy's blog - scroll to the bottom).

Best kids excursion - To the National Zoo, in August.  I actually usually hate the zoo, but it was raining that day - who knew the best time to visit the zoo is in the rain?  It was empty, and for the first time, I felt like I could handle my two kids in a public place without yelling or running or losing my shit.  It was a good day.

Best Blog Post on My Blog - My favorite ones are never the most popular ones, but I think my best of the year is this one:  I'm in Love with a Boy.  The most popular one this year, by far, is this one:  Why are Lawyers so Miserable?

Best Blog Post on Any Blog- Kelle Hampton's birth story on the arrival of her son on her blog, Enjoying the Small Things, had me in tears.  (And if that one makes you cry, check out the birth story of Nella, her daughter born with down syndrome - have tissues ready).

Best Beauty Product - Ummmmmmmmmmmm.  This one is a joke, people.  I am lucky to get a shower every other day, let alone wear make up or use anything to preserve my aging skin.  I do use Pantene, by the way.  High quality stuff.

Now mosey on over to Darcy's blog, No Monsters in my Bed, to see her Best Of list!

Hearing His Voice

Sometimes it's funny how the past comes flooding back in an instant.

When I was 16 years old, I had my first real boyfriend.  I fell, hard.  We both did.  By senior year in high school, we were inseparable, and we decided we wanted to go to college together.  We applied to many of the same schools, and ultimately decided to both go to Penn State.  Looking back on this, I would never advise it to anyone today. Be free!  I would say.  Experience college and life and don't tie yourself down!  I can tell you that if someone gave me that advice, way back when in 1995, I wouldn't have listened.  I was completely in love and was absolutely convinced that this man - this boy - would be my husband.  He felt the same.

Against all odds, we stayed together all through college.  There were many bumps in the road, for sure, and many break-ups and reconciliations and some random "lets date other people" periods in there.  But we ended college, in some ways, much like we started.  We parted ways almost immediately after that.

I was ready for us to break up.  In some ways, it came as a relief.  Having been with the same person for almost 6 years - from age 16-21, I think that much of the reason we were still together was out of habit, and out of fear of doing anything else.  He decided to move to LA to pursue a career in the television/movie industry, and I had applied to, and been accepted to, the London School of Economics.  We didn't even really talk about staying together. We knew it was over.

Falling off a Bunk Bed

I have found that in life you have good years and bad years, and the year 2001 was a really good year.  It was one of the years I lived in London.

I went there to attend graduate school at the London School of Economics, and I did not know a soul upon my arrival.  It was the first time in my life I had ever done that, and there was something exciting about it.  Starting new.  Starting fresh.  I had high hopes for a great year, but I didn't think it could compare to my days at Penn State.  I was wrong.

I think it was my second day there that I met Lauren.  She was a junior in college, doing a year abroad.  We lived in the same dorm.  At first I didn't know if our friendship would "make it," because at the time it felt like we were in SUCH different life stages - undergrad versus grad school. Never mind she was only a year younger than me (so she still likes to remind me).

She wasn't the easiest person to get to know.  She is shy, and at times stand-offish.  She is opinionated.  But one night we went out and ended up at some random flat, and there was a line for the bathroom.  We started chatting, and I said we should just go into the bathroom together so we could continue our conversation.  She balked at the idea of someone actually peeing in front of her.  She came in anyway.  We have been the best of friends ever since.

A Beat Down and a Christmas Tree

Yesterday was one of those days where I just felt beat down.  Beat down from ALL sides - from my personal life, from my professional life, from random mean blog commenters...  It was one of those days where you just have to laugh out loud at some point and say,  Really?  Really?  The universe wants to pile on something else? 

I had the urge to assume fetal position and tuck my head down to keep all the spears from hitting me.  Kind of like this:

That's a pangolin, by the way.  Taken from http://wisecreatures.blogspot.com/2010/07/tale-of-tails.html

It was just one of those days where I felt defeated. 

Around 6pm I was sitting with the kids at dinner (for icing on the cake, hubby was working late), and brainstorming what I could do to turn this funk around.  And then, the inspiration came: 

A Moment in Time

Hurricane Sandy graciously spared us from an electrical outage, but it still meant long days inside.  Which meant much more TV than usual.  Which meant we dug into DVDs we hadn't watched in ages.  Which somehow led to us watching our wedding video. 

Braden was the inspiration for it, really.  He has been obsessed with the concept of marriage as of late, frequently wrapping a sheet around himself and saying, "Look, Mommy, married!"  When asked who he wants to marry, he always says "Mommy," not willing to accept the fact that Mommy is already married to Daddy.  We thought maybe the wedding video would set him straight.

The year after our wedding we used to watch this video all the time, but by all counts it had been close to five years since we had seen it when we put it in the DVD player on Monday.  I didn't expect it to be emotional, it was all for play with Braden, you see.  But for some reason, I found myself choking back tears. 

It was one of those occasions where the passage of time smacked me across the face. 

Old Ladies

I'm not one to get all hung up on getting older.  Age is just a number, right?  And besides, I feel young.  I still get IDed occasionally.  I can (sometimes) fit into clothes I wore in college.  I read US magazine and watch Jersey Shore.

But last weekend?  Man, did I feel old.

I should preface by saying that this past weekend was one of the best I've had in a while, notwithstanding my middle-aged-ness.  I went to Penn State for a long overdue girls weekend with four of my best friends from college.  I had been looking forward to this weekend for a LONG time. I couldn't wait to be with old friends, take a break from reality, and pretend that I was a carefree, happy go-lucky, college student whose greatest stress was where to get my next drink.  After the year I have had, I needed this.

Just the sight of it was refreshing.  Arriving in State College that first night felt like coming home. Sure, it has changed a little.  But looking at my friends and looking at the campus and breathing in the air - it was easy to pretend no time had passed.  I was back there again.  And it felt so, so good.

Of course, I assumed that everyone else would assume we were college students.  I mean, we could blend right in, right?

Um, no.

A Small World

The older I get, the more I realize what a small world it is.

My former boss from London now lives a mile away from me in suburban Maryland.  The father of a child at Braden's new preschool went to high school with my husband in New York.  And my favorite - when my husband and I were staying at a B&B in Byron Bay, Australia, we ran into two friends from law school - staying in the room next to us.

I could go on and on.  It seems to be happening more and more as I get older, and it always gives me a happy feeling when it does.  I don't know why.

It happened again this morning.

Life in Olympic Increments

When one Olympics starts, it's hard not to think about what you were doing during the last Olympics.  You remember - Beijing, 2008?

I don't remember what I did for the entire 17 day span, but I do remember one evening watching Michael Phelps from my hospital bed.  I was about 35 weeks pregnant with Braden, on bedrest, and was admitted to the hospital after a minor bleed.  I spent the night in angst, thinking about lung development and NICUs and steroid shots.  I was discharged the next day, and I gave birth 5 weeks later, the day before my due date.

And the Olympics before that?  That was Athens, 2004.  I actually don't remember watching that Olympics.  I was a summer associate at Skadden, living with my boyfriend (soon to be husband), with one year of law school remaining. I was too busy enjoying Manhattan to watch the Olympics.

Homecoming

My husband and I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Law School in 2005.  We haven't been back since.

We have been in and out of Philadelphia over the years, but we just never made it back to the campus.  I'm not sure why.  To be sure, I definitely don't feel the affinity to UPenn that I do to my undergrad school, Penn State (not to be confused with UPenn. Even though most of America thinks it's the same place).  I only spent 3 years there.  I never lived on campus.  And though I made friends, they haven't been the lifelong friends I have from college.

But then of course, there is my husband.  It's where we met.  Where it all began.

Flying High

Scotland has come and gone.  And it was amazing.

But no trip to Europe starts out great.  Why?  Because it inevitably involves this (hopefully minus the lightning).

Photo originally used in this post where I similarly rant about my flying phobia but similarly survived yet another trip.  

So I do my normal thing.  Pop a xanax before the flight.  Pop another one right before take off. Pray that the drugs have enough effect to put me to sleep so that I can sleep through all the inevitable turbulence and anxiety and potential sudden death by fire bomb, if it comes to that.

Needless to say, when I arrived in Edinburgh I was relieved.  The flight was over.  My friend, Nigel, was waiting at the airport for me with a huge smile.  I was on vacation.  I had made it.  My children were not rendered motherless.

Old

This past weekend my husband and I sprung for a babysitter and went out to dinner.  We left at 8pm after we tucked the kids into bed, and I told the sitter that we'd be home by 10pm.  We're rebels, you see.

Dinner went quicker than planned, and at 9:15pm we were signing the check.  But nonononononononononono, it is a blasphemy to return home earlier than expected when one has a babysitter.  Going home at that point was not an option.  So instead, I suggested we find a bar to grab a drink.

And there it was, like a beacon across the street - Public.  I had never been there, but it seemed easy enough.

But oh yeah, it was St. Patrick's Day.  And oh yeah, we're near American University and I think I was a good decade or more older than 90% of the bar patrons.  And oh yeah, I ordered a Pinot Noir which was disgusting because who orders a Pinot Noir in a college bar on St. Patrick's Day?

We were out of place and could barely hear ourselves speak.  But I'll be damned if I was going to waste a glass of wine, even a crappy one.

Flashbacks

When I was a junior in college at Penn State, I remember having a conversation with a friend of mine about her older sister.  Her older sister had just had a baby, and had given my friend some advice:

"Go out in college as much as you can - resist the urge to stay in, even if you are tired.  Because someday, when you are rocking your baby to sleep in the middle of the night, those are the memories that you will come back to."

This advice haunted me, but I probably didn't need it.  I went out all the time in college on my own accord.  I had a blast.

But 10 years later, when I had just had my own baby, I thought about this admonition.  And I didn't really find it to be true.  When I was up rocking Braden to sleep, I wasn't thinking about getting drunk at frat parties.  I was more focused on "when on earth can I go back to sleep and how many hours of sleep will I end up getting tonight?  Four?  Five?  Oh God, please six?"  Sometimes I thought about doughnuts or when I would make time to get my hair highlighted.  But mostly, just sleep.

Lately, however, I have found that I have been having intermittent flashbacks to my youth. Not while rocking anyone to sleep, but just throughout my regular day.  They usually are prompted by hearing a random song.  So, for example:

Past Midnight

I find it funny when people ask me what I'm doing for New Year's Eve.  It's a perfectly polite and well meaning question, but really?  REALLY?

Let me tell you a few things about New Year's Eve:

Even before having children, I dreaded New Year's.  It was always this high pressure night when you had to make big plans and find dinner reservations and pay some price fixed New Year's special and then find a party or bar where you would fight for drinks and a cab home.

After years of concerts, trips to Europe, and overpriced Manhattan nightclubs, in 2005 we decided we were getting too old to venture out.  Instead, we decided to keep it more "low key" and have a party at our apartment in Manhattan.  Our apartment was actually on the bigger size by NYC standards, so we cleared out the furniture, cleaned, and had about 40 people over.  This was great, until I realized that we LIVED in the apartment and it had been trashed.  At 2am when everyone left, and I wanted to do some minor cleaning (aka, there are bottles of vodka spilling in our bath tub), my husband (then fiance) could not be roused from this position:

A Whole Lotta Holiday Card

Oh, the holiday card.  The way to spread holiday cheer, while at the same time saying "look how cute my kids are, surely they are cuter than yours."  Or, if you're not quite there, "look at my dog, doesn't he look funny when he wears an elf hat."  Or perhaps even, "we got married this year, look how stunning I look in my wedding gown, I lost 15 pounds to fit that thing on my body."

It's enough to make you sick.  Or get totally excited to check the mail to see what holiday cards have come.  Or get totally swept up in the phenomenon yourself.

Yes, I in fact have done all of the aforementioned holiday cards.  Shall we take a tour?