Post-Holiday Post

My family's collective hangover from our Christmas travels and associated adventures seems to finally be wearing off. We were all up at 4:15 a.m. Christmas morning, on the road by 10:00 for celebrations #3 and #4, then all "slept" (tossed and turned) in the same bed at my parents' house because a 13-month-old who shall remain nameless refused to sleep in the crib. I think we all finally got a good night's sleep last night and life is returning to normal. Or will, as soon as I dispose of the shreds of wrapping paper still littering my living room floor.

I got 3 hours of sleep last night. Can a one-year-old have insomnia? The kid just didn’t want to sleep. I, however, might be passed out on my keyboard by 10 a.m.

In other news, today’s (actual) online headlines that fall under the “and that’s considered news?” category:

• Rocker Scott Weiland charged with DUI
• Britney skips child custody deposition
• Liza Minnelli collapses on stage during performance in Sweden
• Sweatshops crank out Wal-Mart ornaments
• Naked men shop for Skittles

"Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?"

The holiday letter. Like so much fruitcake, it’s an oft-maligned symbol of the holidays. Everyone loves to make fun of it but it just wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

I’ve never sent one, but I always like reading them. No one sends me ones that make me roll my eyes, except maybe my uncle who is filthy rich, has his own business, a lovely wife, a cheerleader daughter and a football player son who are both musically gifted and academically advanced. They travel all over the country/world every year, go to football and baseball games that no one else can get tickets for, have a summer home…you get the idea. The best letter I get is from an old college friend who must keep track of funny things her kids say during the year because she lists them in her letter and they are hilarious (especially considering she’s married to a minister and she doesn’t attempt to edit the quotes at all). I will post an example when her letter arrives (usually a week or two after Christmas—another reason why I love her; no attempt at Martha Stewart-like perfection for her).

Anyway, I decided to send a letter to that old roommate and another one. I have great memories of lots of fun with these women, but we don’t keep in touch except by exchanging Christmas cards so we really have no idea what our day-to-day lives are like, and I truly enjoy hearing from them. They each have 4 kids and maybe I felt like I didn’t have much in common with them anymore until Lauren arrived. I tried not to make it all about Lauren, but honestly, I don’t have much else to say about the past year that’s not about her or work, and no one wants to hear about the trials and tribulations of a Cincinnati ad agency.

So, I wrote them a letter. Okay, it was the same letter but I did personalize the greeting and actually signed my name instead of typing it. Maybe next year I’ll send it to everyone on my Christmas card list. But I doubt it. I just think there are too many people who think all such letters are cheeseball.

This is my life

I really want to do a better job of blogging regularly, but I suffer from the old “who wants to read about what I have to say?” thinking so I just don’t post very often. I think there are 2 or 3 people who read this anyway, so I wonder what the point is. Maybe it’s just to be more disciplined with my writing, forcing myself to post something (nearly) every day.

I mean, seriously, do people really want to read about my actual life? That I changed 3 – count ‘em, 3 – poopie diapers on Sunday? That the maids did a decent job last week but it seems that they sprayed Pledge on my kitchen floor in a not-so-subtle attempt to do me in while I’m coming around the corner in my socks? Or do my 3 readers want to know about how I spend my Monday evenings watching A Shot at Love, while unread classic novels collect dust on my bookshelf? Or that the All Bran commercial that simulates pooping (do you see a trend here) cracks me up?

‘Cause that’s all I’ve got, people.