But instead, I just got in a fight with a guy named Aqridesh from Mumbai, India because he couldn't get through the if/then online manual for Dell Tech Support. Trust me when I say, I'm good with India. I love India. I hope to visit there one day, good food, amazing culture, extreme architecture, and I can visit all the people I've talked to on the phone for tech support.

I'm pretty sure the guy was afraid of me most of the call, but also, I think I heard him snicker. Touche' Aqridesh, touche'. So, after going in circles, half in broken english, and getting nowhere for 30 minutes, when I asked him what his supervisor's name was and he responded by telling me that he wasn't at liberty to give me that information, nor could he tell me what company he worked for - well, I got a little upset.

Let me take this opportunity to acknowledge that at some point, in my head, talking to a guy from Mumbai, India (Haven't there been bombings there or something?) all in the name of getting my laptop fixxed because momma NEEDS to blog and to correspond with long lost friends on facebook, kinda seemed a bit superficial. But only enough to not mention that part to Aqridesh and keep begging for the resolution.

When I hung up on him, Lucy and Max were very curious to know, "Mommy, why wouldn't he tell you who his boss was? And why wouldn't he tell you where he worked."

"Because he couldn't find those answers in his manuals, honey. Now who's ready to watch Beverly Hills Chihuahua!?"

Truly my anger was misdirected. I'm not mad at Aqridesh, I'm pretty mad at Dell though. I've had nothing but Dell computers all of my life. Our desktop computer and both of our laptops are DELLS. What's funny to me is, I didn't get Aqridesh on the phone when I called to buy my computers. But as I type right now, I'm researching iBooks while I wait for an online chat with tech support.

Mostly I'm mad at this. I was on hold for 37 minutes. Of which I heard this recorded message well over 10 times: "You're wait is more than 10 minutes. If you would like to talk to someone within 2 minutes FROM NORTH AMERICA, for an EXTRA FEE we can make that happen." I kid you not. Call Dell Tech Support and listen to it for yourself!

Meanwhile, I can't tell you how many times, (fine, twice now) I've taken my ipod in there with a puzzled look of dismay, and the 19 year-old angels of Apple shine on me and take the ipod out of my hand, push some buttons, and fix it. They don't need a damned service tag number, or to sit down and trouble shoot with me. They don't put me on hold to access my records. Hell, they don't even need my name. It turns out, with a Mac, you can just take your ibook into their store and talk to someone, face-to-face with a white cracker preppy ass english speaking pimple face pompous son of a bitch who works across the breezeway from the gap.

Suddenly, I love those Apple yuppies. However, my only resolve will probably be to take it. As soon as this warranty is up, I'll show you DELL! I'm off to get an iBook.

**Publishers Update, after a two hour wait on hold with the Dell Tech Support Online Chat, a lovely person, Cheltan, also from India, helped me resolve the issue. I have to mail my computer to Dell and then they fix it and mail it back. Never an option with Aqridesh, but whatever. Still, if I had a Mac, I could take it to their store. I'll consider that next purchase. Perhaps its time to phase out the ol Dells. After the conversations over the last couple of days, I'm not too sure Dell wouldn't be heartbroken of our break up either.

That's how I roll.

I do have a New Year's Resolution, or two. But let's have more fun with how fantastic this past year has been instead of how I need to change. I fear change anyways.

1. Said goodbye to a precious friend and kept a promise to her. The fact that the three of us were friends for so long, and what it took to say goodbye. That a lifelong friendship's connection could deepen and bond ten-fold, I have such gratitude for my Yallison.

3. Lost myself in a book - well, four to be exact. It's been a long time since I allowed myself such a frivolous recreation.

4. Enjoyed my kids. This might sound weird to some. But as good ol Oprah would say, I lived in the present. Maybe it's their age. Maybe it's mine. But I've had more fun with these kids in the past year than my teenage years on a roller coaster. I laugh with them, and at them often. They reflect insightfulness and thoughtfulness each day. When I tell them I'm going up on stage to do comedy, their eyes light up and they "help" me with jokes. When I fell on my knees on ice skates, Max, who is no longer into snuggling or kissing Mommy these days, took advantage of our same height and came up to hug me. Patted me on the back and asked if I was ok. When I'm sick, they bring me water. They're still rotten at times. But I think I've even enjoyed some of those moments. So, enjoyed my kids.

5. Laughed and cried so hard that I made an awkward bark-mixed-with-a-quack noise. It's a true feat. Everyone should have that mix of emotions atleast once in their lives. I challenge you to do it.

6. Established a few boundaries. Some, a little too late, and I inevitably told a few people off. It's time I stand up for myself and my family, and even my friends. I have limits. And they are as follows: Don't jack with me, my kids, or my Ricardo.

7.Lost the weight. Sure, I've gained a bit back. So, I'll lose the few pounds and keep it off this year. But this past year, I lost the weight. For as long as I can remember, some form of losing weight or being healthy has been my token New Years Resolution. But I can honestly say that I'm okay with me. And just not having that as this year's resolution is a success story for me!

8. Kept my mouth shut. Not from eating, but from speaking my mind. I learned this year that sometimes, the best way to be understood is by not saying anything at all. Not ALWAYS thecase, but sometimes.

Today I celebrated the New Year with some great new friends. It was so fun and easy, and VERY VERY Tasty! So, here's to ringing in the New Year, taking the good things from last year and carrying them on to a new year of hope.

That's how I roll.

8a.m. - I explain to the kids that Mommy is very sick. Lucy - the one-upper (can't imagine where she got that from) chimes in that she's got a headache too and that SHE TOO wanted to barf but she's okay now. Perhaps this is motivation to get my ass in the kitchen and make her some breakfast. When she finished, I told them basically, to help themselves to the kitchen for breakfast. I then slipped into slight unconsciousness.

9a.m. I wake up to an empty room, but some annoying screaming tune blaring from the basement. Without moving a muscle, I assess the sounds. Max is playing his new snowboarding game on the PS3, Lucy is on the PBS Kids website (thus the annoying song blaring). I muster up the energy to shout, "Turn it down". I must have looked pretty sick, because she turned it down right away.

9:30a.m. I am fighting back some pretty violent nausea. Waiting for the perfect moment to get off the couch and to bathroom. I'm waiting for it when I realize my kids don't need me. Woe is me.

9:37 a.m. The time is now. Someone got out of my way just in time. I do my business and get back to the couch. The kids are now worried. But staying strong by bouncing back from Sponge Bob Square Pants and the video games. I slip back into unconsciousness.

10:30 - Wow, these kids are letting me sleep for an hour at a time! But little flu bug is not. I wake up with a crushing headache. It occurs to me that the kids are still helping themselves to whatever they want in the kitchen. I'm oddly okay with that. Fairly Odd Parents is so much better than Sponge Bob.

Noon - I wake up to realize I didn't get to see how Timmy got out of his latest predicament on Fairly Odd Parents. Ricardo gets home and sees that I have not been exaggerating. I can tell by his actions. He's talking softly to the kids. Not that he yells at them otherwise, but he's whispering, and in doing so, has the kids responding in a whisper as well, "Mommy barfed." Up to this point, I figured being on the couch was allowing me to be available. But who was I kidding? It hurt my body just to talk. And I couldn't get comfortable, couldn't lay still. I grab my pillow and water and announce I'm going to bed. I barely got the covers over me before I passed out.

3p.m. - I wake up. THREE HOURS!? WHAT? Just a few minutes later, Lucy brings me water. With no ulterior motive. Just to check on me. She didn't even hang around. Just brought the water and left me to sweat in the bed. So sweet. I can hear the tv on downstairs, and feel guilty they've been watching tv all day. Then my head throbs, and I'm ok with it. I turn on Ellen, but it hurts my head to laugh.

4:11p.m. - I wake up...again. I flip to Oprah, but it's about food. She and Gail are on a quest for the best sandwich. Gross. I gag and turn off the tv and ponder on the last time I've gone hours, let alone an entire day without eating. Max comes up to the room and plays his guitar for me. He truly makes me feel better.

5:08p.m. -Ricardo is home. The kids give him an update on Mommy. "She's really sick". He asks Lucy to get dressed because she's still in her pajamas. They go out to dinner.

5:09p.m.- I hear a plastic bag crash to the floor. Farley doesn't know I'm still in the house. I yell at him to let him know I'm still here.

Later, took a bath and went downstairs to see what Farley had gotten into. It was Raisins. But he left them alI one and didn't get any. So, that's good. My head is still pounding. And I'm a bit upset that I was at the hospital last night, holding Baby Margaret! Uggh. I was also supposed watch JulzHOLLA's kids tomorrow.But girlfriends unite! Nikki has offered to step in and save the day.

With all this sickness, I'm so happy that my kids were able to recognize that Mommy needed their help. There's been days when Ricardo had to take his sick days off or even when JulzHOLLA just showed up and took my kids for the day. I'm not that sick too often,but when I do get sick, I'm absolutely immobile.

So, it's 6-years-old when Mommy can indeed, have a sick day.
I'm off to slip into unconsciousness again.
That's how I roll.

I guess going through it and watching someone else go through it are two different things. And last year, when my friend lost her baby. Watching her go through that hurt. She also had some complications in the aftermath of it all. I don't even know what the complications were. We fear the unknown, and I know nothing about science and biology. So when she tried to explain to me that something didn't go right, I lost her at placenta. But remember the part about how she lost a lot of blood.

You'd think I'd get it by now, but really, I don't. Ricardo had to explain to me what was happening to me when I was pregnant. And when I watched that movie in the birthing class, that was the first I'd ever heard of after birth or delivering the placenta. SAY WHAT!? I embarassed Ricardo by whispering just a little too loudly in the class, "I have to deliver something AFTER I deliver TWO BABIES? WHAT!?"

So, when my girl JulzHOLLA! Got pregnant again, this time for keeps, no whammies, somewhere in the back of my mind, I feared for her. I even had the audacity to accompany her to one of her check ups (no stirrups, don't worry, I'm not THAT clingy) and was actually comforted by her doctor who answered all of my questions. Still, I held my breath and silently asked myself the what if's.

Until today. Today, I watched her beautiful kids (eager little angels awaiting the arrival of their sister), and still silently worried all day. I wanted the baby to be here too, but more than the call that she was born, I just wanted to know that Momma was okay. And that she still had plenty of blood.Tonight, when I walked in and watched the girls in complete awe of their baby sister, I had just a second to see my friend healthy. She's okay. Better than okay, she was beautiful and healthy and happy in the purest form, with her family.

I felt a little invasive on their family moment. But am so grateful for the opportunity to know, to see for myself, that she was okay.To hug my friend. And meet the most beautiful baby too!

So, welcome Baby Margaret! And thank you for taking good care of my friend! Us moms are special to each other like that.

(It figures I can make someone ELSES pregnancy and baby about me.)

That's how I roll.

Later, we had to get Lucy's because she'd requested a pink one, and there were no pink ones in the Black Friday frenzy. So, when we went to shop, Ricardo picked out one, declared, "This is PINK." But I had to tell him no, because it was not a RAZOR Scooter. And that's what they asked for. Santa is PERFECT so it must be a PINK RAZOR SCOOTER. And so, it must be.

So, last night, in keeping with a long tradition in my Christmas life - we waited for the kids to go to sleep and then wrapped all the presents while watching A Christmas Story, ofcourse. This year, it already seemed like we didn't get the kids enough. Their piles seemed so small. And then I realized THEY HAVE PILES. Also, they are getting older, and so the toys and presents are smaller. The older you get, the smaller the boxes - is my new theory. We've gone from giant playtime saucers and double strollers to Vsmile game cartridges and new gloves. Really, they didn't ask for much now that I think of it.

Ricardo went to our super secret present hiding place (the stow & go in the car) and got the Razors to assemble for presentation. He unwrapped Max's Razor and that when we saw it - it was a knock off. It wasn't a Razor. But Lucy's WAS - BECAUSE I HAD INSISTED ON IT. And Max is a kid that pays attention to details. Dammit. Does Santa take shortcuts? Uh, NO.

I looked at the clock - 9:30p.m. on Christmas Eve night. This ought to be good. I grabbed the keys and went to Walmart. They've GOT to be open. They are the worst employers in America, surely they didn't do something stupid like let their employees off to spend time with their families or something ridiculous like that. And sure enough, closed. All of them. Because I went to each and every one, listening to holly jolly Christmas music, tears streaming down my face because I've just ruined everything. Super.

At some point of desperation, I found myself roaming in a Walgreens. Ricardo convinced me to just come home. That Max would like it. That it would be good enough. But I really felt like I screwed this one up and that good enough wasn't okay, it needed to be perfect. Santa's perfect.

Wait a second, just wait a second. Santa can screw this up and then I can come in and save the day and take him to pick out the RIGHT RAZOR the next day. I will trump Santa and victory will be mine!

Still, I got home, finished up, all with a lump in my throat, and tossed and turned all night, worried about the disappointment on my son's face when he realized that Lucy was good, and apparently Santa was communicating that Max was only semi-good. I'll trump Santa, but still have to deal with his sad little face.

5:45 a.m. - Max wakes up and is ready to rock. He asks, since it is Christmas, is it okay to get up now? We say yes, get Lucy up. He does and they go. And the first thing out of that kid's precious angel lips is, "Santa left me a RAZOR! It doesn't say it, but it is a Razor!"

It turns out, upon further review, that Max didn't think that he was getting anything from Santa at all. And he was just so grateful that he left anything. So, I set out the fudge and the baked goods and told them they were both very good kids and they could ride their RAZORS through the house all day.

Merry Christmas.
That's how I roll, slightly flawed and inevitably inspired...by 6 year olds.

But last week, Farley the Wonder Dog, desperate because there were no presents to destroy nor reveal to the kids, opted to start working on ornaments. And they were apple ornaments. And apparently, when chewed, then left on the floor, it stains my brand new carpet hot pink. I realize they are apples, and maybe look edible. But there are APPLES on my kitchen counter. He won't eat them. I've even dropped a few on the floor in my day, and the dog won't eat them.

Some of you, I can see through the screen, are laughing hysterically at Farley's ways and the Christmas Kharma I've come up against. Never in all my blogs have I gotten more of a reaction than the one about the Christmas letters,not even the one where I had my tubes tied. I am fairly certain I've EVEN been cut off from a couple of your Christmas Letter lists, because I haven't even gotten a reciprocation card back. The horror. So, please know my intent was to reach out, to uh, spark creativity. I appreciate hearing from all of you, bland and boring, sad and ironic, or completely repeated from the last year. I love seeing pictures of your children, even though you're taking all the fun out of seeing how fat or really tired, or the last desperate attempt at reinventing yourself hair cut and color gone really bad. I've had a few in my own days people. You know it! So, I stand firm in my plea for creativity and inclusion of all family members. However, I'm not judging the personal cards I receive. Just making mention of a few suggestions to the general Christmas correspondence goers.

And that's how I roll.

One of my favorite things to do with the kids is to lock them and strap them in the car and just listen to them talk. When they are fussy, it's not so much fun. Or when Lucy discovers a new annoying sound she can make - doing it over and over. Again, not fun. However, when they get deep into philosophical banter, it's perfection.

On the way to the mall to see Santa:
Max: "It's not the REAL Santa. HE'S back at the shop making toys with elves at the North Pole."

Lucy: "No. Santa doesn't MAKE the toys, the elves do."

Max: "Yeah! But Santa has to boss them around. He's bossy."

Lucy: "No. Santa is NOT bossy. He writes the elves notes."

They pondered on that and soon we arrived at the mall. When we go to Santa's magic land of wonder and joy, we were the only ones there. You're welcome kids, mommy timed it perfectly with your early outs from school. So,they got to visit Santa, woops, I mean "Santa" per the kids earlier conversation.

I made a deal with the Santa RobberyTechnician - Ted - that I'd just video with my camera and he could rob me blind with a 5 X 7 and two keychains for $17.99. Deal. But then my camera battery was too low and wouldn't work. I'm kind of glad it didn't work, because then I just went and paid the Santa Robbery Cashier - Bill - while the kids had a chance to talk with Santa. Had the camera WORKED, I'm fairly certain I'd have coached the entire conversation. So, it forced me to just let them have their moment! And they did.

Eventually another family came up and the kids were each handed a coloring book and politely said their goodbyes. After the coast was clear, Max said very slowly and thoughtfully, "Well MAYYYYBE that WAS the real Santa."

I just wanted a picture for the scrapbooks, but that was a lot of fun. I'm trying not to push it on them too much, to MAKE them believe. But the magic in that kids eyes, just made my heart dance.

That's how I roll.

I have test anxiety. I wish I could say I HAD test anxiety, but even making a test up for my students tends to get me a bit anxious. I hate taking tests. HATE IT. Ask any professor, and it's a lot like setting up a blind date with me, they'll simply say, "Uh, well, she's got a great personality."

I mean really, problem solving to me at this juncture in my life would be something like:
Susie couldn't fall asleep last night because she was too wired from dropping a load of laundry, cleaning the kitchen, and prepping the coffee pot to brew on cue, then changing the laundry back, and while she's down there, wrapping the presents to mail out the next day before it's too late for arrival by Christmas. Then when she finally fell asleep and then Baby A tried to crawl into bed because of a nightmare. Susie got Baby A back to bed because all the books say never let a kid sleep with you. Then the dog wouldn't get out of the damned bed or even move over. After a physical grudge match Susie couldn't sleep. So Susie slept too late and had 15 minutes to wake up the kids, get Baby B showered, pour a cup of coffee, find a moment to drink it, fix the kids their lunch and double check their backpacks. She has to make baby A a bologna sandwich and forgot to ask baby B if he wanted a cold lunch or a hot lunch and since she's late, she didn't beat the parking lot frenzy so the whining and crying is overwhelming. The temperature is 10 below and there's 3" of ice on the ground. How soon can Susie let her kids out of the car without being reported and CPS calling...again.
A) While waiting at the left turn light, and just let them cross the traffic lane of oncoming traffic.
B) Answer A is appropriate because they have their snow boots on and should have plenty of traction to get across the street before a car comes.
C) Answer A is only appropriate if the light for oncoming traffic is a Red Light.
D) Go ahead and just let them walk to school today and call later to make sure they made it.
E). None of the above. Tell Susie to stop her whining and get her ass in the car. The kids can both have a hot lunch. Since Baby A woke her up last night, she doesn't get a shower nor her hair done or even clothes really. Susie knows that the most important thing about school parking lot traffic is to get there early, beat the rush. Baby A can get dressed and get her hair done in the minivan on the way there.

That, my friends, is an applicable problem-solving question. It's tricky. But apparently, not qualitative for a Business Standard Test.

Ricardo, apparently loved studying, loved taking the test and scored very high on it. Since he's all HUMBLE about it, I feel the need to brag for him. The man scored higher than 92% of his fellow GMAT victims. And, although he's not going to apply, he scored high enough to apply to HARVARD. Say what? I knew the guy was smart. I mean really, he DID marry MEEEEEEE. But still. I'm so proud of him. He's a wonderful father, fantastic husband, super son and brother. He can fix anything. And now we know, without a shadow of a doubt, he's a smarty pants!

I told the kids they could refer to Daddy as "Smarty Pants" for the day. They didn't really oblige, but with perfect timing and out of nowhere, Lucy challenged Smarty Pants. Just when you think you know everything, and that you can articulate it...

Lucy: "Why is there an L in the word half?"

And that's how we roll. Congrats, honey. We now have a grade for what I already knew deep in my heart, that you are absolutely brilliant.

Back to the fish fry - Max started crying - wailing - saying it burned. It turned out that Max had strep throat. And so, the salty and somewhat spicy and scratchy batter of delicious fish fryness pretty much battled with those ever pleasant puss pockets that we now realize coated his throat. We took him home, after momma finished her meal. And went back for seconds. Then we took Max to urgent care and got the goods for his now full on throat injury.

Ever since then, Max won't eat fish. Well, not as a willing participant. I don't like fish either, but once or twice a week, I try to work it in on the menu. Fine, once or twice a month. But Max thinks the fish made his throat burn. And he tells us that everytime. So, we begin the dance. "Max, this is what is for dinner." Most of the time he eats the mandatory number of bites we've demanded that night, and we go on with our lives.

Last week, I made fish. Ricardo and I are having fillets. I drown mine in lemon juice so I can show the kids, "See, mmmMMM, it's yummy. Mommy eats fish. I like fish. Fish is soooo good for you." Each time, I'm fighting the bile back while I lie to them. Fish is nasty. NASTY. Just the texture and the flavor. Ick. But I do it because it's good for me, and I need to be a fine example for the children. Right? Still, after Max's protests, I think I've been very flexible and found the best whole fish nugget looking things I could find and bake. They looked just like chicken nuggets. Still, Max balked.

This time, he won't stop about blah blah blah his throat hurts. Yada yada. So, finally, after the "It's not good to cry wolf" speech and the "oh really, you're throat hurts? enough to get a shot at the doctor?" speech, I decide to see if maybe just maybe he might be telling the truth. Say WHAT? I know.

I get a flashlight, look in his throat. It's a little pink, but for my kid, it's pretty normal. I tell him to eat a piece of fish. And I look back in his throat, and there it is....plain as day, 10 shades of brighter and redder throat and the tonsils have grown. Whether it's an allergy or not, clearly, it's enough proof to me that I'm an asshole for cramming fish in his throat and not listening to him. Sigh. I just looked at him, and said, "Max, you're right. Mommy's wrong. You do not have to eat fish again." And walked away.

A lying kid would have done the happy dance and probably muttered NANNY NANNY a few times. But my kid - the honest one - says "Thanks, Mom." And then ate the rest of his green beans and brocoli.

I'm wondering if there's not something there in the fine print of my son's throat that maybe his throat gets inflamed when he eats fish because it was so susceptible to infection that time he had strep throat? And that's why I'm a writer and not a doctor, folks. They'll let any old crazy lady be a mom. I'm cool with that. And I'm even better now that I don't have to eat fish. Good job, Max. And sorry about that whole, force you to eat it thing.

That's how I roll.

I ran into SANDY (and read in all caps, because I'm saying her name in a yelling sarcastic tone) later at Church of all places. Our kids are both starting classes together. And I say, "SANDY...I totally blogged about you!"

She reads the blog on occasion but hadn't in a while, so I explained the time I saw her in the library, and how dare she not tell me, I think, "I know what you did" actually came out of my mouth. I was polite in calling her out on violating all girlfriend or even mere girl acquaintance law of not tell me about my pants. She laughed with me - better not have been AT me, nope, definitely WITH me. Said she didn't notice. Oh really? You didn't notice that gaping eye-level 6-inch tear in my pants or my pasty white ass shining out at you? And said she'd read the blog. We caught up, that was the end of it.

After our little parents' orientation on the new class, I really don't see her that much, because, for now, it's just a quick drop off and pick up. So be it.

So, the other day, I have lunch with my awesome gal pals, and then resolve to get something productive done for the ol family. Justifying a two hour lunch in which we talked about our feelings just somehow doesn't justify "I stay home so I can take care of you" time. So, I resolve to go to Walmart to pick up a few things. Just to stay above the curve of the rest of the crowd at Walmart, to feel superior and good about myself, I slabbed on some Buxom Lip Gloss from Bare Minerals (I highly recommend the stuff). I'm armed with lipstick and ready to do battle in Walmart.

Lo. Who should I run into by SANDY. SANDY is in the same position I am, trying to get some stuff done before picking up the squirts from school. So, we make it fairly brief, and part. It's Walmart though, and so we run into each other a couple of more times. I get my stuff, and get in the car. Check the rear view mirror and - What the hell is that? LIP GLOSS on my EFFN TEETH AND SHE DIDN'T TELL ME!? SANDY!

Normal people would feel a little embarassed by this. Me, however, I'm mad as hell. And somewhat let down by SANDY. She's got a lot of making up to do with me is all I'm sayin.

That's how I roll.

Some people have their cards ready and sent at the beginning of the season. We received our first card the day after Thanksgiving. Some send them randomly. I know who you are. And some of you wait as long as you can, collecting all addresses from the cards you receive and then send a card out in reciprocation.

So, what's the point of Christmas cards anyways? Just to let people know you're still kicking? To wish everyone joy? Or simply to just say hello once a year. I like to think all three.

One of the things I do each year, instead of throwing away all the cards and letters - I save them. You all worked so hard on them. Four years ago, we got a card from Jimmy Carter! How fun is that. I just threw it away this year. But for the most part, I like to save the cards, especially the letters and pictures and compare how everyone's grown up, changes of hair color, who's gotten fat, all that stuff. So, this year, when I pulled out our cards and letters, I discovered a few things. Without further ado, here's some Christmas tips you should be aware of, because I'm ON TO SOME OF YOU:

First of all, be creative. Some Christmas letters are humdrum and redundant. Some are bulleted. Please don't send me a business format letter for Christmas. And please, if you have a lot to say, which really, you don't, I've edited your letter- cut it back a bit. Do you really need things like "Aren't the children so cute!?" - Yes they are, but no, you don't need to write that phrase in your letters, let us judge your children's cuteness for ourselves.

Please don't make your Christmas letters more than one page and please don't shrink the font nor widen the margins. It's a letter to your friends and family telling us how you're doing for Christ's sake (literally). If that many life altering events happened, you probably told us when it actually happened. Or, you need me to edit your letter is all I'm sayin.

We want to know how you're doing. If you had a challenging year, perhaps just a photo card is a better option. Because some of these letters I can read like Eeyore. People died, you lost your job and insurance package which is not great because someone's been diagnosed with some rare disease. We hope YOU have a good new year but ours sucked. I get it, you want people to know what's going on in your world. But remember, you're speaking for other people that probably don't do Christmas letters for this very reason. And you're bringing me down! I want to know how you're doing, please don't misunderstand me. It's just in a bulk business letter - kind of weird.

My favorite cards and letters are pesonalized and unique. Last year, I got one that was about the family, but to the tune of Jinge Bells. And I got a card from a friend who's lifelong dream was to go to NYC - so it was a postcard designed like a playbill of pictures of her in Times Square. Just made my heart dance. And she didn't even write a letter, just told us the story with her eyes dancing in the picture.

I like to get the photo cards to see how everyone's changed and grown. Please don't send me just a picture of your kids. I want to see you too! I mean, I don't just want to judge your Christmas scenario photo selection of just your kids. I'm going to need to judge you too. Maybe an action shot even! Oh, that's just crazy!

In writing this, I've just realized I didn't use too much creativity for our Christmas card this year. I just tried to get something out quickly. And I'm the perfect example of my own message - not every year has to be topped by next year's card of letter. Just remember, we need creativity in a letter, we want to see your whole family in the picture, and don't forget the glad tidings of comfort and joy.

We were addressing the Christmas cards the other night. Ricardo saw one I'd addressed to and said, "You're sending a card to them? Why?"

"I want to get their reciprocation card and see if they're wearing the same black shirts again."

"Oh, cool."

That's how I roll.

3:30 a.m. Arrive JC Penney for the 4a.m. opening
5a.m. Menards
6a.m. Target
Then Sears, Kohls, Lowes, Sports Authority, and Scheels.

They lost me at 3:30 a.m. and kept having to repeat themselves. I was relieved Toys-R-Us and Walmart weren't on our list. My mother-in-law suggested that we didn't need anything at JC Penney or Menards, right LESLIE, wink, wink! And that maybe we should just meet up with them at Target. God Bless her soul.

So, at 5:15 a.m., I got up, got a big cup of coffee and ordered Wallflowers online so I wouldn't have to drag the rest of the group with me. Even better, my MIL was reading my mind when we arrived at Target a few minutes early and gawked at the line that extended across the giant entrance, past four other stores and almost to the fifth. MIL suggested we sit in the car and sip coffee while the line went down. I love this woman from the depths of my soul.

So we did. I was looking for a tv, but still felt that had I missed the boat, from letting all those people go before us, then I was cool with paying full price. And then, it was as if the shopping gods parted the sea of frenzy for me, and lo - there, right in the middle of the aisle, they were setting out the exact sized tv I was looking for, $100 off. GIMMEEEEE! I punched a few people in the face, numchucked one of the employees, but I got my tv. Just kidding. No punching, just the numchucks. Fine, I just reached over, got my tv, shoved it in my cart, and went. It was way too easy. Within 20 minutes, we were done at Target.

Then something weird happened - instead of meeting up with us at Target - ahem - AS STRATEGICALLY PLANNED IN THE WAR ROOM - they wanted to meet us for breakfast. What the heck kind of soldiers in the Battle of Black Friday are these people?! Stop, put down your weapons (shopping cart and credit card) and eat? I LOVE THESE PEOPLE. Granted, half of our infantry had been up since 2:45a.m. - it was practically brunch.

We resumed battle, this time as a team. I really can't remember too many other times that I have enjoyed shopping. Well, there was that one time when I took my two fashionistas - JulzHOLLA! and Nikki The Cake Making Diva, and they got in a fight with each other over a sweater I tried on. THAT was fun! But Black Friday with this crew this weekend was fun. I think they were a bit easy on me.

Maybe not. By 1p.m., I was worthless and exhausted and it took me two days to work off the holiday hangover. And I'll do it again next year. I hope they let me!

That's how I roll.

I'm not all into the romance part so much as the vampire and werewolves parts. Because I have my romance. I have my Edward. He's perfect and he's not even a vampire - that I know of, yet. Total BONUS!

And since there's no kids to lead the conversation, I'm really elaborating, I don't even have to abbreviate or speak in code. I can tell him all about it. In my humble opinion, these books that everyone's all excited about - they have a great storyline - but they tend to drag on at points. So, I'm excited that it's finally getting good.

"I'm going to try to finish it tonight. The werewolves and good vampires are going to fight some bad vampires. And that's cool because historically, per this book, vampires and werewolves don't get along. But they are for the sake of this chick, and the fight. So it's getting good. I'm looking forward to seeing who comes out of the fight..."

And that's when I notice a smirk on my hunnybear's face. My sweet perfect "Edward" laughs and says, "Man, this must be what it's like for you when I talk to you about racing."

Well, he listened atleast. That was nice. Was there a race on this weekend? I can't remember.

That's how I roll.

Mostly, I'm thankful for the Thanksgiving binge. I'm thankful that I can produce such a feast, that it necessitates it's own schedule and it's own grocery list.

I'm thankful for Paula Deen's Sweet Potatoe Balls recipe.

I'm thankful for Ricardo - SUCKER!

I'm thankful for the family I was born into, and the family I married.

I'm thankful for my babies.

I'm thankful for my precious ya-yas.

I'm thankful for my dear friends.

I'm thankful for the people who laugh at my jokes. Especially the ones who have heard them multiple times, and still laugh genuinely on cue.

I'm thankful for health insurance, my marriage recognized by law, Farley the Wonderdog's health, that gas prices are down, my kids still seem to be somewhat potty trained, a refrigerator full of groceries, heat, running water, no debt, and my health. I'm thankful for my life.

But again, what I'm really thankful for, is the Thanksgiving binge. And I don't even have to purge afterwards. What a gift!

That's how I roll.

Since we're not YMCA members, it was double the price, and since it was the DAY after - just one measley day after the deadline for sign up- we got robbed. $160 for two six-year-olds to play ten games of basketball. Thank God we already bought their reversible jerseys and they're letting us re-use them.This better be good.

At the Y's defense, when I groaned at the price, they reminded me that I could coach and my kids cost would be cut in half.

"No thanks, I don't really like kids." Was all I could say while I wrote the check. The truth is, I love coaching kids. To teach them what seems impossible and then see the look in their eyes when they accomplish it. It's an overwhelming sensation. I've coached before. I was good at it. It's dealing with the parents that drove me to the brinks of coaching extinction.

So, I refuse to coach, and would rather pay double the price of extortion. Because really, even just $40 per kid is too much for what you get back. Sure, they have a nice little code they read every game - blah blah blah, teamwork, good attitude, yada yada.Nice attitude, and no skillz? Puhlease.

The practices they have make me hurt. The poor coaches can't get the boys to stop making farting sounds with their armpits, and the girls talking about their latest whatever. And the games are like herding cats, except you can't hid the kids with your car like you can with cats. Not as legally, anyway. So there's that.

Today I watched in horror. It was just awful. Sucky suckness. Although MY children are not the best, they are pretty good. And they seem to work on what we tell them to before the game. I'm sure the coaches appreciate our pre-game coaching. I try so hard not to coach during the game. But SOMEONE'S gotta do it. And I only scream at My kid.

OH MY GAWD - I am that very parent! Lord strike me now. No, I'm not the awful parents who suck out all your practice time wondering why Johnny doesn't get to play as much. And we don't even scream profanities or anything. Just stuff like "ATTA GIRL LUCY! YOU ARE SO AWESOME!" Really loud like.

Even my perfect children get sucked into the vortex of the non-sense. This week, I made Max sit down and compose a letter of apology to his coach for not paying attention in practice.

The whole stupid thing is, there shouldn't even be this pressure to put kids in sports this early. Ricardo and I both didn't even start thinking about begging our parents to be on a sports team until we were in the fourth grade. It's so much to ask of them: Rebounding, double-dribble, boundaries, back court, guard the kid, but don't bear hug him please, you have to dribble when you walk, if you have the shot take it, but don't be a ball hog...It's too much. So much in fact that no one else really tells them that WHILE THEY'RE PLAYING anyways. So, what was it that I paid for again?

AAACK! No more formal sports teams until they are in fourth grade. That's it. It's best for the kids, me, my relationship with Ricardo, and the well-being of all YMCA directors to just say no to 6-year-old ballers.

And that's how I roll.