Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas, from my home to yours!

Nope, I’m going to try my best to get back on here to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Just to give you a clue of what my life is going to be like and has been like this week…

I had eHarlequin.com’s open house yesterday. Today, I baked cookies. What kind would you like? Peanut Butter, chocolate chip, pumpkin or Heather’s aka Word Trix’s Chocolate Cherry Clusters? I’m exhausted. I got done just in time to take a shower and sit down and watch the Steelers beat the Rams 41-24. They needed this win. :cheer:

Here’s my agenda for the rest of the week

• Tomorrow: Clean, Clean and clean some more. Shower, go to Walmart, pick up last minute gifts for My Guy who finally wrote a detailed list that I can go by. Be back in time to go to my nine-year-old’s Christmas Party. Come home and finish cleaning and wrapping and hope that Amazon delivers the rest of the prezzie’s I ordered.
• Saturday: Make a Spaghetti dinner for my Uncle’s birthday. He’s leaving in a couple of hours to head here from Alabama. Have my Uncle, his wife, my grandma and my mom here for dinner and then ice cream cake
• Sunday: My Guy’s family Christmas. I have to make cheeseballs.
• Monday: Everyone here for Christmas Eve. More cooking and cleaning to do.
• Tuesday: Merry Christmas! Here, then to my brother’s for dinner and I have to make food to take there.
• Wednesday: Abso-freaking-NOTHING.

 

What about you? Busy?

no, really I am. Seriously. If my Gma asks me that one more time, I may take the only bridge in town. Seriously.:duh:

I thought I had the perfect gift for my guy. Turns out, I was wrong. I handed him one last night because he wanted something to wear to the kids Christmas concert this afternoon and well, he hates the V-neck sweater I got. I guess it’s better to find out now, then on Christmas Day. I’ve decided that I am not purchasing him clothes ever again. Never. He is the pickiest man on the planet. So, he returned it today and didn’t come home with another one. And you have to love when you ask them to make you a specific list and they turn and ask how much money you want to spend. :shake:

So…yeah. Tis the season to be…annoyed? Limericks are needed or something.

Thanks to Dee, I realized that I’m not some big loser dwelling on something that was completely out of my control.

Yesterday, I took my Gma to her orthopedic doctor to have cortisone shots in both knees. It’s located in a strip mall and the parking is across a rather wide street. There are cross-walks marked that the vehicles coming in either direction are supposed to stop. So, my Gma gets out and asks me to grab the stuff from the back. She likes this doctor and bought him booze–some sort of Irish Creme thing she picked up on the Air Force Base when she was visiting my uncle. I grab this tote thing she has it in and she’s starting across the street. A guy in a truck is stopped for her to her left. I look to the left and see a black Chevy Cavaliar has pulled into the strip mall and is coming towards us. I’m half watching him as I cross the street and he’s not slowing down, in fact, he’s getting closer to us at an alarming rate.

I yell once. Twice. I scream: “GRANDMA! STOP!”

She turns to look at me, bewildered. She stopped. However, she’s still in the line of this jackass barreling towards her. I moved in slow motion. My brain was screeching at me to not move towards the car, but as much as my Gma pisses me off, I can’t imagine myself not doing something. My legs felt like lead as I got to her, dropped the tote, grasped the back of her coat and pulled on her as hard as I could…and I closed my eyes because I knew we were going to hit, that I would take the brunt of it and maybe she’d be okay. My entire body tensed as I braced for impact. I opened my eyes when I felt the car literally brush by me. How my Gma stayed on her feet was beyond me. The jackass never stopped, but I will never, ever forget his face. Ever.

I swallowed my heart and the swear words began to fly from my mouth. The guy in the truck got out and walked over to us. As the black, dirty car sped past us, I instinctively looked at his license plate. I can’t tell you his plate number, because I was too bowled over by the fact that it was a handicapped plate.

I’m still thanking the good lord above that nothing happened, other than I fear a couple of years were shaved from my life.

Like it?

(Thanks, Heather!)

your inherited 1993 Chevy Lumina’s doors are frozen shut and it’s a whopping 8 degrees out. I couldn’t come up with 13 reasons or 13 swear words to express the utter joy I felt when this happened this morning and my usual warm trip to the bus stop was bitterly cold. Nor did the hot water I poured onto said driver’s side door help–in fact, I’m quite sure it made things worse. /sighs Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.