Tuesday Talking Points, Plus Hair

1) Moon Sand.  For or against?  Please hold forth.

2) I got a mani/pedi today. Usually I just get a pedicure. It was nice.  Now I want to dial the phone with a pencil like a Joan Holloway-type I used to know. Except that my phone has a touch screen so that wouldn't even work.  Fingers-OPI's Samoan Sands; toes-Kangarooby.

3) The "seafood salad" they sell in the deli at the grocery store. Terribly, terribly against.

4) We just hosted my mom and dad for a night, now they're off to the mountain house and we are heading to Chattanooga--also known as Chattaboogie, Chattavegas, Cha-Town, and Hot Buttered 'Nooga--to see some friends up there.  Back tomorrow to ready ourselves for New Year's weekend in North Carolina. All of this vacation is tiring but what is one to do?

5) Is your child into those Wimpy Kid books? Laura got the new one for Christmas and inhaled it in about an hour.  It's not Anne of Green Gables, but they are funny.

6) Here is my hair now.

It is short (of course). It is curly.  It has a will of its own and no discernible plan.  Remember the part in one of the Ramona Quimby books where Beezus gets a haircut she hates and she cries, "It's forty year-old hair!" That's how I feel about this.  It is so darn no-nonsense.  It has multiple and competing cowlicks. It gets terrible bedhead. It is auditioning to be Jane Lynch's understudy on "Glee."

7) In happier grooming news, I got the most awsome lipgloss del mundo and I have to tell you about it.  I was at Costco on the December 23 (crazy) and they had these sets of Stila lip glaze, like six for $17.  I impulse-purchased it for my own Christmas stocking.  They are the best.  Each and every color is wonderful.  I love the texture and the glossiness and the translucency.  You can't tell but in that picture I'm wearing the "Merry Merry" one.  You might need this in your life.  And I needed to share.

8) I'm submitting this post for consideration by Keely's Random Tuesday Thoughts!

9) Be sweet.  See you in a few.

xoxox
B

Christmas Morning

Christmas Eve as we were wrapping presents and such, Matt said, "I do have something for Laura's stocking." He had gotten me an iPhone 4 (Kaboom! It was the goal of his last minute trip to the mall), so he inherited my old iphone, and Laura stood to inherit his very basic phone. Trickle down phone economics. He had set it up for her as a pay-as-you-go phone, but with unlimited texting. She has twenty bucks worth of talking and then she can spend her own money on it.  He told her it would be for emergencies and to talk to family and her few friends with phones. It is fair to say that she was absolutely beside herself.

She and I were both surprised, because she's asked for a phone before and I told her that was something for the indefinite future.  It was very fun to see how much pleasure it gave her, and we have done a fair amount of texting between floors of the house. She texted me to say goodnight on Christmas night.

And Hank was not left out.

And Santa saw fit to bring these children a trampoline.  He left it covered with a Christmas tablecloth because trying to get the crap Target wrapping paper (premium my ass!) to cover those boxes was not something that Santa could do.  But when Laura uncovered the boxes and saw what they were, she busted out into an impromptu dance.

More pics of Christmas morning are here, in case you didn't see enough of this scene at your own house.  Then, THEN, it snowed Christmas day, and we stayed put and watched it fall.  It was a beautiful time and Laura opined that it was the best Christmas ever.

I hope yours was too.

Oh, so Matt got me the new iphone and also a sewing machine that I'd had in my cart on Amazon for a long time.  Then he remarked that the sewing machine was the gift for the person I wanted to be and the phone was the gift for the person I actually am.  Zing!  See if I sew HIM a new suit of playclothes from the curtains.

Last Minute

Matt said, "Do you think the mall is even open today? There's one more gift I want to get."

The assembled company made murmurs of amazement and foreboding, a general Oooooo, noooo.

I said, "Oh yeah, they're open.  If the gift is for me, you should go over there.  If it's not, you shouldn't bother, it will be too crazy."

Matt said, "Fair enough."

And off he went.

***

Are y'all ready?  We are at Christmas Defcon 1.  Welcome to my Christmas Attack Zone!  We have all the food we need, though one more trip to the liquor store would not go amiss.  Hank has had the traditional Christmas Eve haircut. All is merry and bright.

It dawned on me last week that I am hosting Christmas dinner.  We are having:

ham
cheese grits
green bean casserole
deviled eggs
ambrosia, a warm kind with curry and brown sugar

Also, mimosas.  Simple food, no big whoop.

People are always talking about how stressed they are around the holidays, or maybe it's the stress-relief industrial complex that is telling us that, but I realized that the whole difference is whether or not you're traveling away from home.  If you are trying to transport your family somewhere and bring all your Christmas presents with you, that is kind of stressful.  Staying home?  No school to get the kids to?  Sleeping eight hours a night?  Having your nine year-old wrap all the gifts?  These things are not stressful. Quite the opposite!

Merry Christmas you people! Those of you who are into Christmas! You make this blog a source of joy to me all year long.  Thank you.

Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum.

Hard Times in The Hood, Updated, HURRAY!

On Google maps, there's a little "real estate" box you can tick, and it will show you all the houses around a particular address that are in various stages of foreclosure.  It is very eye-opening.  You can zoom out and back and see all the little orange dots appear, each one representing a "distressed homeowner," as the realtors' details term them.  There sure are a lot of distressed people.

In doing this I found out that my very own neighbor, Rebel Yelling Mom--who long-time blog readers may remember--her house is going to be sold at auction.  We don't talk so I didn't know, but I imagine this is not what they wanted to have happen.

I wish we were buying a house now instead of in 2006.

And speaking of distressed people, my mind is occupied tonight with thoughts of our very own Normal Neighbor, my friend, who has to have a breast biopsy in the morning.  She is pretty worried, as you can imagine.  I believe that it will turn out to be fine, but I hate that she has to go through it, both the procedure and the anxiety of waiting for the results.  I couldn't even say very much to her about it.  I didn't want to say, "Man, that biopsy is going to hurt."  I just told her that it would most likely be fine, and it will.

I was trying to figure out if knowing me--and watching me go through all the junk I had to do in the last nine months--would be reassuring to her as she deals with this anxiety, or would have the opposite effect.  I asked Pretty Neighbor what she thought and she said she didn't know. I don't either.  Obviously I am still here and feeling great, so that's an encouraging truth, but Normal Neighbor had a front-row seat for all the difficult and downer moments along the way.  I hate that she has to go through this moment of fear.  I'll keep you posted.

Hard times all over.

xoxo
Me

Finally, edited to add: Normal Neighbor got the all-clear on her biopsy.  Before she heard, she told me that during the procedure, the radiologist told her that the mass didn't look malignant.  NN said, "But I guess they say that to everybody."  I was like, "Oh no they don't!"  During my biopsy the radiologist said, "Huh, that looks weird."  Awesome feeling, that was.  


And a bone scan I had for utterly no reason on Tuesday was also clean.  You see, one thing I like to do for the holidays is submit myself to medical testing that carries a slim, slim chance of finding anything wrong with me but that nonetheless gives me 48 hours of anxiety and gloom.  Sugarplums! Remind me not to do that again unless I have a really, really good reason.  


Now I am off to Costco (now that's what's crazy) to get a poinsettia and to open a bottle of wine actually in the aisle, right between the bagels and the rechargeable batteries.  


I love you all.
b

Santa Brunch Pictures

Our neighbors and carpool buddies had a Santa Brunch this morning. It was such a fun, low-key event, and it made me feel that I need to extend myself and have more parties that require actual planning, as opposed to the "just come over and we'll get takeout and play games" kind. Anyway, a very nice start to the Christmas break for the kids. I noticed them clustered at the door and I snapped these pictures to show you.

Waiting for Santa to arrive. Hank looks so patient with his hands behind his back.

There he is!

Hank had darted behind me by this point.

But Laura went right in for a hug.

Not too big for this.

The last time Laura met Santa, four years ago.

Hank unwrapped a little Automoblox car. Those are cool.

I hope y'all are having a good weekend!  We are going to take the kids to the movies tonight.  It feels like vacation is starting.

Smacks,
B

Lots of Living Will Be Required

They are all adorable but mine is the best one.

This week's slate had two chorus performances (Laura's and Hank's), two class parties, two doctor's appointments (mine), and all the swim practice we could cram in. Plus lots of driving, cooking, trying, caring, and giving a damn. No more than anybody else is doing.  Just the usual stuff.  I really enjoy all the kid-holiday-running around stuff, even when the room mom of Laura's class sends me the following email:

Thank you for taking care of the paper products for the Winter Holiday Party for Ms. D’s class.  Please make sure the products are holiday themed and please have enough plates/naps for both the pizza and cookie decorating. 

Oh! You want the holiday party paper products to be holiday themed! Wait, so the NASCAR-themed plates I have left over from our wedding wouldn't be appropriate? And by "please have enough," you mean that every child should have plates and napkins?  In other words, please remember to DO WHAT I SAID I WOULD DO? Take a chill, room mom. I got this.

And, as Carrie said on Twitter, God forbid the little darlings should have to wipe frosting off their chins with plain napkins.  But I love all of it.

Here's Hank's preschool Christmas program.  He is the middle row, fifth from the right. Unlike last year, Hank sang every song and seemed to know the words. The whole thing was totally charming.  The program was in the chapel of the preschool's church. I snapped a pic before any of the kids came in because I really admired their decorations.  Simple and striking.  Those white cut-out banners are a pretty touch.

Processing into the chapel, needing a haircut.

Matt and I left straight from Hank's show and went to my oncologist's office.  I hadn't seen her since before I had my radiation, so it was necessary to touch base with her.  Everything was totally fine, but I told her that I was having a some anxious feelings and imagining that every ache and pain was a disease recurrence.  Then I detailed a few aches and pains for her.  She told me to chill and that this is to be expected, especially given that I'm finished with all the treatment now and trying to get back to a new normal.

I told her that I just needed some strategies for dealing with uncertainty, even though the odds are very, very in my favor, and she said that the best thing for us all is to just come to terms with our mortality.  Yes, she said that.  I laughed, it wasn't what I wanted to hear, even though I know it's true.

Matt and I remarked later that it reminded us of that joke:

A man goes to the doctor, and the doctor tells him that he is very sick.  The man asks whether there is anything for him to do, surely there must be something?  The doctor says, well, you could go to the spa and get a mudbath.  The man said, "Oh, you think that will help?"  The doctor says, "No, but you should get used to dirt."

So that was a good visit, I guess.  Let me repeat that everything is fine and the only thing in peril is my cognitive framework. You know how it goes.  And tomorrow is the honey-bunny gynecologist.

Then I went out in the freezing rain, only I didn't know it was freezing yet, and bought supplies for a craft I was supposed to do with Hank's class party today.  By the time Matt and I went to bed last night, having sipped the last cocktail, karaoked the last Christmas song, and chatted the last chat, they had closed the schools (and Hank's preschool), thus rendering my craft efforts moot, but not before I had given twenty wooden craft sticks two coats of tempera paint, glued magnets to the back of them, and cut out twenty tiny felt stovepipe hats.

But I love all of it, I really do.

Please have a nice evening and use caution when moving about on the roadways. xoxox-B

New Ornaments

Have you a jolly echidna on your tree?

When my parents were in Australia last month, I asked them to bring me two things: Christmas ornaments and tea towels. They delivered.  We have this sledding monotreme up here, and also this pretty star.

Matt gave me this one on my birthday.

One day I will have a tree that is decorated in one of those elegant, monochromatic color schemes, like you see in magazines.  Maybe celery green glass balls with white accents.  But today is not that day.  Hodgepodge is the only scheme we know how to pull off.  That's a scheme, right?

Speaking of hodge and podge, the fat Santas are on duty.

They're the first thing you see when you walk into the house. ELEGANT.

Have you finished decking your halls?

Class Auction Baskets: What Works

This morning was a Santa Breakfast at Laura's school.  I took her up there because her chorus was performing and there were a bunch of related holidayish festivities like a craft fair and a book fair.  Also, the auction baskets: Every year each class designs a themed basket of stuff to be auctioned during the morning, silent-auction style. It's a fundraiser; people donate things for the baskets, which tend to have themes like "Family Game Night," "Tennis," or "Go Green" or something.  This morning the baskets were all arrayed in the hallway for everyone to inspect and write down bids if they wanted.

Now, when I was the room mom of Laura's class a couple years ago, the auction basket gave us some little headaches.  Or maybe it was my co room-mom who was giving me a headache.  Yes, it could have been that.  Anyway, based on that experience and what I've seen the last few years, here is what I think works and attracts bids:

1) A fairly homogenous basket, with lots of similar things, or items of a single brand that people like and know the value of.  For example, one basket that I actually bid on this morning was a Vera Bradley basket.  It had several different bags and accessories, all Vera.  People see this and know that they can get a lot of good gifts out of that.  Ditto with a basket there that was all Scholastic books and another that was Lego sets.  Well-loved brands, lots of gift potential, instantly appealing.

It isn't that the stuff has to be expensive, in fact, by planning and strategic shopping, you could come up with the Lego basket or a great toy basket and be able to auction it at a profit.  Scholastic has great online sales where they practically give those books away.  But the basket items need to be things people recognize, like, and would want to regift.


2) A basket that offers some exclusive experience.  One bundle contained three lessons with the tennis pro at someone's club, as the guest of the member who donated it.  This was a draw because it's not something you could really buy, unless you were going to pay to join that country club. Also, a "Blue Ridge Mountains" basket had a free weekend at somebody's cabin in the Smokies.  There were pics of the house, it was gorgeous and would have been bucks if you were going to rent such a place.  Actually, one year I asked Mom and Dad if they would consider donating their mountain house for the class auction basket, and they were like, "Um, would that lead to strangers using our house?"  And I was like, "Yes," and they were all, "We'll pass."  But I think it's still a good idea if feasible, and don't you love how I'm so generous with other people's possessions?  I didn't see any this year, but in years past, parents who were yoga instructors or dog groomers or heck, I don't know, divorce attorneys also bundled their services into the auction baskets.

3) A basket with a single coveted item.  One of the baskets had an iPad in it.  I kid you not.  It was "apple" themed, and it had an iPad, an Apples to Apples Jr. game, and some actual apples.  When I left the school the bidding was up over $600 on that.  Now I'm not sure of the economics here.  I get why someone who was in the market for an iPad already would maybe want to get one in a way that raised money for the school, but how did the donator come by this iPad?  I mean, how is this a profit situation for the fundraiser? Maybe it was one of the few Black Friday iPads?  Maybe the class pooled their $$ and bought it, thinking that the buzz of it would net them more than they paid?

Another class was auctioning a Big Green Egg grill/smoker thing.  I have no knowledge of this, but apparently they cost like $700?  However the donor came by it, it was bringing in the bids.

4) Gift card baskets.  A couple of classes had little Christmas trees with various gift cards hanging on them, in different denominations and to different places.  These are hot because, again, people see them and think, there's a bunch of stocking stuffers right there.  AND, these make smart money sense for the class, because gift cards are easy to acquire this time of year without actually buying them.  If you keep an eye out for deals where you get a gift card for buying something else, this could be a painless way to come up with auction items.

What doesn't work:

1) Baskets with lots of little ticky tacky junk that nobody would really want and that obviously came out of somebody's white elephant stash.  Wrapping it in pretty cellophane doesn't disguise this fact.  I'm looking at you, Santa Snuggie, or weird jellies from the misfit food aisle at TJ Maxx.  People have to be able to look at the basket and know the stuff has real value.

Does your school do this? Let us hear what you think and what works where you are.

I Have Doctor Fatigue, If That's A Thing

The last couple of weeks I have been running around having follow-up check ins with the people who took care of me during my breast cancer treatment.

First I went to see the radiation oncologist.  It was strange driving back down there for a quick one-off, weeks after I'd gone there every single day for 28 visits.  Oh my Lord, did I really do that? Typing it makes me tired.  So that was a quick stop, she just took a peek at where I'd had the radiation and pronounced it great-looking.  My rectangular boob tan has mostly faded.  She said to keep doing whatever skin care regimen we were doing and I said we would.  That regimen was:  Pure aloe (not the weird hybrid aloe lotions that contain alcohol), massaged in nightly by Matt, and almost never wearing a bra.

I've kind of gone back to the bra.

Then I went to see the oncologic surgeon who did my mastectomy.  I had never noticed, back in the bad old days of going to see her for those first times, that her office has an amazing view of Atlanta.  I just never saw it.  But this time I sat in the waiting room and admired it fully.  This doc is super competent and talks about a hundred miles an hour, and she awakens my congenital need to appear to be the bright student.  So she had her turn at admiring my rack.  Then she started making plans for the future, namely, that she wants to see me again in March and then yearly for MRI's, mammograms, and ultrasounds.  Here you should picture the balloon that is my mood slowly leaking air in a sad, spluttering way and coming to rest on the floor.

She is all diligence and caution, wanting to follow me and maintain proper surveillance.  She talked about that.  And it's like, there is no way to tell her that I hate the sound of this and that I never want to see her again.  I could feel the pain of my cognitive framework being hammered into a new shape.  Here I am thinking of myself as cured and moving on, someone who won't have to deal with this again, but she thinks of me as high risk and someone to keep a close eye on.  And I want her to do that, I want her to do her job.  I just don't want to be anywhere nearby, you know?

I am thinking of myself as cured and I would like it if everyone would get on board with that.

Then, early this week, I went to see Dr. Hottie McTrottie the plastic surgeon, so she could check how I'm doing post-radiation.  In this office, the whole narrative they're dedicated to is that of restoring looks and function, of making you over after all the bad stuff has happened, so they don't tend to be such downers.  Also, as I've mentioned, their robes are nice, thick terry-cloth, way nicer than at the other docs'.  I mentioned this to the radiation tech one day--that the robes were nicer at the plastic surgeon's--and she looked at me and said, "This ain't the plastic surgeon's."  Yep, got it.

So Dr. Hottie was all, hey! Lookin' good!  Let's finish the reconstruction in April!  Keep on keepin' on!  And they took more pictures of me--bad, bad lighting--and then I bought some Latisse.  You see, my eyebrows and eyelashes have never totally bounced back from chemo and they're pretty sparse.  So this will be a fun experiment.

Next week I'm going back in to see my medical oncologist.  I guess she's the quarterback of this crew.  At that visit I suppose I will get a feel for what the follow-up will be like for the next few years.  They do bloodwork at each visit, and maybe I'm due for another scan? I don't know.

I'm feeling a lot of anxiety around all of this.

Then late next week I'll go see my gynecologist, the one who went to our college and is kind of cute.  Really cute, actually.  It's normal for a gynecological patient to bring the doctor lunch, right?  And maybe a mix tape? I mean, I don't want to seem weird.

That's what's going on with me.  Because we need to talk about me some more and the adventure of my sensibilities.  Thank you for being a listening ear, friends. It means a lot to me. xo-B

I Guess That Does Sound Pretty Fun

The New York Times has a cute wee story about the unusually cold temperatures we're having down here.  It starts with how dumb Georgians are (we have to be told to dress warmly--we're like turkeys who drown looking up at the rain) and then it meanders through a conversation with someone improbably named "Stooksbury" and then it ends with a man who has made a machine called the South Georgia Redneck Snowmaker.  

I shit thee not.

We can't have an entire discussion of the issues surrounding the drought and probable cold winter in the Southeast without paying a visit to the South Georgia Redneck Snowmaker.  

It is made of "spare septic tank parts."  

Now I'm thinking that the South Georgia Redneck Snowmaker sounds like a cocktail we need to invent, stat. I bet it has Kahlua in it.

So yes, cold.  Yet today I chaperoned Laura's class field trip to a historic farm. Farming, it seems, happens outdoors, and even the parts that happen inside are not what you would call toasty.  When I greeted Laura at the history center, she yelled, "Guess how many pairs of pants I'm wearing?"  Answer: 3. But it was sunny and calm, so no problem, except now that I think of pants, I was visually assaulted by one of the most terrible pairs of mom jeans you can imagine.  

The kids didn't need much chaperoning, you see, so while they were making candles the moms just stood around and eyed each other's outfits. 

Going on the field trip meant I had to drive down to Buckhead in rush hour traffic.  My, everyone on the road at that hour is so busy and important!  It's in the way they drive, they simply ooze importance, ooze it all over the road.  But I was busy too.  I was busy trying to open the little containers of half-and-half with one hand and add them to my drive-thru coffee, and then I was busy dribbling the half-and-half down the touch screen of my iPhone, and then I was busy wiping the phone with a sock I found between the front seats.  It wasn't a child's sock, it was Matt's.  Mysterious, helpful sock.

And goodness, here it is almost Thursday and I'm just sticking my head in to say hi.  I had a birthday this week! Matt said, "What do you want for your birthday?"  I said, "Well, I kind of want an iPhone 4 but I don't know if this is the best time to get one." (This was before the half-and-half and the sock.) And he said, "Hmm, what would you like that is, you know, cheaper than that?"  So he got me a plant.  A Norfolk Island Pine, which you can only find in nurseries this time of year because they're sold as "Living Christmas Trees."    

I had said, "I would like a Norfolk Island Pine to go in that corner." And I pointed at the spot where the yucca had just finally died.  He said, "What happened to that plant?"  I said, "It died."  He said, and I'm serious, he said, "Why did it die?"  

It seems I'd wandered into an interrogation of my plant-nurturing abilities wrapped in a discussion of my birthday.

I said, "Why did it die? It got old."

We talked about it and I realized, as I told him, that what I want for my birthday isn't really stuff, because I tend to buy stuff for myself. I said, "What I really want is a surprising gesture of love."

I am making myself sound impossible to live with, but you know what I mean. A surprising gesture of love. Something you don't plan and execute yourself.  You know you want it, ladies.

So last night after the kids were in bed, he cooked us a little dinner for two, with wine and flowers.  And cheese.  (We had already had a cake and karaoke evening over the weekend.) And then the two of us watched Midnight Run. There were so many moments between Robert De Niro and Charles Grodin that reminded me of our love.  Like when Charles Grodin insists that he is afraid of flying and he makes such a ruckus that they get kicked off the plane, and then as De Niro leads him away in handcuffs, he smiles.

These Are Some People We Miss

My parents got back from Australia this week, and Mom's camera was filled with pictures of Amy's three kids. I think that is mostly what they have down there in Australia: Ava, Nate, and Grace.  There was a blurry kangaroo in the back of one shot, and a tiny piece of the Sydney Opera House, Russell Crowe's shoulder, and a sliver of the National Health Service. But mostly it was these three.  They are the main attraction.

Mom got such pretty pictures that I thought I would share. Here's Ava, now an unbelievable 7 years old.

And Nate, the Dude.  A deep thinker. He has mused on more than one occasion that "Jesus has lemon powers." 

And Grace again.  The Boss of the World. Our cousins.

That's all I got for a quiet Sunday.  I have to go to the store and buy more white lights for the tree and try to avoid buying the ones that don't have end-to-end plugs, like who would ever conceive of such a stupid product?  Are they for people who only want a tiny amount of Christmas joy? 

How I Spend One Hundred Percent of My Time: Early December

This is my jam.  How about you?

How Tacky Do You Let Yourself Get for The Holidays?

As I write this, I'm wearing a shirt that says, "MEET ME UNDER THE Mistletoe."  Or that's my best rendering of the shirt's typography.  It's written in those fuzzy letters like on 1970's little league jerseys, bright white letters on a green shirt.

When he saw it last night, my dad said, "Ah, did you pay money for that?"  I said I had.  He said, "That doesn't seem like you."

He's right.  I don't really have holiday-specific clothing and I certainly don't have clothing that speaks in actual words.  Yet I found myself in Old Navy one morning this week, and somehow I became owner of the mistletoe shirt and a waffle knit top with a reindeer on it AND, help me, a t-shirt that says "I've been nice."  Or really it says, "I'VE BEEN NICE."

I'm embarrassed.  But at least I didn't buy the "I've been naughty."  If that had happened, you would know that the pod people had seized control of my body.  Or that I'd been Imperiused.

Vulgaro!

And also, since I'm telling y'all everything, today I formed the thought, "It might be nice to have some Christmas earrings."

!!!

And do you know what I think is going on?  I think this is about not having my hair.  I don't have my long hair to be my decoration (except in dreams I still do). Hank and Laura both have various Christmas events in their classrooms, and with my no-nonsense Rachel Maddow hair, I somehow feel the need to jazz it up a little.

Festoonio!

Are you doing this?  What are your aesthetic boundaries for this season?  Even in other areas of adornment, I feel myself being pulled in a different--okay let's just say more tacky--direction than I go in non-holiday times. Witness the two pillows I have that look like fat little Santas.  I do not usually decorate with dolls.  And if I could afford one of those retro tinsel trees that is, say, bright aluminum, with the rotating color wheel, I would be on it like stink.

Bedizen!

We haven't gotten our tree yet, but we will this weekend.  We're easing in.  I have a Christmas tablecloth out and I switched to my Christmas bedding.  Yes, you would not meet me and think, "This girl has Christmas bedding."  This is what I'm talking about.

(It is the Pottery Barn "Swedish House" pattern and it sold out instantly and I had the duvet cover but I had to fight, like Hunger Games-style fight, for pillow shams on ebay.  Give me that Euro sham or I will shank you.)

By the way, if you DO wear a shirt that says, "I've been naughty," I am sure you are just quoting the wearing of the shirt and aren't actually wearing it so you are adorable and it totally works.

Night-night and MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE.

And you didn't think I would post this without linking to this sweatshirt?

Snooch to the nooch,
B