My cat breaks into bread bags and eats half the loaf, including the plastic bag.

Alright, so this is a real update, and not a snotty one where I remind you (aka Myself) that I indeed have a life....really...and am much too busy for this silliness. But in reality, this is the downtime between entirely-too-chaotic holidays this year. And after those times? I just kinda hang out and sew or knit or cook a lot or talk on IM and play legos. I shouldn't front like I'm busy just because I'm the size of a sea cow and sleep too much and eat lots of meat lately.

Thanksgiving was a whole clusterfuck of Alaskans who either talk out their asses about things they don't understand (politics, religion, humanity, how to cook sweet potatoes properly) or drink profusely. That said, it was pretty nice and I had a good - stressful, but good - time. Others in my posse (Me, BikerPa, Manwife and Squidge)...not so much. Mostly I was happy I didn't have to fuckin' cook and that my child was the best-behaved and most well-mannered one present. That's always good revenge on those bitchy family members who thought you'd gone and done fucked your life up! Not that I have many of those, but the ones that do...chap not only my ass, but that bend behind the knees, the inner thigh area, and the under-tit region.
But it was alright, and I got to see a lot of family I hadn't seen since I was in Jr High or younger. I think I did ok on the manners side of things, and no one had to call the cops. Bonus!

Anyhow.

It's pre-Xmas here, and I hafta kinda do things differently this year, what with the Brosef and SIL and their mini-mite-posse coming up. More...traditional...? I never grew up with many traditions this time of year except for when things are opened and Mom's Xmas eve nosh buffet extravaganza open house of deliciousity. I was aware from the start - age 3 or so - that santa was a marketing tool based on a dude who lived a long time ago...kinda like Jesus. Poor Jesus. But yeah. We opened stockings when we got stuffed and lazy on Mama's olives and dips and cookies and Daddy's kickyoass salmon dip on Xmas Eve, then we went to sleep in a chubby stupor, woke up, had a big breakfast, opened presents (and could never remember who had to be "Santa" and pass gifts out), and then lazed about watching terrible trashy TV and movies until the big dinner - which was sometimes italian food, or chinese-ish, or even mexican. Some years there was ham and yorkshire pudding. Not much for staunchly-held, starched shirt tradition, us.
Usually Manwife and I just kind of open presents whenever, one or two at a time throughout mid-December. That way, when we go to a dinner or something on Xmas, it isn't so much about the gifts and it's more about the company and the eats. Sweet Bean (aka Squidge, Gooneybird, etc. We're making the name change permanent now) is very good about EVERY gift he gets, he's just SO SO SO elated that someone got him a gift, you know? He is a sweet little man, and hopefully our lack of emphasis on presents and "getting" helps keep him like that. To be fair and honest, since I know Ma will call me on it, I just plain fucking suck at waiting to open gifts and now I'm the grown-up so I get to open them NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH. I am a chronic gift shaker and fondler and occasional gift-wrap-lifting sneak. I'm not greedy, I just don't like surprises very much. If I need to put my game face on, I'd like to know what I'm up against, at least it's shape and if it sounds like another gawd-horrid pair of magenta plaid Bermuda shorts from Gramma (I shit you not, I got this when I was about 9 or 11 or so).
But taking all that bs into account, this year is a little intimidating for me. I mean, the brother-having is still a pretty new thing. It'll be a year come January, and we're all still getting adjusted and better acquainted. We've all done really well this year, we've seen them most months out of the past year and I am very good friends with my SIL. But Brosef def. grew up much more traditional and much less loose and sane hippie than I did. So...like...their kids believe in Santa, and I think they do a pretty traditional Xmas thing with Brosef's adopted mom and dad. My SIL is a big ol hippie chick, so I think she'll be relieved at the informality. I'm mostly worried about the nephews and niece hating the way the new branch of the family does the holidays. One in particular is a sneaky little monst...kid... about candy and sweets and kinda goes batshit about gifts, sucks at sharing and has a real bad mean streak. If there was any kid I'd want to have a warm palm-to-rump with, it's that one. That's where I'm concerned, stirred up kids, and I can only spank or put the one that's mine in time out. They're good kids, my nephews and niece, but it's other people's kids, you know? So sometimes it's hard to hide the horror inside when they backtalk or act like snots and don't get so much as a reprimand for it. We are pretty strict parents, so it's hard for Manwife and I to put the spanking hand away when someone else's kids pulls some shit that'd get our kid a red bum and a time out.
But...yeah. Family and the holidays. I grew up with just me, Ma, Dad, and sometimes Coondog and the Kansas Superhero of Carnie's Kids (my kid's godparents and parents' buddies, one is a ragin' Cajun who does an angry dance and the other is a foul-mouthed southern sassy-britches who works for CPS) on the holidays. That's it. There was no drama, because there was a concerted effort to avoid any potential drama, and that meant no extended family or what have you. Now our family is large, and it's an odd adjustment from 3 to 10, especially given the circumstances. Which is not to say I'm not happy for the new additions, it's just weird to not be the only kid or *have* the only kid. I mean, if I catch my kid trying to shove olives up the dog's butt, I can put him in time-out and lecture him until he cries, but I can't do that as an aunt! Though I deeply and sincerely wish I could.

Olives don't go here! They go on your fingertips, barbarian!




As soon as I'd finished laughing my ass off about the olives, that is.