Pulling your card

The first Christmas after we got married, I was so excited to be able to send out legitimate Christmas cards. It has been the bane of my existence ever since. It takes me a month to pick the card I want. Everybody in my family hates me for making them get dressed up to take pictures. Buying stamps means I have to run an errand, which I really hate doing.

This year, we decided that we would rather keep the $150 we spend on Christmas cards dedicated to the budget for our boys' Christmas presents. And that we would use this online medium, which most people who would receive a Christmas card check from time to time, to deliver our photographic wishes for a Merry Christmas to all of you.

Not because we don't love you and don't want to send you a printed 5x7 piece of cardstock with an adorable photo of our kids and a delightfully warm and sentimental holiday phrase on it. But because we love our children more than we love you, and we want to give them more Christmas presents.

So, if you are our grandparent, parent, aunt/uncle or sibling, you got a Christmas card. If you're our cousin, co-worker, boss, friend or neighbor, you get to see it HERE, on this blog.

One year ago this day we were going to retrieve Corey from the Plaquemine Armory. Our year of deployment had ended.

They look like such babies in this picture.

This year has been delightful and painful, for the love, equality and strength of opinions Corey and I share as a married couple, and for the rewards and challenges of raising two boys. I feel the blessings of the good thoughts of our friends and family, and complete strangers, who share this journey with us on this blog. I hope your year brought you more delights than challenges. More nice than naughty.

You might not know it from all the complaining we do, but the Allbrittons have a lot of "nice" to celebrate this season.

Space Planning, Neurotic-Style

I am a plan ahead-er. I look forward. Way forward. Forward to the point of “why are you thinking about that right now?” I have not yet revealed to you my guest room converted to a guest room/home office SIX MONTHS AGO, because it is not finished, yet I am constantly imagining ways to make room for baby in this room.

(The reason the room is not finished is because I also share it with Lily’s food and litter box. I have devised a solution for the litter box and cat food, but have not had the time to implement. We are going to put a pet door in the unused cabinet under the sink in the boys’ bathroom, so that Lily can go potty where people are supposed to potty. And the smell of poop already permeates that bathroom, constantly. But it makes no sense to do that until we paint the bathroom. I’m hoping to do that during the Christmas holidays. Don’t worry. If you come stay at my house today, I put the litter box in my bedroom. But I digress.)

I currently have the almost-ideal professional situation to accommodate a baby, the ideal one being a loaded husband so I do not have to work. Obviously, a nursing, pooping baby needs to be in the same room with me, so this room will eventually (in the next two years) need to become a baby nursery/guest room/home office. I considered moving the desk into my bedroom, but I like the retreat of the office in a room that is not often used and has NO dog or children traffic.

The one thing this third bedroom, which is the smallest, has is a good closet. It has two bi-fold doors and is about 18 inches wider than the doors on each side. Currently, it stores four plastic bins that hold Christmas decorations, a small box of unused blue and white porcelain (no Cydney, you cannot have it), my wedding dress and a folding bookshelf, all of which could find homes in other parts of the house.

Enter my genius idea – the OFFICE CLOSET. Check out some Pinspiration. Please also check out the sources.

This one is smaller than mine (yay!) but is tracking on the mirror. I love all that bin and shelf storage, but I am not expecting to be so precise in my own space. Nor will I put anything on my doors.  From here.

In this photo you can see the shelves on the side, though I do not understand how they get stuff in them. I'm liking the wall lamp, but doubt it would work if I hung a mirror. And LOVE the pretty wallpaper. From here.

This is more what we would be working with for my space. My closet option is a big deeper and much wider than this. But look how clean and functional it is, and those sliding doors at the top. Be still my heart! From here.

See those shelves on the side that face the desk? Let's plan on those on both sides of my closet office. I really do not keep much office stuff at home, but it would be nice to store extras, and for the printer to not sit on the floor. From here.

I just realized, from looking at those pictures, that it is a sin and a shame that I do not have a garbage can in my home office. How improper and unofficial.

My desk will fit straight into the center of it, along with the mirror that hangs above it, which would reflect light from the window behind it. The clothes bar could be removed and the top shelf could remain a functional storage space. Into the deep sides of the closet, we could put shelves using boards and brackets for the printer and MORE storage. And I could paint it a bold color – maybe even the leftover turquoise from the front door! We would lock it somehow when not in use so a crawling baby could not make trouble or a mess in there. Since I am removing the clothes storage purpose of a closet, I could opt to replace the current chest of drawers with an armoire or chiffarobe.

I made a pact with Corey that I would stay in this house for at least five years, so we would be in a bigger house when the boys are teenagers and a Wilson-Allbritton child starts school. Who knows what my professional conditions will be then?

See, way forward.

I like to make accommodations to our current needs and situations without completing ruining the future resale value of our home. I believe in neutral walls (except in bathrooms where you can go bright. The boys’ bathroom is going to be light kiwi green on the walls and a darker grass green on the cabinet.) A bright color in a closet is not going to decrease the desirability of our chalet garden home.

I’m inspired and excited and impatient and want to do this right now. Spaces evolve to fit you. But, promises were made (to not make him move again for a while) and priorities adjust. This is the current home project list we are endeavoring to complete right now:

            1. Paint the boys’ bathroom ($)

            2. Adjust the cabinetry in the kitchen to accommodate an over-the-range microwave ($$)

            3. Paint the lower cabinets in the kitchen a darker color ($$)

            4. Create an office closet in the guest room ($)

            5. Paint our bedroom (four doors and lots of trim=daunting) ($$)

           6. Have custom built-ins installed in the living room to hide the TV and display Corey’s book collection) ($$$$)

And then, we'll move! I kid, I kid.

A Literal Sh!tstorm

This is a post about how what we put our parents through when we were little comes back to haunt us when we are trying to raise children of our own. I was nearly perfect, but obviously with the spawn of Corey Allbritton, we have a long road ahead of us.

I love you, dear.

Actually, this one may be my bad. See, when I was in the fourth grade, my mom taught at the school I went to, though she did not teach my grade. In the mornings, I would hang out in her classroom instead of socializing outside. I hated the heat more than I loved my friends. If you were a girl in grade school, you remember that you had rotation of best friends and fell out with other girls your age all the time. So in one round of falling out with a particular friend, I wrote that she was an asshole on the chalkboard in my mother's classroom. Then the bell rang, and I left and forgot to erase it. Then my mom's students came in to read my declaration. And my mom followed. And I got in big trouble. Big. Huge.

Tonight, Corey called me to tell me that the boys had drawn a picture on the bus that they were fairly proud of, and eager to show him when he got home. And the babysitter before he got home. I'll share it with you now. You'll be proud for me.

It's good, right? Let me zoom in a little so you can see the important little details.

Wait, I just want to make sure you do not miss the one spectacular detail that appears seven times on the front of the page, and one time on the back.

That's right, internet. My little angels spent a thirty minute bus ride peppering a drawing of people dying in war with exclamations of "sh*t." My husband will attest to the accuracy and frequency of that word's use in battle, but my children a) have never been in battle and 2) are not allowed to use that word.

That sentence is a nod to my seester, who has watched "Home Alone" 812 times, and loves when Buzz uses a, 2 and d in a sequence.

Yesterday their dad told them that they needed to be sitting together on the bus, because Landen is getting picked on by two older kids. So today, they apparently did what they were told. And found a way to creatively entertain themselves through the pen-and-paper medium. It was Jake's idea to spice up the drawing with a curse word. It was Landen who decided to make a theme. Repetition is important in getting your point across, my communications professors always told me. This fits with the broader theme of giving Landen an inch and having him run off with your whole entire tape measure, which is something we battle daily.

I'll spare you the lecture they got or the punishment we levied and leave you to laugh/be glad you're not me/dread when your boys are my boys' age/nod with the knowledge that this is what we can expect when we curse in front of our children. That last part you can keep to your f*#king self.

Off to a Shaky Start with my Tannenbaum

Remember that I love Christmas and count down the days every year, all year until it's appropriate and not obnoxious for me to start singing Christmas music and decking my halls?

My Christmas tree is going to be the death of me. I cannot win for losing with this thing. A real tree cannot sustain the weight of my adornments and droops. Assembling and fluffing a fake tree makes me want to commit hari kari. Where is the win here? If I had a house with more space that I could use, I would store a tree upright, but I have tall ceilings and no storage, so that will not work. I may, *may*, MAY bite the bullet and buy a fake tree after Christmas, when they cost zero dollars, and try it out next year.

In keeping with tradition, the plan was for the Allbritton Christmas tree to be selected and brought into the home the day after Thanksgiving. I took the advice of several friends who convinced me that trees from the tree lot were cut weeks ago and therefore not able to sustain in a watered pot for six weeks to find a cut-your-own-tree farm and select a tree from there. I informed Corey in July that this would be the method we would employ in getting our tree. Friday, before kickoff, the four of us loaded up in Dad's truck and headed for the Christmas Farm in Zachary to chop down our tree.

It was hot and humid, perfect Christmas-tree selecting weather. You will only think that's funny if you've ever spent a tropical Christmas season in Louisiana. Vehicles drive into the farm and they hand you a saw and tell you to only cut trees with white tags. The first thing we came across was this

Death and decay 'neath a Christmas tree. We did not pick this tree, nor any tree in its vicinity. This really set the standard of excellence for family outings for the boys though. They identified teeth and speculated the entire time we were there about what kind of animal it might have been and how it met its death.

I really do not care how other people feel about the tree. Ask my sister. I am the one who strings the lights and hangs the ornaments. I find a possible tree and walk in a circle around it looking for giant holes, examine how crooked the trunk is and give Corey an ultimate veto power. Jake and Landen were involved in that they asked their dad "is she ever going to pick a tree?!" a whole bunch of times.

She did pick a tree, about a quarter mile from where she got out of the truck. It's allegedly nine feet tall (it's not) and it was full with no holes and was the right price. No bones were at the base, so Corey cut 'er down.

While the children either watched for it to fall over or tried to walk away. They also decided that the tree was too heavy for them to help Corey carry it 100 feet to the truck, which I had relocated since we identified a tree so far away from where we parked. We just threw it in the back of the truck, paid for it on the way out and hit the road.

When we got it home, there was some arguing about how to get it in the stand and some threats about throwing it away immediately, but within twenty minutes it was in the house and watered, and it barely shed during that process.

These trees are not fir trees. The needles are different. They also do not come in tall and skinny. They only come in fat and expensive. A tree the correct height would have been way too wide to fit in the designated corner, which is really the only option for Christmas tree display that doesn't require rearranging major pieces of furniture. So it's too short and it's too fat, bah humbug. But I have a lot of pride in my ability to adorn a tree, so it's decorated very glamorously in all red, white and silver embellishments. And I'm pretty sure it hangs a little lower when I get up every morning, but whatevs.

The experience was super easy, but I did not have the "Thith tree is the thymbol of the thpirit of the Grithwold family Chrithmuth" moment I was hoping for since July.

Yesterday Jake plugged the tree in and no lights came on. 2011 may not be the Year of the Tree for me. I am going to Jena this weekend to put up my mom's tree, which is also the tree under which Santa leaves my children their gifts, so by that description it is probably the more important of the Two Trees of Christmas.

Everything else pretty much looks the same as it did in this post from last year. I do have a prized addition though. I got a Nativity scene!

I hung the Fat Elvis of wreaths in the dining room this year, because it actually blocked entry into our house on the front door last year.

My mom has a nativity scene that she got from Horchow "a million years ago", making it unavailable for me to purchase and present in my own home. She is also unwilling to part with hers, as we've enjoyed it as a part of our holiday adornments for as long as I can remember. After Christmas last year, I mentioned to my cousin, who has a flair for the decor, that I was holding out for a terracotta nativity scene like my mom's. And hallelujah! She had one in storage that she does not use any more and donated it to the Allbrittons. Added fun: she bought it at a church fair when she lived in Baton Rouge twenty years ago and attended St. Jude, OUR church and the boys' school!

I stuck the angel in the Fat Elvis wreath, because where else should she go and look down on the Baby Jesus and light the way for the wise men?

A thorough person would have ironed the burlap runner she pulled out of the dirty clothes basket on the dryer before putting the nativity scene on it, but it is flat now, so relax.
 
I love it. It completes me. And my holiday home.
 
Also, the Baby Jesus comes out of his manger, and he has a naked butt and a butt crack and Jake and Landen think that is the most hilarious thing ever.
 

Saturday afternoon I was walking through busy Perkins Rowe with Jake and Landen going to meet my parents for lunch and could not get my companions to keep up, walk normally or kept their hands to themselves, so right there in the middle of the sidewalk, with people all around, I started singing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" at the top of my lungs. Both of them looked like they had been electrocuted and Jake ran and hid in a corner of a building. Landen started begging me to tell him what they should do to get me to stop. It was highlariously fun and effective.

 
I hope I get the chance to threaten them with that at school.
 
There is joy all around in the Christmas season.