BEST YEAR EVER.
My true love gave to me...a matched set of newborn baby girls!
BEST YEAR EVER.
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I was the first one up in the morning. Babydoll and Babalouie were so worn out, they slept past 8:00! I got up and made coffee before I heard anything stir in the house. When they did awake, they waited for their parent’s permission before leaving the little bedroom. I was in the kitchen when they emerged. They made a beeline for the fireplace and the presents Santa left them. Neither kid so much as glanced over their right shoulder into the living room, where the tree was rising like a volcano out of the ocean of gifts. Santa gave each of them their heart’s desire: a Barbie Unicorn for Babydoll, to go with her stable of ‘glass’ horses and a kid-sized drum set for Babalouie, which he began playing even as his dad read the directions for construction. In no time, the set was together and Babalouie was regaling us with his rhythmic talent. Both kids were perfectly delighted with Christmas and played with their new things for nearly an hour before I said to Babydoll “Do you know what we’re going to do when Katie and Adam get here?” “No!” she said. “Look in there.” I pointed toward the living room. She finally looked toward the tree, which she’d forgotten even existed. Her eyes, pretty big under all circumstances, opened wide. “Whoa.” She said. Adam and Katie arrived around ten, as Jay was making a huge brunch for all. We opened presents. Despite our attempts not to go overboard with gifts, of course we did. It wasn’t as ridiculous as last year but opening presents still took over two hours. Good thing none of us had anything better to do. I’m not sure what activity would be preferable to exchanging and opening Christmas presents but apparently some folks like to get that part over as quickly as possible. Not us! We like to see what everyone got and we’d hate to miss anyone’s reaction to the gift we chose for them. On that count, it was a very successful year; wonderful gifts were exchanged, including one of the best I’ve ever received: the means to fulfill a dream I’ve had for years to own an original artwork by one of my favorite painters! Babalouie acted like every single gift he received was something he’d been pining for his whole life! After the drum set, he also got a Captain America action figure, which he held over his head and sang the theme song for; a pair of nike basketball shoes, which he immediately put on over his footie pajamas and asked me to set up his hoop; then a nerf football, which he tucked under his arm and proceeded to run in slow motion through the wrapping paper strewn field of the living room, looking like he was posing for the Heisman trophy. That boy really knows how to accept a present! His big sister got lots of nice things, too but she seemed more delighted to be hanging out with her aunts, Katie and Josie, than with any of the stuff she was accumulating. It was a perfect Christmas morning. The brunch was out of this world, too. In addition to your breakfast staples, Jay cooked up a big pan full of venison summer sausage a friend gave him. By noon, it was pouring rain outside. Very strange weather. We already had over a foot of snow and one week earlier the temps dipped 20 degrees below zero but for Christmas, it was above freezing and the rain wouldn’t stop. At least it didn’t freeze; that would have been horrid. Babalouie went down for a nap while his parents ran back to the ranch to care for the horses. After they returned, we packed up several cars and headed to my brother Bill’s house for the Hubbell Christmas party. There were at least 45 of us at the party. Bill and Jen have a gorgeous, open house that is made for entertaining. The giant center island in the kitchen was covered with food of all descriptions, the dining room had extra tables set up and the buffet was covered with cookies and candy. People were everywhere. Gifts were exchanged after dinner was over. All us kids had chipped in to buy my folks a watercolor by Rick Kochenash, whom my mom has known and admired for years. It’s really fun to give people something they’ll really love! All the little kids spent most of the evening downstairs, where the lower level is also huge, open and perfect for the impromptu game of nerf football. Before we knew it, it was ten o’clock and lots of us oldsters were cracking yawns. Some of the youngsters were equally exhausted. The party was great fun but we didn’t want to stay till the rain outside turned to ice. Another wonderful Christmas was ready for the record books. It wasn’t till two days later I realized I’d forgotten to watch How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. Oh well. Merry Christmas! In the spring of ’15, Tyler and Megan moved into a beautiful place just south of town. The house is lovely, enormous and laid out for entertaining large crowds. They immediately offered to host the Pivec Christmas Eve bash, a tradition that dates back nearly 70 years. When Jay and I first started dating, back in the olden days of the early ‘80’s (Reagan wasn’t even president yet. Jay was a Carter supporter. Love really does conquer all, doesn’t it?) Pat and Frank Pivec were already the proud grandparents of nearly a dozen grandkids. It took Jay some doing to talk me into bailing on my own family's Christmas eve celebration and join him at his folks'. Growing up, our Christmas eve was like something right out of Dickens: never enough gruel to go around. No, actually we’re like the family of the nephew whose invitation Scrooge would never accept. My grandmother and two uncles always joined us for dinner and presents. Uncle Pat was my Godfather, so he always brought me something and Uncle Mickey was Joey’s Godfather and he always brought Joe something. The rest of us got gifts in the mail from distant Godparents and there had to be something for each of us or no one got to open any presents on Christmas Eve. Mom was very careful to make sure that everyone got something, or else we’d all wait for morning, where the deluge of Santa presents would obliterate any shortcoming from the night before. One year, there was nothing for my youngest brother, Andy, who was about four, under the tree on Christmas eve. The rest of us were pretty ticked off that Andy’s lameness was going to prevent us all from opening anything on Christmas Eve, so Margy, who might have been seven, relabeled the thing she’d made for Mom with Andy’s name. Voila! Something for everyone! Margy saved Christmas Eve! Until we all opened our gifts and four year old Andy received a piece of kindling wood with a spool glued on one side to look vaguely like a tug boat, colored red with a crayon, the words “Merry Christmas, Mom” scratched out and “Andy” hastily scribbled in it’s place, which failed to infuse the first grader with the appropriate amount of Holiday cheer. "Where's my real present?!" He screamed at his heartless siblings as they reveled in their new Barbie dolls, matchbook cars and Chip Hilton books. It was 43 years ago but the screaming and crying* are fresh in my memory. Margy’s greed wrecked Christmas Eve. We never celebrated it again. Right. We’d have killed Andy before we let that happen. And Margy, just to be on the safe side. The truth is, that kindling/spool tugboat was one of the greatest gifts ever given in our family: we’ve been laughing ourselves sore over that thing for decades. It was definitely the most memorable gift ever given in the Hubbell family. The Pivec Christmas Eve Bash has evolved in the 37 years that I’ve been attending. While they still lived in the giant house near Lake Harriet that Jay grew up in, the day went like this: During the afternoon, all the kids and grandkids would arrive at the house, bearing food and gifts, which went right under the tree, which stood beside the grand piano in what had once been a porch but was now integrated as part of an enormous living room with windows on three walls. Everyone in town could watch the Pivec’s celebrate Christmas just by walking by. About a half hour before the children’s mass at our neighborhood’s church was to begin, a bunch of us would walk over the hill to the church and stake out the three or four rows of seats that we’d fill. By the time Mass began, we’d all be in place, singing the entrance hymn with gusto. The year Tyler was two, he got away from my Mom, (we all belonged to the same parish back then) and made a break for the altar. Ty was one of the speediest toddlers the world had ever seen. Mom chased him all the way up the center aisle but was unable to catch the rocket in red overalls. Jay caught sight of him as he flew up the steps to the altar and as any young father would do, realizing his Mother in law had utterly failed in her duty, sprang to action. He leapt out of the pew and charged up the steps to the altar in hot pursuit of the kid who was now zinging around behind the priest and servers like a pinball. When Ty realized his Dad was chasing him, he began to laugh the way only a two-year-old can. I'm afraid the cares of the world crush the ability to laugh like that out of us by the time we start school. The proceedings of the Mass came to a complete halt while the entire congregation and celebrants watched Jay try to corral his son, who was doing a very good greased pig imitation. Best Children’s Christmas Mass ever! After church, we’d parade back over the hill to the house, eat a fabulous dinner, then troop into the living room, where Grandpa Frank would assign Santa duties to someone. All the presents would be passed out, then we’d all open them together. For a few minutes it would be a blizzard of ribbon and wrapping paper, followed by hoots, howls and singing. IF the Grinch had been within five miles, he definitely would be grumbling about the “Noise, noise, noise, noise!” The rest of the evening was for treats, toys, drinks and singing carols. As the years passed, the cast of characters changed. One generation died off, one grew old, one grew up and another has sprouted up. Pat and Frank are both gone but what was in 1981 their 8 kids and 9 grandkids has grown into something like 70 descendants. Two branches of the family live in other states now but on those years when everyone who still lives here comes to the Christmas Eve party, it’s a lot of people. A lot. And they’re Pivecs, so ten of them feel and sound like 15 normal humans. All this is to say that Tyler and Megan bought a house that was built for entertaining Pivecs and last year’s Christmas party was great but this year, Katie is 17 months pregnant with twins and told us back in October that she couldn’t go that far from the hospital so close to her due date, so Jay and I said we’d do Christmas Eve again. We’d done it for the last ten years or so, so it wasn’t that big a deal. Plus, Tim and Tom were both due to spend the day with their in-laws so it's not like we would have to go Full Pivec. Saturday evening, we hosted a nice, quiet, intimate gathering of about 25. It’s not as hard as that might sound because everyone brings food and drink as well as gifts. We’ve morphed from everyone giving everyone else a present to picking names to the best gift exchange ever: THE GAME. Everyone brings a wrapped gift, which goes into the pile under the tree or on the table or where ever. When Jay runs the game, he likes to start with the youngest and let each person at the party choose one present. When everyone has a gift, we all unwrap to see what we’ve got. At this point, the person running the game sets a timer, we pass around several pairs of dice and we take turns rolling. Anyone who gets doubles gets to swap gifts with anyone who has what they want. When the timer rings, you keep what you’ve got. It’s a lot of fun. We started playing the game when Josie was a toddler and her Uncle Tim thought it would be funny to take the giant Christmas Bear Josie had unwrapped. That’s when the family motto became “It ain’t Christmas till somebody cries.”** We went to the Children’s mass at our neighborhood church. Megan and Ty and the kids joined us and Katie waddled up just before things started. MJ and Kent were there with Nanners, Bean and Tot. All the kids were dressed in their Christmas party clothes and looked like a hundred billion bucks. They were all very good through the service, which included lots of singing. Mass ran a little long and we arrived home to find several cars filled with relatives waiting for us to get home and unlock the door. The first twenty minutes of the party were pretty hectic, as we all had food to put the finishing touches on and set up in the kitchen but a half hour after we got home, everything was under control and people were starting to eat. We had more little kids than we’ve had in nearly 20 years. Josie is the youngest of Pat and Frank’s grand kids and for most of her youth, she and her cousin Wes were the only children. This year we had nine kids under the age of 12, which was really fun. I don’t remember any crying. After the game, we filled the tables with cookies. I got my hands on the newest baby in the house and we were playing in the TV room. Babalouie joined us. “I like babies!” he said. “I know you do.” I told him. We got that baby to smile at us and he even laughed a little. “I think he wants a drum set for Christmas.” Babalouie said, patting the baby’s head. “I think you want a drum set for Christmas!” I laughed. He cut his eyes at me and said “I do.” The party didn’t go too late. Even five years ago, a lot of the cousins stayed at the party until it was time to go to Midnight mass but now most of them have little kids. Not only had they all gone to the vigil mass, they all knew they’d be up early to see what Santa brought, so by 10:00, we were cleaning up. Tyler’s family brought everything they needed to spend the night. The little bedroom was stuffed with a giant air mattress and a futon so they could all sleep. It looked just like the little house Rudolph, Hermie and Yukon Cornelius spent the night in on the Island of Misfit toys: bed from wall to wall. And there was even a storm raging outside! Before the party started, I spent some time moving all the gifts from under the tree to my bedroom where I piled them up on the bed and hid them behind the curtains. Yes, my bed has curtains, just like a King’s bed. Just because you’re a grown up doesn’t mean you don’t like to have a fort for a bed. After Megan got the kids to sleep, we all moved the presents back under the tree. The kids had left some cookies out for Santa near the fireplace in the TV room. The Christmas tree is in the livingroom and the pile of gifts stretched half way to the front door. I was tucked into bed, sugar plums dancing in my head a few minutes after midnight. Merry Christmas! *I'm sure Andy thought, at that moment, that life couldn't get any more unfair. Little did he know that in a week, just in time for his 5th birthday, Mom and Dad would drop the hammer that Birthday presents were no longer on the menu at the Hubbell house. **Tim did give Josie back the bear when the timer buzzed. Christmas.
I wrote this last Friday: The shopping is done, the presents are wrapped, the cookies are baked and packed away in the back fridge, the house is fairly clean… We’re as ready for Christmas as we can be around here. We’ve had to be flexible this year, what with Katie’s doctors raising their eyebrows and dangling induction in her face. Everyone knows that the longer the babies cook the better but Katie’s enormous and like all women who are sixteen months pregnant, she’s ready to move on to the next part. It’s really ingenious, the way it’s designed. By the time you actually have the baby (babies), you’re so happy not to be pregnant anymore, midnight feedings are cake. She’s seeing her doctors twice a week and lately every other visit, they say “ooh, better induce next time” and next time they say “Nope, everything’s great, you can last another few days.” As fun as babies for Christmas would be, it’s better for all if the babies come after Christmas. Today, after her doctor’s stayed delivery again, she came over. A sleety snow had been falling all day, so naturally we went shopping for stocking stuffers. Didn’t find any, so we came back here and watched some great Christmas movies: White Christmas and Die Hard. After the movie, I wrapped the last minute gifts Jay brought home and made coconut bars. I always think the lead up to Christmas is the best part. The parties themselves are always great; the menus, the venues and the participants are all top notch but the anticipation and preparation are their own pleasures; the baking, the music, the snow…all of it. Last weekend we had a cold snap. I mean really cold: Minnesota cold. It was -21 when I went to church at 10:30 in the morning. We’d had about three inches of snow on Saturday so we had to get all the cars out of the way of the plows. That entailed moving them a few times. Monday, Zack’s car wouldn’t start. Dead battery. I let him take my minivan to work. Tuesday, I took it to the shop and ran my normal errands. When I opened the back to toss in my groceries, I noticed a large shopping bag in the back. I thought Zack had done some shopping while he used my car and just left the bag there. I knew he’d remember it eventually, so I left it. On Friday, I got tired of seeing it so I brought it into the house. Zack had never seen it before. Jay had never seen it before. I knew I hadn’t bought the things inside it. It had been in the car since before Josie came home from school, so who put it in my van? Here’s the thing: even when the doors are unlocked, you can’t open the lift gate of the van without using the key, so no one could have put the bag there without it but it’s possible that someone opened the side door and tossed the bag into the back. That’s not as crazy as it sounds; I’ve gotten behind the wheel of the wrong mini van and not realized it wasn’t mine until the key wouldn’t turn, twice. The first time I ever did it was outside the grocery store and before I discovered the key wouldn’t turn, I glanced at the passenger seat and thought “someone stole my video!” quickly followed by the realization “someone cleaned my car!” I hope I’m not as crazy as I sound. BUT WHERE THE HECK DID THE SHOPPING BAG COME FROM?? Josie didn’t care where they came from, she just wanted the pajamas. Zack found a receipt in the bag: the items had been purchased weeks ago. That’s when I finally remembered that over a week earlier, Ty had asked me if I would wrap some gifts he was planning to drop off here. He’d been over at least twice since then but I never saw him leave the bag in my car. I texted him and sure enough: I’m not crazy! Okay, not about this, anyway. Tomorrow will be a blast: it always is. At least two branches of the family are due to spend the holiday with the outlaw side. It will be a nice, low key, quiet little gathering of about 25. I’ve got a little bit of vacuuming, tidying and wrapping left to do before the party begins. I should go to bed, I’m tired…but I want to sit here and enjoy the time before Christmas as long as I can. I know what’s wrong with Millennials. I had an epiphany the other night while perusing a copy of Real Simpletons. The problem is self-help columns. They’re everywhere and while the folks who write them may have degrees in human behavior, if the column I just read is any indication, they are a menace to society. The column that caught my eye was how to deal with “passive-aggressive” behavior. I put the scare quotes around it because although p-a is real, that’s not what the column actually addressed. Actual passive aggression is when people do or say superficially nice things designed to make you feel like crap. “I love what you’re trying to do with your hair!” and “Are you feeling okay?” are two of my favorite passive aggressive gambits. You can ruin a woman’s day with either. To ruin a guy’s day you usually have to say something more along the lines of “I…guess it happens all the time, although usually to much older men.” Anyway, what this column does is not advise on how to deal with such jabs. No, it’s a manual for turning you into a self-absorbed, paranoid who sees every human interaction as an attack. For instance, “Great job on that turkey!” is a compliment. To assume it’s a passive-aggressive way of saying “you’re such a crappy cook, I’m stunned you could even pull off something as simple as leaving a bird in the oven long enough to cook because you’re pretty stupid,” could merely be a sign that you are a self-loathing narcissist. The good news is that just because you hate yourself, it doesn’t necessarily follow that everyone else does.* Oh but hey, the author of this column says otherwise! She quotes all kinds of Doctors and authors who insist that yes, it is all about you and yes, it was an insult. Well, if doctors say so, there must be something to it. Let’s take a look. This column lays out seven common situations with appropriate (really?) reactions and responses. Let’s begin: IN-LAWS Classic Scenario: You’re prepping a holiday meal and your sister-in-law is “keeping you company” in the kitchen. In other words, she’s hovering Hold up! Isn’t it passive-aggressive to invite someone into your home whom you clearly do not want in your home? Do you routinely tell your guests “Just because I invited you over, doesn’t mean you’re welcome in my kitchen!”? In other words, she’s hovering, wineglass in hand and commenting on the “unusual” spices you add and the “cute” little paring knife you use to chop the celery. You know, she might just be Lutheran. Here in Minnesota, anything that isn’t salt is considered unusual and exotic. And paring knives are cute. That’s why I keep one in each of my purses. …you use to chop celery. “I’d be lost without my Cuisinart,” she says while you tediously slice Brussel sprouts into slivers by hand. How to React: First, talk yourself off the cliff. “In the face of a veiled attack, STOP. What? Let me see if I have this straight: the proper way for your sister-in-law to behave as a guest in your house is to slouch around in the living room with the men, swilling wine and watching football while you slave over a hot stove? Apparently, to do otherwise constitutes an ‘attack’. But if she actually does stay out in the living room with the men, with whom will you complain that the men are all a bunch of good for nothing, lazy bums? And for heaven’s sake, part with the ten bucks and buy yourself a Slapchop. No one likes a cheap martyr. YOUR SPOUSE Classic Scenario: for weeks, your husband has promised that he will take down the pumpkin novelty lights strung up on the porch since Halloween. It wasn’t so bad through the fall but now it’s after Thanksgiving. Fed up, you post a shot of your orange, glowing home on Facebook, captioned sarcastically: It’s so nice of Jon to leave these lights as a bit of a change for Santa, don’t you think? When you get home, the lights are down and he has added a reply: Public shaming. Nice touch. OH. My. God. Expect the divorce request to come in a text. What’s Really Going On: This one is tricky-because you both behaved badly. YA THINK? “Promising and then failing to remove those lights is actually passive-aggressive,” says (a doctor I wouldn’t let tend my plastic plants), even if it just seems like lazy behavior. “But so is your response.” Let me see if I understand this: your husband, who we’ll presume is not Martha Stewart and therefore does not have a schedule of all the annoying little chores you’d like him to do each month, was too tired, busy or distracted (probably by all the sighing) to take down the stupid lights you nagged him since Labor Day to put up, before it was time for him to scale the house with the super cute lights you bought for Christmas, so you showed all your friends a picture of his junk with the caption “see what I have to put up with?” That’s not passive-aggressive; that’s aggressively abusive. Your husband has some deep seated annoyance or anger that’s driving him to ignore your request. Hold up! Halloween was like, three minutes ago. The Holidays are all piled on top of each other at the end of the year and it’s a lot of work to keep up and switch out all the decorations in a timely manner. Most of us are simply not anal enough to care. How to React: “Managing your own anger is a part of the process when you’re dealing with a passive-aggressive person…especially when it’s your spouse,” says (Dr. Asshat). Start by apologizing for your post. Explain that you wrote what you wrote because he made you feel unimportant. Hey, I know what would make you feel important: Taking down the f***ing lights yourself. “These kinds of interactions—trying to shame someone jokingly on Facebook—chip away at a relationship” says (Dr. Asshat)…Use the incident as a segue to get to the root of it all: “When you say that you will do something and then don’t, it makes me wonder if a part of you is angry with me…” If he denies this… accept it as part of the process. “If you continue to gently but directly confront situations, he will be less comfortable reacting in his usual manner.” Okay. So: nag your husband to jump and if he doesn’t ask ‘how high?’ in a timely manner, insist that he’s mad at you and keep it up till he’s ready to kill you. And don’t forget to check your texts. OLD FRIENDS Classic Scenario: A friend, who wants to hang out more than you typically can, texts a question. You answer, though not instantly and you also chattily ask her how her new puppy is. She responds with a cool “thanks for getting back to me. I know you’re busy.” Feeling guilty, you make a lunch date, even though work is crazy, and she arrives 45 minutes late This one is ridiculous. Neither of these people could possibly have a friend. YOUR FAMILY Classic Scenario: As you’re about to scoop some gooey marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes onto your plate, your mom says, in front of everyone, “Honey, you are looking so slim and beautiful. Maybe you want to skip those?” What’s Really Going On: Who knows? Jealousy of your youth? An attempt to retain some power over your life as you become an independent adult (more likely)? Habit? Who wrote this?? Jealousy (sic) of your youth? She’s your mother. No matter how old or young you both are, she has always been old enough to be your mother because she is your mother. Maybe it’s just that she loves you and can’t believe you’re about to eat anything as gross as marshmallow covered sweet potatoes. I threw up a little when I read those words. Seeing someone actually shovel that goop into their mouth would make me turn inside out. How to React: Simply say Stop. It doesn’t matter. I can’t get past the fact that someone actually thinks eating marshmallow covered sweet potatoes is reasonable behavior. Let’s just move on. KIDS Classic Scenario: Before a family gathering, you ask your teenage daughter to help wrap presents and she says, “sure—in a minute.” A half hour later, she’s still binge watching season five of Gilmore Girls**, so you ask again. Again, she says “Sure, in a minute” (exasperated and snippy this time). Half an hour later, you’re still waiting. Your kid’s a bitch. If she’s incapable of wrapping presents and watching Gilmore Girls at the same time, she’s also stupid. How to React: Consider this an opportunity to help your teen become an assertive adult, not a passive aggressive one…with “I know this time of year can be overwhelming and Gran is probably going to criticize what you wear but family traditions… WAIT JUST A MINUTE. Throwing Gran under the bus when she’s not there to defend herself is how you teach your child to become an assertive adult? Your bitchy kid sure came by it naturally. “…family traditions are important. Let’s promise to help each other through the rocky parts, OK?” Rocky parts? You mean like when your daughter throws you under the bus when you’re not there to defend yourself, just like you taught her? When handled appropriately in happy households, Something I would guess the author of this column has never actually experienced Adolescents’ passive-aggressive behavior almost always disappears…Of course, parents can’t always respond like saints. Got that? According to this column, priming your kid to expect an attack from Gran is how a Saint would respond. Saint Vile, maybe. And this is a column purporting to guide one through the shoals of other’s passive aggressive behavior! It reads more like a primer on how to be the most affective passive aggressive monster in town! Are you beginning to understand why I blame snowflake behavior on advice columns? I wish this was as bad as this particular article gets but it isn’t. Not even close. COWORKERS (this one is my favorite) Classic Scenario: You are deep into a project when you take a couple of extra days off for Christmas. Despite letting everyone know that you are working through your vacation and that you should still be on every email chain, you hear from a colleague that, in your absence, the project moved to a new stage without your input. What’s Really Going On: One of two things. The culprit may be vying with you for credit and deliberately cutting you out…or it could be a simple mistake. No, it was totally deliberate. Clearly the PERSON WHO WORKED THROUGH CHRISTMAS WANTS THE CREDIT. How To React: Treat the situation as… How about you don’t abandon your coworkers in the middle of a project, forcing them to work twice as hard OVER CHRISTMAS and then pout like a princess when those who WORKED OVER CHRISTMAS take all the credit? How about you do that? BOSS Classic Scenario: You ask for a new project and your boss hits you with “You know this requires 200% and you’ve got so much on your plate! You are Supermom with those three kids! What do you think about Meg overseeing the project with you?” What’s Really Going On: Make no mistake, your boss is implying that you can’t handle the job. Go ahead and get in touch with your anger but use it wisely. Your boss is not implying you can’t handle the job, your boss is flat out saying it’s a two person job. 200% is two people giving their all. As for the ‘Supermom’ quip, this used to be called ‘tact’ but in our hyper sensitive culture it’s now a passive-aggressive attack? How about instead of getting mad at your boss, you thank her for the opportunity to co-chair the project and try not to whine so much (Supermom? Really?) about your kids at work? How to React: …Offer a compromise. In a calm, assertive manner, say “I hear you have concerns but it won’t be a problem. How about we keep in close contact and if you have problems with my work, you can let me know. I’m always open to feedback.” Always open to feedback?? She just let you know: she doesn’t want to partner this job with you, she wants Meg to. Meg's probably not thrilled with the situation either, since you're famous for ditching a project in the middle, forcing everyone else to work through Christmas. No wonder your boss has a problem with you. yeah, I said "you", not "your work." You. My advice? When help is offered, don’t read it as criticism, just accept it. Learn to take a compliment. Don't badmouth Gran; set a better example for your kids. If you want something done now, do it yourself. Quit sweating the small stuff. When you’re at work, do what your boss needs you to do and keep doing it until it's finished. And most important: Stop reading advice columns written by Grima Wormtongue. *Unless you're the author of this column, in which case it totally does. **What kind of a monster would interrupt someone binge watching Gilmore Girls? I’m currently sitting on my porch, surrounded by windows looking out on a snow covered world. After a few desultory flurries in the past few weeks, we’ve finally had our first real snowstorm of the season. It’s been snowing lightly but steadily for 24 hours. The snow has been coming down in a soft, fluffy, silent clouds, with no sign of stopping. We’ve gotten a bit over six inches so far. It’s dry and light but still flocking the trees and the whole neighborhood looks like the interior of a snow globe. I’ve got devil cookies in the oven. This is what winter is all about. Two days ago, we received an email from Jay’s brother Bob, in Arizona. Bob and Maureen followed two of their daughters south and there are now so many of Pat and Frank Pivec’s descendants living down there they could be their own town if they wanted to incorporate. It would be a great town. Anyway, Bob’s email was a typically brotherly taunt for those of us stuck in the great white north, reminding us to have some empathy for others, as they were now also enduring a cold season, temperatures plunging so low at night as to necessitate the wearing of sweat pants and shirts with sleeves. Poor, poor Bob! As you can imagine, the Northern brothers did not take that lying down. Brother Tim immediately shot back an email detailing the fun he and his grandsons were having on their snowmobiles. Jay spent two hours or so, plowing out our driveway, walk and the rest of the block (he’s a much better neighbor than I am) while puffing away on a cigar. I helped for the ten minutes it took me to shovel off our front steps. Mary Jeanne called to invite me to go for a walk down the parkway, which she described as gorgeous. To think; all those Pivecs stuck in the desert so far away. Poor, poor Bob! Saturday, I spent up at Katie’s house, working on the finishing details of the nursery. Katie’s feeling good but she’s so sick of being pregnant. With two in there, she’s looked full term since she hit six months. The last week, a few complications have popped up that may bring the babies’ birthday a bit earlier than anticipated, so there’s not time to waste getting their room ready. I got to feel both Boopity and Boop flamenco dancing against their mom’s belly. So many arms and legs! We made a slip cover for the oversized arm chair in the nursery. We got a ton of work done but haven’t quite figured out how to tailor the arms. We’ll do it, I’m just not sure how yet. Anyway, it was a very fun afternoon, listening to Christmas music, figuring out how to use Katie’s sewing machine and baking cookies. I didn’t mind at all that I was missing UST’s biggest game of the year. As everyone in Minnesota knows, the St. Thomas/St. John’s rivalry is one of the most intense hatred’s in all of sports. Sure, we’ve also got the Gophers/Badgers, the Vikings/Packers but those team live in Wisconsin, not right up the road and the Badgers and Packers beat our guys all the time because the Goophs and Viqueens stink. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Badgers and Packers don’t even consider their Minnesota adversaries as rivals; more like irritating younger siblings who have to put in their place occasionally. That’s not true of the Tommies/Johnnies match ups. It doesn’t matter what sport it is, when those two teams face off, tempers are high and blood is in the eyes. You’d better get there early or you won’t get a seat. Like Army/Navy, a victory over this opponent is all it takes for a season to be considered successful. National Championship, St. Thomas? Who cares; you better beat St. John’s! So the Johnnies came to town on Saturday and I skipped it. Over the years, I’ve always tried to make it to every home game but when there’s a conflict between Jay’s games and anything with my kids, the kids always win. It’s too bad it was the Johnnies I was missing but the Tommies haven’t been playing so great lately. I didn’t mind missing the spectacle of watching the Johnnies beat us on our own floor. I figured the Johnnies would come to town loaded for bear. After all, they were facing their arch rivals, who also happened to be the reigning National Champions. (I’m going to mention that every chance I get for as long as it’s true because that’s a big honkin’ deal.) I just assumed the Johnnies would be psyched like Berserkers to come down here and take us apart. As the sun went down and I got no call or text from Jay, I was sure that’s what happened. I got home from Katie’s around 9 at night but instead of Jay still being at work, strategizing and making corrections with JT, planning to avoid future humiliations, I found Jay at home, enjoying a cigar on the porch. “How did it go?” I asked, willing to be a sympathetic ear. “We crushed them.” He chortled. “You what?” I experienced a moment of déjà vu. “We were up by 25 at half time.” Jay said. “We beat them by 13 but it wasn’t that close.” Wow! It’s not even Christmas break yet but we can put the 2016-17 season in the WIN column! Jay and I celebrated by venturing out in the snow for severely overpriced burgers at a neighborhood place that used to be a Blockbuster video store. The burgers were good but at that price we could have enjoyed tenderloin at home. Jay ordered some wings that were inedible. We won’t be returning there. The snow continued to drift down all night and through Sunday. We had six inches before it stopped. The world is flocked and gorgeous. I had a baby shower to go to Sunday afternoon. By spring, we’ll have 5 new members of the Pivec clan. If that’s not a reason to celebrate, nothing is! There were two new babies at this afternoon’s shower, which coincidentally is the exact same number of fender benders I saw on my way to the shower. I saw a third fender bender on my way home. Getting into even a minor accident is a drag when the weather is warm, I don’t ever want to find out how horrible an experience it would be in a snow storm. Jay, Zack and I went to the new, experimental 5:30 Sunday Mass at our local church. I really liked it! The music was minimalist: two singers and a guitar. The Homily was amazing. Our priest said he had a homily written for this Sunday but chucked it in favor of simply describing what happened on Saturday. The church had a reconciliation service on Saturday, with many priests available to hear confessions. I had planned on going myself, but things got in my way and I was unable to make it. Now, I really wish I had. The second graders in the parish made their first confession at the service, as well. One of the older parishioners, who had been a member of the parish since his baptism there in 1931, came to make his confession. Immediately after he did so, he returned to the pew, sat down and had a massive stroke. The priest rushed to him and administered Last Rites. An ambulance was called and he was rushed to the hospital. At the hospital, his wife asked him if he could see anything and he answered her with his last words: “It’s a beautiful place.” And then he died. With a soul freshly scrubbed clean of sin. My sympathy goes out to his family (lots of kids and grandkids). It’s certainly sad to lose him right before Christmas but that’s the best description of going out on a win that I’ve ever heard! I’ve known a handful of women who went out to eat with their friends or family and dropped dead right afterwards and I thought that was a great way to go but immediately after confession? Talk about perfect! I hope I go exactly like that. But not for sixty years or so. There’s snow outside, it’s warm in the house and I’ve got devil cookies in the oven. Life is so good. Last weekend Zack had some suggestions for a new Christmas cookie: sugar cookies with candy canes crushed up and mixed into them. I thought that sounded like a great idea so I pulled out my handy dandy Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook (the one with the red checkered cover; the only non-Emeril cookbook I ever use) and looked up a recipe for sugar cookies. I don’t bake sugar cookies at any time of the year but Christmas. I mean, come on; they’re cookies made with sugar. It’s like making a bread sandwich. Or a bee garden. This is not to say I haven’t had some fabulous sugar cookies in my time. I used to nanny for a family when I was in high school and Mrs. T. always had a bag full of the most delicious sugar cookies in the freezer. I know I had that recipe for a while but it’s been gone for decades. Anyway, I can’t have all my Christmas cookies feature chocolate (wait…can I?) No, that’s boring. Besides, there are a few people in the world (and by ‘world’ I mean ‘my family’) who don’t care all that much for chocolate. Turns out that .5% of DNA actually makes a yuuuuge difference. So, the Christmas cookie arsenal includes pecan sandies, which are great but I haven’t actually made them in years. They’re a very high maintenance cookie. You have to roll them in powdered sugar twice. What the heck, one rolling isn’t good enough for you? They’re like taking a hard cover book to the beach: just not worth it. Then there are the lemon meltaways: I love them and they’re easy. Very different from all the other cookies, too. I never make too many of them because they’re an acquired taste. A very adult cookie. I imagine they’d be served if one were having tea with the Queen. Ginger snaps are a favorite of mine. They’re very popular with the greater Pivec clan even though my kids don’t much care for them. They always eat them when I make them. I love them: they’re crispy and chewy and delicious and the spices in them are all good for you. I looked it up! Those cookies are practically medicinal. In a pinch I could make giant snickerdoodles. Snickerdoodles were a big favorite among my friends growing up. They’re good but…I usually save them for lent, when I give up chocolate but my sweet tooth won’t leave me alone. Snickerdoodles are great right out of the oven but when they cool down…well, they’re a good cookie when you can’t eat real cookies. By ‘real cookies’ I mean ‘chocolate chip cookies’, of course. The default, failsafe, staple, height of perfection cookie. Zack wants me to make chocolate chip cookies for Christmas. He said that while he enjoys all the exotic cookies that I don’t make all year, that’s no reason to deprive him of the best cookies of all time for a whole month. Our Zack lives a charmed life, doesn’t he? I bought a package of candy canes and mixed up the sugar cookies. I crushed the canes, dumped them into the dough and refrigerated it as instructed. The problem was that the candy canes completely melted while the cookies baked. This created the sticky problem of cookies that I couldn’t pry off the sheets when they came out of the oven. It was a real mess. They smelled fantastic but they looked burnt around the bottom from the melted sugar. Ty and Babalouie were here when I baked them. Ty and I agreed that they weren’t very good; despite the wonderful peppermint smell, we couldn’t taste the candy in the cookies. I had been hoping for some candy crunch in the cookies too but the crushed candes melted away to nothing but the sticky residue all over my cookie sheets. I declared the cookies a failed experiment and was happy that I only made a small batch. Babalouie ate six of them. Then something unexpected happened: in the morning, when they had cooled down completely I tried one with my coffee. It was perfect. A delicious, soft sugar cookie, infused with peppermint flavoring and a satisfying chewiness provided by the melted candy. They didn’t look very good but they made my mouth do handsprings! So, I bought a couple of tubes of sugar cookie mix and more candy canes and some parchment paper to combat the problems with the prototype batch and I’m taking another stab at them. As soon as I’m done eating the peanut butter kiss cookies I made first. Mmmmm…peanut butter kiss cookies. |
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