Yesterday I baked 1300 cookies. Not, “Ha-ha, I am exaggerating for maximum effect” 1300, an actual “I own a cookie shop and it’s nearing Christmas” 1300.

Traditionally, this time of year is deliriously happy for me. I love the holidays, LOVE them, though I realize this isn’t necessarily the case for those people around me. So until the day after Thanksgiving, I try to maintain a certain detatched level of decorum. That’s why to look at me, you might not realize that, though I seem calm on the outside and can converse with you about, oh, the weather, your job and Make-Over Week on Biggest Loser, “Feliz Navidad” has been blaring non-stop over my internal intercom for the past week. I’m Fa-la-la-la-la-ing like crazy inside my head. 1300 cookies can put a damper on that if you’re not careful. Unless you take steps, the sore legs, swollen wrists and your hand, frozen in a claw-like position from 12 solid hours of the cookie scoop, can out and out kill your holiday spirit. Which would be sad, because cookies and Christmas go together like, well, Donner and Blitzen or Santa and the North Pole.

The problem is simple; the holidays for all their fun and twinkle and joy are, let’s face it, a butt-load of work. But when you are already exhausted from standing on your feet all day, coming home to deck the halls seems less than appealing. No worries, I have a plan:
  1. I’m not cleaning…not nuthin’. You heard me. Normally I wouldn’t dream of putting up the lights and pulling out the santas until I’d unleashed some serious cleaning napalm on this place…pulled all the furniture to the middle of the room, dusted the baseboards, washed the floors, shampooed the carpets kind of cleaning. This year, it’s all going right on top of the dust bunnies and cat hair. You want to give me a present? DUST something.
  2. Non-stop Christmas carols. I believe everyone should have their own personal soundtrack and mine is mostly made up of popular Christmas tunes. Nothing makes me happier than Dean Martin singing, “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” unless it’s Alvin and the Chipmunks rendition of “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas don’t be late.)” Every December I get away with playing all my favorites non-stop…in September? Not so much.
  3. Eggnog. Lots and lots of eggnog.
  4. I’m expanding the ever popular “Pizza and Movie Friday” to include it’s lesser known cousin, “Make Your Own Dang Sandwich and Get Down Here So We Can Watch Rudolf Wednesdays.” Yes, I’m taking control of the Netflix que and it’s nothing but animated Christmas specials from now to New Year’s Day. Wednesdays are hard, y’all. Everyone’s exhausted and you’re miles and miles away from Friday. I think a few peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches and a claymation ode to days of yore is just what the doctor ordered. It’d be even better if the sandwiches were grilled on a panini press which, if you happen to be reading this and married to me, would be an excellent Christmas gift.
  5. Which reminds me; this year, I’ve been compiling a detailed Christmas list for Santa. I am done shopping. I have purchased gifts for 30 people. Dear hubby is responsible for one. Me. Yet still, most years come December 20th I hear, “What do you want for Christmas?” Not this year, baby. The list is by my bed. Sizes and colors are noted and I’ve spoken to all the gals in the shops around mine, describing my husband and pointing out the shiny, pretty things I like. If hubby is still confused, well, I have only two words…”panini press.”
That’s pretty much it; no cleaning, the Chipmunks, lots of eggnog and a pretty gift. I’m a simple girl, really. And you know, despite the long hours, couldn’t think of a better job for the holidays than the one I have. Besides, my house is the best house to be at for the Christmas…sure it’s a mess and the mom is half-schnockered on eggnog, but you know we always have the best cookies. And this year, if I’m lucky, paninis.



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