A Year End (Note: Not a Rear End) in Review

I'm afraid we're going to have to summon that chic mental disguise I mentioned yesterday; though I've mustered the energy to get Pretty today, I'm in a funk about some, ya know, personal demon stuff I'll bore you with at some point here. I need to send it (and myself) to the spa for a peel & salt scrub first.

However, since I believe in faking it 'til you make it - and whatever other cliches that justify my highlights habit - I'm choosing to close out 2011 here on a positive note, like the champagne onesies that will be making their annual New Year's Eve appearance here at our Pretty HQ fete:

Always with a straw, naturally.

                                                  Source: papertastebuds.com via Melissa on Pinterest

Speaking of things for which I'm grateful, I'm thrilled to be back here in blog business this year, after taking a long hiatus to immerse myself in all things b-a-b-y. Grateful for the support of you darlings, whether you be Smug Singletons, Marrieds, or fellow Mommy Mafia members, both in reading your brilliance and in your commenting here on my decidedly non-brilliant drivel.

I'm also thankful for the creative outlet this space continues to give me, for better or worse (worse) (yet you keep reading) (parentheses). In my former lawyerly life, this provided me with a much-needed escape from an ill-fitting career. I like my current, stay-at-home-mom job infinitely better, but this gives me an outlet I hadn't realized I'd still need. In taking a regular bit of time here to do my own thing while Master P snoozes, I find I'm better able to devote myself to him when he's awake.

I leave you in 2011 with a giant, smoochy thank you, and a round-up of my sentimental favorite posts from the year. Not that I think they're any good, of course, but like old-school "90210" reruns, I find myself coming back to these - minus the 1990s babydoll dresses but with all the teen angst, of course:

• *Sneaks Back As If 6 Months Haven't Passed*
• Throwing the Baby Books Out the Nursery Window
• Operation MILF: Mom Uniform Ed.
• Anatomy of a Handbag Justification
• Babies Are Jerks
• A Post About, Um, Posting: Saturday Morning Soapbox
• The "When Are You Going Back to Work?" Question
• A Charleston Adventure
• It Seemed Like a Good Idea: Photos with Santa

A merry New Year to you all. Here's to more complaining & Champagne, not necessarily in that order, in 2012 . . . 

Prettifying the Planet Review - Modalu "Pippa", Small Wallet in Oak

Preface: Let us pretend that I'm not typing this to you in the Secret Sweatpants of Shame and Ponytail of Defeat, unable as I've been today to muster any post-Christmas pre-NYE entertaining energy for my usual primping. Rather, let's picture me in a chic turban and faux fur, twirling a swanky cigarette holder or something. Thank you for your cooperation.


Post-Preface Disclaimer: Alas, it appears that I am still not the missing Middleton sister, so this review is entirely unsolicited & unpaid; Santa bought this with his own hard-earned cash money.

I have no idea how it happened. None! Somehow - was it my multiple subtle hints about my need for a wallet, or my demurely sending him the link directly? - my own personal Santa / Anonymous Husband type gave me just the Prettiest wallet I'd been wanting, thanks to the holiday Modalu sale:

I'm not here to brag about my swag, believe it or not. No, for serious! It's just that my review of the Pippa Medium Grab bag drew a lot of interest, so I figured a number of you Accessory Acquirers after my own cold, AmEx-plated heart might be interested in this too.

Here at Pretty HQ, we have a *highly scientific*, rigorous testing process for new accessories; the more expensive, the more rigorous. My prior, too flimsy Marc by Marc Jacobs hadn't passed inspection, so I was anxious:

I'm happy to report that both my wallet and my lines of credit survived the inspection. Even better, the Pippa wallet has survived both my Pretty and my functional needs:

Love the "Pippa" exposed zipper detail and stitching . . .

I am not a carrier of many cards, so it has just the right amount of storage for me . . .

My one tragically American quibble: my US dollars don't fit the inner pocket. I don't exactly fault a British company for not sizing their wares to my Colonial needs, but it's something to keep in mind if you're fussy about this sort of thing. Here's my workaround:

Dear Thieves: Those aren't Benjamins, but merely $1s from the local strip joint. Even a prissy girl has needs. (Do I need to add that I'm joking here?) (Really?) (Where's that sarcasm font when I need it?)

And here she is with the Pippa bag herself (a bag is a "her", yes?); I prefer the non-matchy colors & finish so that I can more easily find the wallet in le bag. The oak mock croc of the wallet is a lovely, light cognac in person.

Overall Impression: Just as happy with the quality, functionality, and the Pretty here as I am with the Pippa bag. I can't think of an American equivalent in quality for this price range ($85 US as of this writing here). A big, smoochy thank you to the Anonymous Santa Husband for this one.

Where to Find (as of this writing): Here's the tricky bit - it appears to be gone from the Modalu site, though you can find the matching Pippa bag in oak croc here. Brit retailer House of Fraser has the wallet in red here; Modalu has a larger Pippa wallet here in a similar color for $100 US.

Any questions? Reprimands for typing about the Pretty while sporting the Ponytail of Defeat?

A Post About, Um, Posting: Do You Need a Niche?

I seem to have inadvertently started an irregular regular series on blogging; you can read more here and here and here if you're having trouble sleeping.

I figure I can safely ramble here about the business of blogging since nobody reads these things during the Christmas-NYE doldrums, right? *taps microphone*

It's a dirty, dirty blogging secret of mine that, though I try to pay no heed to things like the numbers of comments I get on a post or followers I have, on some level I pay attention. After all, if I didn't care about having you unusually good-looking readers I'd just write in the half-dozen half-completed journals strewn about Pretty HQ.

To that end, I admit that I occasionally click on those obnoxious looking "HOW TO BRAND YOURSELF!!!" sort of posts about blogging, with all the nervousness of an adolescent boy looking up, uh, that stuff adolescent boys look up on the internet. With a similar sense of shame, I quickly skim the article and close out of my browser, upset with myself for giving in to the forces of the "blogger branding" thing - which never seems to emphasize quality of writing, strangely enough.

I've also made some cosmetic changes here - new layout, an ongoing attempt to improve my photography - though I like to think that's more motivated by my enjoying having a Pretty slice of the internet to call my own versus reader ensnarement enjoyment. (*Note the naughty absence of photos with this post, by the way; definitely a secret blog article no-no.*)

Here's the thing: most of us aren't here to become the next Dooce, though I'm guessing if someone came to us respectively with a book deal or QVC merchandise empire, we wouldn't turn our noses up at it either. Given that, if we want to put out something that we enjoy writing and (hopefully) others enjoy reading, does it help to categorize your writing as one thing or another, as so many articles out there encourage us to do?

The great irony is, of course, that the Big Damn Deal sort of bloggers are just that because they defy categorization. They manage to be compelling, relatable writers *and* photographers *and* able to dole both of those out in regular, easy-to-read doses (as they have done for years and years, well before most of us knew what a "blog" was) without resorting to a "THIS IS A MOMMY BLOG!" title or description. My blog roll - click over on that tab to the left for my super-duper favorite reads - is full of reads that similarly aren't tidily pegged.

Of course, some blogs lend themselves to a niche - my friend over at the uber-fabulous What Kate Wore is a terrific example of the type. I can click over there and reliably expect to read something about Princess Shinylocks, aka the Duchess of Do-No-Wrong, and what she's been seen in lately, and I enjoy that consistency there.

At the risk of being too Holden Caufield-y about it, this space is a different, non-nicheable one - though of course I'd devote it all to Princess Shinylocks if I could just figure out how to get that damned hair. Until then, you can click here and expect to see: Grace Kelly; Pretty shoes & bags; too many photos of my child; travel ideas; examples of how not to keep a home; Pretty paper; bad puns; books I like; books I hate; stories about that time I told a room of nuns about my sex life. You know, er, just as an example.

I stand for excellence in husbands, children, friendship, and accessories, usually in that order. How's that for a niche?

Until that qualifies as a blog category, I'm saying no to the niche - am I missing something by doing so? Or is pigeonholing your site, for lack of a better term, only relevant if you're trying to drum up sponsorships?

How about you - do you tailor your writing and your blog design for a particular audience, or are you more in my "Let the random, freak flag (does Hermes make these yet?) fly" camp?

The Undomestic Goddess Guide to Successful Holiday Entertaining

Subtitle: "Half-Birthdays and Homicidal Thoughts"


One of the trickiest bits of being a stay-at-home-mom, trophy wife sort is the lack of feedback. There are no job evaluations like there were back in my pre-retirement days; short of your kid ending up in juvi or Julliard, there aren't too many external markers to give you a sense of how well you're doing running your roost.

Someone went & had a half-birthday while I was busy paying attention to Christmas. How are we at 18 months already, how???

It may be shallow, but I'm enough of a Type A Minus retired lawyer type to miss that feeling of gold-star accomplishment. Therefore, I'm returning from my holiday hiatus to bring you my *highly scientific*, three-step guide to knowing your first time doing the holiday hosting - or mine, at any rate - was (I think?) (I hope?) a success:

With thanks to the lovely & talented Lulu McGee, from whom Santa bought this precious tee.

Step 1: Accept help from your guests


Hailing from a tribe of introverts as I do, I didn't grow up with much in-home entertaining. Somehow I'd picked up the idea that a host/hostess was obligated to cook ALL of the food while keeping an immaculately clean house, providing wildly witty repartee, looking like a "Vogue" ad, and keeping an eye on the wee CEO.

(Yeah, I have no idea where that came from either.)

Here's what actually happened: the grandparents kept an eye on Master P while I shuffled around in my (most stylish/clean!) flannel PJs, stressing about the apple pie; everyone involved magically appeared with a side dish or dessert and kindly encouraged me to breathe already. The pie and I both survived - as did everyone who ate the former, to my great surprise.

Step 2: Limit thoughts of familial homicide to less than five

The face of innocence, after yet another hit on the toddler nativity set.

I can count the number of murder plots I may have hatched towards Anonymous Relatives on one hand. One hand, after four days, five house guests, and at least six passive-aggressive swipes about the state of my kitchen! Feel free to let the Nobel Peace Prize committee know where to find me.

Step 3: Beg, borrow, or steal some kids if you can

At the risk of sounding insufferably Smug Mummy - though of course this applies if you have a niece or nephew, dog, cat, or secret love child-type handy - Christmas is just a whole 'nuther level of enjoyable with littles around. It just is. I want to find a sarcastic remark here to cut the sugar level of that statement, but . . . but . . . I can't. It's just better.

With the last of our house guests just having left today, I'm signing off now to sit very still. That is, until tomorrow, when someone - ahem, Anonymous Husband - thought it would be a good idea to invite friends over for dinner. And then there's New Year's Eve, which we're hosting too.

Excuse me while I go cry in the leftover mashed potatoes.

A Very Smug Mummy Christmas to You

Darlings, that time has come when the Pretty goes into hibernation for one week so that I can tend to some other festive holiday projects (code for: somehow learn to cook, clean, and entertain before our Christmas houseguests arrive. And buy presents for that one person I keep forgetting. Not you, of course it isn't you, obvs. Pinky swear. Or is it, I can't remember .  . . gaaaaah.).

In the meantime, I leave you with our 2011 holiday card, replete with plenty of wee CEO and self-satisfied looks of Smug Mummyness both front & back:

(This isn't a paid plug, merely a happy customer endorsement): Three cheers to Minted for quick & excellent service.

A very merry whatever it is you celebrate. I'll be back much, much sooner than you had hoped with more holiday photos and stories than you or that malevolent Elf on the Shelf ever dreamed possible.

My Secret Holiday Weight Loss Plan

I'm delighted to inform you that, a mere week prior to Christmas day, I've embarked upon an emergency weight loss scheme that involves absolutely no effort on my part.

Rather, it involves wasting away on the Pretty couch feeling miserable thanks to a mystery stomach bug I woke up to yesterday. As my Twitterati so aptly quoted, I'm a mere stomach flu away from my goal weight. Beauty is pain, right?

You know that stereotype about how husbands are the ones that act seriously impossible when they get sick, taking whining and general dependence levels to a whole 'nuther, well, level? Um, we sort of work the opposite way in our house. Ahem. The AH famously refuses to be ill; he once was on a conference call while feverish, politely excused himself to, er, p-u-k-e, then returned to the call & worked the rest of the day, without any mention to his colleagues. I have no such work drive & feel it's much more important to be waited on hand & foot during these trying times.

Speaking of - in addition to weight loss involving no diet or effort on my part - the American dream, basically -  I had the benefit of my two elves taking care of me. So whilst I sat very still and moaned and envisioned my funeral arrangements yesterday, my boys set about helping. My wee CEO, the one who has of late been in serious "MAMAMAMA" mode, gently played nearby, as if he knew I was in the death stages of mysterious wasting disease. The AH kept him entertained and otherwise catered to my whims, which included letting me control the remote during football season.

(All photos courtesy of the awesome Ziem Photography):

I'm mobile today - please don't let Santa or my metabolism know - if still icky and unable to eat. I'm working this cute men waiting on me & no food thing for as long as I can, obvs. Merry Christmas to me and my waistline!

That Link-Up to Holiday Decorating Stuff, Undomestic Goddess Style

What I should be doing: trying to convince you all that I'm a retired lawyer turned lifestyle maven, convincing you that you should be emulating my each & every domestic move, Christmas most certainly included. This would of course lead to my eventual HGTV show, QVC merchandise empire, and multiple New York Times bestsellers.

What I am doing instead: taking naps while my wee CEO does the same, in lieu of posting here or wrapping that growing pile of Christmas gifts currently preventing me from entering my Monica closet. And by "wrapping" I mean "fumbling around with the Costco paper and wondering where I hid the gift labels". Praise the Lord and pass the (spiked) eggnog.

Here's the thing: Christmas in the Pretty family is a dual affair - we celebrate the religious event and the kiddo fun. While I un-ironically, 100% love all the festive design fun around Christmas, we're not into the department store display picture of perfection. We put up sentimental Christmas tree ornaments, usually chosen for the associated memory versus appearance, a motley crew of stockings, and a Christmas gnome (more on him below) -  in addition to that half-nekkid tree I mentioned earlier.

That being said, I've genuinely enjoyed reading the domestic goddess, Martha-style blogger Christmas link-ups this week; one of my long-time favorites, Erin, is talking about holiday decor today, so I'm linking to her here and showing you more of our Pretty holiday getup. After all, every classic needs a good alternative counterpart; think of this as the design-impaired Festivus for the rest of us. Or something.

Christmas gnome included. Aw, yeah . . .

The gnome is a longtime Pretty holiday companion - the Anonymous Husband has thrown that Santa hat on each Christmas Day since we've been married - and we have a few other longstanding (FIVE WHOLE YEARS!) traditions at Pretty HQ as well.

Our swingin' remodeled 1960's ranch house has no fireplace, so our stockings are hung with care from . . . really random places:

Santa visits high chairs too, right?

One of my schmoopier parenting moments was painting "Mom" on that stocking - *I'm* Mom now, awww . . . 

Yep - we're those crazy people with stockings for the pets. Ho ho ho-w destined for "Hoarders" are we?

And our half-nekkid tree with ornaments Martha might not approve, but they mean a bunch to us. On the subject of trees: they must be real, and smell delightful, and if I'm not vacuuming Douglas fir out of the baseboards six months later, I'm not happy. Ahem:

Even the tree angel likes hitting the 'nog - or so it would appear.

This being Austin, Texas, we add some local flavor to our festivities too:

We've incorporated some new traditions & decor this year. I talk a good game about Christmas being all about the baby Jesus and the children blah blah, but this being my first year hosting Christmas, I may secretly have made a panicked trip or two to Crate & Barrel recently:

You know you're getting old when things like "investing in Christmas china" starts to make sense; I started my Spode collection this year, young (old) fogey that I am.

Waterford in the foreground, BOB stroller of awesome in the back.

Two additions for the kid who is still too young to really get these additions, but WHATEVER:

Our new advent calendar - which I meant to fill with relevant Bible verses & accidentally filled with candy instead.

Our new plate for Christmas Eve santa cookies, which is doubling as an emergency Christmas card holder in the meantime - our fridge magnets runneth over:

Hi, favorite bloggers whose cards are featured here! *waves*

Last but not least, here's our new toddler nativity . . . not only has the baby Jesus repeatedly been replaced by various vehicles - a good step for NASCAR, perhaps a bad one for mankind - but today we found that the Biblical chronology had been re-arranged & the whole of them had been raptured - with the exception of the sheep (?):

Kinda makes you wanna buy my QVC line of lifestyle goodies, doesn't it? What if I made the commemorative Christmas gnome only $19.99 *plus* shipping & handling? 

The Definition of Insanity . . .

. . . is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

It's possible I had a tough time snapping this photo because I was laughing so hard. Bad mommy, bad!

Witness our 2011 Santa photo, take 2 - at least I'm not flipping the bird to Santa this time, right? Ahem.

Oh, well - we managed to have a terrific time at the rest of our Mommy Mafia Christmas party today:

The Smug Marrieds Jet Set: a 2012 Sneak Peek

Here's what I should be doing: mailing Christmas cards to the randoms who sent us a card this year for the first time - er, all of which I was delighted to receive, of course - magically timing it for just when I'm running low on cards with which to reciprocate; researching those holiday menu options; rearranging the hurricane that is our new nativity scene, etc.

Here's what I'm actually doing: wasting time on here & Pinterest getting excited about the upcoming travel we Smug Marrieds have booked for next year, which explains why I'll be buying none of the Pretties I featured here yesterday. Travel 2012 = it's what's for dinner! (Quite literally, as it turns out, but worth it . . .)

By the by, I don't mean this as show-offy, "Ooh, look how well-traveled and sophisticated I am!" sort of thing. OK, I totally do, but I'm also genuinely thrilled to see some new places & revisit some old favorites - as well as further procrastinate re: these dishes I genuinely don't want to be doing.

Genuinely. Ahem:

Back with full reports ASAP - assuming I survive the holiday battle planning, that is . . .

Pretty Holiday Gift Roundup, Smug Mummy Edition

Important, Special Note: more Pay-it-Forward charitable giveaway goodness over at my real-life Mommy Mafia friend & kickass photogapher Ziem Photography's blog today. Thanks for your generosity, Z!


***

I know, I know - the majority of you are likely Smug Mummies yourself, so why the gift list when you're supposed to be buying gifts for other people right now?

I'm so glad you asked! In numerical order:

(1) If you can't be generous with yourself at Christmas, who can you be? Wait, don't answer that . . .

(2) You may have a husband like a certain someone - ahem - who doesn't take well to being given a wish list, but if they just happen to run across one on the interwebs, or have something like this forwarded to them . . .

(3) A friend is about to/has just become a new mom, and though she's received umpty million things for baby, hasn't received a thing that would make her life easier.

(4) You've already purchased for friend in scenario (3) spa gift certificates and/or pinot and/or a night of free babysitting so she can go out for a few hours sans wee preshus darling angel.

Smug Mummy Christmas Wish List '11 by legallyblondemel featuring star jewelry

Clockwise from the left:

• Skip Hop Diaper Bag Duo by Jonathan Adler ($75): How Chicistan is this be-chevroned diaper bag? Perfect for the mom-under-one set.
• Citizens of Humanity Amber Mid-Rise Bootcut Jeans ($160): Repeat after me, class: MID-RISE. Because nobody wants to see Mama's ASSets peeking out as she bends over to deal with the latest toddler tempest.
• H&M Scarf ($12): warm, stylish *and* conceals omnipresent baby spit-up on shoulder.
• Lulu Frost for J. Crew Deco Bangle ($68): pretty for Mama, entertaining for baby to play with; since dangly earrings are now out, the arm is where the jewelry flair can go.
• Cartier Love Bracelet (I don't even want to know): it wouldn't be me if there weren't a "champagne tastes, beer budget", wildly unrealistic option on here.
• Santorini Monogrammed Coffee Tumbler ($32): no one gets between this Smug Mummy & her caffeine; let the monogram do the "Back off, it's mine!" talking.
• Maclaren Quest Stroller ($229): worth the $$; the best travel/mall stroller out there.
• Air Bacara Ballet Flat ($178): SPARKLE! The Prettiest I've seen for the buck.
• Skip Hop Pronto Changing Station by Jonathan Adler ($34): ideal for us moms-of-toddlers, who just need a changing pad/wipes insert for a regular ol' civilian purse. 
• Modalu "Pippa" Medium Grab (approx. $266 US): as I reviewed here, the ideal transition from diaper bag purse. Also, just lovely. 
• Itzy Ritzy "Snack Happened" Reusable Bag ($10): easy to clean, playful patterns, and just the right size for the toddler snacks I now tote everywhere. 

Anything I left off? Further gift roundup requests? 

A Cellulite Smacker of a Day

Important, Special Note: Calling your attention to two darling readers with their own Pay-It-Forward style giveaways for charity, please visit:

- Trapped in North Jersey
- Bend it Like Becker (her giveaway has already happened, but please go visit her sparkly site anyways; it's my fault for sucking that this notice didn't go up sooner.)

***

You know those days when you just throw your (manicured) hands in the air in admitted parental defeat and admit that life just isn't going quite the way you thought it would today? Darlings, I confess I've been a bit overwhelmed with a few of those lately. It's been a real cellulite smacker, as one of my besties recently, perfectly coined the phrase.

Said Anonymous Friend, also a Smug Mummy to a beautiful, boisterous toddler boy, was doing the over-the-shoulder move in the mirror while getting dressed one morning- ladies, you know the one where you sneakily take an ASSessment of what's going on back there in the privacy of a dressing room or similar? The AF is a teeny-tiny knockout by anyone's standards; nevertheless she was lamenting the altered state of her (formerly taut, gym-toned) landscape. She patted an evaluation chunk of thigh or two that had recently taken up residence there, sighed, then resumed dressing, only to be interrupted by her darling cherub . . . who ran up and started smacking her cellulite, cackling with glee as he watched the ripples.

The point is, there are days when these little guys are not only running our lives, they're dancing on the graves on our old ones. We wouldn't trade it for anything, of course, but I thought only sorority rushes of legend involved highlighting one's cellulite - do we have to bring hazing to the playground set as well?

In all seriousness, Master P is just in a challenging phase right now; though he has yet to take aim at my padded post-child thighs, he's run me ragged lately with his ever-changing, ever-shorter nap schedule. My formerly independent little guy now wants Mama around whenever he's awake; granted, I'm happy to do just that - it is my job, in fact - but gone are the days when I could leisurely sip my coffee & catch up on the Twitter news for a morning minute while Master P played nearby, for example. He can and will destroy a formerly tidy room if left alone in it for two minutes. The Mystery Sniffles are back again OMG #whinewhineCOMPLAINwhine.

And yet. Yet. This too shall pass. And when I'm feeling most at my wit's end, he'll go and do something like this:

Note the facial noodles: at least one of us enjoys my cooking.

I'm blessed far beyond what I deserve. We'll get through this. If only my newfound cellulite wouldn't . . .

It's Friday, I'm in Love: Shoes, Vol. 2

Subtitle: "It's Friday in Some Time Zone, If Not Technically Still This One; Listen, It's Been a Long Day Filled with More In-Laws and Toddlers Than My Contract Allows, Mmmkay?"

The second installment in a terribly important (obviously) series . . .

Someone told Santa about the early holiday sales: one of us Prettys needed some practical Christmas kicks, the other quite the sparkly opposite . . .

Making Christmas Meaningful, Tot Style

We here at the Pretty - yes, "We", it's been a while since we've dusted off the Royal plural, hasn't it? - generally try to reserve our more profound pondering for global issues like the state of our shoe collection. Alas, 'tis the season for being thoughtful and giving, blah blah blah . . .

Being totally serious - for once - the Anonymous Husband and I are (ok, I am) trying to decide which Christmas traditions to establish for our new family. When it was just the two of us, it was easy enough every year - we'd go to Midnight church services on Christmas Eve, then do presents & Christmas dinner at a relative's house the next day. Last year, I was too sleep deprived to remember what we did for Master P's very first Christmas, but I know it involved some plane travel & prayer.

Now that we're celebrating at home with sufficient amounts of sleep, however, we're mulling over what we'll do tradition-wise for Master P. . .

Which traditions from our parents do we want to pass down to our children? From mine, I want to carry on the traditions of leaving cookies out for Santa & exchanging one gift on Christmas Eve; perhaps we'll leave out the Christmas card letter as authored by the family cat (yes, really). From the AH's team, we hope to continue the traditional Italian meal on Christmas Eve.

How do you make a holiday meaningful, in both the spiritual and the fun, secular sense, for a child who is fluent in a mystery toddler language, but not yet the English you yourself speak? We (I) have been singing Christmas songs and reading holiday books - this is a current favorite - while a "Master P Can't Possibly Break This, Can He?" toddler nativity set is en route to Pretty HQ:

Just look at that weeble wobble baby Jesus (who is mysteriously European looking, but that's a subject for a different post) - photo credit: Toys-R-Us

How many gifts does a one-year-old need, when he's privileged in that department already & more likely to enjoy/ingest the wrapping paper anyways? Should I just wrap up the contents of my Tupperware drawer (even though I'm a gift buyer by nature and am constitutionally incapable of following sound advice like that)?

What about you - any family traditions you're looking forward to passing along to your children? Any chance they involve Christmas card letters written by the family feline?

The Undomestic Goddess Confesses: Hosting Christmas Ed.

An irregular series in which I air my dirty domestic laundry - sometimes literally - in the hopes of .  . . of . . . I'm not exactly sure what, but it's likely one of two things: (a) publicly shaming myself into doing better wife- and mom-wise; or (b) dragging y'all down with me into the anti-Martha morass.

Because this will never be the blog you read only to feel ashamed that you have yet again failed to painstakingly hand-craft a papier-mache montage of the birth of Baby Jesus using organic free-range cage-free chicken or whatever.
***

It came upon a midnight clear - or around that hour last night, in my case, when I realized that part of hosting my very first Christmas ever might involve feeding those we're hosting.

I know, right? Believe me, I was surprised too. And so, behold tonight's Pretty homework, which looms instead of the Christmas shopping for myself I'd been anticipating:

Let us pretend I won't procrastinate on this 'til December 23rd. Thank you for your cooperation.

Oh holy Hellish night, whose idea was hosting Christmas again? Mine, you say? 

Don't remind me - unless you have ideas for side dishes to match a festive beef brisket, our Christmas day main course (as ordered/delivered by someone else, thank Santa), that is? 

Would I jeopardize my Martha merit badge if I just ordered the food from my local overpriced fancy grocer, re-plated it, and called it mine? I won't tell if you don't, Scout's honor . . . will report back with the hopefully edible results either way.

My taste-tester-in-chief, who I'm hoping will help me with this despite the mandatory Christmas sweater.

Toilet Training for Parents

Back when I was an expert on parenting - before I gave birth to an actual child, naturally - I knew that there would be a few things I'd lose in those early days with a newborn - my waistline & will to live, for starters.

What has consistently surprised me, though - remember, this is someone who has always wanted kids without the benefit of ever having spent much time with them - is the re-learning of basic life skills I've had to do, such as leaving the house within an hour of when I intend to or . . . er, using the restroom with company. Crazy me, in my thirty-two years here before the wee CEO's appearance, I'd grown quite accustomed to my solitary bathroom arrangements.

As any Smug Mummy knows, those solo days are now a thing of the past, with the new reality of a toddler clambering for my attention at any & all times, including gleefully unfurling the toilet paper roll while I attempt to go about my business. If I foolishly do anything other than quickly answer nature's call, you can factor in a festival of unrolled dental floss or attempted raid on the (locked up) razors too.

Oh, sure - he looks innocent enough, but therein lurks the heart of a petty toiletries thief. (Photo Credit: Ziem Photography - hi, Z!)

This all came to a head - TEEHEE, see what I did there? - the other day when Master P & I were running errands, and I realized about halfway through a Costco expedition that I needed to avail myself of the facilities. I quickly ran through the Toddler Calculus of "How Quickly Can I Buy This and Get Home So I Don't Have to Deal With This Here?" and grimly realized that I could not accomplish the day's tasks without braving the public restroom, which was, as mandated by Murphy's Law, on the complete opposite side of the store. That sounds simple enough until you consider I was sans stroller or other toddler restraint device.

Readers, do you know how many ways there are to escape from a restroom stall if you're under 3 feet tall and your parent/freedom-restrictor is answering nature's call? Suffice it to say, I kept one hand on Master P's wiggly collar while I tried to hurry up doing what one does in a restroom. I cast my eyes Heavenward and frantically prayed that both my (full & paid-for outside) shopping cart and my child would remain intact after this experience, all the while trying to ignore the "EW, PUBLIC RESTROOM GERMS!" paranoid Mommy Alert going off in my head.

I swear I heard a voice boom out - "And Pretty Gets a 9.5 from the Romanian Judge!" - as we washed up and left to find our (intact, thankfully) cart and do our next errands. Yes, delusions of Olympic grandeur for making it through a public restroom trip - where is that glamorous, eating bonbons while watching soaps Stay-At-Home-Mom life again?

We survived, but I may cut back on my drinking (water, people, water!) on errand days. At least the imaginary Romanians approved.

Photo Credit: Ziem Photography