Generation Exhausted

Ending the year on an upbeat note

I am determined to end 2005 the way I want to begin 2006 - happy, positive and chipper. Pollyanna, if you will.

So.

Two things happened today, ten minutes apart, that have put some spring in my step. The first was that I bumped into a cousin in the grocery store, one I haven't seen for a while, and he told me I "looked good."

And then ten minutes later I had to show I.D. to prove that I was old enough to buy cigarettes. Keep in mind that I am 34, and the cigarette age is 19.

Heh.

So. Here's hoping your year was a good one, that you learned lots, lived lots and loved lots. As 2006 dawns, remember that it is filled with promise - a whole new calendar, not just a new page. Carpe diem and all that.

I am now psyched for what the New Year holds. Bring it on!

Told ya so

When hubby saw me sifting through my office with garbage bag in hand today, he said, "That AGK person commented that she figured you weren't going to get this done."

He should know-  and so should that AGK person, by the way - that telling me I won't get something done is almost the best way to guarantee that I WILL. What can I say? I'm contrary that way.

So, 8 p.m. and, while not CLEAN, the office is getting there.

I blame the Christmas cards. See, I have four boxes of unused Christmas cards sitting on my desk, and I'm not sure what to do with them. Each box has about four cards missing. I unearthed them from the wrapping box on December 23 and relocated them to my office.

Each box is missing four cards because every year, I do my cards, run short, and buy an additional box last-minute to make up the shortfall. I tell myself that the almost full box of Christmas cards will get used up next year. Then, I put them away, forget they're there, and start over again the following year, whereby I run short, buy another box, use four and...you get the picture.

So, my theory is that I'm storing the head start on next year's cards in the wrong place, and need to put them somewhere that they'll be found in plenty of time to actually be used next year. And I don't know where that place is yet, so here they sit on my desk.

It's IMPORTANT, because I now have enough leftover Christmas cards that I actually won't have to buy ANY next year. Provided I can find these ones.

I know! I'll put a memo in my new Palm that I already have Christmas cards, and then I won't have to worry about finding them, because the Palm will tell me they're around here somewhere. See how this little gadget is going to change my life? I can feel the organizing settling in already.

But it didn't

4 p.m. The office has not been cleaned. But! Tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

It could happen

I believe very strongly that one of the secrets to living a happy life is to remember that each day is filled with unlimited wonder, and hope, and possibility. That there is good to be found in all things, although sometimes you have to look a little harder to find it. This attitude, often criticised for being a bit too Pollyanna-ish, gets me out of bed in the morning. (more or less)

So then, I look to tomorrow, and all the wonder and hope and possibility it offers:

I wonder where I put the new debit card the bank sent me a month ago.

I hope I can find it.

It's possible that cleaning my office may make it easier to find.

Guess I'll have to get out of bed in the morning and get started on that.

The one where I finally get it all together

Happy Christmas!

I wasn't ready last year, or the year before, but this year, I decided I was, and I told Santa so. It's time for me to organize my life.

So he brought me this.

I haven't actually DONE anything with it yet, but oh, the possibility! So the next few days will be spent familiarizing myself with the technology. Luckily, I've got two one and a half boxes of Turtles to eat while I get acquainted with my new toy.

More family gettting-together tomorrow, and then the startling reality of two whole weeks with kids at home begins to set in. Hope your holiday was as good as mine, filled with food, fun and new pajamas.

Stay warm!

Twas the night before the Night Before

In the last four weeks, I have heard every version of Winter Wonderland and Let It Snow that was ever recorded. There are approximately 723 of them.

Each.

There's a local FM station that's been playing "nothing but holiday favourites, all holiday all the time!" since November the first. Which is fine; when there's nothing playing on my favourite station, I flip over in the hopes of catching "Do They Know It's Christmas" or something. But for the last few days, all the other stations are jumping on the Jingle Bell bandwagon, and I swear, at one point yesterday ALL FIVE of my stations were playing Silver Bells. At the same time.

I'm Christmased out. Which, in some ways, is a good thing. There's nothing left to be done but the vacuuming, so I can relax, sit back, and enjoy. And wrap. One of these years I will get the wrapping done ahead of time too, and then, and only then, will I have conquered Christmas.

But it's nice to have nothing to do tomorrow. Except the wrapping. (and laundry. There's always laundry) We were in the car with two of the kids tonight, and remarking on how glad we are that our holiday doesn't include piling the presents into the car and hitting the highway, only to spend Christmas dreaming of sugarplums in strange beds. For many of our friends and family, the holidays are a road show, and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" is only a song, not a statement of fact.

For us, our dearest are also our nearest, and I can't imagine it any other way. The most we'll drive is eight blocks, and we can always run home if we forget something.

For those of you heading out tomorrow or the day after, drive safe and take it slow - getting there late is better than not getting there at all.

Shopaholics Anonymous

I was at WalMart with the sunrise this morning (okay, not quite, but it was EARLY). They too have fallen prey to the Great Tamogotchie Shortage Of 2005. And all the Pound Puppies have been successfully adopted, so there went that. And the Puppies must all be wearing men's size large pajamas, because there aren't any of THOSE left either.

WalMart had, however, restocked Bratzland. Now, when we started shopping last week, I was dismayed to discover that Bratz seem to have doubled in price since last Christmas. It's meant some very careful choices.

But today - TODAY, they had Bratz Boyz on an endcap. An endcap is WalMart lingo for end-of-the-aisle display. And yes, I used to work at WalMart. And no, it wasn't for the awesome hourly wage, the superior benefit package, or because my former job at a high-tech company was outsourced. I worked there for the nifty blue smock they let me wear.

So, there's the end cap with Bratz Boyz. All the other Bratz? $25 and up. The Boyz? $4.94.

I had three of them in my buggy and was halfway through the store before I got hold of myself. Likewise the Bratz Punk Soda Shop Hangout for 10 bucks.

I put it all back.

Because the reality is that every year, I feel like I haven't gotten enough, and every year, it turns out to be too much.

I was so proud of myself for my restraint.

And Chapters? Well, I finally got there late in the afternoon and started to browse. When I realized that the checkout line stretched from the front door to the mall entrance ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORE, I decided we could read AFTER Christmas.

Stick a fork in me - I'm done.

Out of stock

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he sent me a memo today about the things you may not find under the tree this year.

Apparently, in advance of last week's snow storm, people stocked up on Tamogotchies and Pound Puppies instead of the usual bread and milk.  So Puppy Puppy Here Puppy Pound Puppy or whatever it's called is probably not going to find its way down our chimney this year.

I can't say I'M disappointed, though I know you'll be. Last time the Pound Puppy/Tamogotchie craze struck, your sisters were just the right age. (and really, should we not be given more than eight years in between this craze? And why do they seem to both be popular at the same time?) The Pound Puppies we avoided, but the Tamogotchies - oh, the Tamogotchies. The poor things had starved by the Epiphany, and were never looked at again. Trust me - you just think you want one. You don't, really.

Today's attempts to hunt and gather also left me wondering what the heck an I-Dog is, and why it's nowhere to be found either.

Rest assured, however, that Bratz are more plentiful than they first appeared to be - they're all hiding at Toys R Us, rockin' one aisle over from Barbie, who is, as previously mentioned, sorely neglected this year. So desperate is Barbie for a home, that she flung herself into my cart today, and I had to remove her, weeping and wailing, from her hiding place inside the Bratz tent. She's too tall for the tent anyway.

Zellers is also just about out of wrapping paper, and I'm almost out of patience. Santa will do his best. How about a nice gift card for the after Christmas sales?

Christmas Orphan

With three girls in the house, it's become common to walk into stores at Christmas time and weep at the sight of the Barbie aisle - that row of pink, usually so tidy and trim, looks like a friggin' war zone just before Christmas. If you didn't get there early enough, you'd be stuck with a choice between Accountant Midge and Plain Summer Dress Teresa.

Not so this year - this year, the Pink Aisle is as pristine as it's been all year long. There are Barbies a-plenty, as far as the eye can see, and you'll have no trouble at all if it's Barbie you're looking for. The problem is, no one's looking for Barbie.

The war zone has moved one aisle over, into Bratz land.

Yes, I buy my daughter Bratz, those trashy-looking dolls with the abnormally large heads and removable feet. (I also let my kids run with scissors and drink caffeinated beverages. Sometimes even at the same time)

Many mothers I've encountered express their disgust and dismay at Bratz. Not in MY house, they solemnly swear. However, the truth lies in the near-empty aisle at WalMart - over the weekend, there wasn't a Wild West Bratz to be found, and Sasha seems to be the only unwanted Rock Angel. Apparently, everyone's buying what no one's buying.

Poor Barbie. After forty-six years of climbing the corporate ladder, bringing home the bacon AND frying it up, all while Ken sat around the Dream House working on his tan, she must be wondering what the hell happened. I mean, she was a ROLE model, wasn't she? She was pretty, and smart enough to be a rocket scientist. (except for that whole Math fiasco) She was the only woman in the world who had more shoes than Imelda Marcos, AND she ran her own dental clinic. The girl did EVERYTHING.

And now she's been replaced by girls who are all about the hair and the makeup and the music. The mind boggles. Although, having seen how easy the Bratz Tour Bus assembled last year, I can appreciate the appeal. Did I ever tell you about the time Santa brought me Barbie's Motor Home for Christmas? He put half the decals on crooked, and broke the shower door, so my Barbie never had any place to hang her towel. In Barbie's defense, however, her Motor Home didn't come with a working radio WITH NO VOLUME CONTROL.

I think that Bratz were secretly invented by a tired mother of ten daughters, who was sick to death of trying to get a half-inch shoe to stay on an inflexible foot. Never mind the shoes! We'll just change the feet!

And did you ever cut Barbie's hair? I did. So did my daughters. It's not a problem with Bratz however - on the weekend, I saw the creepiest thing: A Bratz doll that came with four spare heads.

HEADS.

(shudder)

So maybe that's what Bratz have all over Barbie - that you can take them apart and put them back together. Because apparently, kids are into that.

And I thought I was evil for giving the poor doll a crew cut.

So Barbie sits on the store shelf this Christmas, unwanted and unappreciated. It's only a matter of time before she ends up on the Island of Misfit Toys along with Hermie the Elf Dentist and that creepy jack-in-the-box thing.

Unless, of course, Mattel seizes the marketing opportunity and develops a plastic Home for Unwanted Fashion Dolls.

You've arrived

Approximately 30 people will receive THE LETTER in the mail today - that is, the Christmas letter sent by yours truly.  If you read it all the way through, you will have come across the link to this blog. If you were entertained by our holiday missive, and are an Internet-y sort of person, you typed in the address to see what "Shelley's blog" looks like and/or has to say.

You are now here.

For those of you just tuning in, Generation Xhausted is a little glimpse into my world, through my eyes. Here's the place where I regale readers with tales of the things going on in the world (my world and THE WORLD, which are usually two different things), how I feel about them, and occasional digressions into that age old question "Will I ever find a pair of jeans that fit properly again?"

Generation Xhausted is also THE BOOK, and you are welcome to order your copy today, if you haven't already done so. Email me, and I'll tell you how.

In two days, I'm going to take the Older Daughter to write her learner's permit. I'm still not convinced that she's old enough to learn how to drive. Just a few short weeks ago, she threw a water bottle at her sister while they were both sitting in the back seat. Does she know that you can't do that while you're driving? (although you can throw cheeseburgers. Ask Linda.) If she still forgets her lunch once a week, can she be trusted to remember where she parked?  If she's too cool to wear boots in the snow, is she too cool to drive a minivan?

And if she can't remember to resize my Windows after using my computer, how will she remember to put the seat back where I left it?