The peace of Christmas Day

The branch that bears the bright holly
The dove that rests in yonder tree
The light that shines for all to see
The peace of Christmas Day

I’m sitting at my desk at work.  Tonight I have to drive to Deltona; tomorrow I have to spend all day on my feet cooking, and then go to a party (which I really don’t want to go to.)  I still have two soaps to make, several presents to wrap, almost all the presents to deliver.  I don’t have enough money left to mail out the presents to out-of-towners, or give any of the charity gifts I wanted to give (although it dawns on me that I’m still allowed to donate to charity two weeks after Christmas, so that’s ok then), or even really to buy lunch for the next week…

And yet, for the first time this season, I think I’m feeling the “peace of Christmas Day” that John Denver and Kermit the Frog sing about.

I think that part of it is that the things I still have to do are planned out – and the things I can’t do are out of my hands at this point.  It is what it is.  If I haven’t been Superwoman enough for one year, oh well.

It’s a nice feeling, especially coming after the slight emotional breakdown I had the other night.  (Spouse-man teases me about breaking down in hysterical tears over something small and silly, tells me it was adorable – I think I’d be angrier at the condescension, except that when it actually happened, what he did was give me a hug, sit me down in front of my computer with a glass of raspberry soda water, and tell me “I’ll make the rest of the pretzels, you sit there and relax.”  Which pretty much saved my sanity.  So he’s allowed to tease a little.)

A note: for the first time, I fully grok – and feel qualified to use – the concept of “spoons.”  It’s been the hardest thing in the world to admit that being pregnant really has reduced my spoon-count.  I mean, I’m not sick, I’m not injured, but I DO have something that is physically going on that makes me get tired and emotional much more easily than normal, and will make me feel ill if I don’t take care of myself.  So I don’t think it’s too far off the bat to say that the breakdown was because I, quite simply, ran out of spoons.

For the record, I absolutely love Christmas.  Doesn’t matter that I’m not Christian.  I love the lights and the colors and the greenery.  I love the challenge of making or choosing presents that are unique and well-suited to the recipient.  I love the pretty wrapping papers.  I love the music – yes, even when it’s played over and over again.  I love the smells – the food and the desserts and the artificial “snow and pine” scented candles!  I love having a fire in the fireplace, even when it’s not hot.  I love Christmas movies.  I love the pageantry of it.  I love getting together with my family and acting out old traditions, things like “pizza and Scrooged night” or “the ‘gold’ vs. ‘golden’ debate” (re: 12 Days of Christmas) or “watching Dad rip his presents open like a 3-year-old.”  I love opening presents – doesn’t matter what it is, somehow between the physical sensation of taking off the paper and the knowledge that someone actually thought about me and what I’d like translates into absolute glee.  I love what Christmas symbolizes – the togetherness and cheer and love and forgiveness and hope.  Oh, I love Yule/Solstice too, love the imagery of light in the darkness and the rebirth of the year, and I wish my work schedule allowed me time to celebrate it properly… but Christmas is my holiday and always has been.  (Sorry, Ma’am.)

So now that I can finally relax, now that I’ve had my first cup of cocoa for the season and been given a peppermint-chocolate-chip cookie by a co-worker… it’s finally starting to feel like Christmas.

Merry Christmas, everyone.  And Happy Hannukah.  And Happy Yule and Happy Solstice.  And Happy Kwanzaa.  If I’m missing anything, well, have a happy one of those holidays too.  And if you’re not celebrating anything at all, then I hope you have a nice weekend.

And a Happy New Year.


Fun with new developments

Last night, spouse-man burst into the room where I was laying down, and goes “Hey!  You’re in the second trimester now!  I read about this!”

He then proceeded to press his face up against my belly and shout “You can hear me now!”  And then started to sing.

I love my husband.

In other news, last Friday was officially Fetus Day.  That’s right – rice-baby is now a fetus, not an embryo.  Woot!  (*sniff* they grow up so fast…)


“The Boy Scout Law claims that a Boy Scout should be ‘obedient,’ and that this not only entails following the law, but also pushing to correct laws that they deem unfair.”


Is this true?  If so, it’s cool, and an interesting interpretation of “obedience.”  I approve.  (I still like the idea of rational anarchy better, but I’m willing to see this concept as a baby step to that one.)  Still not cool with the homophobia found in the Boy Scouts, but still, I can support this idea.

(In case you’re wondering, this is a continuation of my musings here.  There will likely be more musings on these ideas later, but I’m still at the stage where the musing is mostly done in my head 🙂  When it forms into actual words, it’ll be mused here.)

In which I flail and squee incoherently


So I was at the doctor’s, right?  And he tried to find the baby’s heartbeat so I could hear it again, but failed, so he said “Screw it; we’re going whole hog here” and pulled in this like portable sonogram machine thing.  (Because they’d already done a whole bunch of tests so I was already in a flimsy doctor’s office gown thingie, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal to do one more thing.)  And he started poking at my belly, and found the ricebaby… and it moved!

I don’t just mean it wriggled; this was full-on “Oh sweet Jesus WTF is that thing pressing down on me GO AWAY GO AWAY *FLAIL*!!!”  Like little half-formed arms and legs waving all over the place in protest.  It was hilarious and adorable and I’m still kinda squee.

Silly lists are silly

Success!  Orange juice + twist of lime + club soda = tart, only-slightly-sweet soda that is very refreshing (and pretty in a big wine glass.)  (My friend hates the flavor, says it would be better with ginger ale.  I say he’s Completely Missing the Point.)

I wanted to do a thoughtful blog post, but I’ve posted thoughtful comments on a lot of other blogs today, and I’m tapped out.  Instead I’m gonna be silly. 

So I was looking at various baby products, and it occurred to me that if I owned these, they would almost certainly not be used for their proper purpose.  So I made a list: intended use vs. predicted use 🙂

Baby Monitor

  • intended use: listen to make sure baby doesn’t make any weird noises during the night
  • predicted use: let me hear when the oven beeps when I’m in the back room

Baby Gate

  • intended use: keep baby from getting out of safe, baby-proofed areas
  • predicted use: give cats exercise, develop new and interesting callouses on my knees


  • intended use: dangly shiny things to entertain baby
  • predicted use: cat toy

Baby Kneepads (cuz apparently that’s a thing?)

  • intended use: keep baby’s cute widdle knees away from the cold hard floor
  • predicted use: get two pairs.  Place on knees and hands.  Place baby on tile or wood floor.  Hilarity ensues.

Star Projector with Classical Music

  • intended use: soothe baby to sleep with gentle lights and music
  • predicted use: soothe Mommy to sleep with gentle lights and music.  (Alternately, reprogram music.  Use for parties.)

[Insert pretty much any baby toy here]

  • intended use: baby toy
  • predicted use: cat toy


  • intended use: mildly apathetic companions, who grace us with their presence and aesthetic appeal, and occasionally deign to give warmth, purrs, and snuggles
  • predicted use: baby toy (and learning opportunity)

So yeah, I probably shouldn’t be allowed baby items.

I’m also getting kinda silly this season – I just can’t help thinking that a year from now, it’ll be rice-baby’s first Christmas!  Also I get to sing Christmas carols now.  I don’t know what it is, I’m not even Christian, but damn I love carols – especially the religious ones.  “O Holy Night” is about as religious as they come, and I can NOT sing it without getting teary-eyed.  Possibly because of the lyrics on the oft-ignored but beautiful last verse, and possibly because the melody is so potentially emotional, but I just love it.  (I feel the same way about “I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day” – the one with the minor melody [there’s, like… 3 melodies that I know of for the exact same song] – possibly, again, because of the message in the lyrics, which is beautiful regardless of religion.)

In related news, I have the most beautiful Christmas tree ever!  And it’s lasted almost a full week so far without the cats destroying it!