I done caught the fever. The insanity. The wonderment and jazz of the end-of-year holiday blitz. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, either, since I’m generally scoffy at any and all mainstream events that cause parking lots to become war zones and muzak to blast from the depths of my neighbor’s manger scene.

Have I mentioned the muzak manger? Its hot. Really, really hot.

I believe I may have mentioned that I did not get the Christmas tree of my dreams, having been overthrown by the opinions of two very serious holiday shoppers, namely, The Twitches. No, we have a standard, yet very skinny, green holiday tree which is now leaning precariously forward due to the number of ornaments that all four kidlets lovingly placed upon its bristly, fake branches. It has a bunch of lights, more garland than you can shake your mistletoe at, and while its not a tacky silver holographic tree, its definitely ugly, and I kinda love it. Le ho, ho, ho.

I’m about halfway done with the myriad of teacher presents that are lovingly being concocted in my kitchen, even if I’m fighting Talker for bananas that he insists belong in his beloved smoothies, instead of in my hoard-tastic banana bread. I have boxes hidden in plain sight, hahahaha! throughout the house, containing presents. There are stockings strewn about, because they’re a whole lot of fun to actually wear instead of hanging them on the wall (note to self: buy more hooks, again, since you can’t seem to remember where you keep putting them).  Gingerbread house pieces are awaiting their construction, and I may even do gingerbread people this year, if the mood strikes. (Author’s note: by “doing” gingerbread people, I mean that in the most porntastic manner your sick little mind can envision)

I’m composing my letter to Santa (and a little bit MORE for Santa Claus!) and getting ready to count my many blessings of 2009, because I like to see just how far I’ve come in a year, and I’m totally not above bragging about all the fun I’ve had.

And, finally, we have decided on Festivus again this year. This is a huge annual debate in the Lore household – what to call the holiday, and when to have it. The name/date debate is part of the miracle of the season, really. Talker wants to call it “Talkermas” this year, and I have to say, that’s tempting… except then I’m sure he’d figure out a way to keep all the presents for himself, and I’m really looking forward to some new pajama pants.  The Husband is opposed to anything Seinfeld or Friends, and thus vetoed the term “Festivus” last year, after it was already being touted as “Better than Christmas!” You see,  I prefer to not do Christmas, since I’m all un-Christian, but I like the idea of getting giving presents at the end of the year. Our big celebration is actually on New Year’s Eve, when we tank up the kids on sugar by shooting pixie stix and let them stay up until they pass out in puddles of sugar frosted saliva. That would technically be the ideal date for Festivus, but I’m not very good at keeping secrets, so its going to happen a little sooner, after Talker returns from his trip down South. This year,  its officially being called Christmas Festivus (literally, we have the strike-through when we say it) and Seinfeld be damned! I can’t wait to incorporate the annual airing of grievances.

And, on a final note, Caramel Brulee Lattes should be illegal.

P.S. I don’t know what the above image is, but it was on my camera. Imma’sume its from the big party, taken by a child or inebriated mother. Please claim the photo at your earliest convenience.