Holly Days

Ho, ho, ho! Well, it seems that 'Tis the Season for me this year includes a few weeks during the December madness where I wasn't even able to carve out a minute to come near the ol' blog. I realize I am starting to say this every year, but was 2011 not the fastest year EVER? I have informally polled several of my friends on this matter of a lightening fast year and they tend to agree. I mean, honestly. I blink and it's May. I blink again and here I am, on December 20th, wondering how in the world it could be possible that we have less than two weeks left in the year.

So, I've been busy! Though I'll do my best to not desert the blog-o-sphere for 19 days again anytime soon...lest I be writing posts next year. Ha. I don't think the plethora of "next year" jokes one can make at the end of December will ever get old to me.

Anywho.

Earlier this month, I bought myself a Christmas tree:

She is very tiny, but 'tis the season to remember that good things come in small packages. I've had to travel to Ohio during the past two Decembers - more on that in a minute - which is fine except for the fact that December is a wildly busy month to begin with...and heading out to the Heartland for a week cuts into the month in a serious way. Last year, I talked myself out of a tree entirely because of this business travel and regretted it. This year, I found a healthy compromise with this little lady.

My ever helpful cat, Nolan helped me decorate and we had a little festive corner all light up in my apartment in no time.


I ended up watching It's a Wonderful Life while I was decorating my little tree. That movie. I swear I've seen it 800 times, I know exactly how the story unfolds and yet, I cry every. single. time. I. watch. it. The Auld Lange Syne portion at the end just slays me.

Did you know that I was born in Ohio? Fun fact, right? Yep, my parents moved there after they were married, bought a house, and soon enough, their worlds changed forever when I arrived in September of 1979. My Dad's job transferred him to New Jersey when I was about 15 months old, so growing up, whenever I'd ask about the day I was born, or my earliest months of life, I had to rely on my imagination to fill in the visual gaps in the stories my parents told me.

I'd hear about how the morning after I was born, Mom laid wide awake in her hospital bed, looking down on the building entrance thinking: "I'm a Mommy. I'm a Mommy." There were tales of little me crawling up and down the neighbor's black-topped driveway or off the blanket Dad would lay out for me on the lawn while he mowed the grass, never minding the ants or the dirt or my scraped up knees.

For almost 32 years these early years - both of my parents marriage and of my own existence - were a mystery, one I understood only through the pictures and memories my parents shared. Until a few days ago. With this year's business trip to Ohio, I was able to tack on a weekend pleasure visit and my mother met me on a cold Friday night, ready to spend two days taking me on a little something I've been calling: "the life and times of my first fifteen months..."

We visited the first house my parents ever owned and the first place I ever called home. Miraculously, it had not changed a bit on the outside. This thrilled both my Mother and me - Mom, because she felt like she could still pull right up in to the driveway, and me because...well, this is what the very first place I ever lived looked like. In 1979 and in 2011.


From the house, we drove over to the hospital where I was born.


When we parked and decided to go into the lobby, I remarked to my Mother - "Wow. This is literally the first place I ever took a breath of air." We walked in through the automatic doors together and right there in front of us was a young couple, both of their eyes filled with a startled alarm I imagine only appears in the eyes of brand new parents. They held their newborn baby and car seat carrier, ready to take the little peanut home for the first time. Mom called out congratulations to them, explaining I was born here 32 years ago and we were back to visit. The husband smiled, thanked us, and as he walked away I swear I saw another glimmer of fright pass through his eyes. That little bundle his wife was holding would be 32 some day? Madness.

I am now only three months older than my Mom was when she gave birth to me, which in some weird way makes me think the timing of this visit was all too perfect and cyclical and all that profound sort of goodness that I try to believe in. I'm so grateful my Mom and I were able to pull this excursion together, I'm so glad I got a peek at a small part of my "roots" and man...isn't there something wildy cool and slightly crazy about getting the chance to see where your parents lived, worked, and called home now that you, yourself are an adult with a life, a job, and a home?

So that, my friends, is in a nutshell what I've been up to as of late. Oh and there was that week of actual work in Ohio. And isn't there some sort of need or reason to buy presents this time of year or something? And send Christmas cards? And attend holiday soirees? And suss out any and all travel plans? And stand in line at the post office for far too long? And bake Christmas cookies? And eat too much rich food? And hit panic mode when you realize you are way behind on that above mentioned shopping list?

But you know the cure-all to the holi-daze stress right? When shopping, adhere to the old one for them, one for me rule. In my case, the one for me just happens to be this pair of shoes I've been coveting since August, a pair that when I initially price checked this summer came in at a cool $160. Guess what this little holiday shopper snagged them for earlier this month? $70. Boom. Math might not have been my strongest subject in high school, but a more than 50% discount? Yes, please.

After all, happiness is yellow shoes: