November ends next week. Sometime. I think. It wasn't all that long ago that I was thinking, "Hmmm. It's August, but before I know it, it will be December." Well, that time has arrived. The halls are decked (due to an ultimatum from the Grief Guru), and the stockings are up (including a newly created "skull stocking" that Sutt wanted to replace his emotionally-outgrown Cars stocking-- as it turns out, one cannot easily find a skull Christmas stocking for purchase, so I had to make one. BEST MOM EVER, that is me.) Hark the Fucking Angels Sing, I'm ready for the goddamn holidays.
Actually, this year isn't bad so far. Thanksgiving wasn't my finest hour, but I have to say I have more Christmas spirit than I've had since Dad was sick. The little things help. For instance, Sutt made me a (construction paper) Thanksgiving Turkey and when I asked why it had X's for eyes, he said, "Because it's DEAD. HAHAHAHAHA!" It was frankly kind of awesome. The kids, for the FIRST YEAR EVER, helped me trim the tree and DIDN'T BREAK ANYTHING. I didn't have to put out all of the millions of decorations (half of them are lodged behind the airplane in the garage and absolutely unreachable) AND all the lights still worked, except for one outdoor set that I somehow managed to blow when I plugged them in (and watched a couple of them explode). All in all, that's pretty good for me.
To ice the cake, my ultrasound did not show anything appearing to resemble cancer, my sister-in-law found a job after being laid off from her former position and I've started wearing foundation and eyeshadow on a semi-regular basis (thanks for the encouragement, E). Life is marching on. Sutt is six. Mimi is eleven. I am thirty-fucking-four.
And for the moment, all is well.