Carrie sports her new gift from...Santa?

Just as we were photographing our kids tearing into presents and snapping photos of our boys and girls with bedhead that will make us smile for years to come, we heard the news that Carrie Underwood was trying on her new engagement rock from beau Mike Fisher.

She proudly showed off the yellow diamond last week while cheering on her hockey-player fiance at an Ottawa Senators game.

Not bad, huh?

13 people + 1 house = countless memories

Christmas is over.

With the blink of an eye, it came and went. Santa managed to get a drumset with cymbals and an electric guitar down our chimney, but forgot the earplugs for Mom and Dad. That's ok, though. The smiles on the boys faces, not to mention the glass-shattering screams that were caught on video sure makes it worth it, Santa.

It was a week of memories, including the vision of my husband in a towel and oven mitts, tending to the turkey in our oven, one I'm sure is permanently etched in my brain. A week of listening to my sister, or Aunt Shel to the kids, desperately reminding them that food is not allowed upstairs in the playroom. Somehow, my now 5-year-old convinced himself any food that he sneaks to Aunt Shel's second floor is okay for the taking. Same goes for his partner-in-crime, my 6-year-old niece, who had a firm grip on 4 peanut butter cups in her sleeping bag, only to find them melting in her hand when she got busted. 'They're just the wrappers, Aunt Deb,' she would say, but Aunt Deb knew better. I'm guessing she'll pick something a little less messy next time, like tortilla chips or grapes.

Stupid rules.

We made a family trip to a local frozen yogurt shop, where my sister had promised my youngest he could get ten toppings, since they charge by the ounce, something that lost its spark when Hayden found only six toppings he cared for. That's ok, too, since his big brother made up the slack by selecting fifteen toppings that kept him up well past 2 am.

Aunt Shel will get paid back one day.

A big thanks to Shel for hosting our family for two nights, as we all discovered who snores, (I shall remain silent), who gets up early (my nephew, Jackson!), who wears long underwear under their clothes, (85-year-old Grams,) who always has a comeback, (Greg), who forgot to bring enough diapers (Kristen,) who constantly snapped photos, (Kristen, again), who brought the flubug (Mom and Justin), who was vaccuming before we even left the house, (Michelle), and who met the trash man at the curb with an offer to help load the 60+ bags, with a handsome tip. (Brother-in-law, Tom.) The holidays aren't the same without my Dad, nor is life, though I felt his presence, from the mini Coke bottle ornament my sister left in our rooms, to the egg casserole he loved for breakfast, or the Johnny Mathis song that came on the stereo.

Dad lived for days like these.

The holidays ended in time for us to wrap more gifts in birthday paper, for my youngest who turned the big five two days later. The sports fanatic had one simple request...a football field, but settled for a collection of sports equipment that he's been wearing since Sunday, while mesmerized by the lifesized Derek Jeter 'Fathead' in his bedroom. More later, for now I've gotta make lunch and try to get past this flubug that I brought home. And prepare for 2010. As if that's possible.

Happy New Year.

all he needs are pom-poms

We don't take ourselves too seriously around here.

I made the mistake of telling my husband yesterday that he didn't seem too excited about a decision I had recently made. Soon, a 37-year-old man who used to play football in college was doing a cartwheel and two toetouches in my bathroom, followed by several enthusiastic yells of 'Woo-hoo...I am EXCITED!' Sure was a sight to see.

I guess you get what you ask for.

where's the rest of it?

I love me some Starbucks, no secret there.

And I always go for the largest size, the Venti, to get me through the day on little sleep. The Venti and I go way back. And I always drink the last drop, whether hot, lukewarm, or even icy cold, I'm drinking it. It's the best $4.26 I've ever spent, though my husband would certainly argue that statement. I'm sure he'd rather use the money I spend in an entire year on Starbucks to buy some new vaccuum attachment.

So, I was more than a little disappointed yesterday when one of my favorite baristas handed me the beloved Venti cup and it felt unusually lighter.

Odd.

I popped off the lid, only to find the cup slightly more than half full, by the time the whipped cream had melted. Where was the rest? I had been shortened at least two hours of caffeine that I would need to get me through Bunko later that night and this was most definitely a crisis. Though I won't complain about the calories I saved. (The photo above is before drinking.)

I'm not giving up on Mr. Venti, but I'm hoping I get the entire cup today.

Happy Friday.

we've been good...really

Santa stopped by the studio for a visit this morning.

Santa has been a staple of the morning show during the holidays for the last 19 years. It's always fun listening to the kids call in to tell Santa what's on their list, and I'm sure parents are glad to not be standing in a two-hour line at the mall while feeding their children Goldfish and Teddy Grahams to prevent a hunger meltdown. We've all been there.

When the microphones were off, conversation turned to wrapping gifts for others. Had to smile, because of the countless years my father asked me to wrap the presents he bought for mom. How many Dads count on their kids to wrap for them? Keep in mind, this was long before the days of giftbags and tissue paper. I can remember hiding out in a back bedroom, neatly folding mom's robe in a giftbox, and taping it up neatly, knowing she wouldn't think for a second that Dad managed to line up the Christmas trees on the paper.

Just as I would finish up, Dad would bring me one more. A last-minute purchase, earrings, her favorite perfume, or Isotoner slippers. Those were staples for him, despite the fact that he often bought them on Christmas Eve.

I was still helping Dad wrap during my college years, but it's been awhile since those days when he requested help from me or my sisters. I had long forgotten those times of wrapping late in the night, until today. I miss those phone calls.

And my father.

a conversation with my 4-year-old

Him: Mom, how does Santa actually fit down the chimney?

Me: He is magical. He squeezes through there pretty quickly.

Him: But, how does he put our presents under the tree without waking me up?

Me: Very quietly. Santa sneaks into the living room, tip-toeing.

Him: Sneaks?

Me: Yep.

Him: You mean, like I sneak into brother's room to steal his toys?

Me: Uh, yes. Just like that.

a sad day around here

Years ago, as a young mother with a toddler son and two labrador retrievers, one yellow, one black, I found it difficult to have two large pets while mastering diaper changes and warming bottles.

Stroller walks certainly became interesting, me pushing the baby with two labs pulling me on leashes. We considered finding a new home for Drake, the yellow lab, who had more energy than a 3-year-old. Somehow, we never did. Maybe it was guilt, the knowledge that we would miss him, or the hope that one day I would find a balance, but we kept him. He was a good dog. As friendly as they come, with just enough spunk to keep you laughing.

One day, my co-host, Kevin, mentioned that they were in the market for a new dog, a family pet. I couldn't have imagined a better fit. Kevin had three daughters who would shower Drake with attention, and a backyard that would allow Drake to run off that energy. Not to mention Kevin's truck that had a passenger seat with Drake's name on it, as they would one day enjoy running errands together.

Who else gets to hear heartwarming stories of their beloved dog after he's found a new home? I've had the chance to hear about Drake snatching entire loaves of bread, his favorite, and snoozing at the foot of Kevin's youngest daughter's bed. I can't think of a better family for Drake, which was a present from Greg twelve years ago.

But, today is bittersweet.

Kevin was unusually quiet this morning, and confirmed what we knew would be a likely outcome. Drake is being put under, due to an illness that has affected his quality of life. So, here's to Drake, a dog who met Kevin at the door with his shoe. A dog who tried to hide the slice of pizza he snatched from the counter, though you could clearly see the triangular outline in his cheeks. Drake was one-of-a-kind.

We'll miss you, buddy.

better sound-proof the house

It's getting closer to Christmas, which means the boys have revised their lists a gazillion times. There is always another commercial reminding them of some useless gadget that they must have and is sure to drive their parents crazy.

Aren't we already?

And so it goes in my house, the lists get longer, the reminders that other kids have lists, too, become more frequent, and I find myself wondering what happened to the days when kids received toys that didn't make noise. You know, ones that didn't need batteries or require a box-cutter to remove those gray twistie ties that connect it to the package. What happened to kids letters to Santa that asked for Connect Four, Uno and Candyland? Lists that didn't keep parents wondering if they could handle Santa bringing items like an electric guitar or a drumset with symbols?

Those two items are the must-haves for two little blonde boys this year, along with other wishes that cost more than I'd prefer, like an X-Box, Nintendo DSi's, because the DS's are SOOOOOOOOOOO last year, and a microphone with an amp.

Gulp.

Still, my oldest will often say, if only to soften the blow, 'Really, I'd be happy with anything,' but would he? Would he really be smiling if Santa replaced that electric guitar with a Slinky? I think not.

But, I would be.

I wasn't expecting this one

When our boys hit a certain age, I made sure I covered up when getting undressed.

Just my thing, and it certainly improved those times when I was getting ready and the boys would barge in without knocking. Makes for an embarrassing moment or two. At least my oldest son now gets that you ask if Mom is dressed first. I've never overly stressed it, just told him a time or two that boys should respect the privacy of others, and it's not our thing to walk around the house in our skivvies.

So, Thanksgiving weekend, I threw on a gray Victoria's Secret sweatshirt and leggings to do laundry and was caught off guard a bit when my 8-year-old son began this conversation:

Him: Hey, Mom...

Me: Yeah?

Him: What are we doing today?

Me: Not sure, really. Laundry, finishing the holiday decorations, that kind of stuff. Why?

Him: Just wondered. Plus, I'm thinking that shirt you have on is inappropriate.

Me: Inappropriate? It's a sweatshirt.

Him: Yeah...and it says underwear. (He then read my shirt out loud.) Vic-tor-ia's Se-cret Un-der-wear. Not good.

And with that, he went back to shooting hoops in the basement.

Ooookay.

who's the guy living in my house?

19 plaid shirts.

My husband once had such a collection in his closet, though I would have loved for them to go to Goodwill years earlier. He finally relented, and began wearing more trendier things several years back, but certainly hasn't left his comfort zone.

That's what I call his preference for the colors that he wears.

The guy rarely wears black, practically runs from pink, and never buys red, white, or yellow. Instead, it's almost a guarantee he will go directly to the brown, blue, or green sweaters in a store. That's his thing. His comfort zone.

Greg asked me to pick him up a sweater on Black Friday during my usual shopping. I did, and decided to get something 'different,' something he wouldn't normally choose, something daring.

Argyle.

I'm not really a fan of it myself, but something about the sweater seemed appealing. Still, I held tightly to the receipt, figuring it would be returned in less than 24 hours.

I was wrong.

Greg initially said he didn't care for it, then tried it on and loved it, wore it, and shockingly went shopping for another the following week in a different color. So, here's to the argyle sweater. It may have sparked the inner fashion sense in my husband. Shaken things up a bit. Buried that comfort zone. But no argyle socks, please.

Let's not get crazy.

we need a new photographer

Jim is out today, having a procedure.

THE procedure, if you get what I'm saying. The one guys need to have by the time they turn 50. In the meantime, Kevin and I held down the fort and decided to tweet a photo to start off our Monday morning.

But, this was the result.

So, we attempted to get it right a couple of more times, and found ourselves laughing at the outcome. Not sure if it's pure laziness or the fact that it is indeed a Monday, but we didn't bother with a fourth retake.

Happy Monday.

jimmy wayne's admission got me thinking

Ok, so Jimmy Wayne has never owned a tv. In 37 years. NEVER.

I'm amazed by that.

How is that possible? How has he missed all sorts of educational programming over the years, like Dog the Bounty Hunter, I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here, and the recently-renewed (shocking!) Jonas? But, he has. Jimmy has not been swayed by the gossipy tabloid shows or Carrie Underwood's successful American Idol episodes. Instead, he says he keeps himself busy with his laptop and the 18 guitars he has in his home. (He had one on his lap as we chatted.)

There's something to be said for a slower pace of life, without all the distractions.

Over the summer, I had lunch with my Grandmother, who is the feistiest 85-year-old in town, and discovered that she has never logged on to the internet. Never used a computer. Never sent an email, set up a password, or checked what's on sale at Kohls. Never. Yet, she owns a laptop. Just never cared to learn how to use it.

I kind of like that.

Sometimes the text messages, voicemails, emails, tv shows, etc can be enough to make my head spin. Even with all of the high-tech gadgets these days, it makes a person long for the earlier years. You know, the days when we weren't honking at someone at the stoplight the millisecond they didn't press the gas pedal when the light turns green, or when you didn't get lectured for not answering your cellphone, because...by all means, if you have a cellphone, your payment plan translates to instant accessibility. Fun, fun, fun.

So today, I arrived home from work on my son's day off from school, turned the tv off and asked if he wanted to flip through some old photo books. We flipped through countless memories of Disney, the days the boys were born, and birthday parties with frosted cakes, all without the noise of Nickelodean in the background. After several photos, my 8-year-old caught a glimpse of his baby brother's chubby toddler cheeks, and said...

'Look at how little he was, Mom. I sure miss the good ole days.'

Me, too.

I prefer Cool Whip, myself

Remember that purse I mentioned?

It belongs to my sister, and in her excitement to arrive at Grandma's house for Thanksgiving, she placed her fancy purse on a pumpkin pie cooling on a desk.

And didn't realize it until after dinner.

Of course, I wouldn't let her remove it until I snapped a photo. The good news is the pie survived.

Love it.

Ok, so I'm a little behind

Black Friday just about did me in.

It's been a week since I've blogged, which needs to never happen again, since writing is cheaper than therapy. I've been short on time, but not on topics, like my husband's new love for argyle, my sister putting her purse on the pumpkin pie, and the sweaters in my closet that are now missing the ties which wrap around the waist. I'll tell you what they're being used for later.

Turkey Day and those that followed have been crazy, and other tasks like showering, picking up my dry-cleaning that I dropped off three weeks ago, (was that ME that asked for next-day service?), and plucking a few more gray hairs that seem to sprout at the worst times have taken priority.

More tonight.