Complications

While Alexis' school wants the Secret Santa gift exchange to be a simple affair, Alexis wants to make everything complicated. She is a girl, after all, and if any creature can make a simple thing complicated, it's a girl.

I spent 30 minutes walking up and down and up and down the aisles of Target with Alexis in search of the absolute perfect gift for the exchange. With a $5 spending limit, the choices were few and far between. I think that just made it harder for the poor kid because she was determined to get A LOT out of those $5. And by A LOT, I mean she was determined to make me so insane that I would throw ALL OF THE THINGS in the cart in a desperate ploy to get the hell out of Target.

It almost worked. ALMOST.

Finally she picked out some Squinkies that she is certain her friend will like and we went along our merry way. I was a bit crazier than I was before that shopping spree, but she was a whole lot happier. Funny how that so often turns out to be a tradeoff.

When we returned home, Alexis was eager to wrap that Secret Santa gift. So was I. I love to wrap gifts far more than is probably reasonable. To be honest, I felt I had earned the right to complicate the hell out of wrapping that gift. If I have to spend 30 minutes listening to a short person try to make a decision, by golly, I'm going to spend 30 minutes wrapping that decision in shiny paper and sparkly ribbons. I'm a girl. I'm good at that complicating things thing.

Alexis and I marched up the stairs to pick out some wrapping paper. I keep it stashed neatly in the guest room closet along with all sorts of odds and ends. Alexis looked through all of the wrapping paper choices and looked again and looked again and OMG SHE TRIED TO MAKE ME RELIVE THE TARGET NIGHTMARE.

JUST PICK SOME DAMN PAPER, KID.

Ahem.

Eventually, she made a choice and then indicated that she would pick out some ribbon to match. I blinked a few times and then leapt into action.

"Nope! I'll pick the ribbon! IT'S MY TURN TO PICK SOMETHING, KID." As I bent down to dig through the bin filled with sparkly ribbons, Alexis waited semi-patiently with the wrapping paper in hand.

And then the hammer fell on my head.

Not literally. Figuratively.

"Momma, why are there American Girl Doll books up there?"

AGGLE FLAGGLE KLABBABLE.

Santa bought a few extra books months and months ago when she was in Chicago. Santa stashed those books way up high on a shelf in that closet months and months ago. Santa had them really well hidden, but had just recently shifted things around a bit, making the books visible to certain short people who weren't supposed to see them because they were supposed to end up in her stocking on Christmas morning.

Santa was not amused, mostly because Santa realized that she is going to have to go out and find a few replacement stocking stuffers while all of the rest of the world is out shopping. SANTA HATES CROWDS.

Girls are really good at making simple things complicated.

I Can't Believe I'm Posting This

Let's just get this over with, shall we? You did earn it, after all. Me and a bunch of dorks who were in my Confirmation class. Probably 4th or 5th grade.

What's that? You can't figure out which one is me? I'm the girl with big hair, of course!

Heh.

OK. So. I'll admit, it's really not an embarrassing photo. It probably should be, but since most everyone in it is suffering from the same symptoms of dorkness that I am, I'm cool with it. (I'm in the back row, third from the right.)

In case you were wondering, the symptoms of dorkness are:

My hair in its natural state is essentially a cooked spaghetti noodle. Sure, you can bend it and curl it and make it do all sorts of fun things, but the second you pick it up *BAM!* it goes straight again. Perms do absolutely nothing to change that state of noodliness, but that didn't stop me from trying.  I used to get super-tight (pink curlers!) perms every eight weeks or so. Then I'd use a curling iron and ALL OF THE AQUANET IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD to try to make it stay sort of curly and big.

At least everybody else was also delusional and thought big and curly was the way to go.

Another symptom of dorkness:

Sure, some of the people in the photo are smiling, but those are the cool people. Us dorks refused to show teeth. I think it had something to do with a healthy fear of opening our mouths and saying something stupid during Confirmation.

Oh, and quit acting shocked that I was raised to be a good little Lutheran. The really shocking part is that I never burst into flames.

Finally:

It's hard to tell, but those suckers were bigger than my whole face and they were Pepto Bismol pink.

So hawt.

Thanks for smashing that Christmas Crazy goal, y'all. You may now commence the mocking in the comments. Heh.

I'm Really Proud Of You. Yes, YOU.

"Would you like to come over this Saturday and let the girls play for a few hours?" the woman next to me asked as we watched our daughters tappa-tappa-tappa their way through dance class.

"I'm sorry. I have a photo shoot so we won't be able to," the words tumbled out of my mouth before I consider the consequences.

"Photo shoot? Are you a photographer?" she asked.

"I...uh...sort of. It's a part-time thing," I hesitantly replied.

"Oh! Do you have a website?" she responded, clearly interested in perusing the conversation in a whole new way.

FUNNY QUESTION, THAT.

Website? Me? Do I have a website? Hmmm...let me think about that. I don't have a photography website. Yet. Soooooooo...no! I don't have a website!

Oh. This one? THIS ONE? Hooboy. This one isn't at all a secret, but I don't exactly walk around telling people it exists. You aren't going to catch me telling the cashier at the Iggle, "Hey, check out my blog!" nor do I casually mention it in any conversations with anybody EVER. NEVER EVER.

(Side note: one of our neighbors always seems to walk outside just as Alexis and I are working on a chalk photo. That neighbor has to think I'm insane. Normal people do not routinely teeter on top of a ladder with a camera while their kid pretends to fly.)

To be honest, I don't often mention any sort of social media to people I know outside of social media. Twitter? What's that? Facebook? Oh, I don't really use that. You know, privacy concerns, n'at.

The thing is, I'm not the only one who compartmentalizes social media activities. It seems like the people who don't get it just plain don't get it. They trivialize the value of social media and we let them. I mean, how many of you have blogs that you keep secret from your families? Or twitter accounts that you use heavily, but you freak out if somebody from "the real world" finds your account?

Why are we ashamed of the very real conversations and relationships and successes we have because of social media?

I don't know.

But right now I want to fly my social media freak as high as I possibly can. I want to run through my neighborhood yelling, "I love the people who read my blog!" (I hate the word blog, for the record. Like, it makes me cringe just typing it. HATE HATE HATE. I still want to go yell that I love you for reading it, though.) I want to grab a bullhorn and drive through Pittsburgh proclaiming, "SOCIAL MEDIA IS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Christmas Crazy. Goal Reached.

$3500 worth of toys will be going to Womansplace this Friday. $3500 worth of toys will be under the trees of kids who have suffered the consequences of domestic violence. $3500.

You guys are absolutely amazing.

GROUP HUG!

I'll post the final total for Christmas Crazy 2011 next week. There's a whole bunch of stuff I haven't included in the running total because I work in phases with this stuff, but I will tell you now that it's a very good number. It's a very good number that includes stories about generous souls who drive three hours with a carload of toys, young men who choose to collect toys for a donation instead of birthday presents, and a whole bunch of other Awesome People Who I Will Forever Adore.

It's a number that makes me incredibly grateful for each and every one of you.

Oh, and if you haven't had a chance to donate, there is still time to get in on the lovefest. It all goes to Womansplace so that they can continue to do amazing things.

Thank you. Yes, YOU.

(I'll post the photo later. That much big hair deserves a post of its own. Trust me.)