Oh, wow. Christmas just passed, and I have to say that we couldn’t have done it without an impulse purchase I made on Dec. 23. I had gone to Bed Bath & Beyond to get an over-the-door shoe holder in a feeble attempt to avoid paying $48 for an official American Girl hanging storage organizer. (It’s now backordered until March, so it’s Mommy for the WIN!)

As I was checking out, I saw a strange orange tool device hanging by the counter. (I’m a sucker for bright colors and pretty packaging. Ooooh! Look at the shiiiiny!) It was called an Open It!, and the photo on the package showed a consumer cracking open a blister package. I hate blister packages. I’m a klutz anyway, and I always end up slicing open a body part (don’t ask) trying to use regular scissors. The tool boasted other accessories: a small box cutter, a mini screwdriver (great for opening battery backs on kids’ toys) and the ability to open bottles. At just $9.99, I figured I could take a risk. After all, I didn’t look forward to opening a dozen blister packages on Christmas morning. (Whose idea was that anyway? Some old dude with no screaming kid impatiently whining for her iCarly microphone, obviously.)

If I could, I’d divorce my husband, marry my Open It! and have little Open It! babies. I wish I was kidding.

This thing is AMAZING! It cut like magic around the blister pack on Bella’s new Wizards of Waverly Place wand, sliced open the box to her FurReal Friends Biscuit animatronic dog with nary a woof and allowed me to change the batteries on my new Outwit, Outlast, Outplay Survivor 2009 Hallmark ornament like a champ! I’m in love. And, yes, the bottle opening aspect works — I just opened a lager for Bill (By the way, you’re welcome, hon.)

My brother thought the Open It! was amazing and immediately went to Bed, Bath & Beyond and bought his own. And now, I think I know exactly what to give everyone next year for Christmas…

Here’s a personal Christmas gift-giving story that will forever be etched in my memory. (It will help the reader during this telling if you keep chanting the words “He meant well. He meant well.”)

I’ve mentioned before in this blog that I never had a cat until I was in my thirties. My mom never liked them so we always had dogs when I was growing up. My sister-in-law’s cat had a litter, however, and I fell in love with the little kittens on the spot.

She gave me one of the kittens, a little Calico girl we named Buzz. (My son, who was six at the time, was heavily into Toy Story and named the kitten after Buzz Lightyear, throwing all gender implications to the wind.)

It would be an understatement to say I adored this cat. Having been used to dog behavior, I was mesmerized by the way she played and moved. And she didn’t have any of the stereotypical behavioral characteristics I was expecting. She loved to be held.

I don’t want to dwell on the sad part, but she died when she was about three years old. Her death was, honestly, one of the toughest things I’d ever had to go through. One of the few times I saw my husband tear up was when he saw my reaction to Buzz’s death.

When Christmas of that year rolled around, and (unbeknownst to me) my husband somehow got it into his head that the perfect gift for me would be another calico cat. Now, I know that all the women out there reading this are reacting the same way I did after the fact: How could someone think you could replace a pet that way? All I know is that somewhere in that Y-chromosome mind of his, my husband truly did believe that this was what I needed. (I try not to think about what actions he would take if I were suddenly felled in a freak accident.)

So, anyway, the next logical step in this idea would be to visit a pet store or shelter. No, my husband decided to tell all his friends to be on the lookout for a calico cat. So eventually, Ssomeone knew someone who knew someone who’d heard of this cat.

Which is how he and his buddy ended up on a cold Christmas Eve morning, chasing a terrified kitten down the road of a trailer court. That afternoon he walked in the house with a bag of litter and a litter box and set it down on the table. When I looked at him like he was crazy, he unzipped his jacket and out popped this scroungy little calico kitten that promptly ran under our bed and didn’t come out for three days.

Of course, the reasoning aside, I loved this little creature–who I named Tink–on sight. She was not cuddly, mind you, and being from the streets, she carried a couple of knives and wasn’t afraid to use them. But we eventually settled into a routine in which she would allow me to pet her on her terms.

A couple of months after she arrived, I had to have surgery. She became very protective of me, sleeping on the bed right beside me for days and sitting outside the shower when I was in there, meowing loudly the whole time. So, maybe my husband’s circuitous thinking was actually a good thing. Maybe the broken path that led her to me had a higher purpose after all.

My father-in-law is the single worst person on the planet to buy a gift for. A retired school guidance counselor, his current hobbies are cleaning his house and drinking coffee at 6 a.m. at the local Dairy Queen. (In the summer he does enjoy canning, and his spaghetti sauce is to die for. That hobby is one I really dig. Too bad it’s seasonal.)

Until I married into the family, my dad was the worst. He bought a Harley-Davidson motorcycle a few years ago, and now I visit a store on each of my many work trips and buy him a t-shirt or a sweatshirt. I can’t go wrong. I bet he probably has 50 now.

My father-in-law doesn’t really know what to do with gift cards, doesn’t shop on-line and sources most of his home furnishings and clothes from JC Penney. In the past, we’ve sent him Omaha Steaks, gift certificates to the local grocery store, framed photos of our family and slippers. This year, however, my husband came up with a fantastic idea — an HP digital picture frame that synchs to Facebook, YouTube and MySpace. Now, my father-in-law can see pictures of our family as well as those of my brother-in-law in Beverly Hills and my sister-in-law in South Dakota. My husband just has to set it up for him, and it’s perfect!

Now, if I could just find the perfect gift for my husband’s 90-something-year-old grandmother …

I am not happy. I have a fantastic general practitioner whom I’ve been with for nearly 10 years. When she started her own practice a couple of years ago, I blindly followed her. (Admittedly, the new practice was, well, less than desirable. I had a gall bladder test done and it took me a week to get my results from her office. And every time I called, I heard nurses hollering info to one another in the background and I could never seem to get an appointment, even when I was on the brink of death.) (I confess. Whenever I’m sick, I’m close to death. Or at least my whining indicates my imminent demise.)

Last weekend, I got yet another letter stating that my doctor was leaving the practice to pursue “other interests.” Other interests? Like what? Underwater basket weaving? Big-cat training in Vegas? Comedy writer for iCarly? (Actually, the last would be pretty cool …)

I have to find a new doctor. As I was talking (read: whining) to my husband about it, it brought up another story — recently, his  barber disappeared without a trace. Bill went to get a haircut, and *poof*! The shop was gone. There wasn’t even a note on the door. My decidedly shaggy-haired husband returned home and wondered what to do. (Looking back on it, it seems obvious — the barber always had some sort of meat smoking in the shop and would literally make stews on a stovetop as he cut hair. Who does that? It couldn’t have been legal, but Bill says it looked tasty. Weird. The barber ended up closing his shop and going to culinary school. Go figure.)

Finding a new service provider  isn’t easy. You can ask family or friends, go through your insurance manual (when it comes to doctors) or visit invaluable sites like Kudzu. It’s frustrating (and I really hope I don’t get sick — I still don’t have a doctor. Bill ended up tempting fate — and his receeding hairline — by stopping in at another local barber. At least he had some measure of success).

Got any recommendations when it comes to finding new service providers?

Here’s a story that perfectly illustrates the old adage “she can’t see the forest for the trees.”

Last month for about two weeks, I was going through the most profound state of tiredness that I’d ever experienced. I literally couldn’t get enough sleep. I couldn’t concentrate on anything when I was awake and I was increasingly irritable. To top it all off, I started having this annoying fluttering sensation in the left side of my chest. (And, no, it wasn’t love. I’ve been married for 20 years. The only chest sensation I get in relation to my husband is heartburn.)

So anyway, it took me about 3 minutes to decide that I was terribly, if not terminally, ill. I went to the doctor who tested my thyroid levels. They were great. My cholesterol levels were within normal limits and my blood pressure was perfect. …CONTINUE READING »

We had probably one of the best Thanksgiving vacations we’ve had in a long time. And, this picture really shows just how much fun all of us had. Wearing a ladybug hat and a bear hat, my kids discovered the joy of snow. Considering we usually spend Thanksgiving at Disney World, this was quite a change for them.

In fact, it really was a Thanksgiving of firsts. My son flew on a plane for the first time and they both saw their first snow. …CONTINUE READING »

Apparently, common sense died and no one bothered to write an obituary. That’s the only conclusion I can come to after reading and watching the news for the last few weeks.

First, we had the weird parents who staged the “Oops my kid stowed away in a hot air balloon, no he didn’t” fiasco. The jig was up when the poor kid mumbled something in a press conference about it all “being for a show.” We later learned that they did it so they could get their own reality show. Because, I guess, actually working for a living didn’t appeal to them. They’d already made two appearances on another reality show, “Wife Swap.” I guess that taste of “art” wasn’t enough for them. …CONTINUE READING »

I think the public school system here is giving my child growth hormones. It’s the only excuse I can come up with for the growth spurt she’s gone through this fall. Seriously, how can a six-year-old get so tall so quickly? We have to keep the snacks and candy even higher now that they’re within reach. She’s like Sasquatch — all arms and legs! (That’s her at left trimming one of our trees. See that skirt? It was knee-length six weeks ago!)

And this presents another problem: clothing. Dresses and skirts she wore just six weeks ago are suddenly go-go dress length. That’s fine if you’re Disco Barbie, but when you’re six? Not so much.

We have found a few brands that seem to last more than one season in both quality and wear. First, Hanna Andersson is fantastic in terms of seasonality. The It’s A Playdress, It’s A Daydress set from Hanna Andersson is perfect for layering. I buy one long-sleeve in the fall, and my daughter wears the dress with the coordinating leggings or alone with Ugg boots. By the following spring, it’s a bit shorter thanks to six months of growth, so she wears it with jeans and, as the weather gets warmer, knit capris. During the summer, I buy a short-sleeve set and we can wear the dress over jeans and layered atop a long-sleeved shirt long into the winter. (Best of all, these dresses have great resale value at consignment shops and on eBay!) …CONTINUE READING »