Monday, December 19, 2011


I'm sure it comes as no surprise when I admit that… I haven't really been big on holidays. Nothing good has come from them, for me, in a long time. Growing up with divorced parents, my holidays were always spent splitting my time equally among all parties, never really feeling quite settled in one place or another. Since then, they've been mediocre at best and if they were uneventful, they were considered a success. Then a couple years ago, my Dad died on Easter. The Christmas that followed was my worst to date and it's pretty much after this sequence of events that I wrote off all holidays and their ensuing celebrations, for good.

BAH! …humbug.

I had just contented myself to my supreme cynicism regarding the holidays when… Miss Maci Mae Mo was born. With her comes the chance to reinvent the holidays and once again, experience them through the innocent eyes of a child. Color me sappy but after experiencing the following…

Maci's "Baby's First Christmas 2011" ornament hanging adjacent to mine (circa 1982)…

an empty hook awaiting Maci's stocking from Grandma Miller…

Maci's successful introduction to the jolly big guy…

a Polar Express reading from father to daughter…

…something Grinch-esque has happened to me.

I've realized we're not only experiencing holidays anymore but Shawn and I are creating traditions. We're composing annual events that Maci will grow to love. Therefore I'm bound and determined to adjust my holiday attitude and soak up all the firsts this season brings for me and my family of five. The squirt may still be a little too young to really understand what's going on, but if nothing more, for now, she can just enjoy the simplicity of a few extra twinkly lights.

Friday, December 9, 2011

A Tradition

Guess what we did last weekend…

No, that's not a saw in Shawn's one hand…
…and our daughter in the other.

The DeBoer family Christmas tree.
(Yes, those are plastic bags over our shoes.)

Our little Eskimo.

And we didn't have to borrow a vehicle this year!

Us girls. Recovering.

Monday, December 5, 2011


My Norman.

He turned six years old yesterday. 42 to those in the four-legged world.

I remember the day we got him like it was yesterday. We headed south of the cities to "take a look at" some basset puppies we'd read about in a newspaper ad. When we got there, two female, rowdy, hyper, jumping, barking, biting bassets sat awaiting our attention. We were less then thrilled and admitted to the breeder we were looking more for a male but we thanked her for letting us take a look anyway. Before we turned to leave, she mentioned she did have a male puppy… in the back.

Out she brought him. An all brown, lazy, dopey, brown-eyed, crooked-legged, low-ridin', long-eared, beautiful basset boy. He was exactly what we were looking for! We saw him, we fell in love, we paid a discounted price for him and took him home with us. He sat on my lap in the bitchin' Beretta the whole way home, quietly whining and looking a bit sheepish. On the drive, he came to be known as Norman; named after the cow in City Slickers. To this day, he remains the only impulsive thing Shawn and I have ever done.

While he tests our patience with his barking and his ever-present goober, Norman truly is a sweet, loving, good-natured, dopey old soul. He loves to sniff up and kiss on Miss Mae and she can't get enough of watching our gentle giants. If Norman had his way, he would eat peanut butter and cheese every single day whilst laying butt-to-butt with his buddy Leo in front on our fireplace. He does not like to be outside because he does not like to be cold and really, he just likes to be where we are. Going for a walk is the highlight of his life, although he generally peters out pretty quickly. His face is going prematurely white and his leg is as crooked as ever. He has a fear of wires, plastic bags, vacuums, brooms and pretty much anything else with a handle. He favorite spot to be rubbed is right between his two front legs, which is coincidentally right where his patch of naturally white hair resides. His reputation precedes him on Ruggles Street and thank goodness because he has managed to escape a couple times. Each time he meandered two houses down and thankfully, was easily coerced and returned by Mr. Tim. He is not the brightest light in the harbor, not by a long stretch, but he remains the cutest dog I've ever seen.


You might also like: