My best Christmas by far, I told my dentist today. I give it, like, a 9 out of a possible 10. The only way it could have been any better would have been if I a) had planned for better microwavable food, and b), hadn’t had minor tooth trauma (dentist’s words), all of which is fine now.
So part of the deal was the “no cooking” decision. This horrified most of my friends and all of my relatives, although it didn’t faze the boys a whit. Remind me to post on the boys’ diet later. But as I was saying, no cooking meant I pulled out that giant lasagna ($11 in the grocery store frozen section) and baked that bad girl. Well, okay, the husband baked it, but I told him it was Our Christmas Food Plan, and he, being a man, and not having any Pop Tarts handy, baked it when he got hungry. In the actual oven, even.
That’s the secret to not cooking; you have to wait until someone else is hungrier than you are, then eat what they fix. This can bite you in the butt, of course, if you have only Pop Tarts in the house. But baby, I bought Lasagna. Merry Mrs. Smith-type Christmas, everybody!
No travel was the other part of the deal. This works better now that we have three children, all boys. Everybody understands our desire not to be in confined areas with them for long periods of time (i.e., exceeding the length of time required to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 2), since they exceed all legal noise limits, and are starting to push the odor envelope on their why-do-I-need-a-bath days.
Next post — my favorite Christmas story from this year in which my six-year-old, the Maker (his own title for himself, based on his love of creating things), wins the prize.