New Year's Eve check in -- 11:25 p.m.

It is absolutely pouring down rain and almost sixty degrees outside, too warm for either my bathrobe or my fleecy slippers. That is an unusual occurrence in this house, which keeps to the approximate temperature of a meat locker.

Potty runs for Dobby and Zuzu so far: 2, fortunately both times before the heavens opened and water came spilling forth as if we're preparing for an all-new flood.

Movies: 1, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, as mentioned before. Just finished it and the verdict on it is that it was long on special effects and short on plot. I am still trying to figure out how Balthazar, who is typically known as one of the Magi who visited Baby Jesus and Veronica, who is believed to have offered Jesus a linen cloth upon which to wipe his face during his Passion, got messed up with Morgan Le Fay and Merlin. Because Arthurian legend, of which I am passably familiar -- or at least always thought I was -- featured no characters from the life of Christ. So I'm confused.

Tomorrow I'm cooking the final turkey dinner of this holiday season and we had an amusing contretemps earlier this evening when I was putting together the dough for the cloverleaf rolls I intend to serve with our meal. I had all my ingredients mapped out and ready to go for the recipe -- flour, yeast, butter, water, sugar, salt and eggs -- and everything was going really well until I got to the "eggs" part of my list. As it turned out, one of my darling daughters had used the last two eggs in the carton to make a protein-rich masque for her hair today, leaving me with nothing but a loud shriek: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

My husband, who is very fond of homemade dinner rolls, betook himself to the grocery store (Marsh is open all night and don't you feel sorry for their employees?) while Aisling, the culprit, and I ironed out a treaty which stated that she shall not use food items for her beauty treatments unless she ASKS ME FIRST.

I've been typing for eleven minutes, so it's now eleven-thirty-six and counting, so let me take this next few seconds of flying fingers to say how very, very pleased I am to be bidding 2010 goodbye. There have been some high points in this year, I know there have, although I'm hard pressed to remember them right at this particular moment. The trip to Stratford was successful, and I'm very thankful for that. We also got our new(er) van, Penny, which was a huge blessing. But you know? I am really, really sick of the recession and worrying about money all the time.

So here's for a more positive and prosperous 2011. I am ready for it.

In twenty more minutes.

New Year's Eve check in -- 9:35 p.m.

It's been a busy week since the last time I posted, which was on Christmas Eve, and you can probably guess what I've been doing: opening presents, coughing wetly, cooking festive food, coughing wetly, attempting to find someplace somewhere for all the extraneous boxes and scraps of colored paper and mashed bows that come along with Christmas time. And coughing. Wetly.

It turns out that recovery from walking pneumonia and Christmas don't make such a winsome pair. Yergh.

So anyway, our plan for tonight was to stay at home and watch movies, just something quiet and fun and family-oriented. The girls suffered a bit last New Year's Eve because of some scrambled plans and they requested that this year, we do what they wanted to do, which was fine with us. Besides, we have Dobby, who isn't old enough to be left for long periods of time: he is a frequent pee-pee'er.

I am being summoned to the living room, where The Sorcerer's Apprentice has just been started. It's a Nicholas Cage movie, and although Nick is starting to look a little old -- and aren't we all -- he is still handsome and entertaining and if he isn't, I guess I'll have to hope that the show has an absorbing plot.

Nothing left to do but....

Christmas To Do List:

1. Buy gifts -- check

2. Wrap gifts and postion under tree in a manner that will discourage two dogs from desecrating -- check

3. Shop for Christmas dinner menu (ham, potatoes au gratin, green bean casserole, yeast rolls, cheesecake) -- check

4. Go back to grocery for items forgotten on first trip -- check

5. Do some lick-and-a-promise house cleaning -- check

6. Go to church for two Masses (Aisling playing children's Mass and youth Mass) -- headed out the door in twenty minutes

7. Put away Advent wreath -- will do later, promise

8. Remember any important detail that may have been momentarily forgotten -- uh....uhhh....

9. Get Baby Jesuses for big nativity and little nativity ready to go, along with shepherds -- 'tis done

10. And thinking several days ahead, have husband's birthday gifts assembled and ready for giving on morning of December 28 -- finito!!

Okay! That's all I can think of, so I guess there's nothing left to do but to say

Merry Christmas!

My new most-hated Christmas song

In years past here on InsomniMom, I've written posts about three of my most-hated Christmas songs, including"I Saw Mommy Committing Adultery with Santa Claus," "Mary, Did You Know," and "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer": you'll be pleased to know that I've come up with a new song for this year's Loathe List and it is "Carol of the Bells."

Since it is December 23, we've all been listening to Christmas music played in all the stores, every store everywhere in every single city, even in dusty little used-book stores where the most recently published book is Jaws as a Penguin paperback, since Labor Day. So as it happens, "Carol of the Bells" has been played quite often, and in my hearing. I don't ever really remember registering this song before as a carol; it has become best known as the tune of the Garmin GPS jingle.

The Garmin songs are fairly witty -- at least, they were because come to think of it, I haven't seen a single Garmin commercial, old or new, this season -- but that song.....THAT SONG. It is so urgent. There is nothing that is either peaceful or silent about the Christmas night on which those bells were ringing. And they don't seem all that happy to be welcoming the Baby Savior, either. Honestly, they seem a little ticked, with those baritones in the background bellowing "DING....DONG....DING....DONG" on that descending scale while the sopranos are shrieking so far up the scale, so high and so fast that you can't even really make out the words, that the whole thing is enough to make an adult clap her hands over her ears and run away crying, let alone a tiny innocent baby. I think a Metallica concert could be less damaging.

All in all, my thought is that this song is too frenetic, too jarring, too manic, no matter who sings it. And anyone who has to sing it, because they're in the high school chorale or church choir or whatever? I think there ought to be a mandatory cup of wassail offered immediately after practices and performances so that everyone can just calm the heck down. There is no need to get in so het up; that's what the shopping malls are for.

I can't complain about the lyrics, because as I mentioned before, I can't understand most of them. I do understand that ominous and ferocious-sounding "merry merry merry merry merry Christmas" as if the singers are just DARING you to have a bad one so that they can have an excuse to come around to your house and punch you in the throat.

But I can complain about the music, oh yes. I can complain about the music loud and long, almost as long as "Carol of the Bells," which, like "The Twelve Days of Christmas," is practically eternal. I'm assuming that the lyrics are pretty innocuous since they're about the birth of Jesus, but the MUSIC. The MUSIC.

I can go on and on about the music because guess what piece of music Aisling's piano teacher gave her to work on and perfect with many hours of practice during this festive and joyful season?

Yes.

RECIPE: Chicken Chili (easy, easy, easy)

This is a chicken chili recipe my mom served to us last week on Christmas Cookie Baking Day. It was so delicious -- and she said it was so simple -- that I immediately asked for the recipe and made it last night for dinner. It was a big hit, with requests that it be served again sometime soon. Which, you know, is such a nice feeling, much better than the one I get when I serve the plates and my husband looks down at his food, glances warningly at the girls and then stares me straight in the eye with an insincere smile and a hearty, "I'm sure it's going to taste JUST GREAT."

This is the kind of recipe that some people absolutely loathe because it comes from the Cans-n-Boxes section of my cooking repertoire, but it was so quick and easy to prepare and so GOOD, I just don't care. Every cook has to have a few recipes that can be thrown together and ready to serve in a minimal amount of time and this one definitely fits those qualifications. Plus, it's a thick, hearty soup; really, more of a stew. Full of protein, too, with the chicken, the beans and the rice. And did I mention budget-friendly?

CHICKEN CHILI

Ingredients:
1 large can/bottle tomato juice
2 medium-sized cooked chicken breasts, cubed or shredded (or one large will do fine)
2 cans chicken broth
1 can chili beans, undrained
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 can whole kernel corn, undrained
2 packets taco seasoning
1 cup instant rice or 1 1/2 cups cooked rice

Optional, for garnishing:
shredded cheese of whatever kind you prefer (sharp cheddar? Monterrey Jack?)
chopped green onions
corn chips

Directions:
Spray a soup kettle with non-stick spray. Spend several moments opening up a plenitude of cans. Drain the cans that need to be drained (and rinsed, natch); pour everything in the soup kettle. Add the chicken and the packets of taco seasoning. Bring to a boil and then turn heat to a low medium flame; allow to simmer for twenty minutes or so.

At the end of twenty minutes, add the instant rice. Turn off the flame and put a lid on the pot. Let stand for five minutes. Stir and serve with garnishes, if desired.

Looking very empty

This is my Christmas stocking, hanging by my parents' fireplace and I'm sorry to say that it is a total sham, a fake, a pretty bit of Christmas mummery. You know why? Because that stocking HAS NOT BEEN FILLED by Santa Claus or my mother any other interested person ever since I got married almost twenty years ago.

I've had that stocking since I was a baby. It was a gift on my first Christmas from my grandma's friend Gene Steussy. I don't know if Mrs. Steussy crafted this stocking herself -- she was, and probably still is, one of those women who can do anything, up to and including being an extremely talented photographer -- or whether she bought it, but wherever it came from, one showed up for Pat a few years later, only I didn't feel the need to take a picture of his. It's on the other side of the fireplace. The side without the Christmas tree, the nativity and all the prettily wrapped presents. I guess we all know who the favorite child is, don't we?

Or....maybe not.

Because, as I mentioned, that stocking hanging there is only for show. It has not been filled since the year I got married, which was 1991.

That Christmas long ago, my husband and I arrived at my parents' house on Christmas morning and I was gleefully anticipating a pile of gifts, as usual, plus my crammed-to-bursting stocking. Mom always filled it with lovely things like People magazine's Best and Worst issue (a publication which I am too snooty and highbrow to buy for myself, but which I read with secret avidity at the dentist's office), fingernail polishes, makeup, cute jewelry, candy and always-always-always a new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. I don't know what Pat got in his stocking. Boys always have such dumb stuff, don't they?

Anyway, I was most disappointed to see my stocking hanging there by that very fireplace, looking exactly the way it does in my photo -- flat, decorative and not bursting with opportunity.

"Hey!" I said indignantly. "Why is my stocking hanging there looking so flat, decorative and devoid of opportunity?"

"Because you're married now," my mother replied calmly, obviously having rehearsed this conversation in her head.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I scowled.

My dad joined my mom. "Since you're married, that means you're a grown up and grown ups don't need Christmas stocking gifts."

Pat was at that moment tenderly lifting his stocking from the hearth. It was so heavy and laden with gifts, the felt loop that held it to the mantel hook wouldn't hold it and Santa had propped it up against the bricks. He looked over his shoulder and gave me a smirk. "On the other hand," he said, "I am still a child and, hey! My stocking seems a lot FULLER this year than it's ever been before!"

My voice immediately rose in a familiar tone. "Mo-o-o-om, did you hear him? He's taunting me about those stocking gifts!"

"Pat, don't taunt your sister," my dad said absently, his eyes fastened on some new electronic device he'd just opened.

"Gosh, it's so heavy, I can barely carry it back to the couch!" With an ooomph noise, he dropped it on a seat cushion and little gifts scattered everywhere. "Wow, it's going to take me a while to open all these. I'd better save them, kind of do them in shifts throughout the day."

"You could get carpal tunnel syndrome from all that repetitive opening," my husband grinned. He cut his eyes over at me, caught a glimpse of my expression, and immediately fell silent.

"Quit fussing, darlings," said my mother, who was passing out the gifts she'd pulled from under the tree. "Now, who wants to be first?"

"ME!" I yelled.

"ME!" Pat hollered.

"Have they always been this spoiled?" my husband asked my father.

"Yes," he said. "I blame their mother. It's all her fault."

That was the first sad, stocking-less year and each year following has been equally bereft. The only good thing I can say is that Pat and Angie were married by next Christmas and he didn't get a stocking anymore either and hahahahahahaha.

Christmas makes children of us all!

Please Come Home for Christmas - The Eagles Millennium Concert 1999

If you can honestly say that you don't love this Christmas classic, rendered in that slow, smoky style that makes you picture a holiday party with people lined up to do the Stroll, then you must be some kind of grinchy person who hates candy canes, pretty presents and the Baby Jesus. Because, c'mon. The Eagles? Don Henley's voice, still so sweet even in 1999 with the "play it, Don" and Don Felder's little solo that will remind you warmly of every Eagles song you ever knew and loved back when you were in high school? It's enough to make you want to throw your arms around Joe Walsh and weep sentimentally onto his shirt front. He seems like a nice guy; I think he'd let me do that.

An oldie but a goodie - "The Twelve Thank-You Notes of Christmas"

Do you remember when this was going all around the internet at Christmas time? It's been a few years since I've read it, so I did a search, found it, and discovered that it has aged well. Kind of gives you a whole new perspective on what a dubious pleasure it would be to receive a gift of six geese a-laying. The thought that comes to my mind is "Oh, what fun it is to hide when the mailman comes my way."

December 25

My dearest darling Edward,

What a wonderful surprise has just greeted me! That sweet partridge, in that lovely little pear-tree; what an enchanting, romantic, poetic present!

Bless you, and thank you.

Your deeply loving

Emily

December 26

Beloved Edward,

The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing away in pear-tree as I write. I'm so touched and grateful!

With undying love, as always,

Emily

December 27

My darling Edward,

You do think of the most original presents! Who ever thought of sending anybody three French hens? Do they really come all the way from France? It's a pity we have no chicken coops, but I expect we'll find some.

Anyway, thank you so much; they are lovely.

Your devoted Emily

December 28

Dearest Edward,

What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived this morning. They are very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly, they make telephoning almost impossible - but I expect they'll calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway, I'm very grateful, of course I am.

Love from Emily

December 29

Dearest Edward,

The postman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for each finger, and all fitting perfectly! A really lovely present! Lovelier, in a way, than birds, which do take rather a lot of looking after. The four that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row, and I'm afraid none of us got much sleep last night. Mother says she wants to use the rings to "wring" their necks. Mother has such a sense of humor. This time she's only joking, I think, but I do know what she means.

Still, I love the rings.

Bless you,

Emily

December 30

Dear Edward,

Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning, it certainly wasn't six enormous great geese laying eggs all over the steps. Frankly, I rather hoped that you had stopped sending me birds. We have no room for them, and they've already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but let's call a halt, shall we?

Love,

Emily

December 31

Edward,

I thought I said NO MORE BIRDS. This morning I woke up to find no more than seven swans, all trying to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather not think what's happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems to be full of birds, to say nothing of what they leave behind them, so please, please, stop!

Your Emily

January 1

Frankly, I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight milkmaids? And their cows! Is this some kind of a joke? If so, I'm afraid I don't find it very amusing.

Emily

January 2

Look here, Edward,

This has gone far enough. You say you're sending me nine ladies dancing. All I can say is, judging from the way they dance, they're certainly not ladies. The village just isn't accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless hussies, with nothing on but their lipstick, cavorting round the village green, and it's Mother and I who get the blame. If you value our friendship, which I do (less and less), kindly stop this ridiculous behavior at once!

Emily

January 3

As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing up and down all over what used to be the garden, before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it. And several of them, I have just noticed, are taking inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile the neighbors are trying to have us evicted. I shall never speak to you again.

Emily

January 4

This is the last straw! You know I detest bagpipes! The place has now become something between a menagerie and a madhouse, and a man from the council has just declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mother has been spared this last outrage; they took her away yesterday afternoon by ambulance to a home for the bewildered. I hope you're satisfied.

January 5

Sir,

Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with the arrival on her premises at 7:30 this morning of the entire percussion section of the London Symphony Orchestra and several of their friends, she has no course left open to her but to seek an injunction to prevent you importuning her further. I am making arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.

I am, sir, yours faithfully,

G. Todd Markham

Solicitor

Take a moment

This is being posted all over Facebook, but I wanted to embed it here so that I won't lose it. It's worthy of watching over and over again.




I made it until 1:50 before the tears starting falling.

Why is Robert Downey Jr. even cuter when he's sad?

Many years ago, I was a faithful viewer of Ally McBeal, even though I really kind of hated her even though I loved her? I don't know. It was very strange. But anyway, I was so happy for her when Robert Downey Jr. came on the show as a character whose name I don't remember, but he was an amazing love interest for Ally. He really got her, and it didn't make him want to run screaming to the airport, which is what we all want, right? Only Ally wanted it even more than the rest of it because she was a frikking dipwad.

So this video is a cover of Joni Mitchell's song "River" from her beautiful album, Blue. I warn you that this is not a happy Christmas song, so don't watch it unless you've had two hot toddies and are feeling really mellow I mean, unless you're feeling extremely well-adjusted and have all your Christmas wrapping done and aren't standing anywhere near a sharp knife.

"River" is a breakup song -- particularly poignant at Christmas -- but what made this version so sad is that RDJ's character has come to the realization that he can either have Ally or he can move back to wherever he came from (New York? Been too long...) to be with his little boy, who lives with the ex-wife. But he can't do both, right now anyway. Somebody's gonna cry, right? And thankfully, RDJ's character does the right thing and moves away so that he can help raise his son and Ally's heart was broken and so was mine.

The O Antiphons - O Clavis David

The O Antiphon for today, December 20, is O Clavis David (Key of David)

Come, and bring forth the captive from his prison.

O Key of David, and Scepter of the House of Israel, who opens and no man shuts, who shuts and no man opens; Come and bring forth the captive from his prison, he who sits in darkness and in the shadow of death.

O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israël, qui aperis, et nemo claudit, claudis, et nemo aperuit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

The key is the emblem of authority and power. Christ is the Key of the House of David who opens to us the full meaning of the scriptural prophecies, and reopens for all mankind the gate of Heaven.

RECIPE: A Hot Toddy for your Aching Body

Tonight, I gave up. Just threw my hands up into the air and said, "Honey, drive me to a liquor store."

There comes a time when Ny-Quil will turn its back on you and love you no longer. There comes a time when your Tessalon cough pearls will crouch down inside their pharmacy bottle, quietly laughing at you, you who actually had the innocent hope that, having taken one of these expensive little things, you would STOP COUGHING.

You'll think you're out there on your own, alternately shivering with cold and baking with heat as your fever rages. You'll scare yourself when you see your reflection in the mirror, all hollow-eyed and grey and drawn. You'll cough. You'll cough until your family finds discreet reasons not to be around you as you hack and bark uncontrollably like, "I think I'm going to go wash my hair, Mommy. At Uncle Pat and Aunt Angie's house."

That is when you need to have a hot toddy.

Listen, I'm sick and you're probably sick, so here's the recipe. This is an easy one that I tinkered with because when you're sick? Do you really feel like dealing with an eighth of a teaspoon of cloves and a pinch of nutmeg and a cinnamon stick, but only the kind of cinnamon imported from Ceylon? No, you do not. You just want something you can put together quickly that will taste good and cure what ails you by stopping your cough and helping you sleep. And I don't like cinnamon sticks in any beverage anyway because they always look so cute, but end up poking you in the nostril.

I've been coughing since last Tuesday and I haven't had a full night's sleep since then either and I plan to drink hot toddies four to six times a day until I'm better or my blood catches on fire when I sit too close to a candle, whichever comes first.

I have spoken. And coughed.


HOT TODDY

Ingredients
1 Bigelow's "Constant Comment" de-caf tea bag
1 1/2 cups boiling water
1 shot of whiskey (1.5 ounces -- I used Johnnie Walker Red)
2 tablespoons honey
1 thick slice fresh lemon

DIRECTIONS
Pour the boiling water into a Pyrex measuring cup to the 1 1/2 cup line. Add tea bag, whiskey, honey and lemon. Steep for about five minutes. Remove lemon and tea bag from measuring cup; stir the toddy. Pour into a coffee mug. Collapse on couch. Drink, allowing the mug to warm your hands. Watch a movie from On Demand. Do not answer the telephone, unless Caller ID demonstrates that the person telephoning you is someone who will be willing to listen patiently to all your symptoms and a monologue on how crappy you feel. Take a lovely, cough-free nap.

Please note: When you're sick, your sense of taste and smell is impaired. Also, this toddy tastes a lot like tea with honey and lemon flavors overlaid anyway. It does not taste as strong as it actually is, so don't go drinking one of these and thinking, "Gee, I feel great! Time to go sledding!" The idea is to relax and rest and sleep, not to party down once your coughing has stopped and your bodily aches and pains have receded into the fuzzy distance.