IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS!

Everywhere you go! Even the chicken coop! (Shhh, they love it.)

Let's run this one down by the numbers.

Number of bowls of Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge that I need to finally throw away because we've all moved on already:

Lots.

Number of days since the outside has seen anything above 25 degrees:

Too many.

Number of Santa Letter rewrite requests from The Boy Who Can't Make His Mind Up:

Millions.

Number of chicken stockings hung on the chicken coop:

I know, I am fully ridiculous.

Number of days left until Christmas:

This one requires actual math. I'm out.

IT'S HERE! 

Guys December is a super crazy month. 

Most holiday seasons I like launch myself into it like a crazed lunatic and go, go, go, but this time around it's been a super slow start. Brandon's been pestering me reminding me gently to start our photo books so we have them finished on time, and I'm like, can't you see I have important Roswell to attend to here? 

(I like to skip past the parts involving the Sheriff as well as any scene ever involving anybody wondering or caring about where they came from? This leaves episodes about 10 minutes long, mainly consisting of longing glances at people and Maria and Liz being all cute and eye-rolly.) 

(I swear though this show is the STUPIDEST.)

But we got our Christmas cards picked! Which is saying something! I even bought my Charlie Brown Christmas stamps! Ho ho ho! 

One of these days I'll give up and stop trying to keep everybody's versions of our current address up to date. But today is not that day!

Postable sent them to us! I personalized the inside to say, "Now let's make sure we're still on yours. We've moved!" etc etc. I know, I'm a genius.

Oh boy.

This Christmas already feels especially Christmassy. I just have so much hope for this Christmas, for all sorts of reasons (Clomid don't fail me now, cervical mucus don't desert me . . .) (Anastasia reference? Sorry.) I made it through November and November was hard. November was especially hard. Sucky as all crap. I want my body back. I want my energy back, I want my sunny outlook back, and my motivation back, OR! I want to make a fat, gurgly baby, NOW. It's that kind of thing where I want a baby the way you'd want a really good sandwich after being rescued from a desert island and you're starving. 

But just this morning I felt that stupid angst started to turn around, and there's hope on the other side of it, I can almost see it. There's such a nostalgic feeling about Idaho right now. Planning a drive to Portland once Brandon's finished his semester, remembering to tread carefully down the icy parts of town, freezing drafts coming in from very old doors, hauling out the decorations I handmade in a little bedroom across town seven or eight years ago. I've been missing Petey The Pan and Barney McStuffins like the dickens. I've been re-reading old Babble posts and feeling a spark of recognition for this old feeling of pessimism splashed with optimism. Good things are coming. Let's do this, Christmas.

"Cheers!" hope says. "You're still on my mailing list!"

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