Letters to Santa

A few weeks ago the sunny girl and I took a day trip (a l-o-n-g day trip) to New York City.  We took along her best friend, Teeny Tiny Taylor, and the three of us had a great day.  We saw a fabulous Broadway musical that none of us knew anything about -- The Mystery of Edwin Drood (in which Chita Rivera is still gettin' it done!).  Now it's one of our new favorite shows!

We ate lunch at an empanada stand -- spicy chicken for me, and gooey cheese for the two vegetarians -- plus a shockingly tasty cranberry apple empanada for dessert.

The hipsters rode the Ferris Wheel at Toys R Us, and were drawn like moths to the mesmerizing flame of the Disney Store. We went to the Discovery museum, where we saw a very cool exhibit of sets, props, and costumes from all eight Harry Potter movies  And:  Robert Pattinson?  Short.  Rupert Grint?  Not quite as short, but still.  Daniel Radcliffe?  Short, short, short.  Emma Watson? About the size of a miniature pixie.

And of course we hit Macy's. We strolled around the block outside the store first, looking at the pretty, pretty window displays.  Then we went inside and traveled  all the way up to the ninth floor.  Our mission was to ride the wooden escalators, and to find the Christmas shop!

As we made our way up and up and up, we discovered this letter writing station and made a stop, because Macy's is doing a cool thing:  Every time you mail a letter to Santa inside a Macy's store, the company will donate one dollar to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

The urchins were all over that!

But listen to this tragic tale:  Teeny Tiny Taylor has never seen Miracle on 34th Street, so she didn't understand the special relationship Macy's has had for so long with Santa and with making sure his letters get to him.  How could this have happened in America?!  I can only tell you -- the sunny girl assigned the movie as homework!

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Our Advent calendar reveals this fun book behind today's door.  Inside are actual letters that can be opened and read, as the Jolly Postman tells about all the different storybook characters who have written letters to Santa.  Kids will also enjoy the games and puzzles that are part of the story. 

Snapshot: Spa Day!

So Coleen and I took ourselves out for a spa day last Friday -- fabulous! And no.  The spa we went to did not require us to share a water bed with a weird Marie Antoinette drape and a comforter from the early 1980s.  We had to go all the way to England to hit that.

The spa we went to was a little more upscale, and we didn't wear our p.j.s -- although I would have been totally down with that.

Then we went out to lunch, and ate delicious food, and when the waitress came by and asked us if we wanted another glass of wine, I said, "No thanks, we're fine."  And then Coleen gave me a sad face and kicked me under the table -- and I said, "Well, maybe just one more."  And the waitress nodded approvingly. "It's Friday, ladies."

Here's what I love:

 

Well, so this past weekend I packed up the sunny girl and the husband, and took them along with me on a little mini-vacation to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, to meet up with some of my besties from college.

People, we had a fabulous time!

My friends and I have seen each other only sporadically over the years.  Partly this is because they settled down over there, and he lives way up there, while I came back to my hometown down here.  It's also true that life and stuff happened (as it does to us all), and there were some lean years when the money for a get-away seemed (at the time) to be better spent on rent or the mortgage, and braces for the kids, and dance lessons, and a new car to replace the POS, and college tuition for the urchins, and a new softball bat, and summer camp and medical bills and . . . . You get the picture.

But this year we all turned fifty, and we (by which I mean Allison) decided that to celebrate, we needed to lay eyes on each other in person, and not just on Facebook.

 So Allison is quite the cruise director as it turns out.  She found us the most fabulous house that is the farthest thing from a shack you can imagine, and waved a magic wand so that both her girl and my girl could take the PSAT at a time that didn't ruin our plans, and nudged Terry and me into confirming those plans and packing our bags and actually getting our asses into gear -- all without raising her voice once.

I just love Allison!

Check out this awesome house!

There were the most comfortable, nap-worthy sofas . . . 

. . . including this one that the two teenagers decided was the "best sofa ever" and plotted to sneak into a duffle bag.  I never said they had good spatial relations.

There was a most excellent porch off of the bedroom assigned to the husband and me . . .

. . . and king-sized beds for both of the loving couples in the group.  Dennis and Allison needed a ladder to get into their bed, and worried about nosebleeds all night long -- but tell me the glamour of this room is not worth a nose bleed??

Terry cooked for us in a beautifully appointed kitchen (words like Viking and Sub-Zero can be bandied about here), and provided -- single-handedly -- a meal that included roasted chicken, mushroom risotto, salad with creamy goat cheese, and white chocolate mousse.  For real, y'all.

It did not suck.

We watched old movies (Oklahoma! and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, because we do love the show tunes), and played cards (and Terry just appears to be sweet, but really is a ruthless, Hearts-dominating bastard, which I say lovingly even though I got my ass kicked), and strolled along Rehoboth Avenue . . .

But mostly, we just loved spending time together. 

These are the people who helped me grow up.  We all met on the very first night of Freshman Orientation, in August of 1980, and have been friends ever since.  They have known me at my worst and my best, my silliest and my most earnest, drunk and sober, happy and sad.  And they have loved me all along.

How lucky am I?

Yes, I'm back from the beach -- but I'm not happy about it.

So I went to the beach for two weeks in July, and I have spent the first part of August moping that I'm not still there.

The generous and loving husband sent me for a week with my besties (no dudes allowed).  Then he and the girl urchins met me, and we stayed for our cherished week with the beloved un-family.

Coming home from the beach means it's time to start getting ready for school.  Blecch.

Let's go back to the beach!

Gradu-palooza -- the girl version!

So the girl in charge graduated from high school last weekend.  

 I feel old.  I ask you -- does this look like the face of someone who is ready to step out into the wide world? 

No?  OK -- how about this?

I know, right?

 [ The festive bow was after the fact, and I say -- too bad.  ]

While the mortarboard hat does make a definite statement, I think the bow shows way more fashion flair.  Call me crazy.

We partied it up for our girl, with balloons and party platters, and grandparents and aunts and godparents. 

My friend Saskia made this beautiful cake, which tasted even better than it looked, and strictly followed the girl in charge's instructions:  chocolate, with a side of chocolate, filled with chocolate and frosted with chocolate.  Please.

The bestie was there to make the day perfect.  It wouldn't be a celebration without her and her mom -- they make any party more fun!

So, yeah!  My girl in charge is already making her lists and organizing her minions as she prepares to leave for Emory University in the fall, but we're not going to talk about that because I can only absorb so many of these  moments when my life swings on a hinge and everything changes.  I don't really understand how parents make it through life without sobbing every day.

But we do.