Nighttime isn't for sleeping! It's for rockin' the party.

I fear I've become...bland. Don't get me wrong, I totally and fully dig my current life, but I worry that my "adventures" have become a little PG to those of my pals sans kiddos. I will strive to be racier.

Let's try it out.

This past weekend...we bought our Christmas tree. (Sigh. Oh well.) We quite possibly spent waaay too long debating the merits of Balsam vs. Frasier Fir. Couldn't tell you what they are NOW, but at the time it was as crucial as the paint choice for the kitchen walls. (Victorian pearl- turned out to be the wrong decision, but not so with the Frasier Fir. Fragrant as a wooded...woodland.) The guy tied it to our car and we drove it home. This beats out last year's trek by 2000%, as LAST year we got to walk our tree from Ashland to Oakley. Eight blocks. In the frozey, biting wind and snow. (Kinda like today!) I even got the heavier end of the tree- not sure how that worked out, but I certainly wasn't silent about it. For eight blocks.

This year's journey was nicer. Plus, Nora got to witness her Dad turning trees around and guesstimating "fullness" and "freshness." I'm sure he made up half of the things he noted, but it's my job as a wife to nod solemnly and appreciate. (Heck, *I* don't want to hafta lug the tree around and inspect low branches.) And by "witness," I mean that Nora slept the whole time. Oh well. Fresh, piney air counts for something, even if she's bundled, swaddled and layered within an inch of her life. She seriously looked like a miniature, turquoise Stay-Puft Man.

Later on we went downtown to the Christkindlmarket for some mulled wine in a boot. (See? Drinking! That's...PG-13.) The boot is green this year, for those of you who collect them in pairs and line them on your countertop like some sort of home for wayward elven footwear. Anyone? Annie- lookin' at you. (And...at myself.) P.J. got to enjoy firsthand the feelings of imminent danger when taking Nora out of doors. Walking in the Loop we realized (yet again) that ANYTHING could happen. Weather, building materials, errant elbows...and boy, did P.J.'s 'tude towards the outing show it. Bundled (once again) up to to her forehead and strapped to P.J.'s chest in an "active back" Baby Bjorn (like he's gonna go spelunking), P.J. kept his arms around Nora in a boxing-out position with his eyeballs perhaps TOO alert.

"Having a good time?" Annie and I asked Peej.

"Yes."

So I had a second boot o' wine. And it was glorious. I also bought Nora a miniature blown-glass giraffe the size of her pinky nail (thank God- she was hurting in that department) and later saved the day when a blown-glass fishie went careening through the air, sent there by some member of a huge touristy family. Tourists. Yeah, I found the fish, (contemplated keeping it- briefly- decided it wasn't the right colors) and returned it to the table. 'Tis the season.

The next night I went to a re-gifting party, hosted by one Miss Kat (and copious amounts of smallish foodstuffs- they were so terrific they deserve second billing) where we each brought five items we no longer needed or wanted and swapped them for the other gals' castoffs o' awesome. It. Was. Great. We bargained, cajoled and swiped items that, were they not in the pile (and were we not imbibing) we would have raised eyebrows at them and thanked the gifter with what Kat calls "the office laugh." HAHaha.

I swear I am not a wino.

And that brings us to this week. Nora and I have fallen into a routine of wearing our pajamas and smiling at each other a lot. One of us digs being worn in a sling, napping in twenty minute increments with one eye open...in case something good happens. (I keep telling her that I'd WAKE her in that scenario, but apparently she doesn't believe me.) If I want her to really, really have a nap, sometimes I have to lie down with her. Which, come to think of it, is probably what she wants anyhow. And, to be completely honest, when I'm snuggled on a couch, bed or floor with Nora, I have a moment of thinking- What the heck was I doing that was better than this? Answer- probably nothing. At least, not since I was Nora's age and was snuggled on the floor by someone. Most likely one of my parents. If I had to guess.

(Side note- during yesterday's nap, Nora let out her first real belly laugh. It was the best and funniest sound ever. Sadly, since she had been in such a deep sleep it FREAKED THE HECK OUTTA HER. This caused a terror-filled rage cry that freaked ME the heck out. This jolt on my part caused full-body hiccups on Nora's part. This led to a gastrointestinal explosion (for Nora) that made her diaper give up. It was an intense fifteen seconds.)

Last night Peej and I had our first real date night since having the kiddo. Sure, Nora was there, but more importantly- two dollar tacos were there. And margaritas! (Fine. I drink, okay?) Nora slept through the date while we discussed an article about Facebook friendships...which led to discussions on...our Facebook friends. We also talked about the tacos and margaritas! It was just like the old days.

And that leads to...today. Nora ended up in bed with us again early this a.m., so I awoke to a wide-eyed, toothlessly grinning face inches from my own. Nora was there, too. (Oh, I kid. P.J. has plenty of teeth.) There are few better things in life than waking up next to someone who is stoked beyond belief to see you. I thought I had this kind of relationship with my husband. I was clearly wrong. No one loves me more than my daughter. It's like cocker spaniel love x a trillion and two. With smiles.

That said, I desperately needed her to nap- a real nap- this morning so that I could finish up a bunch of projects before this weekend. We're off to Cincy tomorrow for family time and a couple of baptisms, so I needed to pack for both of us as well as get all things Christmas done. And perhaps take a shower. SO. The moment she started looking droopy-eyed I rushed downstairs and started her swing. Singing to her and swaying, I attempted to match the swing's rhythm in order to do some sort of Double Dutch jumpin' in handoff to a piece of equipment. Now, anyone who knew me between the years of '80-'92 knows that I am simply wretched at Double Dutch. So it took a few tries. But it took!

Once she was asleep I stood in the living room for, oh, five full minutes staring around blankly. Then I hopped into action, pulling out enough outfits for Nora for a good month and a half (maybe I should pack her a steamer trunk? How many onesies are required for two days?) and laid out possible choices for her to "try on" later. This should be fun. Have you ever tried to wrangle the arms of a squirmy, yelling, angry kitten? No? I highly recommend.

Then- I had to decide what to pack for myself. I included a case of Kleenex for all of the tears. Turns out, at six weeks postpartum, NOTHING fits. My preggo clothes looking vaguely muu muu-ish and my pre-preg clothes make me look a little bit like a hoochie. I don't THINK I was that kinda girl before I had a kid- but let's be honest. Hips don't lie. (As of right now, all I've packed are some socks and a nursing bra. I AM a hoochie!)

As Nora was still sleeping, I gave into the glorious luxury of a shower. Sadly, once I was IN the shower I realized that I had intended to dye my hair before heading out to a big gathering of Schoenys (yep- I dye my hair sometimes. Let's just keep that between you, me and Lady Clairol, shall we?) and, as everyone knows, you need DRY hair for this. Hopped out of the shower. Cleaned the kitchen. Did some laundry. Finished the Christmas cards. Waited for hair to dry. (Yes, I realize I could've used a hair dryer, but as someone who doesn't even get to "do" her hair for a nice occasion these days, I'm certainly not gonna waste a beautifying ritual right before I wash my head once again. It made sense at the time.) So. I mixed the hair dye, began to lather it into my hair- admittedly, not as precisely as I've done in the past- and Nora began to wail. I raced downstairs, chemicals singeing my eyes, and soothed her back to sleep WITHOUT touching her nor letting the fumes anywhere in the vicinity of her swing. I'm sure the confusion alone put her back to sleep. (Please don't take my baby away from me.) In fact, the first part of this post was typed with my hair quite gooped-up, wearing a towel and sweats, finishing a cold cup of coffee and lurching towards the stairs every time Nora snorts in her sleep. My MY how things have changed around here.

And to think, when P.J. and I were newly in love, I'd fall asleep wearing makeup so he'd believe I was always stunning in the mornings. It worked! It got me ALL THIS.

It might be the post-preg hormones, but I still feel pretty lucky.

Or it could be the cold coffee.

Or, just maybe, it might be the knowledge that in a few moments, a gal who thinks I'm better than McGyver will wake up and want to hang out.