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I think that the Monday after Thanksgiving is the worst Monday of the year. When January 2nd is a Monday, that might be worse, but it would be a close battle. Almost everyone has a four-day weekend for Thanksgiving (whether officially or just because the day after Thanksgiving is a wasted day even for those who are in the office). Once you clean up the big meal, you turn around and realize that the holiday season is rushing at you like a freight train. Unless your shopping is done, your presents wrapped, and your cards already sent (in which case I probably hate you) you feel behind right out of the gate, no matter how unrealistic that is.

For me, now that I’m a (never manages to) stay at home Mom, the end of a long weekend has the added bonus of a day full of “where DADDY?!” “MORE DADDY!” all. day. long. We usually have swimming lessons on Monday mornings, but stayed home today because of Abby’s congested cough. I’m trying to get her back on her regular routine; she is fighting me with everything she has. I want her to nap so that I can get some peace and quiet and actually get some work done; she wants to play and PARTAY instead of napping and “HEY MA! WHERE DADDY?!” boy, she wishes her Daddy were home to play with her.

Me too, baby, me too. Is it Friday yet?

In spite of my strong desire to avoid the crazy shopping crowds this weekend, we found ourselves drawn to the mall this afternoon to buy one major item. We finally decided to break down and buy a “real” camera - a DSLR - so that we can hopefully take pictures of our daughter that look more like her and less like a blur of light as she darts through the viewfinder’s range.

We ended up getting the Nikon D40 kit that comes with a zoom lens, camera case and some training DVDs that will come in very handy since I’ve managed to forget most of what I ever knew about operating a real camera that required more than “turn on, point, shoot, repeat” action. We also sprang for a speedlight so that I can finally take indoor pictures with bounce flash instead of washing out everything I shoot.

I am sort of ridiculously excited about this camera, and hopefully I’ll figure it out soon. The excuse of “it’s not me, it’s the best the camera could do” isn’t going to fly much longer, I think!

I go out of my way not to shop on Black Friday. Not because I don’t love a deal, and not through any philosophical aversion to the retail industry, and not because I’m not willing to do my part to grease the wheels of the economy.

No, I stay home because I can’t think of much worse than going out to a crowded place with people who have been up and shopping in full guerrilla fighter mode since the crack of dawn.

We were supposed to have eleven people here for Thanksgiving dinner. We ended up with six.

At one point this afternoon I more or less uninvited my brother and his family, which made me very sad but not entirely surprised. Some people have a really hard time understanding that the things they do impact other people, and I’ve reached a point of just not taking it any more. I can only hope that at some level he understands why I said what I did, and that we’ll get to see them at some point this weekend to catch up before he heads back to Georgia.

We have a crazy amount of leftovers now, though.

Tomorrow we’re hosting Thanksgiving dinner at our house. I’m actually looking forward to it; not so much because I love cooking big meals and entertaining a crowd (both true) but mostly because I’m a control freak.

I have very specific ideas about what should be served at Thanksgiving dinner. You can add whatever you want to my list, but Thanksgiving dinner without cranberry jelly (Ocean Spray, from a can, with the ridges intact thankyouverymuch), mashed yams with marshmallows, and homemade pumpkin pie? Is not Thanksgiving dinner.

There comes a time in every cold/sinus infection when I decide that I have actually been sick FOREVER. What’s more, I will ALWAYS BE sick from this point forward. I can no longer remember what it was like to breathe without careful consideration to which nostril (if any) could function or whether I need to slather on yet another layer of Burt’s Bees to keep my poor mouth-breathing lips from cracking right off of my face.

I’m told that I usually reach this point a few days before I am actually better. Since I hit this point yesterday, I am hopeful that I may actually be able to taste at least some of the Thanksgiving dinner that I will be cooking for all these crazy people coming to my house in two days.

Or I may die before then when my poor clogged-up head simply explodes from the pressure within. Either way, it has to get better soon.

Monday morning is swimming class in our “Fall Insanity Overbooked Schedule” world. Class was originally scheduled for 10am, which was pretty much the perfect time. For whatever reason, they moved the class to 9am, which means that we actually have to get up and get motivated in the morning instead of lollygagging around like we usually do. It’s worth it, though, since Abby loves swimming so much it is crazy. As soon as we walk through the doors from the locker room to the swimming pool, she starts in with “big! baffff! BIG BAFF!” and does not shut up until I let her get into the water. She will stay in the water until her lips are blue, her teeth are chattering and she is shivering like she’s in an Arctic winter and will still scream when I make her get out.

I thought I was going to hate this class after the first session. We’ve been doing swim lessons for a good while, and ever since the new Rec Center opened we’ve had the same instructor for each session. Abby loves Mr. Kevin, and he knows her really well at this point, which means that she gets a lot of individual attention from him. The classes have a pretty broad span of ages - from around a year old to almost three - which can be…interesting. Abby is all about jumping in the pool and doesn’t bat an eye about going under water, while other kids are really clinging to their moms (or dads) (or nannies, I guess). Kevin has been great about just letting us sort of do our thing and giving us direction to keep her interested. This session we have a new instructor, who seemed a bit put off when I kept doing things the way we’ve been doing them instead of following along with her instructions. I have the feeling that she thought I was “one of those Moms” who thinks her kid is a prodigy and is too good for the rest of the class, even after I said (nicely, I swear!) that we’ve been taking classes with Kevin for a long time and this is what he suggested we do.

Well, this week she kept talking about what a great swimmer Abby is, and mentioned that Kevin said she’s a regular fish. So I guess the swim instructor watercooler network was put to work between the first class and this one and she learned that I’m not really one of “those Moms” put here just to be a pain in the ass to unsuspecting swim teachers.

Even though my kid is clearly a prodigy and is definitely too good for the rest of ‘em.

Why is it that when all of the adults in the house are sick, one person moans and whines and complains about how siiiiiick they are and how everything is aaaawfuuuuul, while the other person sucks it up and keeps right on taking care of business? And why is it that the whiner is always the man and the suck-it-up person is always the woman?

I still find myself surprised when I have an actual conversation with my daughter. I ask her a question and she…answers. By doing something other than repeating what I said, or just saying “yeah” or “no”. (And about 80% of the time now she says “yes” instead of “yeah” anyway.) What’s really fun is that sometimes I have no idea at all where the answers came from.

She has a stuffed lion (among her many, many stuffed animals) that she was carrying around this afternoon. Because I was too stupid to already know (apparently) I asked her what her lion’s name is. She gave me “the look” (duh, mother, you silly woman): “Larry. Lion. RAWR.”

Larry??!! Seriously, where has she even HEARD the name Larry? But she stuck to it all day. The lion’s name is Larry and he says RAWR, but sometimes “mrow”.

Okay, today I am just going to rant, so if you don’t like that sort of thing (heh) feel free to come back later.

What is hard to understand about a request to RSVP? When someone takes the time to send you an actual paper invitation to an event, and asks you to RSVP, why would not just…not?

In the interest of full disclosure I have been known to not RSVP in the past. I’m not proud of it, but people I barely knew invited me to weddings and I just tossed the invites instead of checking “No” and dropping the response card in the mail. There, I admitted it. I will also say that I was much younger and…well, ruder…then and very much against doing anything that did not make my own life easier. I guess what I’m saying is that I was an idiot.

My favorite excuse for not responding to invitations for Abby’s birthday party? “I was trying to figure out how.” Um, call us or email? “Yeah, I couldn’t decide which to do.”