I mean it, lady. I'm not messing around.

There is a ladybug in my office. And she is driving me crazy. She snuck in a crack in the window and she canNOT figure out how to get back out. But she keeps slamming her bug body against the window in an attempt to osmote through the glass or something. How does she be so noisy?

I've been out sick since Wednesday. I don't often get sick, and when I do it isn't usually a debilitating kind of sick. Just a mild cold where my throat is scratchy and all that makes it feel better is eating. Your garden variety winter cold. With a funny twist. Which is that I always develop these awful sore places all over the roof of my mouth that feel like the top layer of ....skin? has been scraped off. Like tiny cuts or blisters. And OH do they hurt. The only relief I can get is to breathe warm air, so I spend a lot of time in the shower or with a scarf or blanket over my face. And those things pretty much limit me to my house, on account of there not being steam showers in my office building. So I squandered away my sick days getting all pruny and watching HGTV with a scarf over my face. And I don't know, but I'm getting the feeling that you might ought to declutter before you try and sell your home.

I've only got to finish out this week before Christmas break. We're going to the beach with my family for New Year's. It is going to be magical. We love the beach. Also eating and shopping. Lots of both are in store. And if that bug is still here when I get back, well. One of us will be sorry. And I'm resolving not to be sorry in 2009.

Those glasses were so awful

I don't know about you all, but in my family, we are a real-live-Christmas-tree people. Well. My immediate family, anyway. So yesterday we went and fetched our Christmas tree. My parents and my sister and I have always gone to Hollow Creek Tree Farm for our trees. And in recent years, sometime around Thanksgiving, Daddy has tried to make a case for Making the Switch. He is ready for us to be a fake tree family. He's the one who gets to cut down our tree and lug it in and out of the house every year, and I guess it doesn't put him in the holiday spirit to get hay and pine needles all down his britches like that. But Mama always gives him the whatfor and we get a live tree and Christmas is saved. This year, though, it seemed like he had finally dampened her spirit. He said he'd do the whole tree thing IF the tree was for me and Mike, and they could finally convert and maybe just get a nice live wreath for the smell. And he almost had her. Until we cut down our tree and sent it off, along with that scary, scary saw they give you. And then Mama spotted a sweet little baby tree. And it was really sincere. So we trekked back for another saw, which was a little awkward. "So, we were just here, with the guy that made you pose for that goofy picture where we all look at the Tree Map and point in different directions, you remember, and you gave us that saw? Even though you were worried that we maybe shouldn't be trusted to operate sharp cutty things? Well, we are kind of going to need another saw. Heh heh. We just love trees!"

Then of course we had to go to Target for new ornaments, since the tree was so much smaller than Mama's usual ones and couldn't stand the weight of the 95 popsicle stick snowflakes and clothespin reindeer Emily and I made in 1st grade. It is here that I must admit that I do not derive any Christmas Joy from all those dang ornaments. Our tree is always beautiful, and I know Mama loves to have the ornaments that we all picked or made over the years, and that is what makes her love the tree so much. Still, I have made it clear to my family: Erin is not an ornament person. I will not be one of those moms who treasures every sweet ornamenty keepsake my children assemble. I cannot deal with the delicate wrapping in tissue paper of one million ornaments, each of which represents some special memory like the time I had to go first in that stupid gift swap or when Granny told me to pick out an ornament at the Dollar Tree when what I really wanted was those colorful plastic rocks you put in the bottom of a fishtank. (As a kid, I really loved small, brightly colored things that were completely useless and made a big mess. Also I used to collect pencil points. Why?) I don't want to sound scroogy, but I want my ornaments to match. I want them to come in those easy plastic trays with the indentions. Better yet, I want to just fling them all into a tub and not have to worry about precious things getting broken. If a shiny red ball breaks to bits, I can just go out and get another one at ANY STORE for next year. Is that wrong? Am I being an ornament snob?

I don't know. Maybe after I have kids it'll change. Surely my mama didn't grow up thinking "I can't wait to hang goofy, mismatched ornaments all over my tree." But I can tell you right now, I will never be one of those parents who lets their kid choose gigantic, hideous red-framed Nintendo glasses at the optometrist, no matter how much she insists that she'll never get tired of them. And it only took two years of looking utterly ridiculous to figure that one out.

It's Mike. He is not going to like this one bit.

I'm not a low-maintenance sleeper. I have a variety of really adorable sleep quirks that my husband just could not be happier about. It's sort of takes the same amount of time to get ready for bed each night as it does to get ready for work each day. Except longer at night. Getting ready for bed involves several trips to the bathroom, ear plugs, 5 pillows, my own sheets and blankets, curtains and blankets to block out every conceivable speck of light, Special Prescription Strength Lotion (thanks for all the dry skin, daddy!), temperature requirements... it's a special time.

I'm not proud of it. I don't want to be one of those fussy people with a 42 Point Perfect Sleep Environment Checklist. But there you have it. I am one of those people. Luckily Mike is great about it. Plus he's not the one who has to wake up at 6:48 every morning. Although technically he is, since he always fixes my breakfast and packs my lunch for me and starts my car when it's cold. Basically he's a saint, and I'm making his life impossibly hard. But he gets to go back to bed when I leave. So it evens out. Anyway the point is, I get pretty angry if I ever have to get out of bed in the middle of the night, because it was so much work to go to sleep in the first place, and I hate to have it all undone just because I drank a 40 oz. diet coke a couple hours ago. So I've managed to master waking up just enough to make it to the bathroom and back. It's not a good time for, say, logical thought.

Well last night I woke up in the middle of the night because Mike was growling or mumbling something in his sleep. And I saw this creepy greenish light appear on his side of the room. I figured maybe he had been using his laptop before he went to sleep and just forgotten to close it or something. So I got up to go to the bathroom (where I have to keep my eyes shut, lest the seemingly constant brightness coming in the window wake me up to such a degree that falling back asleep is hopeless), and when I came back out I went to turn off his laptop. Only there WAS no laptop. So in my winning state of mental clarity and alertness, I started freaking out thinking I was dealing with some sort of ghost situation. Great. I'm going to die, and my pajamas don't even match, and I have no idea how to fight or defend myself, and Mike is going to sleep through the whole thing. (Which reminds me of another time I was half-awake and convinced I was going to die. We were in Mexico in this fancy 4-star hotel and early one morning I heard, like, seriously 300 gun shots. They went on forever and I just knew Mexican killers were running rampant through the hotel killing every American they saw. Lord was I panicked. I seriously thought it was going to be the end of me. And my dang roommate never even woke up! Hours later, somebody on the bus was like "Man, did you guys hear all those fireworks this morning?" Ha ha. Fireworks? It is funny you should say that, you know I thought I heard something. I just figured it was imminent death at the hands of ruthless killers in a foreign country.)

Well it turns out the green light was just the dang smoke detector. Low battery! ::blink:: Get up, people! ::blink:: I am going to die! ::blink:: What if there's a fire? ::blink:: Get me more batteries!

At least this time I didn't have to lay in my death bed panicked and sweaty for hours before I figured it out. And it didn't even take that long to go back to sleep. Where I dreamed that I was cheating on Mike. With my best friend from elementary school. Who is a girl. And her mom was like "Now, we're open about this. But I know your Granny would never go for gay marriage. Is there anybody else in your family we have to worry about?" Um, yes, just one other person.