My Favorite Things: Christmas Cards

I take Christmas cards very seriously. I have a battle plan for sending the greetings: I take the photos in October. I design and print the card in November and, on our way home from Thanksgiving at my in-laws' home on Thursday night, I drop them in the mailbox and my Christmas Card recipients receive my card first. For fifteen years straight, I have been the First Christmas Card of the season. That and a dollar will get you a small cheeseburger at McGaggles.

I don't know what happened this year. In September, I told Brian that I needed to start planning for the cards, then I blinked, and it was the first day of December.

We left church, ate lunch (because: priorities) and then we came home where I bribed The Daughters to put on red tops, Santa hats and give me something to work with. We tried some inside shots with our Christmas tree and ... a hula hoop. (Don't ask because I have no idea why.)

We took some outside against our brick wall, trying to be all urban and chic at the same time.

Then, I came in and decided on a design--a postcard. See? That will save me time since I won't have to stuff the envelopes.

What has this year's Christmas experience taught me?

• First, the best laid plans of mice and mommas often go astray. (That's Shakespeare Robert Burns, y'all. My Brit lit professor would be so proud.) 
• Second, it's taught me that it's okay to get caught up in the moment. So I didn't have my cards done when I wanted them done; I was busy living life and not cleaning my house. That's still a winning combination. 
• And third, honesty is the best policy--especially when it comes to Christmas cards. This is my family. This is why I blog. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

It may be Easter before y'all get your holiday cards, but you will get them.

Lesson Learned

Clean out the litter box.

This was all I said to Daughter 2--a verbal reminder to complete the one task she has to do every single day. And that was all it took for the whining, crying and blubbering to begin.

"But, Momma!" she sobbed, "I don't like to do that! You're so mean to make me do that! My friend doesn't have to do this!"

Her friend doesn't have cats.