morning

Morning is a stupid time of day. Don't try to tell me otherwise, for as surely as I'm sitting here I will sock you in the jaw if you contradict me. Morning...who came up with that idea, anyway? I know afternoon would not be nearly as fabulous without the cursed morning to give it perspective but there must be another way.

Morning in winter is even stupider. It's dark outside. The sun has risen and it's dark outside. The sky is grayish white, which in the morning is a hideous thing to behold. The sky is whitey-gray, the ground and trees and cars and playground are covered with snow. Everything I see is the same color. Even the bright, cheery kite that's been stuck in that tree over there for months is white. Stupid morning. Stupid snow. If it has to be morning there might as well be some sunshine.

One of the things I really despise about morning is that I'm awake during it. I'd much rather be sleeping. I would like to experience as little of morning as is humanly possible. But...my sleeping schedule is whacking out from too many weirdly houred Christmas parties, especially that game night with the cousins that got us home at 2:30 a.m.

Darn you, morning. Why can't you start in the afternoon?!

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Oh yes, I'm back by the way. The holiday craziness is over for another year and I'm finally able to sit grumpily at my computer and complain to the world about the petty things in life again. Like morning. Stupid...stupid...hate...morning....

Christmas was basically fabulous. It was all it was hyped up to be...tons of yummy, yummy food, wild family get togethers, even more playing with GooberBear and Munchkin than I had hoped and dreamed. It was a poor (financially speaking) Christmas for us so I wasn't expecting much in the way of presents, but Jeremy got me the perfect gifts (The Life of Our Lord...one of the few Dickens I'd yet to attain, It's a Wonderful Life, a tin with three Charlie Brown holiday soundtracks, and tons of candy). By joining his family I also became related to a wildly sweet and generous aunt and uncle who dumped gifts on us from the sky...fun gifts but also gifts we really needed, like clothes and money to buy groceries with.

It was one of those Christmases that leaves you humble in its wake, one that has you remembering how much God is taking care of you and how blessed you are to have great family and friends to share it with (it does nothing for your feelings about morning, however).

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I suppose if I had any kids at this point I'd be babbling about what they'd done or said or how they'd acted this Christmas, so in their place I'll let you in on what Mutton Chop, the hamster of joy and affection, has been up to.

Mutton Chop, in the second year of her life, has turned into destructo hamster. She had already destroyed one water bottle and we've fixed her wheel with extra bits of plastic and superglue (and most recently, duct tape), so it probably should not have surprised us that she gnawed three gigantic holes in her second water bottle this past week.

Oh Mutton Chop. You can't really be mad at her or teach her a lesson about this since she has a tiny, tiny brain. At least I think she has a brain. Anyway, J has declared that we shall not buy her any more water bottles (they are, after all, $5 a pop), so we've been trying to get her to drink out of a little dish. This has turned into a disgustingly wet, smelly affair because hamsters hate all things wet. Being a desert creature she instantly throws a tons of shavings in the water dish trying to dry it up...so I empty the dumb thing and put fresh water in constantly and I think after a few days I actually saw her drink out of it once. I let out a yelp of triumph and then realized she was drinking water with a turd floating in it. GROSS.