Brown paper packages tied up with strings

Yep, you smarty pants guessed it. I'm here to share a few of my favorite things. Well, for this festive season, anyway. Because could there be a better way to jump back into blogging than to bore you all with the junk I heart? ... Didn't think so!

So here I am. Back again like Slim Shady. I'd love to say I've been MIA because I was chosen for some fantastic reality TV series that I was flown to Maui to film. Or that I won the lottery and had to figure out how to divvy up the money. (Your check is in the mail, trust me). But in lame fact, I had just been lost in a nightmare of graduate study homework and continuous home-showing cleaning (yup, it's still for sale - bummer). So, I've decided to catch a breather, gear up for the holidays and share some of the great finds, fun decorations and silly purchases we've made this season. Some simply for the exclusive fact that they will make our son smile. ...Such as these fancy Elmo PJ's for Brian.

Real nice, Clark. And just $17 at my favorite late-night hangout, Target. "Elbow" is Mac's main squeeze right now. And look - they indeed made him smile! ...And even drool a little. That's amore.

So I thought it would be funny to tease Roxy with something soft and feathery, just far enough out of reach for her to contemplate pouncing each day. Thus, this purchase of a $3.95 ornament was made @ Kohl's. PLUS I had a 20% off coupon. I could have made this myself, but I'm lazy and can't imagine I would have spent less than $4. And as of today, it is still intact.

Since I have not used some of my typically birthday-only trimmings, I matched some teal ribbon with pink and red paper, and found a new love affair. This one is for Aunt Lulu, from H&M. She picked it out; I want to steal. Should have let you see it before wrapping! 

Outside lights shout, "I swear I'm no scrooge!" no matter how many times your neighbors hear you yelling at the dog. Or your husband. Or your child. Or your old computer. And I love the candy cane feel of both white and red lights. Notice I'm too lazy to place lights anywhere above waist-level.

Old-school ornament. Or at least from when I was in college. Super sad that this reminds me I joined a sorority in 1997. I'm ancient, yo. Can I get a nice round of "A-oh, A-oh, the only way to go!" please? Word to your sista.

And since we're reminiscing, might as well add in a shot of one of the most awesome gifts Brian and I have ever received. Nearly makes me tear up. Who doesn't want an illuminated glass block that is a constant reminder of only the BEST days of your life?

OK, so to round things out, here's my own take of "Brown paper packages tied up with strings." I shared this on FacePlace last week, but it's just too cute to not repost here. It's fun and wintry without being too overtly Christmasy. I likey a lotty.

Owl paper found at World Market; Ribbon at Old Time Pottery. I'm down with OTP, yeah you know me.

So I lied. One final photo then I promise I'm done. I think this may be my most favorite thing. ...Our mini-maid, cleaning the floor with his wipes. Only my child.

This old, odd, outstanding house

On Tuesday, our house will officially be on the market. From that point forward, it's up to us to keep the home clean and smelling like an Old Yankee Candle, while the bricks and mortar attempt to strut their 20's-era charm and mojo to win over onlookers and ogglers.

Let's cross our fingers that they oggle... and linger... and ooh and ahh and fall in love, like we did a little over three years ago.

But just like Buttafuoco and Fisher, relationships lose their luster. And although we still really, really, really do love this home, it's time to move on. For many a reason. Let me show thee...


Laminate faux marble counter tops. These designer-imposter surfaces speak all for themselves. And right now I hear them whispering, "We're not fooling anyone!" 

People in the early 1900's apparently had no shoulders. Because I have to turn every one of my hangers to a 45 degree angle in order to fit my clothes in my closet and shut the door.

One, yes only ONE, sad porcelain throne, people! 'Nuff said.

This is a random, second-story porch only accessible through Mac's room. If we move his bed out of the way first. I'm sure he would appreciate this perfect escape route as a teenager, but right now it's littered with leaves and the stares of our neighbor's children at eye-level since their father built a large tree house on our property line. Speaking of which...

Ahh...so nice of them to give us this beautiful view from our peaceful backyard. And so appropriate in the city. Because we really do appreciate your 7-year-old daughter perching 12 feet directly above us to throw orange peels at our dog while she watches us grill steak.

I know, I know. All old homes have their quirks. And I do appreciate most of them. But what is this light fixture? I've tried finding a replacement globe in stores, online, in the trash (kidding), but nothing fits this prehistoric contraption. We even bought an entirely new sconce, but the old knob and tube wiring is too complicated to figure it out. So granny's etched berries it is.

Something in this room just doesn't fit. Oh, maybe it is the 1994 after-market octagon window that was shoved in adjacent to the bedroom closet door. Makes sense. No need to put it in a more desirable, aesthetic location. The corner will do.

And I digress...for today. Enough of poking fun at this nearly 90-year-old abode. Because as I sit here in this still, cozy home writing and posting, I'd rather reflect on the one million reasons why it will be hard to leave this house. That post is for tomorrow.

Standing tall on the wings of Jaime's dreams

In a few months, I must don the following glittery Charlotte Russe shoes as part of my bridesmaid ensemble for my fabulous to-be sister-in-law's slow demise -- I mean, wedded bliss.

Six-plus inches of razzle-dazzle is all that will lay between my steadfast soles and the unforgiving, compacted hard earth come mid-November, folks. And I'm scared. But please do know that I looooove these blingy shoes; I heart sparkles and paired with the flowy, black tea-length dress all us gals will be wearing, the wedding photos are sure to turn heads. If my stumbling down the aisle doesn't first.

Thus, to help absorb the potential for disaster within that wobbly six-plus inches of additional height, I need to learn to walk like a super-model. And fast. So I bought some "professional" super-high, high-heels in which to practice. Daily. At work.

(Yes, I totally took a photo of my own foot. Ewe.)

Let me just say ... Blisterfest 2011. I mean, how do women walk in these things? There's no "heel, toe" when you are this high up in the air. I feel like I'm bouncing down the hallways like a little girl trying on her mother's shoes for the first time. Is there some secret I never learned as a pre-teen girl? Some magical trick that my junior high friends forgot to teach me in order to now walk strong and "own it" like other women I see out on the streets in fantastically tall shoes? (Thanks a lot, Sharon.)

I may be crazy, but I'm going to lay part of the blame for my swollen tootsies on the fact that I have abnormally small feet for my height - I wear size 7 shoes and am nearly 5'8". Less square inches on which to steady myself. And, I'm convinced that smaller-sized shoes will have a greater incline between where your toes go and the heel.

...I really think I'm right on this one.

Anyway, practice apparently makes perfect, so I will do whatever I can over the next two months to ensure that I'm not the dorky old mom getting the "OMG" stares as I attempt to strut down the runway...errr, aisle. But until then, I will continue to curse that perfectly lady-like Shania broad. Because man, I DON'T feel like a woman.