I'm a planner.

It's no secret that I need order and rigid structure to function. Disorder makes me crazy. Literally.

An extension of that is my need to have a plan. I get very anxious when I don't have a plan. Having a plan for everything makes me feel like there is order in my life.

That's not to say that I don't welcome some spontaneity. If we go on vacation, I don't have every minute of every day mapped out and scheduled. I'm O.K. with doing whatever we feel like doing when we wake up that day. But you can bet that I'd planned out exactly where we would stay and how we would get there and what we would do while we were there--just not specifically what day we'd do them.

As soon as we find out that the Army is moving us yet again, I immediately start looking at houses, schools, neighborhoods, etc... in the new area.

I like to be in control, and having a plan in place makes me feel like I have some shred of control over the situation. I may not get to choose where the Army sends us, or when they send us, but I get some comfort out of having a plan in place for when we get there.

As anyone in the military knows, plans are often thwarted. "What's that? You've made full preparations to move to Tacoma? Too bad. You're going to rural Georgia instead." And then I start the planning phase all over again.

Deep down, I know my planning is futile. More often than not, something changes that makes my plans obsolete. But making the plan helps, so I keep doing it.

Will leaves for a year in Afghanistan soon. It's stressful and scary. We've done it before. I know that I'll be fine. I already have many, many plans in place to get through the year.

But the scariest and most stressful part of the deployment for me is that slightly increased chance that he could be killed. Logically I know that he could die on the way home from work today, or have an aneurysm in his sleep. There's a chance for death for all of us every single minute of every single day. I get that. But when your husband heads off to a place rife with insurgents, a place that 104 soldiers from this very Army post have already died this year, a place where military analysts predict a Spring that will be far deadlier than the past several months have already been, you can't help but worry.

And so I plan.

I can't control what happens there. I can't keep him from dying there. So all I can do is plan for the worst case scenario. I can control what happens after.

(Umm, hi sweetie! You know how you think I spend all day playing on the internet and spending all the money? Yeah, actually I spend it planning out my life in the event of your untimely death. Love you!)

It's not fun. I like browsing houses for sale, but not when part of me is wondering if we'll need less square footage with one less person in the house.

But I have my plan in place. I'm pretty sure I know where I would go and what I would do if the worst were to happen. I hope it's a plan I never have to use, but I get a tiny bit of comfort knowing that it's there.

Skiing is for people with a death wish.

So, did you guys read the story last week about the ski lift in Maine that came off the track and a bunch of people fell twenty-five feet to the ground (which, luckily, was covered in 2 feet of new snow that softened the landing)?

You know what was most shocking to me about this story? That I wasn't on the lift when it happened. Because I'm pretty much convinced that if I get on a ski lift (or anything remotely like it) that it will break, or I will slip off, and I will plummet to my death. And if somehow I manage to make it to the top of the mountain, I will surely die while skiing down it.

My first time skiing was in 6th grade. We had a class ski trip. I took the free lesson and reluctantly got on the lift with my friend. I white knuckled it all the way to the top, convinced I was going to die. Then, when it reached the top, I had no idea how to get off. I proceeded to fall on my face and get knocked in the head by the seat as it passed over me. They had to stop the lift while they helped me up.

And then? Then I was too chicken to actually ski down the hill. I took off my skis and walked down the mountain.

I decided I'd be better off sticking to the bunny hill. I did just fine for about 10 minutes, but then I fell. And I could not get up. And I couldn't get the skis to release so I could take them off. So, there I was--an eleven year old fat kid stuck on the ground begging the people who walked by to help me up. No one would, the bastards. I was stuck on the ground for close to an hour. An hour! I finally managed to get one of the skis off and got up. I spent the rest of the day in the lodge.

My second experience with skiing was many years later when I was a nanny during college in Utah. The woman I worked for invited me to join the family at a night-skiing event hosted by her employer. For some reason, I accepted. Because, you know, skiing in the dark is so much safer than in broad daylight.

This time I opted for a much more in-depth lesson, and I told the instructor that I was pretty sure that I was going to die. He was really nice, and he rode up on the lift with me and helped me get off it without causing them to stop the lift or giving myself a concussion.

But then I had a panic attack when he suggested I ski down the hill. What? Look, getting me up here was a major feat, buddy, and now you want me to ski down? No thanks.

But he was persistent and got me to try. And this is how it went down: I screamed and cried and hyperventilated. He ended up going down the entire mountain backwards while holding on to me, all while moving maybe a foot per minute.

Right now some of you might be thinking, "Brandi! You should totally try cross country skiing! No mountains!"

Yeah, I tried that too. Admittedly it wasn't bad. I may have even enjoyed it a little. However, 15 minutes into it, we started seeing blood on the trail. And the further we went, the more blood there was. By the time we reached the end of the trail, someone had clearly lost enough blood that it's doubtful they walked out on their own two feet. So, obviously even cross country skiing can be deadly.

So, in conclusion, skiing is evil. It killed Sonny Bono and Natasha Richardon, and it's been gunning for me since 1986.

Just say no.

I am the whitest person you know.

So, I was at the grocery store a little while ago. I was wandering down the paper goods aisle, squeezing the Charmin and generally minding my own business when I heard the song that was playing from the overhead speakers.

I couldn't make out most of the words, but from what I could decipher it seemed to be mostly about getting drunk on champagne. And then the chorus played.

Now I'm feelin' so fly like a cheese stick
Like a cheese stick, Like a cheese stick
Now I'm feelin' so fly like a cheese stick
Like a cheese stick, Like a cheese stick
Now I'm feelin' so fly like a cheese stick

And that's when this white girl got very, very confused.

I realize that I'm not hip or cool or down with what the kids these days are saying (are kids these days even saying hip, cool and down?), but I'm pretty sure cheese sticks aren't hip or cool. I'm also pretty sure that they're not fly.

If I were to make an educated guess, I would probably think that saying you were "feelin' fly like a cheese stick" might be a clever way of making fun of people like me. Cheese stick--it's the new cracker!

Anyway, I was deeply disturbed by this cheese stick song all the way home.

Yeah, soooo...it's not cheese stick.

(Be sure to pause the BeeGees over there on the right before you play the video. Yeah, I have the BeeGees on my playlist. So what? They're totally fly... like a cheese stick!)



See? It totally sounds like cheese stick!

Also, I have no idea what a G6 is. I'm such a cheese stick.

I'm pretty sure Elvis will somehow be involved.

So, internets, remember last January and The Weekend of Awesome? No? Well go read that link, then. Geez people.

Anyway, The Weekend of Awesome is happening again this year, but it will be in March instead of January, and instead of being on the beach in North Carolina, it will be in Las Vegas!

So, if you're interested in coming along and you don't have a penis, e-mail me. I need a final head count, oh...like yesterday.

A few details:

-The dates are March 21st through March 25th (That's Monday through Friday, so it will be the WEEK of Awesome this year).

-It's going to cost approximately $120 total for your portion of the house rental (The more people who come, the less it will cost).

-It will be a large private house with several bedrooms and bathrooms and probably a pool. I can't choose a house definitely until I know how many it needs to accommodate.

-If we do the food like last year, it will cost about $30-$40 total for the week.

-NO KIDS ALLOWED. I do this to escape my own kids. I certainly don't want to deal with yours. Nursing mothers can of course bring their infants, however you should keep in mind that we will be in Las Vegas, and that means you will be toting your nursing infant on the strip. But, I suppose your stroller would be a handy place to store all those nudie show and whore house flyers that will be thrust at you.

-You will be sharing a bedroom, and unless you bring an air mattress, you will be sharing a queen size bed.

-I will set a deadline for commitment, and will base the cost of the house on that number, so once you commit, you are responsible for payment of your portion EVEN IF YOU CANCEL. Otherwise, I will be stuck footing your portion of the bill, and as much as I love you all, I don't have the money for that. (Telling me right now that you want to come is NOT a commitment. I'll verify everything with you personally before you'd become responsible for payment).

-Payment will be due in full in mid February (specific date to be determined soon).

-Obviously the costs listed do NOT include your travel expenses.

O.K., I think that's it. If you want in on this, I need to know NOW.
My e-mail address is on the right, near the top.

A Very Douglass Christmas II

I just realized that it's been a couple of years since I did this. So, without further ado, I present for your Christmas viewing pleasure the Douglasses through the years! Behold the awesomeness that is my bad hair and fluctuating weight! Also, I want you to keep in mind that these are the best shots we got every year. That means there are worse versions of each of these pictures. Hard to believe, but it's true.

1997, married 6 months



1998, we added a cat

1999, we added a kid

Our 2000 picture is lost somewhere in cyberspace. So, here's Will in 1982 instead.

2001, Germany

2002, Germany

2003, Germany (are you detecting a pattern here?)
By the way, I was knocked up in this picture but didn't know it yet. So it's technically Liam's first Christmas picture.

2004--Will was in Germany. Ben, Liam and I were at my parents'. Liam was only 3 months old and recovering from open heart surgery. So, this was the best I could manage.

2005, we'd added TWO kids
Geez Louise, I look like the poster child for postpartum depression.

Bonus: me in 1977.

2006, Maryland

2007, Will was deployed and we spent Christmas with my family. I guess I didn't take one in front of the tree that year either.

2008, Georgia



2009, Georgia



2010, Tennessee
I'm pretty sure the phrase, "Smile or get beat"
was uttered at some point during this photo shoot.

Merry Christmas!!

Thursday Morning Confessions

1. Sometimes I wish I lived in my Christmas village.

2. I have successfully been ignoring the fact that Will leaves in threeish weeks. If I don't think about it, it won't happen, right?

3. Your Christmas cards? I throw them away. It's not that I don't like getting them--I do. But I don't keep them. Sorry.

4. I have a zit on my back that's so large I should probably name it and claim it as a dependent on my taxes.

5. I'm only blogging right now so I can put off my enormous to-do list for a few minutes longer.

6. I vowed that I would stick to my regular wake up at 5, work out at 8, in bed by 10 schedule during vacation. Instead, I have been waking up at 7, working out when and if I feel like it, and haven't been to bed before midnight.

7. I put money instead of candy in the last three drawers of our advent calendar this year. The kids all whined and traded their money for candy.

8. I haven't the foggiest idea how to cook the ham for the Christmas Eve dinner we're hosting tomorrow.

9. I kind of want to get a cat.

10. Re-watching Battlestar Galactica isn't as much fun when you know who all the Cylons are.

The Christmas Letter

Really, we weren't even trying. We're just naturally that screwed up.

Dear Family, Friends and Internet Stalkers,

This has been an exciting year for the Douglass family! Most exciting, of course, was our move from redneck infested rural Georgia to the hillbilly riddled Tennessee/Kentucky state line. It's been really great so far. We're much closer to a Wal-Mart now, and the skanks around here are at least 30% skankier! Also, some of the gas stations on the Kentucky side have topless dancers and electronic gambling after 10 pm! And toddlers are totally allowed to participate! Really, it's like we're living the American dream.

Amelia turned five this year and started kindergarten. She had a rough start, and for a while there we were pretty worried that she was going to have to spend her life getting by on her looks. But, through the miracle of threats and bribery, she has learned to read. She loves Barbies and drawing, and like her mother, is showing a real affinity for telling others how they should be living their lives.

Liam started first grade this year. We just couldn't be more proud of how he managed to not get expelled, despite being suspended eleven times in the first nine weeks of school. We discovered that the combination of bad parenting, video games, television and processed foods had caused him to suffer from ADHD. But, not to worry! We now have him amply drugged to get through the day and he's doing wonderfully! He's currently really into Indiana Jones, and spends much of his free time running around in a hat and whip killing all the Nazis.

Speaking of Nazis, Ben started middle school this year and became a full fledged tween. We found out that he has a higher IQ than both Einstein and Hitler, which has really motivated him to try even harder to fail all his classes. I'm happy to report that he has been mostly successful in that endeavor. A few B's and even an A kept him from his goal, but I'm sure he can bring those down to at least a low D next semester. He also scored the lead part in the middle school play, and decided he loves acting and would even like to pursue acting as a career! We are so looking forward to the proud day when we can read about his scandals in Us Weekly. Ben's other interests this year have included growing out his hair like Justin Bieber while simultaneously professing that Bieber is "gay" and "retarded."

Will started off the year by becoming a Warrant Officer in the US Army. This means more money in his paycheck that he's not allowed to spend, and the privilege of being superior to all the enlisted military members everywhere. The biggest news for Will is that he will be deploying to Afghanistan next month. There he will spend a year playing computer games, watching movies, napping, not dealing with his three children and not having sex. So, basically just like home. Except now that Don't Ask Don't Tell has been repealed, there will probably be a lot of really fabulous parties over there. I won't lie. I'm a little jealous.

The biggest event for me this year was getting a tummy tuck. I had several pounds of flesh removed from my abdomen, which I immediately replaced with jalapeno chips and chocolate. I spend most of my days thinking up ways to not kill my children, talking to my friends who live in my computer and generally offending everyone with the things I write here. This year I also discovered the joys of texting, so now I have another way to avoid interacting with real, live people. I have also managed to not become addicted to Valium or porn, and to not get excommunicated. So, all in all I consider it a successful year!

And remember, "Happy Holidays" is what the terrorists say.
So, Merry Christmas from The Douglasses