Where exactly is the collarbone?

Last night we attended the first of two Christmas parties. It was a small gathering of just ten people in a locally owned Italian restaurant run by folks from the boot of Europe. It was fun - lots of good food and great company. The husband and I, pictured below, look like the rest of the European population in our dark clothing. Not a scrap of festive red or green amidst the navy and black to liven up our outfits.

Honestly, I didn't have time to agonise over my wardrobe because I was in a bit of a tizzy about my hair. I always wait as long as possible in-between dye jobs on my prodigious white hairs, until I just can't stand to see them blinding me with their light every time I glance in the bathroom mirror. I also asked that an inch or so be taken off the length of my hair. It was resting on my collarbone and then flipping up. I told Sophie the stylist that I wanted the length shortened so it would just graze my collarbone. As you can see in the pic above, my British stylist got a bit too scissor happy and lopped off more than I asked. Alas, it is hair and will grow, albeit at a slow middle-aged pace. And so I'll try not to dwell on the fact that my day old haircut will be about the right length in March.

Momma's Boy

Our four-year-old Cairn Terrier Ollie loves everybody in the family. But over the years, I've spent the most time with him due to our expat gigs when I wasn't teaching. Ollie enjoys nothing more than a walk. He stops to sniff every other blade of grass and continues to hike his leg long after he could have any urine left in his bladder. 

Because he so loves walking and the English weather is often crap, plus I need someone familiar with his little quirks to board him when we travel, I have a dog walker. Her name is Chloe and she looks to be in her early 20s. She's very sweet and seems to enjoy Ollie since he has no real bad habit other than his inclination to head for the hills if he's ever off leash.

When Chloe first started picking up Ollie in her doggie van, he was all over her jumping and barking and rarin' to go. That is what he has always done with me when I ask him if he wants to go for a walk. He prances and barks and jumps as if to say hurry up old woman and get this leash on me - there are grass blades and utility poles needing a good whiff.

But lately, he just isn't excited anymore about walking with Chloe. I asked her if something had happened on one of the walks or if maybe there is a new dog in the mix. According to her, nothing has changed and no traumatic incidents to report. When she returns him from his walks, he's always happy and acts like Chloe is his new best friend. But then the next time she shows up, I have to corral Ollie to get him leashed and out the door.

It makes no sense. I don't like the fact that he's so hesitant to go on his walks with her, but then he always returns happy. I'm wondering if I should try a new dog walking service in the new year. This is one of those times when you wish your furry family member could talk and explain what's going on in his little terrier head. Maybe he's like me and just ready to hibernate until the days start to lengthen once again. Or he's got some seasonal affective disorder (SAD). Maybe we should both start taking Prozac, ha-ha.

This morning I walked him through the neighbourhood on his usual route, a two poop bag day. It never fails that he takes care of business at least once, early on in the walk, so I have to finish the rest of our jaunt toting a doggie poop bag in the other hand. There's no upside to carrying little doggie tootsie roll turds, but at least I buy the lavender scented bags. Now Ollie's flopped down next to me on the sunroom sofa ready for his midmorning nap. What a life.

Yelling Loudly and Proudly

Yesterday the 9th grader cheered at her first game of the season. Unlike cheerleading in Texas, that begins in August with football season, the cheer season at her English based American/international school runs through basketball season. Then it culminates with a cheer competition in early March. 

So last night she donned her uniform and hit the gym sidelines to root for the girl's varsity basketball team. Texas or England, there's no escaping the big ass cheerleader hair bows. 

Cupcake Wednesday

Since school started, I've volunteered to make cupcakes to be sold in the concession stand three times now. This go-round it's chocolate cupcakes with white icing, topped with chocolate penguins. All of the other seasonal chocolates at our local grocery store were more festive, but also wrapped in foil. That would have been a mess, plopping a wrapped chocolate into vanilla icing. Plus the foil ones were solid coloured while the penguins have definition, so it's a win-win as far as I'm concerned.

Since I was already baking cupcakes for concessions, I just doubled the recipe to make cupcakes for the cheerleaders, too. This afternoon is the debut of the cheerleaders at their first home basketball game to support the girl's team. Our 9th grader enjoys the cheers - she can get loud - and is doing her part in stunting as a base. At this point, she hasn't let anybody fall or had anybody fall on her. All for no injuries (and cupcakes), stand up and holler!

Sweet 15

I love hosting parties for 15 yr olds - so much easier than when the girls were little. I made a reservation online for the birthday girl and her posse at a local Italian place a five minute walk from the house. I took the teen to buy a cart full of snacks at the grocery store. I bought an inexpensive fire pit and the ingredients for s'mores. That's about all it took for a happy 15th birthday sleepover celebration. 

Thanks to a winter storm hitting the British Isles, we had some serious wind gusts last night. Every time sparks flew at the girls gathered around the fire with their marshmallows on stick, they shrieked and screamed. So I spent the whole s'mores portion of the party running out the back door to make sure no one needed to stop, drop and roll. Worrywart that I am, I filled up the tea kettle with water... just in case.

Now we're down to just one guest still at the house. She's a boarder at the school, so we hate to rush her back to the dorms at campus. Both of the girls are in the kitchen putting together a gingerbread house from a kit I found at the local Costco. They've got the original Home Alone movie playing on the TV. It's all very sweet and festive.

Christmas Countdown

Now that we've hit the third day of December, I'm ready for Christmas vacation. Oh sure, we still have to get through the daughter's 15th birthday party sleepover this weekend, followed by two separate work parties with the husband, and the joy of semester exams for the 9th grader.

But seriously, y'all, I'm just counting down the days until I can get back on American soil for the holiday with family. Driving on the "right" side of the road, rolling up to a drive-in window for overpriced coffee, hitting Target for a good deal and eating some of my favourite meals. It's gonna be perfect.

This year it's a Smoky Mountain Christmas for us, thanks to my crazy planning a year in advance skills. Last January I put down a substantial deposit on an amazing log lodge - can't say cabin because that doesn't aptly describe the size of it - that has a tremendous view of Gatlinburg from the back porch deck that spans the length of the house, with a built in fireplace for s'mores making. That's where we'll be kicking back with the in-laws and outlaws to celebrate Christmas for six nights. It even has its own totem pole out front.

Winging our way from Heathrow to Charlotte, we'll spend the night in Asheville so we can tour one of America's castles on our drive to Tennessee. I think Biltmore will look just beautiful dressed up for Christmas.

Our Griswold family holiday will be filled with shows, shopping, hiking, snow tubing and eating southern cooking on a daily basis. It's just gonna be so much fun, y'all - the happiest of holidays. Sixteen days until we shake the UK, leaving our home and furry family member in the capable hands of our house/dog sitter to enjoy some American holiday traditions. You know, the important stuff like pumpkin and pecan pie. And maybe a cheeseball.

La Luna de London

It's not exactly London, but the 'burbs are close as the crow flies. No doubt I wouldn't have seen the moon so clearly from my back garden while taking the Ollie beast out for his evening potty break if we lived amongst the many city lights. It was glowing oh so prettily in the sky, so I snapped a pic of it. I would have sworn it had an orb of luminescence around it, but my middle-aged eyes see orbs around street lights, headlights, traffic lights, porch lights... you get the drift. I can report the moon was strong enough to cast shadows into the master bedroom that evening, so maybe my old eyes weren't deceiving me.